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mrsjellymunson · 3 months

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Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie helps you generate a new D&D character, but that’s not the only thing that gets started that day

WC: ~2.5k

C/W: 18+, MDNI! NSFW? Physical flirting and teasing, heavy petting, sort of in public (nobody notices). Smut-adjacent? Thigh riding. Swearing. Nothing overly explicit, but it does get heated. Eddie and reader are both over 18. Trope: oh no, there aren’t enough seats, where will you sit? No y/n, one pet name. No physical descriptions of reader other than she wears a skirt (of unspecified appearance).

A/N: Should I be working on parts for my outstanding series? Yes. Would this not leave me alone until I wrote it down? Also yes. I had fun creating a new character in a different RPG and I have no idea whether this is how D&D works, so if it’s not, let’s just pretend, okay? 😆 Text dividers by @strangergraphics Dice dividers by me 🫣☺️

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 🖤

My masterlist

Eddie can’t believe his luck. You’re pretty (gorgeous, actually), insanely intelligent and have, for some as yet indecipherable reason, decided that you want to play D&D. With a load of nerdy teens. And him.

You’ve joined in with a couple of short campaigns at school, seeming to enjoy them immensely and fitting in well with the group, bantering with the boys and bonding with Erica over your shared ‘take no shit’ attitudes. At first Eddie wasn't sure how that dynamic would work, but you slipped easily into letting the younger girl show you the ropes, and Erica is clearly enjoying having more female energy around.

Eddie knows that creating a new character is one of your favourite things to do. He’d never admit it, but it’s one of his favourite things to watch, too. He adores the sparkle in your eyes, your creative brain and how excited and animated you get when you come up with new ideas. Sometimes they’re sketchy, or even impossible, which he finds hugely endearing. He also loves how you’ll always check in with him, asking his advice and respecting his opinion.

This weekend he’s running a oneshot at his trailer for the younger members and you. New characters, novel plot, the works. The plan is to create new characters in the morning, and play the game in the afternoon.

This’ll be the first time you’ve been to his home, or seen him anywhere outside of school, and Eddie’s nervous as all fuck.

He couched it as ‘a good opportunity to develop a greater understanding of the game’, but he definitely has an ulterior motive for inviting you here.

So far, he’s taken every opportunity he can to make you laugh, sit near you, even touch you. Creating scenarios where a subtle hug, or even a playful tickle is somehow appropriate. He covers it quickly by immediately doing it to someone else, hoping you won’t spot the bulge in his pants and the fact that he can’t stop looking at you.

He’s not sure for how long he can keep it up. He wants so much more, and it won’t be long before he either loses it, takes it too far, or, worst case scenario, you notice he’s being a total creep and ditch the group because of it.

He’s been trying to muster the balls to ask you out for weeks, practicing lines and imagining scenarios, but he’s found it more difficult to plan than even the most complex of his campaigns.

And although it’s unlikely given the crowd of nerds that’ll be around, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to be in your company. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d manage to get you somewhat alone and do it today.

He’s tidied up the trailer as subtly as he can, doing all the dishes and straightening Wayne’s caps, hoping the others won’t notice and ask him awkward questions. But he’s jittery and anxious, terrified that you’ll take one look at where and how he lives and decide you want nothing more to do with him…

Eddie has no idea that you’re just as nervous as he is.

You’ve enjoyed the Hellfire campaigns so far, but haven’t really managed to get all that close to the Dungeon Master, much to your chagrin. Sure, the game is enormous fun and you love all the members and how welcoming they’ve been. But the DM? Holy hell, he’s hot as sin, and being able to spend time around the larger-than-life metal-lover only adds to your enjoyment of the sessions. But you can’t imagine it’ll ever go any further than that. You doubt that a geeky D&D novice who he’s hardly spoken to is his idea of the perfect girlfriend…

But god, the physical touches? Christ. It’s as much as you can do to hold it together. You’ve shared a few celebratory hugs, and he’s even tickled you a couple of times, all of which you’ve enjoyed far more than you’d let on, and filed away in your memory for retrieval when you’re alone at night in your bed. But you know that he’s like this with everyone, and are under no illusions that you’re special. So you relish each and every contact, wishing there could be more.

What if he looks at you for too long with those gorgeous, huge, chocolate-brown eyes? And what if you forget how to speak? It’s already happened an embarrassing amount of times, but you’ve managed to pass it off as being stumped because you’re a beginner. You don’t know for how much longer that excuse is gonna fly.

And, if all that wasn’t already enough to send your anxiety levels skyrocketing, you’re also acutely aware that you haven't spent time with any of the group outside of school as yet. You’re worried that you’re going to ruin their social dynamic, or mess up the game. Or embarrass yourself with no easy way to exit, having to wallow in your shame until the mums come back later to pick you all up. Your spiralling makes you realise that although it was really kind of Mrs Wheeler to offer you a lift, you’re now really wishing you’d brought your own car…

All kinds of anxious thoughts are running through your mind, from what if your ideas are stupid, to what if everyone (okay, specifically Eddie) dislikes the cookies you’ve baked??

Neither of you should’ve worried.

As you enter his trailer, Eddie seems a little flustered, running a ringed hand through his gorgeous chestnut waves and unnecessarily straightening a pile of magazines on the coffee table. He smooths down his (new) black tee (that he totally didn’t buy especially for this occasion), and you pay it no mind, assuming he’s just always like this with visitors, and is excited for the campaign.

You barely glance around Eddie’s home, smiling softly at the trinkets you spot, and offering to help plate up the snacks in the kitchen area. You don’t look uncomfortable, and you certainly don’t pass judgment. Eddie eyes you as indirectly as he can, noticing the unusual skirt you’ve got on (that you totally totally didn’t choose specifically for today). He likes it.

Just like at school, you slot easily into the melee of pencils, paper, dice and snacks. Everyone loves your home baked cookies, including Eddie, and Erica even badgers you for the recipe.

Eddie thinks you couldn’t be any more perfect.

You think this isn’t so bad after all, and relax a little.

The morning’s character building is going well, the fact that it’s a oneshot not diminishing anyone’s efforts or attention to detail.

You still haven’t quite got the hang of the dice and numbers parts, always asking for Eddie’s help with that. His help, not any of the others, he muses with a certain amount of pride and delight. (Selfishly, part of him secretly hopes you never get the hang of it, and will always need to seek his input.)

With you now added to the group, there aren’t enough seats at Eddie’s modest dining table. Nobody notices. Initially Dustin and Will are deep in a discussion on Eddie’s battered sofa, and Mike and Lucas are rifling through the fridge, both at that ‘hollow legs’ stage of teen development and constantly ravenous.

Your character’s almost done, and you just want to clarify a few things, so you ask across the table,

“Eddie? Can I bring this over for you to check please?”

He waves you over, putting on a fake English accent and saying,

“Of course you may, my dear. You know I’m always happy to assist my flock.”

You chuckle lightly at his endearing foolishness as you get up from your place next to Erica, taking your character sheet over to Eddie for his perusal. Behind you, the younger players all convene at the table to share their progress, and all the seats become filled.

With no free spots near him, and assuming you won’t be here for long, Eddie pats his leg absentmindedly and says, “Sit here, lemme see.”

You end up on his lap, facing sideways at ninety degrees.

You initially turn towards him and bring your sheet between you, but there’s not enough room for him to properly examine it, so you turn the other way and lay it on the table in front of him, turning so your back is to him, your legs straddling one of his knees. He leans forward and begins to check it over, confirming some details and asking for more particulars on others.

Eddie’s been admiring your enthusiasm and level of engagement all morning, and he’s impressed by the depth of information you’ve already managed to accumulate.

You’re absorbed with your new character, getting excited and gesticulating wildly. Ideas bounce easily between you and Eddie, his face smiling softly and his dimples popping as he gets to see you like this.

It doesn’t escape him, however, that you’re also bouncing on… him. He flushes a little, and hopes you don’t perceive it.

As you gesture at a particularly thorny issue on your paper, it dawns on Eddie exactly what parts of you are in contact with him, albeit through multiple layers of fabric. The softness of your thighs and the heat from your core against his leg fully absorb him for a moment, and he has to ask you to repeat yourself. You don’t seem to mind, assuming it was the general clamour in the room that meant he couldn’t hear you. That same clamour covers the sound of him awkwardly clearing his throat and gulping loudly.

It occurs to him that he’s never experienced anything… like this. Occasional hookups in the woods or after gigs at The Hideout are great and everything, but he’s never before felt like he has a literal, real-life angel sitting on his lap.

And you? You are slowly realising how nice Eddie’s lap feels beneath you. It’s warm and solid, and the denim of his dark jeans feels pleasantly rough on the skin of your legs where your skirt’s ridden up. There’s a pressure against your most intimate areas that’s generating a warm feeling of pleasure in your core. You’re trying to concentrate, but it’s not easy.

It takes a few more moments for you to catch up to where Eddie is, and you register that you’re essentially riding Eddie’s thigh each time you move.

Your lips roll inwards and you swallow deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to compose yourself. It doesn’t help, and only serves to focus your attention even more fully on the delicious sensations beneath your legs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to your Dungeon Master, and for the longest time. And you can’t help how flustered it’s making you.

Embarrassed, you cough and go to stand, but quickly see that there’s nowhere for you to go. Eddie scans the room and notices your predicament, and, in a broken voice that’s almost unbearably soft, tells you, “It’s okay, Princess. You can stay here.”

Fuck. A pet name? You enjoyed that, perhaps a little too much. If you were being rational you could put it down to Eddie referencing your new character, who happens to be an aristocratic mage. But right now? Right now, you’re not feeling particularly rational.

You slowly sit back down, but as you do so Eddie shifts his position, causing you to spread your knees a bit wider than they were and land further up his leg, giving you even more contact with his thigh. You hope he didn’t hear the broken little hum that escaped you.

Eddie leans forward and in a voice that’s far too quiet, and far too close to your ear, he asks, “Are you… okay?”

You can barely breathe, and all you can manage in response is a tiny, squeaked, “Mhm.”

Behind you, Eddie takes a stuttering breath in, letting it out slowly before he resumes discussions with everyone else at the table.

You each become more unfettered as the morning progresses. Further not-so-accidental encounters only serve to increase the tension between you both.

At one point, you lean forwards over the table to get one of the manuals, lifting your butt from his leg. For a moment you hope there won’t be a visible wet patch on your skirt, or on his jeans. But then you wonder whether it would actually be so terrible if there was, and whether it would actually be so terrible if Eddie saw…

Eddie saw. He hums slightly, but it sounds more like a whimper, and he attempts to cover it by clearing his throat for the umpteenth time today.

He wonders whether you’re doing this on purpose, whether you have any idea what you’re doing to him.

As you settle back onto his thigh, one of Eddie’s hands travels to your hip, holding it lightly, just resting it there. A fire travels up that entire side of your body.

You wonder whether he’s doing this on purpose, whether he has any idea what he’s doing to you.

He leans forward to reach for something on the table, and this time brushes his chest against your back for far longer than is necessary. You feel his breathing against your neck speeding up, hot gasps coming from between his lips instead of controlled outbreaths through his nose.

You reach for a die, and as you sit back you half-intentionally push your core down onto Eddie’s leg just a little bit harder. God, he feels so good. And so what if you’ve moved backwards slightly, so your thigh is even further between his legs, and your butt nudges his crotch?

You definitely feel something hard pressing against your ass. The grip on your hip tightens, and Eddie dips his head forward to hide his face and stifle a moan. Christ.

You think you hear him mumble a quiet and stilted, “Sh-it.”

Eddie can barely contain himself, this morning not going at all how he could’ve even dreamed. He had no idea whether you even liked him, and was planning to sound you out and maybe manage to ask if you wanted to do something cheesy like grab milkshakes sometime.

Having you hot and wet on his lap wasn’t even on the edges of the outside of the periphery of his radar. He’s really trying to keep it together, but he’s barely maintaining a grip on his actions.

Attempting to focus, he leans forward again to explain a character point. You turn your head and look into his eyes attentively, whilst simultaneously rocking your hips ever so subtly and chewing on the inside of your bottom lip.

All at once, something shifts. Something big.

Eddie holds your gaze for way too long. Or maybe you hold his.

Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore, as you both silently acknowledge that there’s way more going on here than simple D&D advice.

Simultaneously, you both come to realise that your affections are most definitely reciprocated.

Shit, he likes me.

Fuck, she likes me back.

And then, as your eyes are locked and he sees your pupils blow wide, Eddie loses that tenuous grip.

Suddenly, both of his hands come to your hips, and he presses his forehead against one of your shoulder blades. He grips you tightly and moves you back and forth against him, squeezing, pulling, pushing, dragging. He’s keeping his movements as tiny as possible so as not to rouse the attention of the group, but what he lacks in expansiveness he more than makes up for with strength and intensity.

You think this might genuinely be the most erotic thing you’ve ever done with your clothes on. You’re hot and wet, and you barely care that you’re in a room full of people, supposedly playing a nerdy game.

Eddie keeps moving you. One exquisite movement spreads your sopping folds in your underwear, and your mouth drops open in a gasp, hand gripping the edge of the rickety table. You try to disguise your movements by shoving the end of a pencil into your mouth and hunching over your paperwork.

Eddie totally notices, and stills you. His warm palms continue to press against your hips, his strong fingertips digging into your flesh. Instead of continuing the back and forth movements, he pulls you down as hard as he can onto his lap whilst outwardly retaining his composure, turning the garbled sounds coming from his throat into encouraging noises for the group.

