#truthfully. raw. pure. in every shape and form

[bodega-catto]

And yea of course I love gego because despite how sick Geto became Gojo still loved him regardless. He still thought of him, worried about him, desired him, looked for him in everything. The rawest, purest form of love. To love regardless of the shape the person has taken. I could only wish.

[tired-biscuit]

Ruin

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou/fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content [minors dni!!], established relationship. aged up, meanie!bakugou fucks you stupid on the kitchen counter after he's had a bad day at work.

Word count: 1.6k

---

YOUR entire body feels like it’s on fire.

Bakugou’s hands are still warm from the earlier usage of his quirk as they run along your sides hungrily; thick, calloused digits coated in smoke curling and tightening around the arch of your hips whenever he pushes his cock deeper between your soaked walls.

The November night on the other side of the kitchen window he’s just spent hours patrolling and suffering through is laced with bitter cold and ferocious curtains of potent, icy rain. The chill makes the glass rattle in its frame whenever it hits and provides a perfect contrast to the warmth of his palms that keep burning your skin, as well as the scorch of his tongue as it twists around your own. 

His heavy gauntlets and gloves lay on the spotless wooden flooring in the same forgotten manner your cutesy pyjama shorts and equally as adorable panties are clinging around your left ankle as he fucks you even harder into the marble counter. 

Your legs are spread wide open for him, even though your body insists that they close from the way the knot inside your lower belly tightens now. It feels like it’s pulling your very insides taut; right to the brink of snapping. You’re not entirely sure how much more of his bullying you’ll be able to endure, but Katsuki doesn't seem to be thinking about being nice any time soon.

Truthfully, the need of bursting into orgasm is turning you brain-dead. Every single time the squelching slap! sounds out from the way your pussy kisses his abdomen, a broken squeal of pleasure bubbles up your throat. You’re literally feeling your brain cells shutting down and vanishing into the fog of pure bliss that’s overtaking your numb mind as you keep producing sounds that only a stupid bimbo would make on her regular night out: which is getting her brains fucked out in the narrow bathroom of a packed club.

Your lacking morals and the way your sanity is crumbling down right before him only make Katsuki's dick harder. Make him shove it even deeper; until he's hitting right against your cervix and continuously abusing it with lewd kisses from the blunt cockhead.

Christ, he's tearing you right apart. It’s heaven and hell in one.

“Enough, enough! Fuuuck…!” You whine as tears well up in your eyes. The sting burns hot on your waterline as you suck in a quivering breath. “‘s too much, Kat! I can’t-... Can’t take it!”

“Don’t lie to me, baby. It ain’t nice, ya hear?” Katsuki grunts in reply, slamming himself into you until hot, gooey slick is spurting out of your tight hole and gushing all over his dick and the counter. “I’ve had a bad day at work, so don’t start shit with me... ‘m pissed off enough as it is already.”

You might be a bad girlfriend for it, but you’re simply too fucked out to ask him what’s wrong in that moment. He’s come home from his patrol twenty minutes ago and has spent the last fifteen drilling you absolutely dumb with zero explanation as to why there is literal fire burning inside those crimson irises of his. 

You feel like you’re becoming one with the cool marble that keeps sticking to your sweaty, trembling thighs as he keeps slamming into you so viciously raw and angry now; as he keeps unleashing his unexplained frustration in the form of some harsh pounding you didn’t even know you needed.

He’s making you cry - quite literally. Making you blabber incoherent sentences and pleas that neither of you know what they’re meant to be even pleading for.

About to retaliate, your argument is cut short from the way you gasp when he squeezes your ass and pushes you closer to the edge of the counter. You can feel the spark of his quirk dance on top of your skin as he fondles your curves; can feel him grin wickedly against your lips that have been stuck in the shape of a small ‘o’ ever since he’s shoved that monster of a cock inside your weeping cunt. You’re going to bruise both from the inside and out. He is such a brute, but you still love him, nevertheless.

After all, what else can you do - stuck in this stupidly submissive position like a hot and bothered prisoner underneath the tenacious grip and his firm hand that holds it?

Your toes curl to the point of cramping as they tangle into the adorable lace that’s still hanging from your ankle as Bakugou licks your front teeth and scrapes the roof of your mouth with his drool-coated tongue. He sucks on your bottom lip and bites into it when you try to pull back to beg him to stop. If you didn't know him any better, you'd say that he's trying to make you shut up before you’re even given the chance to speak.

He’s panting and sweating like a roused beast above you. The sweet scent of caramel is potent to waft through the narrow space between you from his hero gear as the salt keeps clinging to his chest in the same way the spandex does. It overtakes the smell of dinner that’s still cooking in the oven, and that you were so eagerly preparing for him before he forced himself upon you like some enraged animal in heat. 

God damn it, even his scent dominates the room.

Fine sugar seeps down your throat now and fills your lungs with liquid honey as you keep kissing him and inhaling his intoxicating scent. It fogs your senses instead of heightening them, even though you swear that you can feel yourself getting high from it. He’s worse than the filthiest party drug.

"Look at the mess you're makin', pretty," he whispers before a huffed, mocking sort of laugh begins to rumble inside the depths of his chest like the same profound thunder that’s currently raging just on the other side of the window. "Drippin' and gushin' all over my cock and the fuckin’ counter, hah! Might have to make you lick both clean later, mm?"

"Kat-su…!" It's the only thing you can give him as an answer and it is outright pathetic. Your saliva has turned runny from how demanding your body has turned to finally become undone. Especially when he forces your legs to bend even more and digs his palms into the back of your thighs until you're splayed wide apart for him like some dirty slut.

Or a meal, since you're, well… In the kitchen.

And truth be told: you really do look absolutely delicious this way. He can see the thick strings and ropes of arousal that glimmer in the dim glow of the small light just above the stove; can see how your sweet pussy is eating him right up as it sucks him in, in, in. 

The lips have gotten puffy and tender from all the overstimulation he's making you grit your teeth through like a champ. You're sensitive as hell and it causes your hips to jerk upwards when he spreads your pussy wider apart with the help of two of his fingers.

You're spluttering as soon as the touch strikes home; chest heaving from the lack of oxygen and the subtle brush to your swollen clit. “More baby, I-I need it…! Fuck, holy fuck… Shit, oh my god!”

He groans - a guttural curse leaving his plush mouth as his carmine eyes fixate on the spot where you connect the moment your walls begin to clench in response to his pleasuring. Shadows twist inside the clever irises from the sight. It’s so hot that it brings his blood to a simmer; especially when you wiggle your hips to feel him better. 

His voice sounds strained and coarse as he says, “You wanna cum, babe?”

“Yes!” Your eyes shoot wide open as you stare at him with such a dazed look that it makes him wonder if there's anything even happening behind the dilating pupils. They're so huge that he can nearly see himself in them. “Please, I-I… Please, please, please!”

“Yeah?�� He tilts his head to the side lightly - the movement more animal than human, “You wanna cum real bad?”

Tears run down your heated cheeks as you nod eagerly. You remind him of a puppet with the action. Like he's tugging at the strings that make you approve of anything he wants from you.

“Beg me all you want, baby.” Katsuki smiles now as he says the taunting words and pushes deeper. The flash of his perfect teeth grows bigger; wider and more wolfish when he hears you cry out again the moment he burrows himself so deep that it makes your eyes cross. 

His grin is outright tantalizing and it is wonderful. So fucking wonderful, despite your blurry vision. Better yet, he's wonderful. Handsome. Yours. 

All yours, whilst seeking and demanding comfort from you in the most twisted of ways.

Staring down at you, all rough and tough and mean, despite the pretty, tousled spikes of ash blonde and the pink, sweat-coated cheeks: a chill rushes down your spine as he slams his broad palm flat against the counter, leans into your ear and murmurs, “I'll ruin you either way. Just like I ruined dinner, and just like that stupid motherfucker of a perp ruined my goddamn patrol.”

He jerks his chin towards the oven, and you have no doubt that he will, in fact, ruin you. That he'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to stand; much less sit down for a day or two. That he'll keep pounding into you until you're sobbing into his shoulder and clawing at his hero suit so harshly, that perhaps you'll even be able to shred the fabric right apart, just like a kitty-cat does when it drags its sharp claws down the expensive living room curtains you've just bought.

But hey… At least it'll make him feel better, right?

Masterlist

[whattodowithace]

Title: Forbidden

Paring: Donghun (ACE) x Reader

Genre: Spice/poetic writing

Word Count: 1.5K Words

Writer: Kpopmadness (Ju)

A/N: This is a little twist I did on the Greek Mythology story of Hades and Persephone. Enjoy! 🤗 ~Ju

*For love, I will handle your sins. And for justice? For justice, I will show you mine.*

The goddess awakes in the night, the curtains fluttering softly in the night breeze. A thin sheet covering her body to shield her from the coolness the night brought.

Her eyes flutter open, not to a noise, but just a feeling, a feeling of someone watching her. He had come for her.

She sits up slowly and looks around her room, her eyes immediately landing on a figure on her balcony, hiding in the shadows. His dark eyes looming over her.

“Hello, Hades.” She whispers, knowing exactly who this man was. He had been observing her for quite some time. His eyes always on her even if a thousand people crowded the rooms.

“Please, Persephone.” Hades says, stepping toward her as he reached a gloved hand out to her. “Call me Donghun.”

~ ~ ~

*You showed me how a love like ours can turn even the darkest, coldest realm into the happiest of homes*

He saw her at a glance one day, and immediately fell in love with her. She was young and innocent, and so beautiful. Her mother was strict and determined to keep her daughter chaste and pure. A smirk formed on Donghun’s face, her mother’s efforts were valiant but not enough to stop him.

And when you love someone so deeply, wouldn’t you do anything to possess them for eternity?

And so Donghun’s plan began. His plan to have her to himself. To make her his queen, his whole life. Because darkness is always drawn to the daylight. How it lets its bright rays chase away the darkness slowly, making the world feel different and new.

Oh, but don’t be fooled. She was always drawn to him. He was a misunderstood, lonely, forgotten creature in her eyes. The way his eyes dragon shaped eyes would light up when he saw her and the way he showed her great kindness made her doubt he was really an evil person.

And when he took her away from her home? She expected it in a small way. But she never fully understood what he really wanted from her, how deep his love for her ran until she was with him in his dark world.

~ ~ ~

*Mother, you don’t understand. I made Hades run to me.*

“Do you miss home?” Donghun asked her quietly one morning as they stood on the balcony of his palace, overlooking his realm. She had been with him for some months now and hadn’t asked to go home once during that time.

She looked over at him, the morning sun highlighting his dark skin and dark eyes. She smiled, her smile sweet and soft with a hint of sadness.

“I do.” She said simply.

“Do you want to return home?” He asked, stepping a little closer to her as if there was a gravitational pull that made him do it. He just couldn’t stop himself.

She sighed and turned to face him. “Do you ever get tired of being a powerful ruler?” She asked, throwing him off guard.

“Sometimes.” He answered truthfully. “My job is taxing and lonely. But you will rule beside me someday.”

She smiled faintly at his words, letting her hand rest on top of his. Her soft skin making him let out a soft whine. He realized then no one had dared to touch him in years.

“You aren’t lonely anymore.” She whispers, making Donghun’s eyes grow wide. “You answered your own question. It gets lonely up there for me. Horribly lonely. So yes, I miss home. But only sometimes.”

Donghun stepped a little closer to her, his build much larger than hers and gaze piercing. She met his gaze evenly, her eyes gentle and sweet as she smiled up innocently at him.

“I would do anything you asked me.” He whispered, his voice low and deep. Emotions bubbling up inside him. “And only you.”