The two of you can barely focus anymore. Eddie hasn’t let his hands travel anywhere above the tabletop, lest his actions be seen by the others, but if your expression is even half as flustered as Eddie’s is red, somebody is going to notice something. And soon.

You take a couple of deep, steadying breaths.

You’ve already completed your character, so you decide to do a faux check in with Eddie, asking, not entirely innocently,

“Eddie? Is there anything else you’d want me to… take off?”

Turning, you add, even less subtly,

“What should I do now, Master?”

Eddie’s face screws up and his jaw clenches, and you feel the rock of his hips as he bucks his hips up underneath you, pressing his hardness into your flesh and muffling a grunt into your shoulder.

His head snaps back up suddenly and his voice becomes clear and piercing, as he inhales quickly and declares to the room, waving a hand,

“Okay, lunchtime! Everybody out!! You guys need some fresh air and I need a break. I don’t wanna see you for at least an hour, and you’d better come back with pizza! Goddit?”

The teens comply, bustling out the door, a few of them eye-rolling and grumbling something about how this is almost like being at home with their parents.

They’re still leaving as Eddie moves his face so close to you that you can feel his breath in your hairline, and his soft, pink lips tickle the edge of your ear.

In a low, velvety voice, he murmurs, in a tone that’s somehow both challenging and pleading,

“Please Princess, turn around and say that to my face...”

You smirk, and reach behind you to pick up a D12.

With all the sultriness you can muster, you raise your eyebrows and indicate for him to take it. He opens his hand, and you place it down, the tips of your fingers lightly skimming the hot, damp skin of his palm.

Looking into his eyes again, you’re relieved to discover that your power of speech remains entirely intact, as you murmur, with more confidence than you thought you possessed,

“Okay, Master. How about this? You roll, and the result is how many kisses you have to give me...”

Eddie swallows and almost chokes, sitting up straight and gently lobbing the die across the mess of paper and writing implements. His chocolate eyes don’t leave yours as it rolls and comes to a stop in the centre crease of one of his manuals. He struggles with the internal conflict of never wanting to break your gaze and a deep desire to check the number.

He has no idea where the rest of today, let alone this, is going, and he’s grateful he has at least the next hour in which to find out. But he does know one thing:

He’s never been so desperate to roll a 12 in his entire fucking life.

Thanks so much for reading!

(This might become part of an anthology of D&D-related adventures - let me know if you’d like to see more!)

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this, it’s honestly like throwing breadcrumbs and roses for your writers 😃🥰

My masterlist

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 😃

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @wonderlanddreamer

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speakergame · 7 months

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Progress Update - 3/4/24

Hello and happy March!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 😅 Well, I finally have some good news for you this time: I have some actual news!

I'm happy to be able to announce at last that an update is on its way! I’ve still got some assets to make and code cleanup and testing to finish, but I should finally have something to show you soon.

I’ll put a cut at the end of this and go into more detail about the what and why of what I’ve been working on during this long and unintended hiatus, but the tl;dr is that I hope to have an update out by the end of the month, and that said update will break any saves made in Chapter 4. Unfortunate, but unavoidable, since Chapter 4 had to be recoded from the beginning 😞

I just want to thank all of you once again for sticking with me through my extended silence! Especially to my patrons who’ve put up with me putting everything on pause month after month while I dealt with my real life shit, and to everyone who’s sent me kind and supportive messages to let me know Speaker hasn’t been forgotten. It really means a lot to me.

Okay, enough of that sappy shit! I’m gonna get back to work finishing this up 😁 I’ll put out another update later this month once I have a more definite release date.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you’re having a fantastic 2024 so far, and that the rest of the week treats you kindly. See y’all soon! 💙💙💙

(For those who want a more detailed breakdown on what’s been happening and what to expect, hit the readmore)

I won’t go into the personal life stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year that has slowed down my work, but as far as the actual game goes:

To put it simply, I just wasn’t happy with it. Some of it could be because of how many times I had to reread the same section while I was coding the scenes that would’ve taken place after the last update, but no matter how much I edited or rearranged it, I didn’t like how that scene turned out. There was something… formulaic that had been happening with the way I always laid out scenes, and a bit of stagnation in the story, character, and relationship development that bothered me.

So I rewrote it. And when I still didn’t like it, I rewrote it again. And I still didn’t like it. I thought about scrapping the whole thing on more than one occasion as I struggled to get out of the corner I’d written myself into.

Inspiration finally struck at the beginning of this year, thanks in part to another interactive novel I follow, and I really like the direction I’ve taken it now.

Instead of the RO split scenes happening where the last one left off, Speaker, Seer, and Gavin are gonna have a chat about Things™ to move the next story arc forward. Then Speaker will get some downtime, by themself at first and then in an extended scene split with the RO of their choosing.

All the Big Plot Things that were going to happen in Chapter 4 will be moved to Chapter 5 instead, and 4 will be a bit more of a filler episode. A deep breath before the plunge, as it were.

This split won’t just be a quick conversation/reaction from the RO, but a full on different direction for the rest of the chapter based on who you choose. Most of them will involve leaving the house; all of them will involve actual one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, as the case may be) away from the others. And though romance isn’t required, all of them will have the potential to really move the romance forward if you so choose. One or two might even have a lock-in choice (maybe. I’m not 100 percent on that, so don’t hold me to it)

These scenes won’t be in the next update, because they’re all very complex, but the update will definitely have the Seer chat and at least some of the by-yourself stuff. The update after will have the rest of the alone time stuff (including the clothes/body CC you’ve all been waiting for), and then the one after will start the RO scenes. I think.

I may actually split the RO scenes into separate updates, and let my darlings over at Patreon vote for the order they’re released. That way I can focus on one at a time instead of trying to split my attention six ways at once.

Okay, that’s enough rambling for me today. Time to get back to work! Still got a lot to get done before this is ready, but it’s so close now.

#speaker game #progress update #so happy to finally have some progress to update about XD #maybe I can finally start answering some asks again too and fully resurrect this poor blog

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ryndicate · 1 year

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Seal It With a Kiss ⨳ Kishibe

"You want me to do this for you? Then tell me exactly what it is that you want."

notes: I came up with this idea for @akiniku back in like september when i was just beginning to sniff around the csm fandom for a favorite. Dom told me all about him and i fell in love and came up with this plot and *then* I read csm lol. 6+ months later, here we are T-T thanks to @cyancherub for reading through his characterization for me and for my past and future beta readers<3 (i know some of you havent gotten the chance i was just too excited) Idon’t know if i will ever be able to put as much love into a Kishibe fic ever again so lets try to appreciate this

warnings: female reader, longer than a drabble, alcohol, virginity loss + inexperienced reader, creampie, emotional manipulation, coercion but there's consent, age gap (like 30 years between them, fight me), trainee/mentor relationship, twisted savior complex, canonverse, piss (more about control than it is the kink)

Rules/BYF/DNI

Kishibe sighs. “That’s it for today.”

“Already?” You puff, sweat dripping down your temples, your blade lowering until the tip is pointing to the ground. “I could keep going.”

He sighs again, resisting the urge to rub the approaching headache from his temple. Kishibe will never understand the PSDH’s insistence of sending him all of their potentials. Their screening is usually decent enough to keep this type of student from beneath his weathered wings, but every now and then one will slip through. One like you. Earnest, hopeful, and far too willing to do the job. This ain’t the place for you, never will be. They set you loose on the streets and you’ll be some Devil’s next meal.

But it’s not his place to care. Not supposed to be at least. Makima won’t even tell him which Devils you have contracts with—but again, he doesn't care.

Kishibe ignores your mumbled complaints about cutting your training short, sighing under his breath. “Gonna need’a drink after this.”

He’s unprepared for you to pop up at his side, tilting your head as you ask if you can come with him.

“Why?”

The question seems to put you off. “Isn’t it good manners to take your juniors out after a hard day?”

Kishibe huffs at your coy tone, certain you’re just after a free meal. “That’s for juniors who’ve proven they earned it.”

That seems to put you off even more. “You don’t think I’ve earned it?”

“No.” His answer is short, clipped. Dark eyes watch intently as you deflate a little, that perpetually cheerful expression drooping into something he ultimately decides is an unsettling expression on a face like yours. He doesn’t care for it, unable to decide why.

“How’s this?” He grunts, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting up. “I’ll give ya a week.”

“A week for what? You're not supposed to smoke inside, you know.” A sulky tone meets Kishibe’s ears, your eyes tracking his lips and the flare of the cherry as he inhales.

He ignores the snipe. “You get close enough to me to take one of these away—” a twitch of his fingers has flaky ash fluttering to the linoleum, “—and I’ll take you out for drinks. That’s how you earn it.”

The sparkle is back in your eyes in an instant. Your sword tips back into its sheath, coming up on his left to give him a smile. "You got it, sir! You'll never smoke again. Just watch."

Kishibe rolls a shoulder, suppressing a groan at your chipper attitude. I'm getting too old for this shit. "We'll see about that, sweetheart."

He's ignorant to the way the words make you pause, moving for the door, ready to get in his car and drive to his regular dive bar. He needs the silence of the drive before he drowns himself for the night. Well, not so much silence as the rattling heating unit, the rush of passing cars, and music so quiet one might question why it’s even on. It’s simply the beginning step of the ritual he’s come to find most comforting, or numbing, on this job.

"See you tomorrow, sir?"

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even bother glancing back as the door closes behind him.

The autumn air clears his head a little as he finally escapes the hallways of the office. A cold breeze whips at his hair, bringing old scars and memories to mind as it bites at his skin. Kishibe takes a final drag of his cigarette and lets it fall to the pavement. He doesn’t stub it out, pulling out the collar of his jacket to fight the chill as he disappears into the evening crowd.

“That is not how this works.”

“There’s no way this doesn’t count!”

“Give them back.”

“I said you’d never smoke again, didn’t I? I didn’t think you of all people would want me to go back on my word.”

Kishibe takes a careful inhale through his nose, closing his eyes for a beat and convincing himself he won’t kill any of his trainees. He’s sent you to infirmiry more times than he cares to count with these training sessions, to bring home the apparently wavering point on your young dumb invicibility complex, but he knows where the line is. So when he opens them, Kishibe fixes you with the same intent stare that usually gets his subordinates to straighten up, or clingy women out of his apartment. Dark, unimpressed, unwavering.

You are painfully undeterred.

“I had to get close enough to take them from you. That’s what you said.” You stand in front of him, at a regrettably smart distance, looking mighty proud of yourself as you clutch the worn white box carefully in your fist. After five straight days of utter and total defeat, you’d made your move on the car ride over this morning instead.

“I said one, not the pack,” Kishibe drawls. “And you know damn well that ain’t the point here. Nickin' them from the car is not the same.”

You shrug, a familiar petulance beginning to saturate your tone. “Not my fault you weren’t paying attention. You said that kills people.”

Unprepared for the—still a smartass answer but—wisdom of your words, some of the intensity dissolves from his eyes. As if he really needed that reminder. He still has his doubts.

“No arguing that,” Kishibe sighs, scratching his neck. “Guess you get what you wanted. Drinks on me tonight.”

A triumphant smile brightens your face, but it doesn’t last. The barest moment later you find yourself flat on your back on the training facility’s floor, groaning at the impact.

Kishibe flicks his lighter, sparking his cigarette and taking a grateful inhale of sweet nicotine as he stands over you, impassive.

“But I’m still gonna make you earn it, sweetheart. Getting overconfident and lettin’ down your guard also kills people. Get up and block me next time.”

“Yes, sir."

He might have been harsher on you today than entirely warranted as he watches you wince and shift, trying to get comfortable in the weathered booth of his usual bar. But really, to go any easier on you would do you a disservice if you really are this hellbent on working in public safety. Part of Kishibe is hoping one training session—and soon—he’ll find your limit and you’ll realize you aren’t making the cut. At the very least he’d like you to settle for the civilian sector. Hell, Kishibe despises paperwork but he'd write your damn recommendation.

You’re peering around the dimly lit space. It's hazy with smoke, with a scent to match. He probably could have taken you somewhere nicer, but he really didn’t want to stray too far from his own comfort zone, so what the hell. This was your own idea anyways.

“Are you even old enough to be in here?” Kishibe asks suddenly, catching the eye of the bartender and tipping his head.

“I came of age a couple months ago.”

Kishibe cringes inwardly at your prideful tone. Fucking great. He eyes you as the bartender begins to edge out from behind the counter, watching as you glance around a little frantically for a menu. Shoddy place like this doesn’t really have one.

Kishibe gestures between the two of you before the man has to cross the bar completely. “My usual. Double for me.”

"What's your usual?" You ask curiously.

"Whiskey. Nothing fancy, just cheap and strong."

"Oh."

The glasses are placed in front of you and you give what Kishibe sees as an awkward smile at the bartender as your fingers wrap around the glass. He takes a grateful gulp, unable to help but notice you haven't made a move with your own.

"Not to your taste?"

"I don't know," you answer plainly, tilting the short glass and letting the amber liquid catch the light. "Never had it."

"Never had whiskey?" Kishibe hums, bored, taking another drink. The double is going fast. The familiar warmth has already settled in his chest, an old comfort.

"Never had alcohol."

Sucker punched with that information, Kishibe pauses and swallows the last of his glass before setting it down and signaling for a refill. He's far too practised to waste a drop of a drink he's paying for.