She stepped away from him fully, still smiling as she said, “I know you would.”

~ ~ ~

*Aren’t you afraid of the darkness, my dear? No, you haven’t even seen mine yet.*

“Tell me something;” She whispered to Donghun one night. The fire in the hearth the only company they had.

She moved from her chair and cupped his face in her hands gently, her scent filling Donghun’s nose and overpowering him. Her scent reminded him of a mixture of honeysuckle and rose peddles mixed to make a sweet, earthy smell.

“Am I the only one that sees past your facade?” She asked. Her thumb running down his cheek gently.

“Yes.” He answered simply. His voice barely loud enough for her to hear and more of a breath against her wrist.

“Why?” She pressed, her eyes pleading with him as tears filled them.

“Because I’m not exactly someone everyone loves.” Donghun admits. The finality of his situation having sunk in many many years ago.

“But you’re so much different than how everyone describes you.” She tells him, her hands sliding to his hair. “You’re gentle, kind, patient. You’re everything people say you aren’t. Why do you hide that?”

Donghun took her hands in his gently, resting them against his chest where his heart raged against his ribs.

“Because I want only you to see it.” He answered, his eyes searching hers for reciprocation.

He loved her desperately, and he wanted her to fall for him the same way. A demon and an angel falling into a forbidden love.

~ ~ ~

*I wanted darkness, I wanted him.*

Donghun rests his lips against the smooth skin on her neck. The sensation sending chills down his spine. His desire for her pouring into every kiss he strategically placed.

“Are you afraid of me?” He whispers against the expanse of her throat, his hands pulling her body closer to him.

“No.” She breathes out. His lips hot against her skin, any gentleness she was used to was gone. His teeth leaving marks down her neck in rough, black patches.

Donghun pulls away from her neck to look her in the eyes, a hand going to the back of her neck to keep her face closer to his as he looked down at her.

“You should be, darling.” He growled, his voice deep as his eyes roamed over her face and body.

She let out a laugh, a smirk pulling at her lips. “Hardly.”

Donghun let out a chuckle at her strong will. His chest vibrating against her making heat rise throughout her body like an ocean of fire.

“Darling, I would burn worlds for you.” He moaned.

He kissed her fiercely, violently, leaving her lips raw. When he pulled away she was breathless and his fingers were pressed so hard against her skin as if she were his lifeline.

~ ~ ~

*There is a fire in his eyes and ice in his veins. But you love him anyway.*

She pressed against his warm frame and sighed deeply. Darkness shrouding them. Which was so fitting. When you aren’t supposed to be in love with someone so dangerous, you hide it any way you can. But hiding being in love with a devil of sorts wasn’t on her mind as she ran her fingers down his arm gently.

“You mentioned I would rule with you once.” She brought out, a secret looming under the surface of her mind. Screaming to be let out.

Donghun sighed against her touch. He wanted her touch all the time. For her fingers to always be wondering his skin.

“Of course.” He said, “You will be my queen. But I’ve always been considered a demon and you an angel. It’s a big gap.”

She smiles against his shoulder, her mouth hidden from his sight before whispering, “Angels take on many different roles. And I never said I was a good one.”

~ ~ ~

*Come my love, be one with the sea. Rule with me for eternity.*

She was queen. And she did rule beside Donghun. Oh, but how you’re mistaken with this love story. It’s not Hades and Persephone. It’s Hades and his Siren. The woman that played the innocent, loving, beautiful goddess, all a beautiful mask to hide the truth. That goddess is long since dead. Replaced by a beautiful creature as ancient as the sea.

Two deadly forces joined as one. She had lured the cold, relentless king into her hands. He had given her everything she wanted, his every step making him go deeper and deeper into her deadly ocean while she sang. He fell madly in love with her every breath and word whispered to him. Keeping him where a siren best lures men. At the bottom of the ocean.

She smiled at him, her innocent facade gone dark and twisted. “Tell me, my love. Is there anything you wouldn’t give me?”

Donghun smirked at her, “Nothing, my goddess. And you?”

She kissed his lips briefly before whispering, “I would give up the sea for you.”

[lotornomiko]

Triumph’s Tribulatons: The Completed Chapter five (Worksafe)

Finally...

For what had felt like an eternity all in its own, the high ranking Lords and Ladies of the Heavens have held session, resulting in tiresome and ultimately fruitless discussions that had ended with leaving both Gods and Goddesses frustrated, and still desperate for a solution. For a saving, that unavoidable problem before them looming ever closer with the group still too stubborn and perhaps too stupid, to embrace the only real answer. It left them shaken to their cores, made wretched and pathetic, and colored ever so frantic, from Freya to Eir, to Thor, and even Tyr, they now all suffered with their first real taste of fear.

That desperation and those panicked feelings, made for a good look on them, the fear there that had been tasted, leaving a certain raven haired trickster holding back a smirk, a near euphoric feeling blooming inside him to see the divine and the world they had so callously ruled over, made so down trodden and pathetic. They were left choking on such feelings, on even humility and its foul tasting bitterness. Such a brutal combination made for a devastating despair, wreaking particular havoc on a certain Goddess, the golden haired Aesir besides herself with a grief she refused to fully acknowledge, but it was shaping her all the same. Her every thought and action, Odin dead, and not even her haughty Vanir blood line could protect her from that truth for much longer.

Already enjoying the sight of Freya’s unraveling, Loki relished the thought of the Goddess on her knees, broken and shamed, groveling in a way that would do nothing save to serve HIS ego. There was a grudge there, an insult that had never been forgiven, Loki holding a particularly vicious dislike of the Goddess, given that for all of her humble beginnings as a Vanir hostage, Freya and her younger sister, Frei, had never even suffered a quarter of what Loki with his mixed blood line had. It didn’t much matter that both had been born of the enemy, for their blood was wholly pure, while Loki had existed as one half Aesir, and one half Vanir. A blight of an existence, one barely tolerated by Odin, and outright shunned by Surt. Loki hated all equally, from the two tribes of Gods, and the world that they had squabbled over, to that of the nine realms with all their many foolish souls who had so blindly put their faith and worship in such tyrants.

It was a hatred not only birthed, but constantly nurtured in resentments, its like strong enough as to be the root cause of Ragnarok one day, but it wasn’t a desire to rule Creation as they had all known it, that motivated Loki now. This world and all who had known it, could literally rot away for all he cared, and indeed it already was part way there, the Heavens and its eternal summer, now knowing the first stages of an early chill. The cold weather wreaked further havoc on the shining realm, the once vibrant scenery withering away almost faster than Yggdrasil itself could. The sight of that great tree bearing what was its final death throes was just another shade of glorious, Loki again fighting back a smile, even as the wind seemed to blow the frost through the very leather of his clothing.

This was nothing compared to Jotunheim and its world of eternal ice, yet the rate of decay would one day soon see Asgard surpass the Vanir’s realm, into something far WORSE. The universe itself in upheaval, the chaos was a vintage so delicious that Loki was almost drunk off of it, toasting Creation and its downfall, while secretly plotting to remake it into something that was all the trickster’s own. How glorious it would be, the loathed now king, ruler over everyone and their all. He just needed a few more pieces of his chessboard to fall into place, the divine treasures needed, as well as Odin’s power. That source of raw energy was that much closer to being in reach, Loki almost absolutely certain that God as they had known him, was now dead.

It left a void existing in the world, the divine throne needing a power strong enough to quell the chaotic energies that had run a muck. That Freya and the others couldn’t see pass Odin as the answer, showed how unfit any of them were to take up Creation’s mantle. A pity for them and a pity for all, existence soon to be molded by a hand that was no less cruel than Odin’s had once been. Loki’s lips nearly curled then, his expression mocking, as he thought on how he would become a bigger and a better tyrant than even God himself had been, with the four treasures to back him, that and Creation’s power flowing through him.

There was but one minor set back. That very power of Creation, its precise location unknown even to the Trickster, leaving Loki as desperate as the others, albeit for a different reason. All wanting that human’s head on a platter, not even the raven haired Loki knew just how to search for him. The one and only gateway to Lezard’s world, has been sealed shut, and it would take more than any single Gods’ power to get there. Though he hated to admit to it, he needed the others’ help, needed their power working together, in order for the desired pathway to be forged. It was an unfortunate fact, that few if any of the current pantheon of Gods could think to see a bigger picture beyond saving their own hides. They were desperate, and dangerous, clinging to both their power and what remained of their eternity. Many a lie would be needed, tricks and manipulation used to weave a deceit that would give enough false hope to those he required aid of.

It would take more time and effort than Loki had truthfully been prepared for, and he could only thank the lucky stars, that only the seven were required. That those seven were not only the most powerful of the Aesir and Vanir combined, but also the most disagreeable in nature, was a bit of a problem, Loki having made little to no headway in this particular scheme. It was no doubt thanks in part to Freya, the golden haired Goddess the one whose voice the others stood a chance of heeding the most. She was powerful, not just in physical and divine strength, but in opinion, and thus far, the most resistant to all of Loki’s lies and truth twisting he had tried. Tried and thus far failed to plant a potent enough seed that could seduce Freya into falling into his trap. She was too guarded for that, too invested in Odin and her flimsy grasp of love, to want to believe that the Lord God Creator could have suffered any truly unfavorable fate. She clung to hope, which was a laughable idea of a Goddess, of any of the divine, the woman actually harboring it, and what was worse, was how she got the others to do the same.

It was insane and it was maddening, the way they all cow towed to the Goddess, to Freya and to the memory of Odin, as though they were all too stupid to grasp the concept of someone else moving to supplant that tyrant, and take over as Creation’s Ruler. Loki angled to do both, to seize Odin’s everything, but to also manipulate the others with none too subtle suggestions that were meant to seduce them into considering a broader view. It had started with a simple truth, that had been carefully worded, as to hide the lie within it, the trickster having pointed out that A Creator WAS needed on the throne. It had been a careful twist, the raven haired halfling, never once insinuating by name that HE meant to be that new God.

He couldn’t wait. For all that power, for the reshaping of this wretched world, and to finally have his revenge in hand. Then they would all see, Loki proven as something more than just mere Trickster and half breed, but the one being in all Creation that was truly the perfect blend, all the good and the bad of both Aesir and Vanir in him, transforming the raven haired youth into the ultimate of Gods. He would put Odin to shame, would see them all humiliated and humbled and DEAD.  

It was a visceral reaction he had to that, to his revenge based desires, a smile toying at the corners of his lips. Loki had almost forgot to be on guard, out in the open as he was, on this island dais that had somehow managed to remain attached to Valhalla’s presence. Anyone could stumble upon and see him, anyone at all, and it was just his luck to feel a familiar warmth that was not wholly unwelcome ripple from behind him.

His eyes closed, his expression leveling out to be something a shade more serious and solemn before turning. The ripple grew in strength, little bursts of light sparking as reality itself seemed to split open. He heard the sound of her ether, the musical chimes that heralded the Goddess arrival. His eyes seemed to water from the effort to make out her figure amid the blurring of colors, Loki first focusing on a pair of long legs, clad in knee high brown boots. A bit of thigh was next seen, before being swallowed up by the short hem line of a very form fitting tunic. Elbow length gloves encased her arms, and the look was complete with a little brown cap that was edged in gold, like the rest of her. But she was no golden Goddess like her sister, Frei instead one to embrace the more earthen variations of her chosen colors.

She put on a brave smile, even as the unnatural wind caught at and lifted her braided hair. That burst of color was a brown that had a bit of dark red woven into it, Frei an auburn haired beauty, who looked ill prepared for the weather at hand. It shouldn’t have bothered her, given her Vanir blood, and yet she shivered all the same, the Goddess hugging arms around her as though that would lend an added warmth.

“It’s so cold!” She exclaimed, and Loki could only give a small nod back. “How can you stand to be out in this wind!?”

He gave an uncaring shrug of his shoulders, but offered no real explanation. How could he, when it was thoughts of his impending revenge achieved that was warming him from the inside out, Loki burning with that need. With the victory he was ready to seize. Hot with it, Loki could only make a half hearted attempt to pretend to be as cold as the young Goddess, watching out the corner of his eyes, as she seemed to dance in place.

“Frei, if you’re really that cold…” He began but she cut him off.

“I can’t bear it!” She exclaimed. “I have spent weeks scouring via the Water Mirror, and have come up with little to show for it! Nothing of our King, nothing of the one who has taken him, and nothing of Gungnir, or of the other three Divine Treasures!”

“So they still remain missing.” He mused while holding back his grin. For yet another one of his schemes was proving fruitful, the Divine Treasures lost to the Gods who searched so desperately for them. Of course they all suspected that Gungnir was in that new world for by Freya’s own account, she had seen the mage lay hands on it before taking off with Odin. But Levantine and the Sylvain Bow, and even the Dragon Orb, had all been lost, or so they all thought. He muffled his laugh into a sympathetic noise, thinking how two of the unaccounted three were already in his keep. The sword and the bow, and both would be needed to give Loki the added edge to take on that interloping human. Especially if all was as suspected, Loki assuming the man not only had the Divine Lance, but had also laid claim to Odin’s power.

Lezard Valeth would prove a fight, although not one that was wholly impossible given the right tools at hand. A human shouldn’t be cause for concern, but this one was no mere man, but a mage proficient enough in the forbidden magics to have beaten Odin. That earned him a respect, and gave Loki a reason to be wary, and that was before accounting the fact that Gungnir had accepted the Valeth human. Creation itself seemed to have, this Lezard wearing the power like he had been born into it, rather than had stolen it. It was almost admirable, the mage and his desires so powerful as to warp existence itself to suit him. In another life, they might have even been on the same side, if not for the fact Creation’s throne was only big enough for ONE.

Determined that that one would be Loki, the Trickster intended to go into that fight with the odds loaded in HIS favor. The demon sword Levantine, and the Sylvain Bow were just that, nice boosts to his power, but he’d feel even better once the Dragon Orb was found. With three of the four Divine Treasures, not even Gungnir would be able to withstand Loki for long. It would be an easy slaughter then, and with the power and the lance claimed, nothing would be able to stop him then. Not even the combined might of all the remaining Gods and their soldiers.

“Where could they be!?” Frei’s frustration interrupted Loki’s own private musing. “I’ve searched, and I’ve searched...as have so many of our einherjar.”

“Ah but I’ve heard tell not even the einherjar are immune to Midgard’s sickness.”

Frei gasped at that. “You don’t mean…?”

“That I do.” Loki gave a nod of his head. “Without a Valkyrie to guide them, the einherjar that tread on Midgard’s realm make easy prey for that weakness.”

“What are we to do then?” moaned Frei, putting fingers to her temple as though feeling a headache coming on. “How are we to get anything done!?”

Another shrug of his shoulders. “That I suppose depends on your sister.”

“On Freya?” Wide eyed was the look she gave him. “What do you mean? What can she do that she hasn’t already?”

Loki considered his words carefully, as he looked over the Goddess clad in those earthen colors. Frei had always been the closest thing to a friend that the Trickster has had, the young woman the only one among the divine pantheon, who truly took the time to try and do more than just tolerate the raven haired God. Hers was a kind nature, this young Vanir with her wide eyes that were normally filled with such hope and optimism. If there was one soul in all of existence that Loki did not harbor a grudge against, it might just be HER.

That she held some sort of esteem in his eyes, did not mean that the Trickster was any less inclined to use her if a need arose.  With a few twists of the truth, and some subtle manipulations, she could become a powerful tool to wield against her sister.

“She needs to come to terms with the truth that the world itself tries to show her.” He said at last.

“The truth?”

“Odin is DEAD.” Loki said to Frei’s startled gasp. Her eyes had widened in shock, the young Goddess shaking her head no in denial. “That Yggdrasil, nay that the entirety of his Creation rots, is proof solid of THAT.”

Frei had turned from him, turned from Valhalla, as though seeking out the withering corpse of the world tree for herself. The Goddess trembled as she stared at it while Loki all but whispered in her ear. “We need not die with it….with the tree, or with the memory, the hope that your sister clings to.”

He pretended to care, to gentle his words, a hand on her shoulder as though to lend the shaken woman his support. “Your sister LOVES Odin.” The trickster said. “She is in denial, and lets herself be blinded to the fact that we need A Creator on the throne. If not Odin, then the next best thing…”

“And that would be….?”

“Not what, but WHO.” Loki answered. “One of us must claim the power that had existed inside Odin. Thor, Tyr, even your sister, one of them surely has the strength to sustain the world with it.”

“If that were true, wouldn’t they have already…”

“You’d think that, and yet it hasn’t happened. And do you know why, Frei?” She shook her head no. “Freya.” stated Loki. “Hers is a most powerful voice, one the other Gods all listen to. So long as she so stubbornly clings to that foolhardy belief, none will truly argue otherwise. But you could change all that, Frei!”

“Me!?” The Goddess squeaked, turning so fast, her braided hair swung for the effort. “What can I possibly do!?”

“Talk to her! Reason with her!” Loki exclaimed, and it wasn’t all an act, that earnest fire in his eyes. “You are the only one she might listen to when it comes to this! The world itself depends on it, on you, Frei…”

He had taken hold of her hands in a gesture that mimicked one of Frei’s many familiar overtures. She glanced down at their joined hands, chewing on her bottom lip as though considering. “It’s worth a try…” She began hesitantly, giving an uncertain nod of her head.

“More than worth it.” Loki insisted. “If anything of Odin’s world is to survive…”

“Lord Odin’s world may not have always been a kind one, but there is merit in its existence. The people there, our friends and family, our home...they MUST be saved.” Frei’s choice of words almost made Loki sneer, for he had no real family, and could claim only one sort of friend. A friend he was actively lying to while smiling in her face, Frei oblivious to the trickster’s true intentions.

“Yes...they must.” He pretended to agree with her, all the while knowing she was in for a world of hurt when HIS reality slapped Frei in the face. “Odin may be nothing more than a memory now, but his legacy will live on IF we act...if Freya gives the call to save it.”

“She will…” Frei had started to sound more confident now. “I’ll see to it!”

Loki did not have to hide the grin that overtook him, his face alight with a smile that might be considered dazzling even to a Goddess. Another piece was soon to fall into place, Frei the push needed to get Freya to galvanize the Aesir into true action. He felt not a single shred of regret at the using he was doing, Frei too naive and gullible for this world, and much better suited in an entirely new existence. He’d offer her a chance, a place in HIS Creation, and perhaps if she felt something, some small kernel of true affection, the Goddess would have spared HIM the effort of KILLING her.

====

The marble of the floor had sealed itself together seamlessly, not so much as a sliver of a crack to betray the chaos that had gone on just moments ago. That or of the anger that had been felt, the world itself a living extension of what had been in its God’s heart. Such has been Lezard’s displeasure that in that moment, Creation itself had acted, moving to protect him and his interests, spiriting the frightened Goddess away to somewhere else safe. Safe from his rage, and safe from his desires, the man who had once been human,  having pushed too hard, too fast, too soon.

She wasn’t ready. He knew that, every bit from her fight to her flight had in fact acknowledged it, the fear that was in Lenneth’s heart. It had sent her running, the Goddess scared, not so much of what he might do to her physically as much as the emotional havoc he had been intent on wreaking. The truths that had needed to be confronted, and with it would come all of its pain, such sorrow born of those lies that the woman had told herself. She wouldn’t be spared its sting, not even God himself able to shelter Lenneth from the agony of breaking free of such warped delusions. The comfort it had once given her, was now nothing more than a crutch, one that that divine beauty needed to break free of if that heart of hers was going to stand a chance at any true solace.

It wouldn’t be easy, that fact something Lezard could acknowledge in his more rational moments. His beloved needed a far gentler hand than he had thus far been capable of, that near overpowering lust of his, making him impatient and clumsy whenever she was so near. So consumed with the want of her, his attempt at a controlled veneer had all but shattered when her fear had turned violent, Lenneth’s fist finding its mark against his jaw. It had left him so close to doing something unforgivable, illusions torn and discarded if not for his world acting instead. Protecting him as much as her, Lenneth swallowed up whole into an abyss that had opened up beneath her feet.

Even now she was still there, free falling in an endless darkness, that heart of hers in an absolute turmoil that would only be the start of her unraveling. There was both pain and pleasure in the idea of it, Lenneth this intoxicating brand of everything that Lezard could have ever wanted. Her heart, her soul, that of her mind and her body, her tears, her agony, and that of her happiness, the man wanted it all. He was obsessed with the having of it, of attaining paradise with so perfect a being. It was so close to a reality, that he could almost taste it, his blood stained hands reaching for it, for her, Lezard this newly remade being, the ultimate Lord of it all, Lenneth and the effect she has always had on him, the one thing this God could not control.

Even now he was tempted, sheer folly though it would be to go after her right now. Lenneth was too wild in the moment, too angry and afraid, tormented by a truth he had only merely hinted at, such insinuations holding the strength to make a Goddess reel in an absolute terror. It was a fear not just for herself, for what might be done to her, but that of her world, the paradise that she had created. That perfect utopia that was nothing more than a lie that her wounded soul had retreated into, every insinuation that Lezard could make had the power to tear that universe apart from the root, the very foundations it had been built and brought to life upon.

It was a world of desires, that perfect paradise grounded in a pain so blatant that it had nearly torn the Goddess apart. That heart of hers that had been so ripped to pieces by the sins committed against her, it had left Lenneth reeling in an agony even she herself had not understood, the Goddess so overwhelmed in the moment as to escape into a fantasy. An illusion, the deceits woven there all by her own hand, the ageless woman latching onto a figment, the fragment that had been dangling before her. Seizing upon it, with that earring in her hand, out of all the lives she had slept through, it had been the latest, that of a child, a girl no older than fourteen when she had died, that had helped feed into a delusion. In that moment she had been thinking not as a Goddess, but as a human, a child, torn apart by a loss that had been about more than just one man’s death.

The seal had been broken, a flood gate of emotions overtaking the Goddess. How much agony had it been, to remember them all, every last life that had hosted Lenneth inside them. The highs and the lows, their joys and their pains, hundreds upon hundreds of women, all helping to shape the Valkyrie’s humanity. Her compassionate heart, the depth of her millennia of experience far more than anything those scant fourteen years as Platina could have given. She was just a sliver of what had helped shaped the Goddess, so small and inferior a speck, the child was not who Lenneth was meant to be.

So much more than any one human girl, Lenneth was in fact a being so uniquely her own. A caring Goddess, one whose capacity to feel and sympathize with the mortals a threat that Odin and the other Gods could not abide by. They hadn’t killed her, they had done WORSE, the woman’s free will taken from her, her true sense of being SEALED away.