"Why are we here?" It's a shrewd question, a shrewd tone. "If you've never had alcohol, why were you so insistent on going out for drinks? Isn't that something you do with your friends?"

Your fingers tighten on the glass, a small pout forming on your lips. "Didn’t wanna do this with friends. Wanted my first drink to be with you, s-sir." Embarrassment coats your features as your words stumble off at the end, and you return to examining your still untouched drink.

Kishibe's refill arrives, another heaven sent double. He's getting the faint inkling that something else is happening here and he's far too tired to pick the answers out of you.

"Lemme get this straight," he drawls, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at you over the rim of his glass before bringing it to his lips. "You wanted your first drink out with a tired old man instead of your friends?"

"You're not tired!"

Your tone is scandalized, pitch rising high enough that it catches the attention of some other men seated nearby. The last thing he needs.

Kishibe scoffs, scar twitching as he fights a sardonic smirk. "Beg to differ sweetheart."

"You're not, you…you're—" your volume is back to normal, seemingly struggling with your words, and it's amusing if not slightly endearing.

"Lemme know when you think of something, I'll be here," Kishibe mumbles, drinking again, content to watch you squirm. "You gonna take that first drink? You got me here, like you wanted. Might as well."

That small smirk finally fights its way onto his lips as you give him the barest of glares. He usually doesn't see that look on you until you've gone an entire session without landing a single hit. It's cute.

"You're you. Don't gotta 'splain myself to you," you grumble, timidly lifting the glass to your lips.

"No, you don't," Kishibe rumbles in agreement, watching as you take your first swallow.

To your merit you don't splutter or cough, but a grimace splinters across your expression as you swallow and stare down at the glass in mild disbelief.

"This sucks," you announce firmly.

Kishibe barks out a short laugh and finishes his second drink. "I'll order ya something else."

He's reaching for your glass when you snatch it away from him.

"No, I'll finish it. This is what you usually get?"

"Yeah. But take it easy, that's a—" Kishibe stares, a little defeated as you down the glass. "Tha'sa sippin' whiskey."

"What's that mean?" You croak out, your face scrunching up despite your efforts.

"It means you're getting a glass of water before I get you anythin' else."

"Why?"

You'll thank me in the morning, Kishibe thinks grimly, not deigning to answer. Along with the next few rounds and the rounds after that, he also orders your water and some food, feeling abnormally generous. Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with your grumbling tomorrow at training.

He can’t stop thinking how strange this is. It’s strange. You’re here in his usual booth, humming an odd tune while drinking his usual whiskey, when he’s here each night, usually alone. Kishibe feels the deep disturbance all the way to his roots, gnarled and twisted as they are.

Watching your face twist up at the taste again, Kishibe decides to slow down with some soju instead. Your eyes are getting blurry and your hands have settled into some kind of nervous habit, picking at the edge of the table as you try not to look at him. He doesn't understand your insistence here. Here at the bar, or anything else.

"Why are you doin' this?" He asks again, quiet.

You glance at him, blinking slowly as your gaze struggles to focus. Then you force a smile, sweet and pure as a Devil's heart. It's damn near chilling to see.

"'Cause I want to, sir."

"Bullshit." He's looked into you. Your family is alive, financially stable. You're not like most rookies joining up for the pay or the revenge. And from being around you he figures you aren't the type to do this for status. So it doesn't make sense.

Your smile fades. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. You're not cut out for this shit, kiddo. An' I think ya know it, too."

"It's my first night out drinking, how can you tell?"

"Don't play coy with me."

You stand sharply, unsteady, a look crossing your face that Kishibe can't read. Before he can speak again, you're sliding into the booth on his side.

"Then ask me directly, sir." You whisper, trying valiantly to meet his harsh stare, before eventually losing your nerve and fixing your gaze on the table.

Like Kishibe has any problem being direct. Fine then. He sets his glass down and turns his body to face you. "Why're ya training so damn hard to become a Devil Hunter when it's just gonna get you killed?"

Cheeks warming, you don't look at him again. "Every Hunter has their reason, or else they wouldn't be here. We don't gotta share them unless we want to."

Your words are halting, and slurred. Kishibe pushes your drink out of reach. A fifth of whiskey and bottle of soju between you both for your first night out was an oversight on his part, even if he had more than you.

"And you're not goin' to tell me?"

Head dropping into your palm, eyelashes fluttering, you peek up at him. "Not unless you can tell me why you care."

Kishibe pauses. He's got plenty of reasons, but he's not uncouth enough to say them to you. 'Cause he doesn't want to be wasting his time prepping meat for the chopping block. 'Cause booze is expensive and sleep is precious. He doesn't get enough as it is and he's sick at the idea of losing more. 'Cause every time one of his trainees dies, it feels like a new scar cracks its way across the already trampled fragments of his soul.

There's plenty of reasons he drinks himself nearly dead every night.

Your fuzzy eyes peer into his darkened ones and seemingly run into the wall that you know he's put up. "Then it's better you don't ask, sir. It’s important to me, that’s all you need’ta know."

So much for direct.

There's a silence at the table after Kishibe gruffly orders another drink, his mood for the night officially ruined. This is why he doesn't socialize with coworkers. Save people by day, check out at night. He lives for one fleeting peace; he'd rather be drowning in booze and laid up in the arms of whatever woman will put up with him.

And all he has right now is booze. He flags the barkeep. "Bottle for the road."

You shift to look at him. "Are we leaving already?"

"Yeah. You've had plenty."

There's no complaint, but there's no mistaking the look of disappointment on your face as he takes your arm and helps haul you to your wobbly feet.

"What's that look for?"

"I was having fun, sir."

"Stop calling me sir."

"Why?"

"Cause we're at a fucking bar. Sir is for work."

"Then what am I supposed to call you?"

"Just Kishibe."

He finally looks at you again and you're smiling and this time there's nothing to be unsettled about. "No honorific? You'll let me call you by name?"

"It's sir at work," Kishibe reminds, deadpan.

“And master in front of other hunters, I know,” you parrot cheekily, and Kishibe merely curls his lips in a temporary smirk.

“Damn right.”

"But not at work?" You prod, leaning into his frame heavily as the cold night air washes away the warmth of the bar.

"Then yeah, drop the honorific."

"Kishibe." His name leaves your lips as a wonder-filled giggle. The corner of his lip tugs further upward unwittingly in dry amusement. At least someone can salvage the mood for the night.

You poke at the bottle held loosely in his grip. "Can I have some of that?"

He passes it to you. "You don't even like the stuff."

An impressive amount of the amber liquid disappears down your throat before you groan in disgust and pass it back to him. "Sometimes we do stuff we don't like 'cause we get something out of it."

Kishibe hums at that. "And what do you get out of it?"

"'S a secret."

"A secret, huh? You seem to have a lot of those." He drawls, keeping you upright when you almost fall again. Yeah, he needs to find you a taxi or something. Neither of you are driving tonight. It's a little annoying, he meant to stop at the convenience store to get another pack of cigs before going home tonight. The crumpled empty pack is still in his pocket—he hasn't had one since this morning and Kishibe can feel the irritation in his nerves.

"What's your address kid?" He nudges you as the taxi pulls up, but your weight against his hip suddenly feels dead. "Are you—of course you are."

Kishibe's whole chest fills with his next sigh, and he quietly works to get you into the cab. The driver asks him where they're going and he actually has to think about it for a moment. He'd much rather prefer going back to his cozy little hideout, but it's a mess and much too small. Not to mention he absolutely does not want you knowing where it is.

Closing his eyes, Kishibe reluctantly mumbles out an address, and sinks even deeper into his bottle before the cab drops them off at the requested location.

He eyes you over as the elevator quietly ascends, one arm around your waist with yours around his shoulder to bear your weight. It's really no wonder you passed out, the scent of whiskey is just about crawling out of your pores. Between the two of you, Kishibe bets the elevator smells like a distillery.

The doors open into his “apartment”.

He doesn't like sleeping here. The place is too big, ceilings too high, furniture too fancy. All those high windows and modern grays and whites. It's perfectly clean and perfectly lifeless, set up for him by the PSDH. He's sure some bright-eyed big shot hunter in it for the money and high living would get a kick out of the place, but for a man like him the space is just obnoxious. But since his studio isn't an option, and Kishibe can't be bothered with taking you to a hotel, he figures you'd rather prefer one of his guest rooms instead.

Kishibe flinches and grumbles under his breath as the now empty bottle slips from his hand and clatters to the hardwood. You make a rather undignified snort as you startle to awareness. If one could call it that.

“Wha—” Your fingers cling to the sleeve of his jacket as you blink through the blur of your eyesight, struggling to find your footing. “Where’re we now?”

“My place.”

“You live here?”

“Technically.”

He hauls you towards the kitchen, somewhat a struggle with your uninhibited desire to swivel your head and scan the place as thoroughly as you were presently capable of doing.

“Not what I pictured.” You wobble and right yourself, slumping against the marble countertop. Kishibe pauses, making sure you’re gonna make a dive for his floor before he turns to pull open the fridge.

“Yeah well, me neither.”

“It’s so clean.” That earns you a grunt. “And modern.”

“You tryin’ to say something, sweetheart?” He sends you a look that sends a hot wave of embarrassment across your face.

“No! ‘M just sayin’...”

“Yeah, whatever. Here.”

You take the water bottle he pushes into your hands and open it, halfheartedly taking a few sips to ease the simmer in your cheeks.

Kishibe snorts when you put it down. “Nuh uh, finish that.”

You take another sip, trying to placate him. “‘M not thirsty though.”

Your eyes widen as he grumbles and steps closer, dark eyes narrowed. It’s impossible to muffle the noise of complaint on your lips as he tips the water bottle back, keeping your chin up with an uncompromising strength. "Tough. I said all of it."

The rough pads of his thumbs feel like fire on your jaw and he seems to have no idea how his proximity is setting you ablaze. You quickly swallow before you choke, or worse spill down your chin like a child. He doesn’t let go until you’ve finished the bottle—it’s impossible not to gasp for air as if you’ve breached the surface of a pool for the first time in minutes.

“Pretty good lungs.”

“I almost died—!” You wheeze, unappreciative of the joke, wiping your face with your arm.

“You were gonna be dead in the morning if you didn’t. Might as well get it over with.” Kishibe sets the empty bottle on the counter, unflappable.

“Hmph.”

You watch curiously as he grabs himself some water, noticing with a scowl that he doesn’t drink nearly as much as he forced on you. He reaches for a small bottle, rattling as he shakes a couple into his palm. “You’re not supposed to take those with alcohol.”

Kishibe gives you a dry look and pops the painkillers into his mouth. He can feel his head pounding already, his routine thoroughly interrupted. He can’t mentally check out with you still here, especially in this state. You look a little more solid now compared to your unconscious slump, but you’re still visibly swaying, blurred eyes drifting in and out of focus. Last thing he needs is for you to do something to yourself when he’s around. The paperwork for that would be the death of him.

He shrugs and nods for you to follow. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

You suddenly look nervous. “C’mon where?”

“Night’s over. Time for bed.”

You produce a shaky laugh. “What?”

Sweet fuck.

“You want a bed or the couch?” Kishibe takes applaudable effort to keep the exhaustion out of his tone. Honestly, you'd probably be better off with the couch, grateful for your mumbled little ‘doesn’t matter to me’. He's not sure of the state of any of the rooms, considering he's trashed them before. Whoever set the place up for him might have a cleaning service but he's never bothered to ask about it since he’s never here. “There’s blankets around here somewhere.”

Stepping into the living room he sees he’s right, a couple of soft looking throws draped over the back of a plush black sectional. You’re trailing close behind him, like you’ll get lost if you lose sight of him.

“Sit.” Kishibe says tiredly as you circle around the edge of the sectional, looking around curiously.

You listen and he grabs the other blanket off the far arm of the couch, tossing it and one of the pillows towards where you’re sitting. The pillow lands at your side, the blanket haphazardly in your lap, are you’re just staring at him as he settles on the other side, shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting that fall to the floor.

“Get comfortable, go to sleep,” Kishibe grunts, closing his eyes.

“You’re staying in here?”

He doesn’t read into the tone of your voice, keeping his eyes shut. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t choke on your own puke in your sleep.”

“‘M not gonna puke,” you grumble under your breath.

Kishibe wills in a sigh, listening to the rustle of blankets and what he assumes is you settling down. Only to tense as the cushion near him dips under weight. He opens his eyes to see you sitting you next to him and his eyes sharpen.

You cut him off, seeming to sense whatever biting remark is coming. “I’m not tired. Not good at sleeping in new spaces.”

“Well you need’ta try.”

“Can we just talk for a bit?”

He sighs, but he doesn’t refute you, opening his eyes to give you a quiet stare. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

Relying heavily on the lingering alcohol in your veins to gather the nerve, you scooch closer to his position on the couch, dragging the blanket with you. “You’ve really never had anyone over here? But Himeno says you never spend your nights alone.”

Kishibe eyes you warily as you enter what he considers his field of personal space, your knees barely brushing against his thighs. “I don’t normally spend my nights here. And you can tell Himeno she’s got better things t’do than gossip about my personal life.”

“So you spend the night at their place then?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you really the womanizer everyone says you are?”

Kishibe glances up to see you even closer and shifts a little to give you a measured look, eyelids drooping in suspicion. “You really want the truth of that?”

“Yeah, ‘m hoping to hear something,” you murmur, heart racing as you place a hand on his abdomen. It stiffens under your touch, but he makes no move to stop you, so you toy with the button of his shirt.

“And what’s that exactly?” Shock receding, his mind catches up and he grabs your hand, keeping it from tracing its upward path.

“There’s something I’m hoping you can help me with, sir.”

“Kishibe.”

“Kishibe,” you correct, cheeks warming as you finally raise your eyes from his chest to look into his own. He’s watching you so closely that you almost look away again, almost chickening out.

His eyes are locked onto the way you’re chewing at your lip, waiting for you to say something more, hoping for anything that makes sense. When you don’t his patience thins enough to ask, “Well?”

“I-um,” you hesitate before your fingers curl into his shirt, mentally fortifying yourself, “I’ve never… I’m looking for someone experienced to- to help me. I want it to be you.”

There's a small pause as his whiskey-addled mind filters out the meaning of your words. Then, a small disbelieving smirk is half-formed on his lips when he scoffs out a laugh. “Ha, no, sweetheart. No, I don’t think so.”

He’s shifting to stand up off the couch when you panic. You’ve gotten this far! He has to hear you out, or you’ll never be able to look him in the eye again, let alone train under him. So before he can, you throw your thigh over his lap, straddling him. His hands flash to your arms in an iron grip, keeping your hands from wandering any further. He’s staring at you in muted disbelief, tense, as if he can’t quite believe you’re defying him.

“Please wait,” your voice raises in pitch, but you’re almost whispering. “I can explain, please just listen.”

“What? Cute little student girl got the hots for teacher? Or are you desperately in love with me now, and can’t bear the thought of anyone else sullying your innocence?” he drawls out, the insanity of this situation finally allowing him to release the floodgates on all the ill manner he’s been attempting to keep back all night.

Your face might as well be a space heater as you splutter in mortification at being seen through so easily, trying to find the words to refute him. “N-no! No, I wasn’t. That’s… That’s not…”

“You better clear this up real quick then, sweets, cause you don’t have long before I take it into my own hands,” Kishibe warns lowly, soft and dangerous, seconds from calling a cab to get you miles away from his apartment, and more importantly him.

The hard-eyed stare he’s giving you now is nothing like the way he looks at you in training. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought that entertaining your feelings is enough to make him react this way, turning him into this colder version of himself that you barely recognize. This is not going the way you intended, but you can’t imagine that you’ll ever be in a situation like this ever again, so you take a deep breath and clear your expression of all deceit. “It’s not like that, but I really can’t think of anyone else to help me with this. It’s not for lack of trying.”

Kishibe eyes you, his grip on your arms not slacking. You glance down at him warily, and he’s like a bristling cat that’s making an attempt at trust.

“So…? Will you help me?”

He mumbles eventually, still tense, “Why not Hayakawa? Or one of the other rookies, they’re probably better suited.”

You make a face. “The rookies are stupid, and Hayakawa-san is just too… stern.”

“I’m not stern?”

“That’s not the point!” You retort hotly. “Hayakawa just seems more like someone who isn’t interested in casual flings—”

“And that’s what you’re looking for here?” Kishibe cuts in drily, noting the way your mouth snaps shut. You shift awkwardly in his lap and he stoutly blames his nightly routine for the way his body is sluggishly perking to life. He might have the heart of a saint, but his mind is more like a devil’s… and he has eyes.

Oblivious to his internalizations, you grimace. You don't want casual anything so it's technically a point in Hayakawa's favor. But there's one big point in the younger man's (begrudgingly small) list of cons that can't be overlooked: he's not Kishibe.

“I’m looking for someone who knows what they’re doing,” you inform him, your voice softening. There’s a sort of vulnerability to you now that has the older man caving despite himself and listening more intently, watching you whiplash between assertive and shy for the nth time. “Someone I trust, who won’t take advantage of me. And… I don’t believe the whole sacred virginity schtick, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want my first time to be… I don’t know, special?”

Kishibe’s mouth runs dry, and this time he blames the alcohol. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Don’t say that,” you plead softly, leaning closer without thinking in your excitement. That wasn’t a refusal. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

He can feel your breath on his cheeks, his eyes bouncing between your lips and eyes for a moment before humming low. “No one else? A girl like you, having to settle for an old man like me?”

"No one has to know. Please, sir?" You plead quietly, with crystal notes of sincerity. It's a painfully sweet sound.

Kishibe reluctantly lets your arms slip from his hands and drops his own to loosely grip your waist, absently drawing a pattern on your hip with one finger. The heat of your body is filtering so thick through your clothes that he doesn't know how he didn't notice it until now. You shiver at his touch, and he tries to keep his expression neutral when you instinctively grab at his shoulders.

He shouldn't be considering this for even a second, but he is and he hates himself for it. You're a young pretty thing, and he's made a point to stop looking at young pretty things the way your touch is sparking him to, for going on years now.

Carefully, one hand moves to rest on your stomach, caressing its way up over your covered chest, eliciting a soft gasp from you before it moves on and settles under your chin, firmly tugging it down to make sure you're looking at him. He's never cared for the way you can't look him in the eye, and he normally lets it go but he won't tolerate it tonight. If he goes through with this, that is.

Your eyes are wide, and glazed in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol for the first time tonight. Kishibe makes a low sound in his throat at the sight of it before speaking, a heavy, rumbling tone meant to ensure you're taking in every word.

"You want me to do this for you?"

"Yes." Your breath catches as you damn near breathe the word out, your heart in your throat and a flutter in your stomach that makes you feel like you might fly away.

"Then tell me exactly what it is that you want." Fuck, he’s really doing this.

"I…" The hesitation must be clear on your face because his expression gets heated, a tiny smirk forming at the corner of his lips. You wouldn't have seen it at all if you weren't staring at them so hard. A quiet moan spills from your lips as he presses them to your jaw, not quite kissing, but dragging them up, warm breath tickling your ear. The center of your world quakes as he continues with that low, soul-quaking tone.

"Do you want me to treat you like a princess? Worship your body and make it all about you, take you to another world as I take you apart?" Kishibe marvels at the broken whimper you make as he grazes his teeth across your earlobe. "Or do you want me to be a little selfish? Show you pleasure as I know it, and change everything you think you know about carnal desire?"

"Sir—"

"No," he warns severely, gripping your thigh in warning, pulling back to look you in the eye.

"Kishibe," you correct yourself with a breathy whine that you hope doesn’t sound ridiculous. "Kishibe, I want you to choose."

"You want me to choose?"

"Th-that's why I chose you. You always- always know what's best."

That's so far from true, but in this realm of possibility, with you blinking those sweet little doe eyes down at him, Kishibe won't be the one to correct you. "...Alright."

"Then please take care of me." Please.

This time it's him who shudders. "Alright," he murmurs again, "Alright, sweetheart. I've got you."

He’s a little gentler this time as he tugs your chin down to him, meeting your lips in a delicate kiss that has all his nerves standing to attention in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. With other women, he has no reason to be slow or gentle. With other women, both parties know what they’re there for, but this isn’t like that. You aren’t like that. You’re young, and if you’re to be believed, untouched. Pure. And you’ve put yourself in his care, begging for him to remove that purity. He’s not sure he ever would have agreed to this if he were sober, so you lucked out. Or maybe this is what you wanted all along.

Kishibe groans softly as you timidly move to respond to his kiss, alcohol sweet on your breath. You at least seem to know what to do here, parting your lips and staying pliant as he learns how you taste, moving your tongue against his as he explores your mouth. He breaks for a moment, giving you a warning and enough time to stop him, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I’m taking this off now.”

He waits, and when you do nothing but moan, he begins to pop the buttons of your shirt open, one by one from the bottom up, exposing your navel, and then the black cotton bra beneath. You kiss him deeper as he slides a hand up your spine, rocking your hips into his lap as he pulls at the clasp, undoing it in a practised move. The fabric falls loose, and he presses a hand to your sternum, forcing you to retreat.

Your lips are slick, a little swollen, but it’s the hazy look in your eyes that has all his attention. “You good, sweets? You even gonna remember this in the morning?”

“I will. I will, 'm promise. Please keep going,” you slur, not really giving him the best vote of confidence.

“Take that off for me.” Kishibe tugs loosely at your bra, the cups hanging just low enough for him to get a peek at your areolas. His cock is straining in his slacks now, but he’s too invested for it to be uncomfortable yet. He meant it when he said he was going to take you apart, and he’s going to do it slowly.

You blink at him, and timidly slide the straps off your shoulders. Your movements are slow, but there’s less hesitance than he’s seen so far. It’s clear you’re more worried about his disapproval than any insecurities you might have. Good.

“Good girl. Look at you,” Kishibe is quick to dole out the praise as soon as your tits are exposed, half for your confidence and half because they really are pretty tits. He’s reaching for them before even he can process what he’s doing. Your nipples are already hard, pulled taut and looking painfully neglected, either from your own arousal or the air. It could be cold in here for all Kishibe knows, but the air around him feels thick, heated and charged. He’d be suffocating if he weren’t so focused.

You take a shuddering breath as he holds them. His touch is so light, the pads of his fingers calloused and warm, stroking over the sensitive flesh. You want more, arching into his touch as much as you dare, still unable to shake the thought that he might change his mind and end this, but for now he doesn’t disappoint. Dazed, you realized the sharp gasp that bites the air is yours as he strokes the pads of his fingers over your nipples before tugging lightly, pleasure rippling hot under your skin.

Your head tosses back in a moan as he does it again, this time his lips brushing the curve of your breast as he pulls you forward, pressing your chest closer to his face. He sucks at the fat of your breasts, still gently tweaking your at your hardened nubs, working his way over, seemingly content to explore.

Pleasure moves hot and slow under your skin, but your mind keeps rocketing from one sensation to another, making it impossible to think beyond the man beneath you. His slick tongue moving against your skin, the heat and wet of it stroking over the edge of your areola, the rough pad of his thumb, the scrape of his blunt nail over the sensitive tip of your nipples, the same callouses gripping at your back, fingertips tickling the edge of your shoulder blade.

“Quit it,” Kishibe grunts after a minute, and you realize you’ve twisted your hands into his hair, tugging him closer and trying to drag him to where it feels like he’s purposefully avoiding.

“Please, Kishibe, please,” you moan, blissfully unaware of the minor tantrum you’re throwing at you grind down on his clothed erection. “Your mouth.”

“What about it?” He blinks at you lazily, taking the moment where you sit back to tug at the top few buttons of his own shirt, exposing the top of his chest and a peek of the dark hair that’s hidden beneath.

“Let… Let me feel it,” you breathe out after you’ve snapped your eyes away from that new detail.

The slow grin that spreads across his features feels like the first key in the series of locks that surrounds the man in front of you, a piece of him that he doesn’t share willingly. Something that has to be brought out, dragged out, a prisoner in a cage of its own making.

“Be more specific, sweets.”

But he’s still the same man, he just exists in varying shades. You squirm for a moment, subject to self-consciousness, but the ache in your nipples, growing tighter in the continued neglect, wins out. You cup your own tits, pushing them out as you lean back down to him. “Want it here. Need to feel you suck on them.”

An appreciative gleam brightens dark eyes. “There’s a good girl.”

This time Kishibe leans in with intent, and you learn something else—your mentor is a goddamn tease.

His tongue drags over your nipples before sucking, and your hands are tangled in his hair again before you can process it, a cry in a pitch you don’t even recognize torn from your mouth. The slick muscle flicks over the tip as his free hand comes up to roll the other between his fingers lightly. You’re shamelessly rutting into his lap now, senselessly chasing the pleasure boiling low in your stomach, and you can feel him moan against your skin at the friction.

You feel the scrape of his teeth, light and intentional, before he pops off and switches to the other. The treatment begins anew and you swear you might be able to come from this, the wet suction of his mouth, the tacky warmth as he tugs and twists at the nipple still covered in his spit. But Kishibe doesn’t let you, noting the frantic ruts of your body and beginning to slow his efforts, easing you back down.

“Wait—” Your complaint rears itself as your fingers twist into the shorter hair of his nape, trying to tug him closer the moment he pulls away.

“Easy, I’m not done with you,” he rasps, taking your wrists and gently detanging your fingers from his hair.

You yelp as he grips your thighs and flips your back to the cushions, a strength you already knew he had from all the times he’s stomped you in training, but it surprises you regardless. There’s no time to pick through your thoughts at the display, because Kishibe is bullying between your thighs and capturing your lips in a kiss that puts the last one to shame. It’s possessive, it’s plundering; erasing any other thought from your mind except the way he feels against you. How immovable he feels, his hips keeping your thighs spread, his obvious arousal against your core, his weight against your torso—whatever isn’t supported by his forearm against the cushions, just what he chooses to give you—the scratch of his stubble against your face, the ones he lets overgrow because they shadow his jawline again in less than a day.

You moan into his mouth as a hand slips between your bodies, pulling the button of your slacks and pushing a hand into your panties, the sound turning into a high keen as he drags his fingers through your slit. You know you’re wet, soaked even, but it’s still a shock to feel your own wetness as he pulls back out, slick against your mound before he’s free of your clothing, to see it shining on his fingers when he pulls back to give you a breath. You knew you wanted him, but to see how much would be mortifying if he knew the truth.

The glisten on his fingers goes unnoticed for a second as he catches sight of your wrecked expression, sitting back on his haunches.

“Oh sweets, look at you,” Kishibe chuckles, voice tight. “You’re a pretty sight right now, and you don’t even know. A sweet little mess. My sweet little mess, for tonight.”