A safeguard meant to control that which the Gods could not understand, that human compassion that that particular Goddess had been gifted with, the likes of which had been cultivated and learned over the course of a millennia of different hosts. Through them she had loved, and Lenneth had cared, the woman so wholly unique in her ability to FEEL, the Goddess the champion that the mortals had needed. The Gods had feared it, feared Lenneth and the allegiance that such emotions had wrought, Odin needing the Valkyrie to be a good little soldier who fell into line with his own selfish wants. Unable to dominate her as she had truly been, that tyrannous God had tried to eradicate her spirit, that of her true self, through such archaic means, such a brutal manipulation of the self, such that Lenneth had been little more than a doll. A puppet, beautiful and perfect, and so wholly without the feelings that would have interfered with the Heavens’ schemes.

The Gods had seen her as nothing more than a Death Goddess, a chooser of the slain to bolster their own armies with the souls of dead heroes. They had let her pick from the brave as though they were mere flowers, calling into service warriors from all corners of Midgard. Leaving her exposed to the very thing that the Gods themselves had feared, the emotions that were so plentiful in the humans, putting cracks in the shield erected around Lenneth’s heart. Bit by bit, that ancient magic had been worn away, the seal itself eroded with each and every encounter, until it had finally shattered, and with it went Lenneth’s mind, the woman having snapped.

It must have been so, so overwhelming, to have been hit at once with all those feelings, with the many lives she had slept through, their hopes, their desires, all coming to life within Lenneth in startling clarity. Was it any wonder she had lost her true self in the process, spinning from one host to another, again and again, until she had latched onto the most recent, that of the child, those scant years of fourteen the most overwhelming dream of them all given how fresh it had still been.

Even grounded in that child’s psyche, it had proved too much. Lezard himself had born witness to it, to that mental break that the Goddess had had. The tears that had fallen, the screaming that had been done, it hadn’t been just the Goddess, but the child, Platina, made horrified by the one solace of her life, Lucian the only kindness and warmth she had ever known, LOST, killed in turn by his own refusal to let go of his own delusions.

It had all been such a mess, a tragedy the likes of which all else had fallen short. Her puppet strings not just severed, but left tangled across the board, Lenneth had been operating on a grief born madness, forgetting who she really was, to play fantasy for one ignorant human. For some fake facsimile of him, Lucian a shadow, his miraculous return to life nothing more than a figment born of Lenneth’s own desperation and desires. Instead of the warrior she had known, he was something new, a puppet who was nothing more than some idealized version of who she had thought him to be, Lucian just one of the many dolls whose every thought had been painstakingly crafted by Lenneth’s power.

Creation itself had been remade on desire, on such potent delusions and lies, the many souls there not the people they had once been. They were just shadows of those that had died, annihilated in the Ragnarok that Lucian had helped Loki bring about. It hadn’t just ended lives, it had wiped out everything, including that of nearly every living being’s soul from existence, such devastation a permanent end, the cycle of rebirth itself destroyed. Such finality was there to it, that no one, not even God, could fight against, the world and its people entirely eradicated.

It left the world in complete ruins, Lenneth’s land a paradise populated in lies. It was a copy, a mere imitation of what had once been, formulated out of fragmented glimpses, the memories she had gathered, the people there nothing more than a pathetic bunch of puppets. They were just these hollow husks of what she thought them to be, these seemingly ideal versions ultimately falling short, all an attempt that was unfulfilling when it came towards truly easing the pain in the Goddess’ heart. They were all lies that couldn’t make her truly happy, anymore than they could satisfy her needs. Each and every last one of them, Lenneth living in a farce, a waking dream that could crumble apart so easily given the right push. If enough care wasn’t given, the Goddess would crumble again with it, her psyche perhaps lost to yet another kind of fantasy.

Lezard couldn’t lie and claim that he hadn’t considered it. Hadn’t given thought to molding Lenneth into a fantasy that would suit HIM best. But ultimately, he didn’t want the illusion, that of those broken remnants of who the Goddess had once been. He wouldn’t be satisfied with just a sliver, wouldn’t embrace the farce of just one of her sides. He wanted her everything and her all, Lezard made mad with the desire, with that need. It fueled him, his obsession with Lenneth the motivating strength that had led Lezard into doing the impossible again and again. He had died for her, traveled through time for her, even become a God for her, such a warped semblance of love a catalyst that had no limits and no match. Not even Lucian could compete, that young man unable to see past Platina, and past the Valkyrie, to the supreme manifestation of the woman, a Goddess so sublime as to move a heart that had once been so unfeeling.

Her mark left on him, Lenneth had helped shaped Lezard into this mad man, so utterly devoted in the pursuit of her. Worlds had been ruined, people slaughtered, time itself run roughshod all over, yet his hands were no less dirty than any of the other Gods. Than even HERS, Lezard creating his own world, his own perfect paradise to ease the pain that was in HIS heart. That it spilled hurt onto others, was of no concern, Lezard an unfeeling God who had no desire to rule or be worshiped by anyone other than by Lenneth.

Such blasphemies should have been sins enough to weigh even God down, yet Lezard was instead made unburdened by it all, free of the demands the throne of Creation should have made of him. He was free, having discarded duty the way he had discarded bodies, nothing but time on his hand, and power, and harboring a patience that was fast running out.

====

There was a noticeable mood about her companions this day, an angry, oppressive energy that didn’t lend well to any attempts at talking, just about everyone in a foul state of mind, grudges harbored, even nurtured. Not even Alicia herself could lay claim to being entirely immune, her own feelings in a churning state of turmoil. That sad sort of furious, such things born of the hurt done her, and done HIM in turn, the princess unable to spare the man that she loved from being dealt such a pain.

Her eyes and her heart sought him out when Alicia thought no one was truly looking, Rufus with his brilliant hue of emerald colored hair, and clothing colored in lesser shades of green, gold, and brown. An intricately carved bow of a fine silver metal was at the ready in his strong and capable hands, with the large quiver of arrows that was strapped to his back, not yet exhausted entirely of its bearings. Those weapons aside, the half elf blended well into the colors of the forest, to the point he could have disappeared entirely and none would have been the wiser, not even much sound to betray him, especially with the archer in so subdued a mood.

Alicia bit back a frown, her sad survey of him such that she would have never missed the lack of mischievous sparkle to his green eyes. Or that of the flat line of disapproval his mouth shaped, Rufus bordering on hostile with every arrow fired off, be it monster or snarling animal that they faced. Gone was his good nature facade, the jokes and light attempts at conversation, the man so focused and serious. She couldn’t help but wonder just what thoughts went on his mind, to the hurt and loss of hope that she herself had dealt him, the guilt that sparked in her making her flinch and reel in place, but even stronger might be the frustration. The sad anger that was born of being put in such an unenviable position. Rufus was part at fault for that, for the effect that the princess’ decisions have had on him, but larger yet was the blame they both put on their companion, on Brahms’ broad shoulders, irrational or not such feelings might be. Alicia wasn’t even sure if such a grudge made sense, despite the fact that the Vampire King had held back the truth, the cure needed outweighed by that of the world fast running out of time. The slight chill in the air itself was proof positive of that, this change in weather wholly unnatural for this region’s time of year.

The increase in monsters that had been roaming the woods was another, that vast multiplication in numbers such that a rip in reality might be connecting Midgard directly to Hel’s Nifleheim, that foul netherworld emptying it’s bowels of every demon, fiend, and devil that it could. It made for pure chaos, the trek through this forest a gauntlet of death that a lesser being would have no real chance of surviving, Alicia could only be glad that the Lord of all of the undead, traveled with them on their side. He certainly made a difference, even in his disguise as a human, swinging that big blade around, cleaving apart many with one blow. Not even suppressing his preternatural strength could belie the magnificence of Brahms muscles, many a creature exploding in a shower of guts and gore and blood that Alicia couldn’t help but find glorious.

Her nostrils flared especially at the scent of that blood, such a gruesome display proving more and more mouthwatering with every day that passed. It left her disturbed but unable to deny that a part of her was giving in more and more to the curse inside her, the ghoul powder that was wreaking havoc on her system, making her more than she had been, more than human, more than girl. Not even the ring on her finger could keep the monster inside her at bay for much longer, every step forward that the princess took, taking her further and further away from the cure and her humanity, and by Alicia’s own choice no less.

Not that there had been much option to do otherwise. Not with the entire world needing saving, Silmeria, Lenneth, even Hrist, all three in danger and needed to offset the slow withering the realms were each doing down the path to ultimate destruction. No future would be found then, no chance at life, no chance of anything, Alicia unable to play at oblivious even to spend the world’s final days left as human and happy with the man that she loved. That Rufus could not seem to understand it, and even less accept it, was a sour point of contention between them and between the elf and the vampire, Alicia not blind to the hostile looks he shot Brahms whenever the archer thought that no one was looking.

Even now he seemed to brim with resentments, and more than once, Alicia had watched Rufus sight down his arrow at the Vampire King’s unguarded back. Once his fingers had even seemed to quiver, as though to let loose the projectile, only to at the last possible second, let the sharp tipped weapon slam into the body of a monster trying to prey on their fourth companion, the warrior berseker, Arngrim. The man had barely grunted his acknowledgment of that help, their muscled friend still angry about the disturbances to his attempts at sleep the night before.

It left Brahms the only one not simmering with resentments, though there was a tension inside him, perhaps born of the enormity of the task set before them. He let it translate to violence, to the way he easily tore apart and slaughtered so many of the foes that dare set upon them. Alicia couldn’t stop herself from admiring such a brutal display, anymore than she could control the wildness inside her that lent such effortless ease to her own bloody attempts at destruction. She wasn’t even trying to hide it, letting the curse in part take her over, hacking at limbs the way the princess wished she could her problems, a scream erupting forth from her that set many a creature fleeing.

“Alicia!” She heard the sharp sound of Rufus’ voice, but such concern came from such a distance as to not immediately touch upon her still human side. The princess was almost too caught up in the battle, to the blood lust that she was feeling, the struggle real as was the hunger, too much of that crimson gore around and on her, the young woman caught between want and disgust, the dual natures of herself warring, and even she wasn’t sure which was about to ultimately win out.

Suddenly there was a hand upon her, but it was not that of the archer who grabbed at her now. It wasn’t his hands, wasn’t Rufus’ strength that shook and supported her, Alicia made to spin around and face the vampire, the Undead Lord himself, as the face that he borrowed commanded nearly all of her attention. There was power in those eyes, a hypnotic order that helped to soothe the worst of the beast inside the princess. With that calming came embarrassment, Alicia’s cheeks coloring a bright pink as she realized both Rufus and Arngrim were staring shocked at her, made appalled by her behavior, by the wild abandonment expressed with such shades of brutality.

Alicia felt that moment of weakness hit her, her eyes welling up with tears born of shame, the young princess trying to stifle the sob of sound that escaped her. Only Brahms hand kept her upright, else the woman would have crumpled to her knees, such despair overtaking her, the humanity that Alicia was losing that much closer to being gone, and she could not focus to mourn it, not with the horrified look she still saw shining in Rufus’ concerned eyes.

Brahms wasn’t saying much of anything, as if even the Undead King could not find the right words. Maybe no one could, in a world made this mad and desperate by decay. The humanity that Alicia was losing, was needed less and less for the trials ahead of them, and the Vampire Lord might even think that it better she hurry the transformation along, but he was also trying to be kind and not outright suggest she abandon all pretense at a fight against what was happening inside her. She had thought herself accepting, ready for such an inevitable fate, but there was that part of her that still clung to her hopes and her humanity, and had been made desperate in response to the look of revulsion that the half elf had worn and failed to stifle. It left Alicia such an odd mix of contradictions, that selfless part of her that was willing to sacrifice so much to save the world pitted against this selfish spark that had been born in the face of the disgust witnessed on Rufus’ face. The princess didn’t want him to loathe and to hate her, couldn’t bear so much as the thought of the monster she would one day become losing the warmth of the archer’s love.