Making a decision, he swipes his hands on the thighs of his pants and undoes his shirt, tossing it over the back of the couch, aware of the way you stare from beneath him. He's getting there in years, but the aches of this job refuse to let his body go soft. There's a thin layer of soft skin stretched across the muscles beneath, making the definition less pronounced, less assuming, but there's no denying the power behind them as he flexes subtly, smirking when your eyes track the movement.

"Hips up," he orders firmly, his fingers already tugging at the waistband of your slacks.

Not needing to be told twice, you shift and raise your hips as he pulls them from your legs, panties and all. You're completely bare under him, and he's still wearing his pants, the button popped, looking like a god above you. His eyes are piercing, his expression set like marble. As he puts hot palms on your thighs, spreading them even further apart, you think about how attractive he looks when he smokes, almost wishing he had a cig hanging from his lips so you could see it.

Kishibe is staring intently at your pussy, the hunger in him growing deeper as he watches the muscles twitch. "So no one's ever touched this, huh?"

You shake your head, whimpering as he pulls your sticky lips apart.

"You lying, sweetheart? Not even you?"

Kishibe pulls back the hood of your poor swollen clit, stroking it lightly with the tip of his finger, dark eyes watching your face intently.

The touch rips a gasp from your throat like ice had been poured down your back, tossing your pretty little head back into the pillows as your fingers twist at what little slack the cushions beneath you have. Kishibe feels the flames of hell crawl a little closer to his own flesh as his arousal flares dangerously at the sight.

When you remain silent he prompts a little cruelly for an answer, slowly circling the throbbing bud. "Hmm?"

"I've-yeah I've touched it. Sometimes."

"Tell me."

"Tell you?" You suck in a harsh breath as one of his digits teases your entrance, but pulls away.

"Yeah, tell me how you touch your pussy at night. I wanna know how you play with yourself." His voice drones with detached amusement but his dark eyes are sharp, the sight making your skin prickle with elation to be the center of his attention.

“Usually slow,” you breathe out, moaning when he moves to your clit again. Two fingers press on the bundle of nerves and begin to rub back and forth in a steady tempo.

“Like this?” Kishibe murmurs, watching you closely.

“Slower,” your voice breaks an octave higher as he increases the pressure just a little, readjusting to what you now realize are instructions for him. “Y-yes, mm, like that…”

“Good. How about your fingers, hmm? You do that slow too?”

You can feel yourself dripping down to the couch as his voice drips across you like honey. “Yeah, at first.”

“One to start?”

“Fuck!” A keen tears from your throat as he slides the first digit in, abandoning your clit, the thick, calloused digit pressing in to the hilt with zero resistance.

“Or do you start with two?” Kishibe watches raptly as his middle joins his pointer in the rippling warmth of your cunt, the broken sob leaving your lips sending a irresistible wave of want tearing through his body. The way your hips grind into his touch, chasing more of him is enough to let him know that you can take more, but he lets you stay here for a moment, using his free hand to stroke over his confined cock as you writhe beneath him.

It’s not hard to find the right angle to stroke your slick walls, curling his fingers up into the spot that has you tossing your head back with what almost sounds like a mournful wail, as if you’re just realizing that you’ve never really given yourself real pleasure before. Kishibe isn’t sure if you have to be honest, you haven’t said, but he isn’t concerning himself with that. He’s too focused on the way you shy away from his touch when he presses his thumb to your clit again, as if you can’t take the combination.

“Oh?” It’s almost a coo, delight pulsing in his veins. “Not like that huh? That not how you do it?”

“I can’t, I can’t—it doesn’t, n-never like this!” It almost sounds like you’re pleading with him, your eyes wide as you stare at him, a thick haze of shock and bliss covering your irises that Kishibe is losing himself in, pumping his wrist, tempted to add a third finger just to see what sounds you’ll make.

“Told you I’d change everything you think you know about pleasure, sweetheart.” He pulls his digits from your pussy, relishing in the whine of protest. And if he’s being honest with himself, there’s a bit of a power complex rushing through him, to be able to control your pleasure whether you think you can handle it or not is too alluring. It’s the thought of making you scream, nothing barred, as he forces ecstasty on you that you don’t even know exists on that has him pushing off the couch which a groan to finally free his cock, shucking his pants off, the liquor leaving him a little unsteady.

“Sit up for me.”

You do as he says, confusion scrunching you expression as he settles between your legs, his knees protesting only a little as he shifts so that the plush carpet isn’t dragging uncomfortably against his skin. A little yelp stays in your throat as he tugs you to the edge, spreading your thighs wider and positioning your hips up to expose your pretty pussy. He’s only a breath away, the scent of you thick, kissing distance really, when you slur out some nonsense that sounds questioning, but he can’t say he actually catches any sense of syllables from you.

“I’m thicker than most so you need this,” Kishibe grumbles, nipping at your inner thigh as you squirm and glaring you into submission, “But even a man with a pencil dick better be doin’ this for ya, so don’t accept less.”

Before you can come to terms with him on your knees before you, your mind fizzles out as his tongue swipes through your folds, and his groan vibrates deep into your core. If not for his hands keeping your thighs spread, you would have wrapped them around his head. His nose nudges at your clit as his tongue presses into your clenching pussy, and you can’t stop the garbled sound of pleasure as he laps at your walls, your head tossing back against the couch cushions as he eats you like a meal. It’s surreal, it doesn’t make a lick of sense but oh god you don’t care. The sounds of him slurping at your cunt makes your cheeks burn and you force yourself past your self consciousness to look down at him, the skin of your knuckles stretched tight as you curl them into shaking fists, trying to wrap your mind around the sensations.

Kishibe flattens his tongue over your clit, and meets your gaze with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slips a finger into you, savoring the way you clamp down right away, giving a reedy mewl. He can’t help himself any longer, one hand closing around his dick and beginning to slowly stroke himself, trying to go slow, to ease some of the pressure and calm himself down. He adds another digit, and sits back as he begins to work you towards your finish.

“Should’ve done this in a bed,” he mutters under his breath, the scent of your pleasure thick, feeling mildly guilty as you tremble through your long awaited awaited high. Even his first encounter had been in a bed, traditional.

Kishibe hisses into your thigh as your fingers twist so tight into his hair that he’d snap at you if he were anywhere but here. Here with his fingers sweeping over your clit, watching the way your muscles ripple and tense, an obscene amount of slick and cum dripping onto his couch, and damn it why are you so easy to spoil? Why is he letting you practically rip the hair from his head as your hips jolt and jump, pleasure taking every ounce of your control away from you. There’s a wet sound as he finally pulls his fingers from your cunt, and you slump against the cushions, a looking so beautifully fucked out that it’s a damn shame you haven’t actually been fucked yet.

But that’s what you came here for, and Kishibe will not be the one to disappoint. He pushes to his feet for a moment and drags your hips until you’re both on the couch comfortably, and lets himself sink between your legs, his dick hot and throbbing against your inner thigh. It’s weeping precome and there’s a shivering sense of relief to know that his patience is finally about to be rewarded.

“You still with me, sweets?” Kishibe murmurs softly, leaning over you, letting his lips drag up your throat in a possessive trail of teeth marks and bruises. “You ready for me?”

The prickle of his overgrown stubble brings you back down a little, and you moan as his tongue swipes over the indentations left in your flesh. “That was—” you gasp at a sharp dig of his teeth under your jaw, hips arching towards him as you feel the weight of his dick between your slick folds, thoughts flying from your mind as the thick tip of him slides over your oversensitive clit. “Oh fuck, Kishibe please. I need y- I need it, oh god.” Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he really is going to ruin you. You can’t imagine anyone else ever making you feel this good, so overwhelmed but so hungry for it.

“Good fucking girl,” he whispers, and your body lights up as he shifts back a little, the head of his cock pressing against you and easing inside your desperate walls. He grins as your arms wrap around his shoulders, lips searching for his as your hips try to squirm deeper onto his cock. He meets you in a deep kiss, but he grips your hips firmly, sliding deeper into your clenching pussy at his own content pace, groaning into your mouth at how hot and wet you are. So tight, so so tight, that he can’t stop the juvenile thought about being sure you were a virgin from flitting through his mind, but he lets it go, not about to sully this experience for you with his own pussy drunk stupidity, closing his eyes and falling deeper into the kiss, forcing you to slow it and calm down for him, echoing your whimpers with tiny groans of encouragement.

His thrusts are as steady and measured as they can be with the way your walls suck him in, pussy lips stretched wide around the thicker middle of his shaft. Every time he pulls out he can feel the way your body is trying not to let him go, and every sink home is accompanied by a shaky little exhale from you that sets a fire so deep in his gut that Kishibe is sure the whiskey is the only reason he hasn’t fallen to pieces yet. You’re so pretty and needy sprawled about beneath him, so sunk to pleasure that you’ve resigned to just taking what he gives you and it’s addictive. His cock throbs as he listens to your mumbled little slurs about how good it feels, and he has to pause, breathing deep and hard as he wills down a sudden and fierce urge fill you with cum.

Kishibe chuckles as he sits up and you let out a whine of disapproval, but a slow roll of his hips changes your tune immediately. You’re sucking him in greedily, your clit swollen and damn near begging for attention. He brushes it gently with the back of his knuckles, hissing as you squeeze him in response, getting impossibly wetter around his length. “Doing so good for me, how are you feeling?”

“More, want more.” It’s barely intelligible with how breathless you are, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes down your temples. Your face is so sweet, so open, trusting and needy and suddenly Kishibe can’t find it in himself to draw it out on you any longer, is done handing out pleasure piece by piece, as if he were passing out candy to savor. He wants to pour pleasure over you, wants you to drown in it, to fall so deeply into it that there’s nowhere to surface to, lost in an endless sea.

One strong arm slides under your hips and pulls you up into a better position, fingers digging into your hip as Kishibe begins to fuck you in quick, steady strokes. His forehead is pressed to your chest, cheek in plush of your breast as he controls his groans, a dark satisfaction choking out the last tendrils of guilt as your fingers desperately weave their way back into his hair once more, cradling his head tightly to your chest. There’s no more irritation; the sharp sting feels like a fucking prize, knowing that the price is an overwhelming pleasure that he can feel through you. You feel so good around him, responding so well to his movements, angling your own hips and moving back into his thrusts, that he can’t stop a continuous stream of curses and praises from melting into your skin.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me sweetheart, so good. Squeezing me so tight, wrapped around me so perfect. You feel good? Everything you fucking wanted, hm?” He bites at the flesh of your chest as you tighten around his dick, goosebumps rising visibly across your skin.

You feel like a live current, so electric and buzzing with energy and it feels like there’s nowhere for it to go, zipping up and down your body only to return, shivering and sparking deep in your belly. You try to articulate that this is way more than you ever thought you could ask for, but all that comes out are bitten hiccups of his name and yes and please please please.

Kishibe is more than happy to oblige, grunting and groaning in his throat, way past the point of feeling guilty that you’re losing your virginity on a goddamn couch, too caught up in your drunken slurs, more from pleasure than whiskey.

He grins as your fingers clench around his bicep, scrabbling as you gasp out, "Ohh, nngh—Sir wait, wait! Please I'm gonna—"

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Kishihe groans, feeling the rippling constrictions of your sweet pussy drag him closer to the edge.

"No, I'm—I'm gonna pee! Please."

Kishibe’s s head picks up off your chest immediately, and his thrusts stuffer. "Yeah?" You watch panting as his eyes sharpen, hips coming to a full blessed stop. You feel a bare moment of relief before its ripped away and he's moving again, fucking you a little faster than before. "Then go ahead."

You give a wordless cry, shame and pleasure clamoring in the shrill note, your head shaking back and forth in denial. You can't hold it, not if he does that.

"No?" Kishibe feels like the Devil himself as he shifts his angle into a grind, still fast and controlled, watching your features twist as you keep fighting to hold it back. "Am I not making you feel good?"

"Sir!" Your whine draws the title out, panicked, but your knees dig tightly into his hips, your body at least betraying you. Kishibe works a hand under one of your thighs and presses it towards your chest. One of his palms drags down over your tits, stroking down your stomach to put a gentle pressure over your pelvis. Your eyes fly wide and a moan is forced from your lips as the awful urgency thickens, bliss flooding close to the surface.

"If I press here you won't be able to stop it."

Kishibe's stare catches your glazed eyes, dark and hungry. His orgasm is approaching steadily now, pleasure whispering selfish instruction in his ear, and he's unable to help but listen. "You'll come so hard it won't matter anymore. What's a little mess for some pleasure, hm sweetheart? If you want it just tell me."

Your breath catches. His dick keeps hitting that spot in you that makes it impossible to think rationally. He's making you feel so good, goading you in that voice of his that you've worshipped fervently night after night in your apartment, a pillow as your altar.

The voice in your head is screaming no. It's pee. He'll think you're disgusting and you look up to him so much. You don't want him to associate you with something like this, to so thoroughly debase yourself. But he's making you feel amazing, his cock bullying all your softest parts with undefinable experience. You've heard the gossip about how your mentor likes to spend his nights, but how are you supposed to complain when he's making you feel like this? And he's the one saying you can p—

"Get outta yer fucking head and come for me, girl." Kishibe growls through his teeth, palm pressing down firmly, calloused thumb spreading over your neglected clit.

You shatter and cry out, clutching at him tightly, no room for apologies as you tear red lines down his back. Warmth gushes against his pelvis, but the hot shame holds no candle to the blistering pleasure crackling across all your nerves. Listening to Kishibe groan and curse, the feel of him breaking down into something more genuine as his hips snap roughly into yours in chase of the bliss you’re already neck deep in, you’ve never felt more satisfied. He finishes inside you with a deep grunt and your insides flutter again at the milky warmth, your leg curling tight around his ass because you want all of it, you don’t want it to end yet.

But finally, his cock twitches one last time inside you and begins to soften, and Kishibe collapses on top of you with a little puff. You’re damn near ready to purr in happiness at the full weight of him across your body. His cheek rests between your breasts, but you’re unbothered by the scratch of his stubble as his breathing gets deeper, steadier.

Both of you are covered in sweat, cum, and other unspeakables but you’ve never been so comfortable. His softened cock slips out of you, and one of his arms slips under your waist and you feel your heart thud unevenly as he moves to his side and pulls you closer. His head is still buried in your chest, your one leg tangled between his thighs and your other draped over his hip. His eyes are closed, breathing deep and you find it in yourself to cautiously run your fingers through his hair. Kishibe gives a soft, sleepy rumble of contentment and you glow.

The feel of his hair between your fingers is the last thing you remember before the most luxurious drag of sleep tempts you into its clutch of darkness.

You wake somewhere you don’t recognize, your head thick and pounding awfully. You blink slowly in the low lighting and try to sit up, but your head spins and the pain increases so you let yourself fall back with a low whimper.

You turn on your side, fingers curling into the soft covers over you. Last night had been amazing, but you’re certain you had passed out on on the couch, and as you peer around the curtain-darkened room, it’s easy to tell it’s not the same. You don’t remember being moved; you’d like to say you would have woken up if someone had, but even you can smell the alcohol seeping from your pores.

Heart pounding unevenly, you try to calm yourself. You’d been dressed in a soft pair of boxer briefs and a tshirt far too large for you, and while you still feel a little bit sticky, you honestly had expected far worse—someone had tried to clean you up. Your heart starts to race now, fluttering and far too fast at the idea of Kishibe taking care of you. Those are a lot of extra steps to take for someone who preached respectable distance.

“There’s painkillers on the nightstand.”

You finally manage to sit up at the promise of pain relief, seeing the foil tablets and a glass of water, and glance at Kishibe in the doorway, looking about as disheveled as you expect you do. He’s in a loose tshirt and a soft, worn looking pair of sleep pants, blinking sleep and liquor from his eyes as he peers in at you.

“I’m gonna shower, you should too. There’s towels in the bathroom there.” He nods his head deeper into your room and you see another doorway, probably leading to the bathroom. “And you’re out of luck on breakfast. All the place has is coffee and water.”

Your stomach gives a displeased turn at that, desperate for something to offset last night’s alcohol. Before you can say anything, not even so much as a thank you, Kishibe turns and shuffles down the hall.

Slowly, you ease out of the bed and gratefully swallow down half the water before even glancing at the pills, but your screaming head does make sure you toss them back as well, before you peek down the hallway your mentor had disappeared down. You hear the sound of running water and follow it, wandering through the doorway to the room he obviously slept in last night, the bed an unkempt mess of blankets. The door to the bathroom is closed, and there’s already steam filtering through the gaps.

Letting an uncharacteristic determination carry you forward, you open the door and begin stripping off your clothes.

“Get out, sweetheart.” Kishibe’s voice sounds tired and distant, filling you with nerves that you refuse to let show on your face as you ignore him slip into the shower.

He’s working soap through his hair, leveling you with a deeply unimpressed look that would have sent you skittering before last night, before he called you his sweet little mess, before he called you good fucking girl. You take a deep breath and speak your mind.

"I want that again."

His response is flat, immediate. "Not gonna happen."

"Why not? Was it not good?" You look embarrassed and distraught at the thought and Kishibe heaves a sigh.

"How good it was has nothin’ to do with why we can't do this again."

“So you regret it?”

Kishibe isn’t sure where he stands on that yet. “Didn’t say that.”

"But then..."

"But what? I told you this was a bad idea didn't I? You should've chosen someone else. Anyone other than me."

You get a little salty at that. "I might be younger than you," Kishibe gives a sardonic huff "—but I'm still old enough to make decisions for myself."

"Old enough to make your own decisions, huh."

You shift under the water as he gives you a tired stare, his gaze sharpening into something more contemplative, glinting dangerously.

"So you're saying you want that again?" Kishibe questions calmly.

"Yes," you whisper, uncaring if it makes you sound desperate.

"If we do I've got some stipulations," he warns, voice low.

"Like what," your breath hitches as he leans closer, the water getting hotter against your back as he reaches past you to adjust the temperature.

"Well for starters," he grumbles, "I don't have any interest in going to your place. It's here or nothing."

"Fine." Your response is immediate, relief coloring your tone that you're not being immediately shut out.

"And this arrangement will be temporary, no matter how long it goes on," Kishibe continues slowly, his fingers coming up to pinch your lips together, cutting off whatever you were opening your mouth to say. "I'm not the kind of man that would treat ya like you're nothin'. I'm gonna tell you you're sexy when I've got you under me and I'm gonna clean up whatever mess I make of you, so I need to know you're not going to confuse common decency and respect with love, got it?"

You nod slowly, struggling to wrap your mind around the weight of his words. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, you just want more of whatever you can get. It's just a crush, maybe you'll figure out how to squash your feelings somewhere down the line. So you get a little hurt along the way, so what? You're not entirely sure how any of that is a problem and why he looks so serious.

"Anything else?" He hasn't spoken for a minute, but you can still see deep thought etched into his expression.

Kishibe glances at you, soap dripping from his hair down his neck. "Yeah, one more thing."

It's the most damning thing. Makima herself would be proud of him for this. This kind of thing is more her style, but he's already made it this far.

"Ya have to join the civilian sector."

He senses more than feels you stiffen behind him, closing his eyes and beginning to rinse his hair out as he waits for you to speak first. He's not blind, not anymore—after last night he'd really have to be to not understand the way you've been looking at him, probably since the beginning. Kishibe doesn't know how he didn't see it sooner, probably willful ignorance. But his eyes have been opened and he can't unsee it; you're a brat; you wear your heart on your sleeve, and for whatever reason…its flag is flying his colors. So he's going to use that, and you can thank him when you survive the year.

"Join the civilian sector?" Your voice trembles.

Kishibe glances down to see you chewing your lower lip. "Or quit. Find a cozy desk job somewhere. Either works."

"Why?" Your demand is fierce but it's weak; you look like a scruffy little kitten that needs shelter but too scared to come out of the rain. Kishibe can see you crumbling already, making his final stab. Why you'd want him this bad is beyond him, but dirty tactics have never been beneath him.

"If we're doin’ this, you're going to be available to me when I want you. Otherwise I can find others, like I've been doing. Finish up in here, and I'll make some coffee. Might as well go to the office together."

Despair crosses your features, and Kishibe lets the silence do the last of the work, stepping out of the stream and reaching for a towel. He makes quick work of drying off and getting dressed, bones aching for coffee. Curiosity pangs deep in his nerves as he wonders why killing yourself in Public Safety is even worth that expression, and why he’s equally as important as whatever it is. He tries to put it out of his mind and fails, fingers tapping on the expensive countertop.

As the coffee percolates, Kishibe hears the water shut off and the mental image of you stepping out of his shower flickers through his mind, ghosting along the memories of the way you felt beneath him last night. He tries and fails to admit to himself he’s not coming out entirely on top in this situation.

When you finally slip into his kitchen, dressed in your crumpled uniform from last night, you’re no longer wearing that brokenhearted little face, and Kishibe braces himself for whatever little pep talk you managed to give yourself while he was gone. He pushes a mug towards you and the sugar he somehow found while he was waiting.

“I have my own stipulations,” you grumble finally, accepting the mug without looking at him, spooning sugar into it. He wants to wince at the shriek of metal on glass as you stir, but he doesn’t.

“If I have to quit the hunter society to be ‘available to you’, then you have to be available to me.” Your eyes are a little heated as they finally meet his, and Kishibe gives a noncommittal hum. “Meaning you don’t get to sleep around. Just with me.”

Ah. Makima would be proud of you too, Kishibe muses to himself. He decides to let you feel that victory and puts on a show, feigning annoyance. He drums his fingers on the counter and gives you a dry, measured look. “What, sweetheart, want me to get tested or something?”

You rise to his bait, snapping a little. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

“Fine.” He shrugs and sips his coffee. “Maybe you should too, since you’re so worried about my health.”

Embarrassment burns your cheeks at the thought of making that appointment, but you push through it. “Fine, I will. I’ll be needing to get on birth control anyways.” The barest hint of shock flickers through his expression before he slams it back to its usual tired smirk.

“Anything else?” He asks, sarcasm barely kissing the edge of his tone.

Your thoughts scramble to all the things you’d listed to yourself in the shower but with him looking at you like that, bemused, confident, smug, you forget most of them. You latch onto one thing and give him a glare. “I get a key. And I can sleep here whenever I want. I’m not waiting outside in the cold to be your booty call.”

Kishibe gives you a look and starts to pull a pen out of his jacket but changes his mind. He watches all the bravado and irritation drain from your expression as he steps into your space, melting into something else, something expectant, electric. He pretends he doesn’t see it, pretends that his blood doesn’t pick up at the sight of it, and whispers the passcode to the apartment, so close to your ear that he could bite it. Could.

He pulls back and listens to your shuddering exhale, tilting your chin towards him. “That’s for you only. I don’t give people access to my personal space, got it?”

You nod dumbly, eyes wide and body hot as his dark eyes flicker to your lips.

“Then I guess we gott’a deal, sweetheart.”

#kishibe x reader #kishibe smut #csm x reader #csm smut #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man smut

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j0eyj0rdis0n · 1 year

Note

I don’t know how to say this but I am in love with your polyproxies. Your writing is so well thought out and amazing I AM BEGGING FOR MORE. I’ll do anything! You’re amazing btw

Hi love!! I’m so glad you like it! I’ve honestly been having a really hard time getting motivation to write smut so I hope this will do! You’re absolutely amazing too!! 🖤🖤

POLY PROXIES PT.2

Fandom: Creepypasta

Plot: None just poly with the proxies 🫡

Warnings: SMUT, face fucking, cum swallowing, recording, unprotected sex, creampie, oral female receiving, nutting on the readers face 😎

Fucked brainless, that’s what you were. Taking them all so well whenever they wanted. You were theirs and they let you know it. They loved the way you took them without complaint. Letting Toby abuse your mouth and Tim twist you into whatever dirty position he wanted you.

You know… Tim doesn’t exactly take lightly to complaints. So when you tell him “yes sir” it’s like music to his ears.

Currently Brian’s sits in the chair on the opposite side of the room, slowly stroking his throbbing cock. His video camera in his other hand, which currently, is zoomed in on your drooling mouth as Toby goes to town. The boy was fucking your mouth like an animal in heat. Like he hadn’t gotten his rocks off in months. And you, being so damn good, were taking him so well.

Toby’s desperate moans and sinful whines filled the small bedroom as he absolutely abused your mouth. He could barely open his eyes to watch you he was so washed away by the bliss that was slowly building inside him.

“Yes! Yes- F-fuuuuck-“ Toby cried out desperately only taking two more harsh thrusts for him to come undone. His hot seed slid easily down your throat as he collapsed next to you on the bed. His chest was heaving and his mind so clouded he couldn’t do anything but hold your limp hand as Tim fucked you further into oblivion.

Brian focused the camera on your pretty pink pussy that he was so desperate to get a taste of. He watched Tim with envious eyes, watching as your hole happily invited his cock in. He watched as your slick ran down the insides of your thighs, seeing the shine against Tim’s lower abdomen. He could barely wait for his own turn.

Tim let out low grunts and growls with every thrust, praising you for being so so good for him.

“Damn sweetheart, your pussy wants me to come fast huh?” He groaned out as his head rolled back.

He loved the way you squeezed around him, like your tiny hole was desperate for more. More of his deliciously thick cock that filled you up just the right way to have your toes curling.

“So pretty for me too~” He harshly grabbed your jaw, pulling you up to meet him so he could catch your lips in a deep kiss. His strong arms made holding you in the complex position look easy. His large fingers found their way to your mouth, replacing his soft lips and prodding you to suck them like the dumb little bitch you were.

You felt his thrusts getting sloppy, or at least you thought so, honestly your mind wasn’t processing much more than the ecstasy you were feeling.

His grunts slowly turned into low moans as he finished inside of you. He pulled out slowly, replacing his cock with his thick fingers, stuffing your pretty hole and making sure not a drop could escape. He motioned with his head for Brian to come closer, finally letting him have his turn.

Brian couldn’t even keep the camera still as he jumped up and raced over to have you. He pushed Tim out of the way, handing him the camera which Tim grumpily focused on the scene that would unfold in front of him. Brian practically jumped at the chance to taste you, taste your slick and Tim’s seed combined. With one long stripe of his tongue he already had you whining, your pretty thighs about suffocating him.

But god did he love it. He loved how close you made him just by crushing him with your perfect thighs. And on top of how absolutely delectable you tasted?? He could die happy now.

He held your thighs apart just enough to give him breathing room as he attacked your clit with kisses and licks. He absolutely loved how he could get your thighs to shake when he pulled away just before you were about to come. Once, twice, three times, four times. By the time he had finally let you finish you were on the verge of passing out. Cute tears in your eyes, thighs shaking, and sobs wracking your body.