“H...how…” A shaky exhale, the half formed question dying on her lips, Alicia downcast and trodden.

“Control is the key.” Came the answer to the question she hadn’t been able to ask in full. “The fastest way to hasten your downfall is to lose it. The more you give in to the beast inside, the quicker the ghoul powder will take hold and wreak havoc.”

Alicia shook to hear that, but couldn’t bring herself to lift her head, not even to stare up at the vampire. She couldn’t understand why he would tell her this, why Brahms would take any measure to help slow down and delay the transformation her body was attempting. Not when it would benefit him, the world, and Silmeria MORE to have that powerful ally at his side.

“Oh sure…” Came the sound of Rufus’ voice, laced with such open anger. “Now all of a sudden you are full advice and cures, when it is far too late for them!”

Alicia immediately wanted to look his way, but the cowardly part of her balked at the thought of chancing upon the still repulsed look in his green gaze.

“Why didn’t you tell her any of this sooner!?” The half elf continued. “Why NOW, save to satisfy your own sick amusement at watching her suffer!”

Still staring at the ground at their feet, Alicia felt the bristle the energy within the vampire did, but Brahms was otherwise without response. Did he have none to give, or did he not feel the need to dignify the archer’s accusations with words?

“What else do you hide from her? What other horrors and secrets do you keep from us!?”

“Now is probably not the time…” Came the words of the warrior, of Arngrim. He was all but ignored, Rufus snarling a loud shout at Brahms, demanding the vampire answer him. His voice almost drowned out the roar, that hiss that was followed by a great, big serpent slithering out from the brush, tongue flicking and venomous fangs flashing, its cold, dead eyes locked on and looking to make a meal out of one or more of them.

“Stay on guard!” Brahms broke his silence to advise them. “That one can down a mastodon dead with a single bite.”

“There’s no end to this nightmare, is there!?” Alicia heard Rufus mutter. He had already had an arrow notched and loaded into place, angling backwards, as he tried to get a clear and perfect shot.

“Not a one!” agreed Arngrim, his broad blade in hand. Brahms was also drawing his, having let go of Alicia, so as to stand ready for the battle that now faced them.

Alicia swayed uncertain on her feet for a split second, before steadying and picking up her own briefly discarded sword. In this moment, there was no choice but to fight, the question of who...of what she would ultimately become, put aside for the moment, as each lost themselves to the lust of battle.

=====

To Be Continued...

What a journey and struggle it was to get this chapter written. I think I first attempted it a year ago, and it was a Rufus POV, but once again the elf was messing me up. I seem to always have him trying to derail me, and not always for the better. Basically not only was he going to have a talk with Brahms that was way too early for the fic, but I realized I was rushing what was happening to Midgard way too fast against the pace of what was happening in other realms, especially Asgard and Lezard’s world. I had originally intended this chapter to open up with a Rufus POV...and got several pages written, but it was wrong for this point and time. Brahms and Rufus do need to have that talk, but I need to set up better why they would have the kind of talk they will end up having...I hope I can somehow salvage some of the initial attempt to use MUCH LATER in the fic.

But yeah, I was stuck for so long on the Midgard crew. Been going through some stuff in real life, especially health wise, and over a month ago, I got real inspired, and wrote the Loki Frei scene….I am trying to make each chapter have three scenes...and when I first tried to write the second scene immediately after the Loki POV...which now that I think about it, also went through at least one trashing….cause the initial attempt got stupid, and had Ull in it too...

Anyway, once the Loki Frei scene was done, I immediately moved on to what was attempted about three times, as a Lenneth scene. Only it was also suffering a pacing problem, meaning she was having thoughts and revelations she shouldn’t have been having this fast this soon...so I had to trash it, and ultimately it worked as doing a Lezard narrative instead. Also before writing the first two halves, I finished watching the scenes of the game’s A ending, including stuff leading up to it, so it strongly influenced me with the trashed Lenneth scenes, and then with some of the Lezard narratives. It had been a few years since I seen those game scenes, so they were very inspiring, and I even wrote down some lines, specifically stuff Platina was saying to Lenneth, that I hope to maybe get to work in somehow. Watching the game canon again after so long, strongly left me with the opinion she suffered a big mental break down when the seal finally broke.

So then for the final scene of the fifth chapter...I was just real stuck. I could not get a Rufus POV written, but then I just felt so stuck on the scene in general. I was desperate, that I would take whoever I could to be the narrating voice for it. I did not want to post five with just two scenes, no matter how frustrated and at times tempted I got...Right now I don’t know if I am gonna waste a chapter on a serpent boss battle scene. Think the next scene with the Midgard crew, will be well after the battle is over. I want to get them out of the forest and to a human settlement, so I can touch more on the Midgard sickness I’ve made mention of, the one that not even the einherjar are proving immune to!

Honestly I don’t even know how I got an attempt at the final scene for this chapter written….I hope it proves interesting at least...Not sure when six will be ready. Kinda been battling OSVP urges, but didn’t want to start down that fic’s path, until I had chapter five of TT completed. I am the type that once I am in the middle of writing a chapter, I HATE leaving said chapter to go work on writing another one. I am rather obsessive compulsive in that…

Later!

---Michelle

[recommendedlisten]

We’re officially headed into the final stretch of 2019, and looking at the releases that have yet to come out, the dam hasn’t even started to crack with the most anticipated albums that this year has to offer within a year that has already give us so much that’s good. Summertime was just the beginning of that deluge, and as you probably know the drill by now, this year’s Recommended Autumn Listening is taking a moment to shout out a few of the last few month’s best releases that this one-person operation of a site didn’t have the brain power, time or bandwidth to devote adequate coverage to upon initial release, so its sharing retroactive praise now (because great music doesn’t have an expiration date.) Fall be kind to you with these lucky 13 recommended listens...

Bethlehem Steel - Bethlehem Steel [Exploding In Sound Records]

Repping indie rock isn’t such an easy task to burden in the year 2019 when so much of what’s out there simply sounds like the ‘90s underground revived, but Brooklynites Bethlehem Steel are thinking outside the box with their guitars on their self-titled sophomore effort. The project spawned by guitarist and vocalist Rebecca Ryskalczyk has now evolved to include another voice up front in fellow guitarist Christina Puerto alongside bassist Patrick Ronayne and drummer Jonathan Gernhart, and with the added body, the depth in the details turns their delicate nature of their collective human experiences into a sinewy, rip-roaring collection of tracks that combat the ordinary lies within modern social structures, and turn them inside out. There’s as much quiet observation at play here as there is a loud anger at culture’s ills. Bethlehem Steel’s metal structure twists formation throughout in amalgamizing grungy guitar rock, avant folk and post-hardcore into one foundation, and for that, it’s a solidly authentic listen.

Blanck Mass - Animated Violence Mild [Sacred Bones Records]

If this is the apocalypse, then Animated Violence Mild is the dance party on our way out of existence and into oblivion. The third studio effort from Fuck Buttons’ Benjamin John Power and his experimental electronic moniker Blanck Mass exits the grizzly decay of its predecessor World Eater and opts for celebrating the destruction of humankind by way of its ignorance in gross capitalist agendas, toxic consumer culture, and climate threats with bright, movement-based compositions that usher the Doomsday Clock closer to midnight with anticipation. From Powers’ vantage point, the countdown is akin to a New Year’s ball drop, as stardust confetti and a fully edged energy build their way towards this climax. Perhaps the album was intended for the Earth alone, because it gets rid of us once and for all, it’ll surely have reason to rejoice in our defeat...

Channel Tres - Black Moses EP [Godmode Music]

Channel Tres has had quite the year since his breakthrough eponymous EP landed him at the #1 spot of the year among extended listens. His cool-smooth energy that pulls in influences of house lights, R&B futurism and hip-hop bravado instantaneously gave him a recognizably singular sound that’s still going unrivaled a year later, and that the likes of sonic visionaries Vince Staples and Robyn dubbed him the honors of being their opening acts on their recent tours says a lot about where his lane is. With his Black Moses EP, Channel Tres glides into his fame and celebrity with cruise control, and that isn’t a bad thing. The beats here aren’t concerned with sizzling the floor with Tres’ charismatic fire, as this collection of five tracks is intended for when the lights go down and the temperatures drop. Even when Tres is driving in the slow lane, he’s still that stealth energy.

Charli XCX - Charli [Asylyum / Atlantic Records]

For Charli XCX, the future is now, and it’s beaming even in discovering that what is glittered in stardust also includes a little darkness to life. After years of being dubbed the pop star of tomorrow, Charli sees the many sides to the perpetually underrated influencer of this decade’s pop fashions come together in solo and collaborative form for what is her most cohesive representation of her vision yet. You could almost argue that half of the record – the part focused solely on her shape-shifting spotlight alone – is the one she wanted to make, where as the latter half, which is brimming with well-defined team-ups between other pop outsiders like Sky Ferreira, Yaeji, HAIM, Cupcakke, and Troye Sivan, are her way of appeasing a mass sound while smuggling faces underrepresented into the fold. Regardless, the Charli here is showing signs of outgrowing her late night revelries and tempering her star power inward while boosting others, aided by production from fellow sonic futurist A.G. Cook. This synth beat’s got her biggest pulse yet.

Chelsea Wolfe - Birth of Violence [Sargent House]

We’ve long known Chelsea Wolfe as one of the best songwriters in the dark, heavier realms of music. Birth of Violence, her mostly-acoustic sixth studio effort, introduces us to a different side of Wolfe, however, in that being one of the best American songwriters of our times, period. Strip away the droning heaviness and metallic sheaths of her other work, and there’s more space for Wolfe to adorn her fret board with ornate finger-picking and a quiet rumble of percussive bones that compliment her voice, collectively a haunt of beauty, strength, and somber emotion, as she surveys the landscape of these dark days like one of nature’s caretakers.In retreating to her gothic roots, Wolfe finds a new version of herself born out of violence, and stepping back into the world with healing powers for every tragic soul.

Jay Som - Anok Ko [Polyvinyl Records]

Melina Duterte has been exploring herself through her music since the very beginning of her career in self-releasing homespun bedroom pop that made its way into the Topshelf and Polyvinyl Records offices, who then introduced her to the independent scene’s masses to warm reception. In 2017, Everybody Works showcased many facets that could shine out of Duterte’s hands in her band Jay Som, ranging on the sonic spectrum from icy dream-pop, firmly constructed indie rock, and celestial shoegaze. With its followup Anok Ko, Duterte continues doing so while inviting more friendly faces into the room in collaboration to toil with her music’s energy. The listen evolves past the self-constrictions of Jay Som’s past defined lines and in turn leaves room for more possibility/ There’s looser ideas to play with, as Duterte and company let the music lead them to wander further out into her expanding canvas, and leaves you content in getting far out with them.

Knocked Loose - A Different Shade of Blue [Pure Noise Records]

In short, a landmark album that will define the modern metalcore scene for years to come in the same way Converge’s Jane Doe did nearly two decades ago. With an insatiable hunger to destroy and reconstruct the scene in their own shattered mirror, Knocked Loose’s sophomore breakout A Different Shade of Blue aspires to bring a new kind of intensity as well as raw emotion to the forefront of the latest wave of thrashers such as Code Orange and Jesus Piece who are fully feeling the futility of these times in their heaviness. More noticeably is how the Kentucky five-piece are not only refining their rage, but controlling it without coarsing down its razor edges either, with every breakdown and growl exorcising from Bryan Garris’ throat being laid down with purpose.

Octo Octa - Resonant Body [T4T LUV NRG]

You may not initially view electronic and house music as a means for meditation, but Resonant Body, the third studio album by Octo Octa will change your mind, and may even become your go-to soundtrack as you soak in those autumn drives. Following a year of non-stop touring, project mastermind Maya Bouldry-Morrison ventured to her New Hampshire cabin, surrounding by forest, water and a connection to the purified nature around her to decompress and process a self-professed “magical year of change” within. What came out of those sessions are Octo Octa’s most accessible and linear production of surreal, electronic energy that melds together the synthetic world with the elements around us. It’s truly connected to all that life is, physically and spiritually.

Queen of Jeans - If you’re not afraid, I’m not afraid [Topshelf Records]

Inside Philly’s indie punk hotbed, Queen of Jeans resist cliché while also embracing their surroundings loudly on their sophomore album If you’re not afraid, I’m not afraid. The three-piece, led by Miriam Devora, ventures away from the doo-wop and girl group kitsch of their promising debut album. and instead finds them entering the studio with scene favorite Will Yip who pronounces the rockisms in their sound subtly while allowing the band’s pop baseline to express itself to the fullest. That it does especially with toppled by Devora’s songwriting, an articulation of queer identifying breakup songs does the emotional baggage of processing the death of relationships and loved ones with an inward specificity that comes through with universal reach. Queen of Jeans take a lot of brave steps forward here, both creatively and personally, and it proves there’s really nothing to be scared about.

Sleater-Kinney - The Center Won’t Hold [Mom + Pop Records]

The strong contender for the year’s most polarizing album will undoubtedly be Sleater-Kinney’s The Center Won’t Hold. Truthfully, Recommended Listen isn’t even so sure how it explicitly feels about it, but the mere fact that it is a creative anomaly in the revered feminist indie rock hero stalwarts’ discography and comes with it bearing the departure of drummer Janet Weiss is something that makes it stand out in itself. St. Vincent’s future-pop-rock production weighs pours itself over the final incarnation of the band as a trio like liquid neon as Carrie Brownstein and Corinne Tucker aim for the stadium seats in arena-sizing their once-woolly rock aerodynamics into radical choruses. The plights that the band has always sought to address in their music with a sociopolitical agenda are still prevalent here, meaning it’s still the same Sleater-Kinney beneath all the gloss. In retrospect, this one will go down as good in hindsight as Liz Phair’s self-titled or Rilo Kiley’s Under the Blacklights.

Thom Yorke - AMINA [XL Recordings]

Outside of his work with Radiohead, Thom Yorke has presented his solo work in various formations over the years, be it under his own guise, extended in collaboration as Atoms for Peace, or scoring films with longtime Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich. AMINA circles back to being a Thom Yorke solo effort (his third proper overall) and with an understated futurism to its electronic chemistry, it’s his best material beyond that which exists within the Radiohead universe. The sum all of Yorke’s solo exploration predecessors meet their peaks here, with Yorke refining the cosmic deliverance of them into dream sequence ruminations on technological claustrophobia and existential inquiry. The alien beats, wriggling synth outlines, white noise hums, and Yorke’s faint vocals falling into the abyss come through here visibly, and with ANIMA, there is no mistaking where this static is coming from.

Uniform & The Body - Everything That Dies Someday Comes Back [Sacred Bones Records]

Brooklyn industrial complex Uniform and noise scene outliers the Body got together to great effect on last year’s Mental Wounds Not Healing with the clash of heavy and sludgy carnage was a relentless burial of weight. On the bands’ second collaboration Everything That Dies Someday Comes Back, they each remain fixated on loudly projecting their collective avant chaos into the soundboard. This time around, however, Uniform’s brutal static burn is filtered through the experimental electronic currents of the Body through blown-out bass beats and cinematic samples that deliver both an enveloping rhythm and ominous guiding hand further into their darkness from start to finish. As Uniform frontman Michael Berdan’s screams are pursued in close proximity by Chip King of the Body’s skinned-alive screams, Everything That Dies Someday Comes Back plays out like a horror film where death is an unstoppable force, and Uniform and the Body put their faces on it.

Vivian Girls - Memory [Polyvinyl Records]

Eight years apart, and the seminal, swirling rush of noise-pop rush from Vivian Girls has not come back sounding just as on the surface level as it did prior to their hiatus, but has cemented the trio of Cassie Ramone, Katy Goodman and Aly Koehler’s space in the modern indie rock canon as being a truly unique force ahead of their time that maybe we as a collective music community didn’t appreciate enough when their shooting stardust passed by us the first time. Memory isn’t just concerned with reclaiming a spot for their own through the band’s crudely produced, sometimes-sinister, and always darkening bleeds of romance at its best and worst, though. The world which Vivian Girls exists in now needs them more than ever, and they use these fleeting moment to regroup in top fashion not just for themselves, but for all women who may have seen their ingenuity taken for granted in a past life.

[yeoldontknow]

Unforgiven (M)

Author’s Note: listen. i’ve listened to sweet lies about 166 times today (or however many times you can fit 3:45 into fifteen hours, jfc). this fic exists because i woke up at 6 in the morning and promptly died over it Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: The guilt that comes from cheating on your husband with his best friend is heavy and complicated. It means you lie to a lot of people - including yourself. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; angst; infidelity Word Count: 6,645

Guilt is a heavy, twisted thing. In your mouth it tastes sour, in your chest it burns, and in your bones it settles. Most people reject it, want it gone from them the moment they feel it linger in their bloodstream and turn their words to slow syllables of malcontent. No one is supposed to relish it or want it, no one is supposed to savor it or claim it as their own.

But you do. You do.

You rather think guilt defines you and, after all this time of feeling pregnant with it, you can't imagine yourself without it. Guilt, you think, reminds you that you are alive, that you still feel, and have the capacity for kindness. If you didn't feel this way or this intensely, you think you would become something inhuman. Or, possibly more accurate, something inhumane.

It's important you remind yourself you love him. You love him in a way that sex or lust or skin or sweat cannot replace. It’s the kind of love that takes work, takes compromise - loving as a choice to weather a storm instead of love as something easy or fragile. You love him in a way that feels like it will last, but then, even this truth you find yourself doubting.

If you loved him, you would not crave someone else’s touch.

If you loved him, you would never have wandered into guilt’s uncharted waters so recklessly.

If you loved him, you would never have strayed at all.

You regret the seating arrangement the moment you sit down, sliding into the booth with a racing heart as you settle next to him. Dinners with large groups are always disorganized chaos, you think, everyone too polite and timid to take the first seat, glancing around for who they really want to sit near. Eventually, someone makes a move, bold and brash and frustrated with hesitations, and you all rush to get close, frantic in a discordant version of musical chairs. You always feel like this and, usually, you can laugh it off. Usually, you find this sort of cacophony charming in its amicable mess. But tonight of all nights, you are beside him, thighs sticking to the leather booth and body already starting to flush from the closeness.

Your husband sits across from you, laughing and smiling and beautiful, perfect in all the ways you beg yourself to hold on to. Forcing a serene smile on your lips, you regard him, eyes watching without actually seeing. Slowly, you mouth the words happy birthday, shaping the phrase without actually saying it. Simple, romantic, endearing - you know that's how it looks. In his eyes, you are doting and adoring, a loving wife he gets to call his.

For you, it is hard to focus on him, hard to see him, and hard to want him when Chanyeol is beside you. So close to you, he is radiating into the side of your body through the smooth satin of your dress and arresting your senses completely. Keeping your eyes straight ahead, you try to imagine it’s your husband that makes your skin feel so tight, makes your thighs clench and your mouth water. But then, you've never been good at lying, especially when every shift in the air puts Chanyeol’s cologne in your mouth.

For him, you are salivating, mouth wet and tongue heavy. For you, he is pining, eyeing you with a pout and a blush on his cheeks you know to be a sign of all his impure thoughts. You know he is imaging you spread eagled on the table, mouth at your clit and fingers inside you; you know he is imagining you straddling him, riding him with ease as you scratch the nape of his neck raw.

You know he is imagining these things because you are picturing the same.

Tonight, he is dressed in your favourite blazer and trousers - purposeful, you know, worn simply to get a rise out of you and to distract you. He wants all your attention on him, you can feel it in the way he presses himself against the back of the seat, forming a dent in the cushion that sends your shoulder sliding into his. He wants all your attention on him, you can feel it in the way he laughs, hard and jovial, as though he does not want you at all, and making the booth vibrate from the force of it. Chanyeol is making sure he is all around you, making sure you cannot escape him.

He ensures these things as though he has to, as though he needs to, but, most appalling of all, you know you couldn't escape him if you tried. You do not want to.

Hours into the evening, your husband sits across from you, and beside you his best friend lets a hand fall into your lap beneath the table. A waiter passes, dropping a dessert menu on the table, and you clutch it like a cross, peering around the restaurant to make sure no one can see the placement of his fingers. Around you, your friends laugh and joke, tell stories of your past, your college years, but next to you, Chanyeol his teasing.

Subconsciously, you lick your lips and press your hips deeper into the booth as your knees part, welcoming him even though you know you shouldn't. This separation of skin is just enough for Chanyeol to let his digits roam along the soft expanse of your inner thigh, stroking, luring, and coaxing you into a state of palpable desire.

Languidly, his touch works its way up to the line of your underwear, making your breath catch with each new caress of his deft fingers. You tighten your grip on the menu, minutely pushing your hips forward to lean into his fingertips, desperate for more and needing less at the same time.

Chanyeol bends slightly, bringing his mouth close to your ear and smiling as though whatever he wants to say will be harmless, completely innocent and pure. On instinct, you shift closer, pulled into his orbit like the lonely satellite you are.

‘Don't let anyone see,’ he murmurs, hot breath warming the tendons of your neck and making you release a clandestine sigh.

Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself enough to speak. ‘The cheesecake,’ you say softly, hoping it appears as though he wants to know what to order, but you know he hears the weak tremble in your voice.

‘I can feel you getting wet,’ he breathes and, this time, his lips graze the shell of your ear as he speaks. Sparks work their way down our spine, the feeling of his words electrifying, and igniting within you a yearning you can taste even on your teeth. ‘My favourite part.’

The low intonation of his voice, the teasing touch of his hand, these things make your eyelids flutter, your chest tense with need. For years, now, you've known that Chanyeol is the vessel that controls your blood - body and soul existing under his command. One word from him and you are a keening, wonton thing, anxious to have more of him and desperate to drink him dry. For years, you have known this, but it never fails to catch you off guard.

Sensing your reaction, he cups your center with the flat of his palm and presses, watching the way you lift your chest, presenting your breasts to him on instinct. A moan threatens to spill out and over from your mouth, bursting in the center of your throat, and you swallow it down with a nervous frown. Your hand goes to Chanyeol’s lap, neither to tease nor to play, but to hold on tightly, digging your nails into his trousers and into his skin just to stop yourself from evaporating.

‘Are you feeling okay?’

Your husband’s voice breaks through the thick atmosphere, sending Chanyeol’s hand careening away from your wetness and back into his lap. Swallowing heavily, grimacing as though you have just tasted acid, you stifle a whine at the loss of contact and consider lying.

It’s easier than you think it should be, letting falsehoods slip from your tongue and into his eager ears, if only because he trusts you implicitly. You could tell him you are fine, could sit for hours more having coffee with your friends and pretending to laugh like you care about the conversation happening around you. But, truthfully, you are not fine. You are not ill, yet you are sick with want, and you want to leave the tension of this world behind. Across the table, your husband looks at you with loving concern and worry, and you know you are lucky. He would do anything for you - if you asked for the world, he would bring you the sun.

And that, you think, is the problem. You don't want the world, or the sun, anymore. You want whole galaxies.