Oh how it was too much for you to get used by the three men around you. It made them all laugh how ruined you looked.

“Come on pretty, give me a lick.” Brian smirked as he got up, putting his cock inches from your swollen lips. “Come on, I know you got it in ya’.”

Being so good like always, you took his length in your mouth, tears falling as you did as he asked. Brian ripped the camera from Tim’s hands, putting it in your face to get a nice close up angle. Watching through the viewfinder it didn’t take long at all for him to finish. How absolutely filthy you were being was just the icing on the cake for him. He let his load go right on your pretty face, painting you just how he wanted before he turned the camera off and put it down on the side table.

Toby happily licked your face, ‘cleaning’ you up and giving you a sloppy kiss right after. Brian laid on your right, giving you a soft forehead kiss, silently letting you know how good you did.

“Toby you know your place.” Tim grumbled, pushing him off the bed and taking his place next to you on the left.

With an irritated glare to Tim, Toby helped put your shorts on and took his place in-between your thighs, resting his head.

#creepypasta #marble hornets #creepypasta requests #tim wright #masky x reader #masky marble hornets #masky #hoodie #hoodie x reader #hoodie marble hornets #brian thomas #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #proxies #creepypasta proxies #asks open #request #UNEDITED SORRY NOT SORRY

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corazondebeskar-reads · 11 months

Text

you know you never stood a chance - chapter four

you know you never stood a chance series

four: beg me to take care of things

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You continue your free use arrangement with Joel in exchange for shelter, but it hits a little snag.

Warnings: qz life comes with its own warning, dub-con due to power imbalance, trading sex for shelter, free use, vaginal sex, anal play, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, whoops there's more plot, Joel is mean/bad at feelings, no y/n, despite what it looks like this is NOT going to follow canon

also on ao3

“Not a fucking sound,” he whispers, stifling your moan with his hand. Ellie is asleep in the next room over, but the glass of the door between you is broken. It’s the only reason he feels comfortable leaving her in that room: the sole entrance is in his line of sight.

He’s got you pinned to the grimy tile, his whole weight atop you as he fucks into your cunt. You can’t make a sound if you wanted; you can hardly draw a breath. He’s not a small man by any means. But it feels so fucking good.

It’s been weeks. Ever since you got roped into this mission, ever since you left the QZ, he hadn’t touched you once.

It hurts in the best way, though just a little past the point of pleasure. There wasn't the time for prep. But your whole body is tingling just from finally having his hands back on you, his thick cock inside you, feeling like more than just a burden.

Each slap of his hips against you is a rebirth. In the six months before you started on this horrible trek, you had known very little outside of Joel’s touch. You went to work each morning, collected rations, and came home. He’d come home an hour later, always on edge, always looking for an outlet.

For six months, you had been little more than Joel Miller’s live-in fucktoy, and honestly, it was probably the best six months of your life since the outbreak. You wanted for nothing (at least in the realities of post-apocalyptic life—in the grander scheme of things, you wouldn’t have said no to some fucking McDonald’s french fries). You had protection. You had shelter. You had company.

Well. Okay. You sort of had company. You could count on him to speak at least a few words in the evening. He almost always made sure you came, too. It had been hard at first, relying on him, but there was no use for a martyr complex these days. The only one who’d suffer by turning down assistance was, well, you.

He doesn’t make sure you cum, this time, but you think he can tell you don’t need any help. The relief of having him inside you is enough, and you can’t spare the energy to be embarrassed about it.

After he pulls out, having covered your ass in his cum, he stands up immediately, knees cracking. He tucks himself away and nudges you with the toe of his boot. “Up, get dressed.”

You scramble up, tugging your pants back into place, and watch him for a moment. His jaw is ticking, and he’s scowling at the wall behind you.

You open your mouth, and he cuts you off. “Shouldn’t have done that. Not gonna happen again.”

You’re aghast. “What?”

“Wasn’t fair of me. Y’don’t owe me anythin’ out here.”

You take a hesitant step closer. His jaw twitches again, but he doesn’t move (or look at you). “You’re still protecting me,” you offer.

“I made you come out here. Kinda have to protect you.”

“You don’t, though,” you say, feeling emboldened enough to slide your hand up his arm to his bicep.

He knocks your arm away and grabs you by the chin. “Why’d you even come? You just do whatever I say, even stupid shit?”

“Well, yeah. Didn't really have a better offer.”

“Christ.” He drops his hand from you and wipes it down his face.

“How ‘bout you get some sleep?” you say warily. The bags under his eyes are deeper and darker than ever. “I can keep watch.”

“You learn how to shoot a gun when I was takin’ a piss earlier?”

“No, but I can still keep watch. I can wake you up if anything happens.”

You’re shocked when he seems to actually consider it. It’s the safest you’ve been in weeks, here in this abandoned high-rise. There are no signs of Infected or hunters.

“Fine.” He grunts. “But you wake me if there’s any sound. I don’t care if you think it’s a rat or the wind. You fuckin’ wake me, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you joke. Something darkens behind his eyes just for a moment, until he blinks it away. You file that away for later.

He hands you a pistol and a knife, just in case. Not that you’ll know what to do with either, but he can’t just leave you unarmed. You nod, understanding passing between you.

He sucks on his front teeth, staring at you for a moment like he wants to say something. You’re not sure you want to hear it, though, so you say, “Goodnight, Joel.”

Nothing happens. You stand, leaning against the door frame, Joel’s pistol in your hands. Despite his paranoia, there’s not even a squeak out of place, and he sleeps for four full hours before getting up. He moves more nimbly than he has since, well. Since Tess.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious to know what was between them. She had, after all, seemed very aware of what function you served to Joel, but there was no jealousy in her eyes. Maybe when he fucked her, it was like making love, and she was fine to leave all the rough, angry moments for you to absorb.

Or maybe it was nothing. It hardly mattered, and she was nice to you, so you respected her memory by leaving it alone.

Though you do wonder if that’s why he wouldn’t touch you anymore.

Dawn hasn’t broken, and Ellie is still asleep. When he comes out to check on you, you offer the only other comfort you can.

When you sink to your knees, he closes his eyes for just a moment and sighs. “Yeah, okay,” he says. His body had worked ahead of his brain, already undoing the button on his jeans, and he lets you ease him into the morning.

After, when he helps you stand, he holds you against him for a moment, and even presses a kiss into your hair almost absentmindedly. You figure maybe he’s forgotten his promise that it would never happen again.

And he does, for a little while.

When you first moved into his apartment, it was so incredibly awkward. Like, worse than a school dance awkward. Worse than walking in on your sister getting railed by some scrawny FEDRA officer awkward.

Eventually, you tracked his habits and rhythms and used the information to stay out of his way. You stopped wearing underwear when you were home, as it ended up on the floor anyway. After a while, he just started leaving you a couple of his shirts, and you gave up on sweatpants entirely.

You’d be lying if you said you were uncomfortable, and he tended to leave the shirt on you when he fucked you, so there was no need for dressing and undressing.

He left first in the morning and came home last, so the key quickly became your responsibility. He had shoved it into your hand the second evening.

“I’m leavin’ for a couple days. Lock the apartment. Don’t talk to anyone, and don’t tell anyone I’m gone.”

Before he left that evening, he ordered you to your knees and fucked your throat, wiping away the tears after he finished. “Be good,” he said, dragging his knuckles down your cheek.

And then he was gone. You locked the door behind him and sat on the dingy carpet, legs folded pretzel-style. The yellow fluorescent bulb overhead had a faint pulse to it, a barely-there dimming and brightening that started to hurt your eyes. What the fuck were you supposed to do here, in this flat you were haunting?

You didn’t dare look around. You ate the rations you had earned and left everything else alone. You knew there were pills, guns, and alcohol somewhere. You weren’t keen on learning where, though. Plausible deniability and all that.

Joel came home in the middle of the night three days later. The key issue became apparent when he had to pound on the door until you woke up to let him in.

“New plan,” he snarled when he came in. “From now on, when I’m gone, I’m lockin’ you in here until I get back.”

“Fuck no,” you said.

“The fuck did you say to me?” he said, stalking closer.

“What if you don’t come back soon enough? What if I fuckin’ run out of food?”

“You think I’d go to all this trouble to keep you safe and then let ya die in here?”

“I don’t know!” Your heart struggled to keep up with your irrational fury, and stumbled at his words. Why did he go to all this trouble? You were about to ask, but of course, he ruined it.

“What good’s your pussy to me then, huh?” He was chest-to-chest with you, towering with a venomous glare.

“I don’t know, Miller, you’re kind of a creep. Maybe you’re into that.”

“I’m a creep, huh? Then why are you so wet?”

You flushed, heat crawling across your cheeks and ears. “Who says I’m wet?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He pinned you against the door and shoved your pants down, plunging three fingers right into your cunt. You yelped at the stretch and pinch, but had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, as he brought them up to your face, coated in slick.

“Looks pretty wet to me,” he said, the words rumbling from somewhere deep and dark within. “Open.”

You did. God help you, you did. He smirked and pressed his fingers in, wiping them on your tongue.

“Suck,” he murmured.

You closed your lips around him and sucked until your cheeks hollowed around them, saliva leaking from the corners of your mouth. He pulled his fingers out and patted your cheek with the same hand, leaving a wet trail behind.

“Go get on the fuckin’ bed.”

"Which bed is the fucking bed?" you said before you could control yourself, and darted into his room before he could register your words.

You were hardly in position when his hands gripped the sides of your hips, and he licked into your cunt. “Fuckin’ slut, trying to say ya weren’t wet and waitin’ for me,” he grumbled, and nipped at your thigh before diving back in.

Your orgasm came embarrassingly quickly. His derisive chuckle brushed against your clit, which he sucked at until you were spent.

“Seems like ya missed me,” he said, standing and wasting no time before stuffing his cock in. “Well? Did ya?”

You didn’t answer, whining into the sheets as he set a slow but harsh pace, slamming in only to draw back out inch by inch.

He slapped your ass, watching it ripple. “Don’t be rude, sweetheart.”

“Oh, were you gone?” you huffed between thrusts.

He brought his hand down again. “What did I just fuckin’ say?”

“Y’know, come to think of it,” you couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t shut up, “there was a distinct lack of grouchy old creeps hanging around.”

He grabbed your hair and craned your neck back so you could see the way his eyes were blown dark, teeth bared. “Watch yourself, sweetheart. I’ve had a real bad couple of days. Here I thought I was comin’ home to a sweet cunt.”

You opened your mouth, though you didn’t feel a retort dancing on your tongue. You figured by the time you came up with it, you’d have already said it.

He didn’t give you the chance. His other hand came up, and he hooked two fingers into your cheek. The hand in your hair released to dip into your mouth, swiping his thumb through the pooling saliva. He dragged it down and pressed the wet thumb into the cleft of your ass, firm pressure against your tight hole.

You were breathing heavily around his fingers, back arched. He didn’t stop fucking into you, hissing as you clamped down when his thumb pushed in, just enough to make you feel the pressure.

“Awfully quiet now,” he drawled. “You just needed all your holes filled, huh?”

You thought you might die from the humiliation, if only the pleasure didn’t take you first. You squirmed, pushing back into him.

He jostled your head by pinching the fingers in your mouth and shaking your cheek. “You gonna be quiet if I take these out?”

You nodded. He withdrew the fingers and brought the hand down to your hip, holding you steady so he could chase his orgasm. Each rough thrust knocked a quiet cry from your lips, and he pulled away from your asshole to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back again.

The kiss was mostly teeth and spit, but it was euphoric. He felt the way you tightened and tensed, and he smiled against your lips. “Cum for me,” he said, and licked into your mouth to gobble up your scream.

When you convulsed on his cock, he lost control, and almost didn’t pull out in time. He spilled against the bed, swearing deep and low.

That memory and the many others get you through the lonely nights on the journey, your hand down your pants and gasps muffled around your fist when you can catch a moment alone. If Joel notices, he doesn’t show it. Except tonight, when you look back on it, you realize he was only making good on his promise not to let you rot in his apartment. Whatever delusions you had about being brought along get left behind in the shitty high rise.

next chapter

*title from "Send the Pain Below" by Chevelle.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #qz!joel miller #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #the last of us spoilers #sort of

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celestial-specter · 8 months

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I haven’t seen it as much online these days, but when season one was still airing, I often saw criticism that the batch, other than perhaps Hunter and Omega, ‘lacked character depth.’

It was something I didn’t think too much about at the time, but now, on my final re-watch of the whole show before the final season begins (😭) I couldn’t disagree more.

Sure, as there is so much action and plot occurring during the series premiere Aftermath, there is not much screen-time remaining to dedicate towards the emotional depth of the characters.

However, I’m a huge fan of the ways writers can use unconventional methods to show audiences the traits and roles of characters; As the bad batch are soldiers in every sense of the word, I believe there is no better way to highlight their individual personalities and talents than to show it through their battle strategy.

So, if you’re like me and love both star wars and unnecessarily in-depth analysis, I present…

Aftermath’s battle simulation: How one scene reintroduces us to Clone Force 99, and possibly foreshadows later events in the series.

(Part 1)

Across all star wars projects, the empire is always presented from above (in the context of The Bad Batch, think of the broadcast of Palpatine shown to the clones earlier during Aftermath, Raven’s Peak towering over the cloud cover on Eriadu, and Mount Tantiss surging over the natural jungle on Weyland). During the battle simulation, Tarkin watches from the viewing platform above the training ground, suggesting this scene will illustrate how the batch will respond to the new power of the empire.