‘No, not really,’ you say, shaking your head and wrapping your arms around yourself to give the effect of a chill - even though you fear you may be burning alive. ‘I think I might head home.’

He nods gently, lifting his arm to call a waiter for the check. ‘Okay, let me pull the car around.’

‘No,’ you say quickly, eyes wide and tongue turning the word into a knife. ‘No,’ you repeat, softening your tone. ‘It’s your birthday. Don't miss your party just because of me.’

Leaning over the table, he brings himself close to your face and beams. ‘It's not a real party if you aren't with me,’ he whispers, before kissing your nose. Beside you, you can feel Chanyeol bristle at the tender action, displeasure cascading over soul, and he brings his hand to your knee, giving it a possessive squeeze.

‘I promise I'll be okay.’ You offer your husband a sweet smile, one you hope appears genuine, as you lean over to capture his lips in a chaste kiss.

Chanyeol’s voice cuts in, hard like iron and making your hands grip the table to steady yourself. ‘I can take her.’

Sitting back in your chair, you regard him cooly. He knows what he wants, he knows what you want. This grand exit the perfect opportunity for you to be alone - and you want it, oh how you want it, but you’re trying, for the first time in years, to be good. ‘Chanyeol, no -’

Frustratingly, it’s your husband who cuts off your protest ‘Are you sure?’ he asks, cocking an eyebrow at his friend.

‘Yeah,’ Chanyeol replies with a shrug. ‘I have an early start tomorrow anyway. I can get her home.’

So, too, does your husband shrug, both of them effectively removing you from the conversation as your mouth runs dry. ‘If you're sure.’

‘Positive.’

Something about the confines of his car makes everything feel amplified, more intense, as if the small space means your desire has nowhere to go. It presses on you, making your skin feel damp and your hips grind into the seat every time you hear him release a shallow breath. You know how it feels to have that breath tumble down your breasts, your stomach, and over your folds in a deluge. You know how he feels, and that makes you grip the sides of the leather seat just a little bit harder, makes you bite your lip, and your eyes glance over at him every few minutes to study his expression.

Chanyeol is just as tense, living inside his head and hardly sparing you a second glance. His hands hold the wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, thighs looking stiff and jaw clenched. Your eyes travel down his body, studying the strong muscles of his arms, accentuated by the expensive tailoring of his blazer, down his slim waist and to the long line of his legs.

‘I can feel your eyes on me,’ he announces, deep voice filled with gravel. ‘You’re making me hard.’

One look at his trousers and you can see the angle of his hardness lifting the fabric, his legs parted wide enough to accommodate his want. Your mouth waters at the sight, tongue swiping over your bottom lip and muscles clenching, already eager to take him inside you and hold him there.

‘Spread your legs,’ he demands, hand leaving the wheel to fist in the hem of your dress and pull it up, slowly, until your leg and panty line are exposed to him.

Immediately, you obey, spreading your legs as wide as they can go in the seat and filling the car with the scent of your arousal. His hand paints lazy figure eights on the supple flesh of your thigh, before languidly dragging his nails over to the inside and stroking up to the wetness at your center. At the first press of his fingers, you release a small whine, head pressing back into the seat.

‘You've already felt me,’ you protest, voice terribly small and eyes locked on the road through half-lidded eyes.

‘Yes,’ he agrees, ‘but that doesn't mean I ever want to stop. And now I want to taste you.’

Sliding your underwear to the side, he drags one finger along your slit to tease and collect the wetness he finds. A moan breaks out from your chest, loud and encumbered in the otherwise quiet car, and Chanyeol growls beside you.

‘Fuck, you’re so wet for me,’ he hums, happily.

‘I’m always wet for you,’ you mutter, because it’s true.

Bringing your eyes down, you look at his arm as he strokes you, sleeves rolled up and strong forearm muscle flexing with the effort of pleasuring you at such an odd angle. The sight of his strength makes you bite your lip, a broken whine tumbling from your lips, as you lift your chest slightly to arch your back off the seat. Chanyeol dips the long length of his middle finger into your folds, curling the digit and pumping it in and out of you in shallow thrusts before burying the finger to the knuckle.

‘Oh, my god,’ you gasp, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward.

Once more, he curls his finger, keeping it held inside you, and you shudder, the ache between your thighs and in your stomach rising, body hungry for something larger, something stronger. Chanyeol laughs at your reaction, low and needy and proud, and removes his finger in one smooth motion before bringing it to his mouth. He runs it along his lips, spreading your juices over the plump flesh, before sucking the finger into his mouth.

Briefly, he shuts his eyes as he hums, satisfied both with you and himself. It’s painfully slow, you think, the way he pulls the finger from his lips, how he hollows his cheeks to suck all of you off his skin, and, when he does, when the hand returns to the wheel, he smiles.

Impish, wicked, and beautiful, he smiles.

‘God,’ he exclaims, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and letting it get caught between his teeth before continuing, ‘your cunt is so fucking sweet.’

Bringing the car to a halt at a red light, he rounds on you, cupping your face between his large hands and presses your lips together. Instantly, you open for him, allowing his tongue in to take complete control of your mouth. Hands fisting in his shirt, you try to bring your bodies close, as close as you can get with seatbelts and a console in the way. Sucking on his bottom lip, you take it between your teeth, tugging lightly and pulling a moan from his chest as you lean back to let it go.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. ‘I'm so hard for you it hurts.’

Dropping one hand from the collar of his shirt to his lap, you let the heel of your palm rub slow circles over his hardness, and watch with a small grin as his eyes close and his lips part. He’s gasping, drowning on air, as you hurry your motions, his hands moving from your cheeks to your neck, body desperate to hold onto something solid.

In the distance, a car honks, startling you both out of this intense reverie, to alert you the light as changed. You part from each other then, bodies tingling and lips swollen, and Chanyeol continues driving, the rasp in his breath even more apparent.

When you push through the door to your house, the tension from the car has not dissipated, but the wide, open space gives you room to think, gives your thoughts room to roam without Chanyeol’s greedy fingers trying to stroke them. Standing in your kitchen, you look around at the life you have built with your husband, all the things you own that you picked out with him - the refrigerator, the oven, the granite countertop - and know that, while these things do not matter, it’s the act of choosing them and compromising for them that does. These things, materialistic as they are, are the things that make the words form in your mind and on your tongue.

You want to tell Chanyeol this has to end, that your husband deserves better than this - than both of you. It won’t be the first time you say them, they always seem to fall from your lips in a weak protest as he sucks on your neck, your breasts, your hip bones, and always his response is the same:

‘You said that the last time.’

You think tonight is different, it’s your husband’s birthday and instead you are at home, your home, with his best friend, the man who stood beside him at your wedding, and you think tonight you can be different.

Tonight, you feel you could be strong. Tonight, you could be righteous.

But then, you feel him come behind you, hands sliding over your hips to rest on the flat of your stomach as he presses himself close to your back. Like this, held so closely in his arms, you recline against his shoulder and he drags one hand up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, to cup your throat. Bringing his mouth down to press wet kisses along the tendon of your neck, you drape one arm back to fondle the hair at the nape of his neck, and luxuriate in the wholeness of him. For a moment, you sway, staying like this and letting your body capsize in the feel of him.

With a heavy breath, he drags his open mouth to your ear, panting as he grinds his hard cock into the curve of your ass. Lapping at your lips, you press back, seeking more contact, and are rewarded with a deep chuckle that dances along your skin. Quickly, though, this fades, and you can feel him become serious, his hold on you suddenly firm and tight, encasing you and caging you in his arms.

‘I hate it when you kiss him,’ he groans, nipping at your earlobe before gliding his tongue down, and down, to the juncture of your shoulder and neck where he bites, hard. The pain of it makes you jut back against his member with a yelp, eliciting a sharp, pleasured hiss from Chanyeol against your skin before sucking the spot he just marred.

Teasingly, the hand at your throat moves upwards, skimming light touches along each new patch of skin, before tracing his fingertips along your lips and making you shiver violently. At this, you mewl into the open air, voice tiny and lost in a sea of arousal.

‘Why?’ you question in a gasp, letting the small word float into the air you press soft kisses to his fingers.

‘Because,’ he begins, grinding his member against your ass as he holds you firmly in place, ‘I've come in that mouth, and that mouth is mine.’

Licking your lips, you nod at nothing, at his statement, at the understanding that you are wholly lost in the sensation of his nearness, letting yourself get drunk and get honest. ‘God, I love it when you come in my mouth.’

‘I love kissing myself off your tongue,’ he mutters into your skin, gasping as he places wet kisses up your shoulder, your neck, and your jaw. The hand at your waist moves slowly down to the apex of your thighs, where he starts to rub slow circles against your clit above your clothes with deft fingers. ‘God, you're so fucking pretty,’ he praises, nipping at your jaw as you move against his hand. ‘Everything about you. I could kiss you, eat you out, for hours. I want to wear you on my lips for days, fuck.’

He turns you in his arms, eyes wild and mouth hungry, to press your lips together with fervor. Moaning into the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck and his hands fall to your zipper. For a moment he fondles the fabric of your dress before he latches onto the zipper and pulls it down, the cool night air greeting your back as the seam parts. Sucking on your lip, he pushes you away from his body gently, making you pout and whine at the loss of contact.

Chuckling, he steps back, and brings his hands to your shoulders, light and tender, grasping the sleeves of your dress to push them down your arms and sending it to your feet. Exposed to him now, he simply points beside you, silently telling you to step out of it, and you obey, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. A shiver runs through you, but you cannot tell if it is from desire, the kind that is gripping you so completely, or the cold of the room against your flushed skin.

In just your underwear, he looks at you, eyes roaming over your body and making sure you feel his gaze wherever he chooses to settle. Naturally, his chest leans forward slightly, his axis pulled towards you simply by the magnitude of his longing. For several minutes, he stares at you like this, dumbfounded and awestruck and brow furrowed in disbelief, like he cannot believe you are there and you are his for these short hours. You stand before him in just your underwear, and he worships you, and you, married and experienced and often feeling as though you are too old to feel special, have never felt more beautiful or more adored.

Unable to be apart from you any longer, Chanyeol rushes into you, mouth first and hands needy, as he kisses you again. Rounding his hands behind you, he cups your ass, lifting you as though you are weightless, and you wrap your legs around his waist with glee. Tilting your head back to take in air, he brings his lips to your collarbone as he walks you back to your bedroom. Your fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, and you feel a smile spread across his lips against your skin, his eyes remaining closed as his lashes tickle your collarbone. This is always how you love him most, boyish, innocent, and making you feel like a teenager, like you cannot imagine ever wanting someone more than this.

Kicking the door open with his foot, he pulls his mouth from your skin and regards you with a smile, eyes dancing with hidden laughter as he makes a few long strides and sets you gently on the bed. Pushing yourself back against the pillows, you watch as he slowly removes his jacket and his shirt. He’s easy to admire, the hard lines of his chest and muscles, the glow of his skin, as if he had swallowed the sun and it is burning within him, and, always, the smile that crosses his face as he undresses, shy, bashful, and so completely yours.  

Dropping a knee to the bed, his hands move to his belt, and this sends you rising off the bed with eager movements. Lifting yourself to settle on your knees, you reach for his belt to swipe his hands away.

‘I want to -’

‘No,’ he cuts you off, pressing a hand to your chest to ease you back down. ‘Let me worship you. Lay back at let me take care of you.’

Settling back against the bed, you study him quizzically. This request is intimate, quite unlike your normal encounters, but it makes you feel warm, like your blood has turned to honey, and so you don’t protest. Instead you let him drink your form in, let him look at you as though you are a work of art. You have the passing sensation of feeling vulnerable, like he’s looking at more than just your body, that perhaps he is looking at your soul.

As he undoes his trousers, Chanyeol looks at the mess of you, your lies, your love, your kind pieces, your cruel pieces, and makes it clear that wants them all. He looks at the mess of you and he craves it, slack jawed and face awash with pure adoration. It’s obvious now, in the way he watches your movements as though they are the key to his survival, that you are it for him. He makes you feel like a teenager, like you cannot love anyone more than him, because that is how he feels about you. For Chanyeol, there will never be anyone but you, and he wants you, all of you, any way he can have you, even if it means surrounding yourselves in a lie.

With his trousers removed, he takes your thighs and pulls you along the bed so that your feet fall off the end, lowering himself to rest between your legs. With the flat of his palms, he spreads your legs wide and looks up at you, smiling impishly through his lashes, and takes a large inhale of your arousal into his lungs.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers to himself, dazed and drunk on you alone.

The sight of him, slowly coming undone just by your smell and lips wet with want, makes your hands fist in the sheets, and this is when you think on them.

This morning, you fucked your husband in these sheets, on this bed, let him come inside you and you around him as the sun came up. Like this, spread open for Chanyeol on your back and turning your cheek into the pillow, you can almost smell him, can almost smell his sweat. You can almost smell your husband, but you taste Chanyeol in the air and feel Chanyeol along your body, his hot hands keeping your legs wide open, his mouth placing wet, open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs, and this is what grounds you in reality.

Now, you don't want you bed to smell like anything but the gasoline you and Chanyeol will smear all over the sheets with your bodies.

Just as before in the car, he traces one finger over your slit to collect the wetness pooled along your center. Again and again he does this, first with one finger and then with two. Slowly, he presses his fingers between your folds, parting them languidly as he dips the tip of his tongue in for a taste. A cry bursts through your lips, filling the quiet room with your pleasure, back arching at the small sensation of the tip of his tongue. He laughs, the sound vibrating into your pliant body, and lets his fingers slide into you until your skin meets his knuckles.

You feel all of him as he sets a steady rhythm, his mouth focusing attention on your clit as he laps at it in time with his fingers. In this pattern, he works his mouth against you, makes sweat build at your hairline and pulls cries from your lips, cries of his name, of expletives, making music out of the sound of your voice and your wet center. He hums against you, lets his deep baritone resonate inside and round you, rejoicing in the noise of your sex. Removing his mouth from your clit, he swaps positions, diving between your folds to drink his fill with his tongue while his hand teases your clit, pressing against the nub before rubbing it in languid circles.

Threading a hand through his hair, your orgasm builds in you without warning, dawning on you with the heat of the sun, and making your hips grind against his face for more, for all of him. Chanyeol stills, letting you thrust against his face and mouth, getting yourself off with his tongue, his nose, his lips, until you are rasping his name. When you’re close, he pulls back, eases your hand from his head with ardor, mouth glistening with your juices, and regards you seriously.

‘Tell me how you want to come,’ he demands, sliding his fingers into his mouth and shutting his eyes as he sucks them clean.

It takes you a long while for you to find your voice, partly because the throb at your core is unbearable and partly because he looks so debauched, so perfectly sinful that you think you could come just from the sight of him.

‘Gorgeous,’ he repeats, using the nickname he’s reserved for you and igniting a new fire in your veins, ‘tell me if this is how you want to come.’

‘Cock,’ you gasp, licking your lips and closing your eyes as you try to focus. ‘I want your cock.’

He doesn’t say anything as he rises to stand, hands sliding to the band of his briefs and sliding them down his bow legs, while you continue to pleasure yourself lightly, keeping yourself wet and ready for him. Naked before you, you release a sigh as you take him in, just as awed by the sight of him as he is you.

Nestling between your legs, he lowers himself against you, grinding his hips into yours as he captures your lips in a heated kiss. You feel his hand between your bodies, pumping himself as he guides his tip to your entrance, and you moan into his open mouth at the contact. Sliding into you with care, Chanyeol furrows his brow in concentration, trying not to bury himself inside you all at once as he gives you a few shallow thrusts. Taking his face in your hands, you sigh against into his mouth at the feeling of him slowly filling you, and he follows suit, whining gently as he braces his arms beside you so as not to crush you. Gathering his strength, he reaches behind your knees and wraps your legs high around his waist, securing them tightly as he looks at you with desire, eyes blown and dark. Then, he pulls back and pulls out, only to bury himself to the hilt in one smooth, deep thrust.

‘Fuck!’ you cry out, dropping your head into the pillow at the sudden fullness of him. ‘Oh God, Chanyeol.’

‘Christ,’ he grinds out, burying his face into your shoulder. ‘You’re so fucking tight, all the time.’

Connected, you remain this way, getting used to the sensation of each other, his size filling you completely and making you feel whole in ways you never have before. With ease, he stretches you, your body learning to accommodate him and every line, every sinew of his body, years ago. Now, taking him in feels like welcoming him home, feels like finding a piece of you that you did not know had been missing. Eventually, the burn of tension in your muscles demands that he moves, that you press your hips together to find release.

‘Move, Yeol,’ you choke out, winding your fingers through his hair and nuzzling your nose against his cheek. ‘You have to move.’

Chanyeol reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together as he drops it beside your head, and begins to thrust into you with purpose. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp; each snap of his hips into you makes him choke out a moan, and, like this, foreheads resting together and lips granting small kisses, he fucks into you, hard and slow and deep.

‘Shit, Gorgeous,’ he moans, running his free hand over your breast to tease your nipple, ‘you feel so good.’

‘I can feel all of you,’ you whine, as he executes a punishing thrust, hitting places inside you so rarely reached. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you finish with a hiss.

Dropping his head to your neck, he bites at your skin, whining slightly at the knowledge he cannot leave a mark. ‘Is that good, Gorgeous?’ he asks, thrusting harder and faster to make up for the lack of his bruises on your skin.

‘Yes,’ you nod, sweat stinging your eyes as you meet him thrust for thrust, skin starting to feel slick with need and want. ‘Yes.’

‘Is it better than him?’ he growls, bending to suck your nipple into his mouth, pulling it between his teeth and making you cry out in ecstasy. ‘Do I fuck you better? Fuck you right?’

‘Shit, yes,’ you keen, clenching your jaw as you take your hand and drop it to his shoulder blade, squeezing his palm tightly with your other. ‘Fuck, Chanyeol, yes.’

‘Perfect,’ he whispers, mostly to himself as he kisses your breast, sucks on the flesh, and strokes the line of your waist with care. ‘You’re Perfect.’

It’s hard to keep yourself focused, the smell and the feel of him all around you. At the restaurant, you could taste him in the air, his beauty then something arresting and something mystifying. Now, he lives above you, lives within you, and you are consumed by him. With his hips thrusting into you at a rapid pace, your legs start to shake and your eyes start to water, chest and soul burning with love for him. Above you, he his focused and transcendent, fully alive at the concept of fucking you, having you, keeping you.

Seeing him so devoted to this, so devoted to you, makes your heart feel as though it may break, that your bones may seek out knives to carve his name into the marrow, so that he will never be parted from you. Holding onto him a little tighter, you relish the feel of him moving within you, fucking you back together and you kiss the side of his neck before choking out a sob.

‘Chanyeol, I’m -’ you words break off, splintered and fractured by the beginning of your orgasm, returning to you now with force. Clenching your walls around him in time with his thrusts, you release your hand from his to clutch him tightly, holding onto him for fear of dissolving beneath him.

‘I know,’ he pants with a grown, running his nose lovingly along your neck, and the simple affection from this makes you quake against him. The hand at your waist slides between your bodies, his hips thrusting in and out of you in a rhythm that makes your body feel like it’s alive with fire, and his fingers find your clit to move against it in quick, rapid taps. ‘I can feel you’re close. You’re so tight on me, Gorgeous.’

‘Chanyeol,’ you moan, voice high pitched and tight, ‘please - I -’

‘Come for me, baby,’ he whispers against your skin, thrusting drilling into you as his hand starts to make sharp circles against your clit. ‘Just like that. Come for me. Come for only me.’

At his command, your body clenches around him, body tightening and coiling around his cock like a live wire as your back arches off the bed and into his chest. Your hands squeeze his shoulder blades, nails digging into his skin and lips parted in a silent scream as your breath catches in your lungs. The nerves in your body become raw, sensitive things, every touch and taste and sound heightened as your body starts to tremble, muscles relaxing and quaking around Chanyeol as your climax surges through you.

He increases the speed of his thrusts, slamming himself into you and your bed into the wall as he chases his high. Still trembling as you come down from your climax, you reach up to his face to brush the sweat and hair from his eyes. And then, he looks at you. Full, open, and filled with devotion, he looks at you.

‘I love you,’ he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a chaste kiss. ‘I’m so in love with you.’

Pressing his forehead into yours, he lets his lips graze against your skin, kissing whatever he can find before stopping altogether to cry out against you. Now, he isn’t fucking you, you realize. Chanyeol is making love to you, fucking himself into you so that you will carry him with you always, even if you leave him behind. Chanyeol is making love to you, holding you tight, panting into your open mouth, and asking you to swallow him whole.

And you do. You take all of him because you want all of him, the same way he wants you.

Soon, his arms begin to shake, body starting to quiver with the oncoming storm of his release. He holds himself back though, like always, waiting for you to tell him where and when. He holds himself back and shuts his eyes as though he is in pain, as if holding back how much he loves you makes him fear that he may die.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna - oh,’ he cries, words broken and torn apart by panted moans, hips becoming erratic and messy. ‘I’m gonna come, oh fuck, tell me where to come.’

You take him in like this, remaining silent as you shake from the aftershocks of your own orgasm. Like this, you fall into him, watch as he opens his eyes again and pleads with you, tells you that all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, was to love you freely.

‘Baby, please,’ he whines desperately, voice little more than a whimper. ‘I’m - I - shit, just tell me where to come.’

‘Inside me,’ you plead, words wavering with emotion, as you hold his face between your hands and let your eyes bore into his. ‘I want to feel you.’

Chanyeol comes inside you with a cry, something between a shout of euphoria and a broken, overwhelmed sob, and the whole time, the entire time he fills you with his warmth, he keeps his eyes open and looks at you.

Chanyeol looks at you as he comes, tells you he loves you as he comes, and when it’s over, he collapses against you and holds you close. For what feels like ages, he refuses you move, both of you trembling, stroking each other’s hair, and whispering soft words of reassurance to one another. Against you and into your neck, he gasps. Against his shoulder, you press soft kisses and clutch him tightly. For what feels like ages, you both fear separation with the totality of your hearts.

Eventually, he pulls himself out of you with a grunt, and settles beside you, pulling you to his chest to spoon you. In his arms, both of you panting and trying to catch your breath, you start to punish yourself. You punish yourself even though you know it really shouldn’t be fair, the idea that you need to be chastised for loving two people, for loving more than society thinks you should. Really, you think, people should only ever be punished for not loving enough.

‘You’ve never let me come inside you before,’ he whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Seeking your hand with his, he entwines your fingers and wraps his arm around your waist to cage you against him.

‘Yes,’ is all you can manage, voice tired and filled with the metallic tenor of remorse.

‘Does that mean you’re going to leave him?’ he asks, and the hope you hear in his tone crushes your heart, leaving you winded.

‘Yes,’ you repeat, ignoring the tears that have started roll down your cheeks.

Right now, it feels like it could be true.

Right now, it almost does not feel like a lie.