When the team first enter the training ground, Hunter is the only one without his helmet on - he is already more humanized than the rest of his brothers. Of all the team, Hunter is the one who looks most like a ‘regular’ clone, despite his obvious attempts otherwise. He understands the importance of humanizing himself and his brothers - when he tries to save Caleb on Kaller, he removes his helmet in an attempt to get through to him. In this scene, Hunter only puts on his helmet and regains his status as a soldier when it is clear that a battle is about to begin. Even this small action could be interpreted as showing that being a soldier is not what Hunter truly wants, whereas the rest of his brothers are satisfied to continue in the way of life they have always known.

Once the battle begins, Hunter gives his brothers no instructions besides ‘You know what to do.’ Even as their leader, he trusts his team enough to know that they will succeed without his direct intervention. Even without a clear approach in mind, they all fall into places without any preamble - showing that Hunter is correct in his assessment of the situation, and that his brothers know each other well enough to do so without guidance.

The positioning of each member at the beginning of the battle is also important- as they move to the barrier, Echo, Crosshair and Hunter go left, while Wrecker and Tech go right, as seen below.

These positions could be indicative of their current roles within the squad at its peak. For example, the split between the right and left side could represent their difference standards of morals. Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair have, at this point in the series, been shown to be the most complex and strong willed members of the team - it is clear what each one of them believes in, and each one of them is unafraid to speak up when something goes against their personal moral code. This this shown prior to this point during Aftermath, as most of the discussion over Order 66 is between this trio, while Wrecker and Tech seem to be simply going through the motions rather than challenging them.

This is not to say that Tech and Wrecker do not also each have strong personalities, but so far they are much more focused on their individual interests than the morality of their lives as soldiers and their prospective roles in the formation of the new empire.

In this formation, Hunter is caught in the middle of all of his brothers, a position he is often placed in during group shots throughout the series. In this scene however, he is closely drawn to Crosshair’s side. Hunter’s reaction to Omega has shown that he has complex feelings about children being on Kamino, likely an attitude he has formed due to his own upbringing on the planet. It can be assumed by CT numbers that Crosshair (CT-9904) is the youngest of the batch, explaining the close yet intense relationship shared between him and Hunter.

Echo is also on the left side, but remains on the outside of the group. This could be interpreted as Echo simply arriving late to the batch and their having to reform this battle strategy to include him, but I prefer to think of it as a way to highlight Echo’s continued isolation, even amongst his brothers.

The placement of Crosshair between Echo and Hunter is also interesting. Echo, who has always been very focused on rules and regulations, and Hunter, the leader of a squad who openly flaunt their ability to break them. This positioning could be indicative of Crosshair feeling torn between two places, and his emotional conflict due to the effects of the inhibitor chip.

Located on the right side, Wrecker and Tech are both much more placid and easygoing. They are both often involved in childish bickering (as is Crosshair), but these two are never typically involved in intense conflict as the others are. As shown by the batch’s first appearance in The Clone Wars, Wrecker can be quick to anger when his brothers are threatened, but is easily dissuaded from violence by Hunter. Meanwhile, Tech is attempting to stop the fight from occurring in the first place, and is seemingly averse to conflict unless he deems the situation to be inescapable without it (e.g. the cafeteria fight).

Wrecker and Hunter are technically next to one another, but there is a huge space between them. To me, this gap represents the difference in their personalities as a result of their upbringing. Wrecker truly symbolizes the more easygoing, often-childlike comedic character, while Hunter is burdened by his concerns and responsibilities for his family. The pair were shown to have a closer relationship during their arc in The Clone Wars, with Hunter joining in with the jokes and antics of his younger brothers, and assuring Wrecker that he will beat Crosshair’s kill count during their next mission. In this scene, the space between them could foreshadow the upcoming degradation of their relationship due to the rise of the empire.

Tech is also on the outside of the group, but on the complete opposite side to Echo. Interestingly, since their very first meeting, Tech and Echo have been shown to have quickly developed a close relationship, with Tech being the main clone (other than Rex) to liberate Echo from captivity. The pair being on opposite sides likely is due to their similar technical skillsets but opposing ways off approaching situations- Echo is shown to possess a great deal of tact and patience when it comes to other characters such as Omega, whereas Tech can come across as nonchalant and uncaring at times. These positions also highlight how these two are the most independent of the group, both of them having no issues in leaving to compete missions alone.

#the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #star wars spoilers #star wars #star wars analysis #star wars the clone wars #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #sw tbb #star wars tbb #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb tech

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levithestripper · 9 months

Text

Patience Is a Virtue

summary:

stuck in winchester due to a quicker-than-usual winter and confined inside king ecbert’s castle with nothing to do, ragnar finds himself trailing behind athelstan, being strung along to god knows where. but his little priest promises it's worth it, and ragnar makes good on athelstan’s promise.

warnings: fluff, smut, porn with a sprinkling of plot, corruption kink, god complex, church sex, oral sex, semi-public sex (?), religious imagery and guilt, degradation kink, praise kink, aftercare.

length: 7.6k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

a/n: born of a thought i had with @grantairescurls :) the brainworms consumed me while writing this and i somehow managed to finish it before the new year. ending the past two years with an athelnar fic may become a tradition around here who knows. ANYWAYS i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did while writing it. doubles as day 16 of my three year old kinktober series i'm struggling to finish lmfao.

Winchester is a fascinating place. The landscape is similar enough to Norway’s, albeit missing the country’s magnificent mountains and rolling hills that Ragnar has somehow grown bored of. It has grown even closer in similarity these last few months, with winter bringing heavy snowstorms, covering the courtyard in fluffy white snow that glitters in the cold sunlight.

Free of King Ecbert’s all-knowing gaze, he walks beside Athelstan, eagerly waiting to see where his priest is leading him. But he’s known for being impatient, voicing his restlessness to Athelstan, a man who has enough patience for the both of them. “Where are you taking me, little priest?” Ragnar asks, trying to push the right buttons to irritate him, but it fails.

“Patience is a virtue, Ragnar,” he replies, a knowing look on his face.

Ragnar rolls his eyes with a dramatic groan, earning himself a quiet chuckle from his friend. “Well, are we close, at least?”

Athelstan doesn’t answer him on purpose, knowing it’ll annoy him further. Before Ragnar can continue to complain, Athelstan announces they’ve arrived at their destination. “We’re here.”

They stand in front of two giant wooden doors at the end of the long cobblestone hallway they found themselves in. The black metal handles make it look like the entrance to a dungeon.

Ragnar looks at Athelstan with confusion. Ath must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere! Ath surely can’t be serious when he says this is what he is so eager to show him! “Didn’t realize you’re a comedian, Athelstan,” he smirks. “Come on, where are we going, truthfully?”

Athelstan turns to meet his gaze, unaffected by Ragnar’s cockiness, far too used to him and his shenanigans. “I told you, patience is a virtue.” He leaves Ragnar’s side, walking up two pointless steps, and takes hold of the cold metal handles, pulling both doors open in a grand reveal of what lay behind. Light flooded the dark hallway, causing Ragnar to raise a shielding hand to his brow.

Through squinted eyes, what he sees takes his breath away. Larger-than-life stained glass windows filter the massive amount of winter sunlight into a rainbow of colors across the beautiful stone floors. Despite the colorful sunlight, the room is still relatively dark. The ceiling is taller than the hallways’, at least three stories worth of height between the two, the top coming together at a point. Hanging from the pointed ceiling is a fancy—and expensive-looking—candlelit chandelier, adding to the specific atmosphere in the room that Ragnar can’t find a descriptor name for. In the center of the room is a marble statue depicting what appears to be a stable of some kind. The wall behind the statue hangs a large wooden cross with a bronze man nailed to it.

“This is what I wanted to show you.” Athelstan looks as if he is in his God’s heaven. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Ragnar slowly trails behind him, head craning back to absorb everything before him. “Is this what you talk so much of back home? What is it called…” he mumbles under his breath, searching for the word in English. “A… church?”

Athelstan smiles at the effort Ragnar is putting towards getting the correct answer all on his own. “Close. A chapel,” he says in Norse, then repeats the new word in English.

He nods, trying to commit the phrase to memory. “What is the difference?” he asks, returning to Norse.

“A chapel is a place for private prayers, while a church is for congregations led by a priest.” Ath lets Ragnar take his hand within his callused one, keeping him close.

The Vikingr’s eyes light up at the mention of a priest. Finally, something he knew something about! “A priest? A priest like mine?”

Ragnar’s words cause a red dust to bloom across Athelstan’s cheeks. “I’m not a priest, Ragnar.”

He shrugs. “They’re basically the same thing.” Ragnar turns and points at the marbled statue in the center of the room. “What is that? It’s not like anything you’ve told me about.”

Athelstan looks to where he is pointing and pulls Ragnar towards it with the hand the Vikingr still held onto. “This is a nativity scene!”

He looks at him with a confused expression, suddenly lost again. “A nativity scene? What is a nativity?” Ragnar asks, the English word feeling foreign and unnatural on his tongue.

He gnaws on his thick bottom lip as he mulls over the easiest way to explain it in Norse. He sighs. “A nativity is the place of someone’s birth. And a nativity scene is a depiction of that.” Ragnar circles the statue, looking at it from every angle imaginable as if he were sizing an opponent up for a fight. He crosses his arms over his chest, pressing his elbow into the meat of his forearm, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Why?”

It’s Athelstan’s turn to feel puzzled now. “What?”

“You heard me, Ath. Why? What is the point?”

Ath moves to stand beside him. “It’s a recreation of the birth of our Savior.”

Ragnar interrupts him. “Our savior?” he questions, voice full of snark.

“Shut it and listen,” he smacks his bicep. “It’s how the faith celebrates the birth of the son of God all year round. Every year around this time, churches will put together beautiful masses to commemorate the birth of Jesus. It’s an important symbol in the religion, making the Lord tangible for all the world. Etching it into stone makes it permanent, ensuring parishioners never forget that He was once a helpless babe like they were.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, absorbing Athelstan’s words and attempting to understand them to the best of his abilities. “God’s son?” Ragnar squats in front of the marble baby. The stone infant slept in a pile of straw compiled within a trough, surrounded by who Ragnar assumed were his parents and extended family. Ragnar trails his finger across the babe’s cold forehead, feeling the finely chiseled details against his skin. “Is this the eldest son?”

Athelstan sits cross-cross next to him, nodding.

“Like Thor?”

Ath makes a face. “I suppose so.”

“Who are your god’s other children? Why are they not here?” Ragnar shifts to sit as well. “Why dishonor his other children this way?”

“Jesus is God’s only son.”

Ragnar chuckles. “Your god must be stupid, then. Betting everything on one son, only for him to die before having sons of his own.”

“Everything was a part of His plan, making Jesus’ death far from stupid,” Ath counters, leaning against Ragnar’s shoulder.

The Vikingr sighs deeply. “Do you worship him still? This Jesus.”

Athelstan shrugs. “I see the Lord in the blooming of spring flowers, but I hear Thor in my ears when I run into battle beside you. I feel the Lord in the summertime breeze, but I pray to Freyja to protect my norse sisters when they enter motherhood.”

“You’re a confusing man, Athelstan. No matter how much I learn about you, you never fail to reveal something I’m incapable of understanding.” Ragnar’s words earn him a giggle from the man beside him.

Ath turns his head, his chin digging into the soft tissue in Ragnar’s shoulder. “You’d be bored if I were any different.” Ragnar’s silence is telling, confirming Athelstan’s statement as correct.

Ragnar doesn’t stay silent for long. He never is quiet for long, always spouting the first thing that comes to mind. “Why is there no table?”

“Table?” Ath questions.

“The table!” he repeats as if that would clarify it. He gestures with his hands, trying to visualize the image in his head by drawing it in the air. “The table the priest hides behind!”

Ragnar’s words finally clicked inside Ath’s head. “Oh! You mean the altar?” He nods. “Chapels don’t have altars since they’re designed for individual prayer.”

“That’s a shame,” he says with a coy smirk, a devious glint in his icy-blue eyes.

Athelstan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah? Now, why is that?” Ragnar invades Ath’s personal space, noses just barely touching. It doesn’t startle him in the slightest, having grown quite used to it in the past handful of years being Ragnar’s partner.

Teasingly, he licks the tip of Ath’s nose. He leans in, whispering hotly in his ear. “If there were a table,” Ragnar refuses to call it by its proper name, purposely to irk him, “I could bend you over and fuck you on it.” He finishes with a sultry drag of his tongue up the shell of Athelstan’s ear, biting the lobe when the younger man shudders underneath him.

Athelstan’s expression looks as if he can’t decide between being aroused or being appalled. “Ragnar!”

“What, little priest? Does the idea of fucking on your god’s table make you uncomfortable?” Ragnar slides a rough hand over one of Athelstan’s thighs. “Or does the thought of defiling your Lord’s precious altar fill you with an embarrassing feeling of desire?” Ragnar’s words are hot against his ear, drawing another shudder from him.

“Ragnar!” Athelstan exclaims, his face a bright shade of red.

His smirk broadens as he drinks in Ath’s reaction. “Hm? Did I strike a nerve in you, my love?” Ragnar goads, teasing his hand further up Athelstan’s inner thigh, fingertips sending tingles straight to Ath’s slowly hardening cock. “Maybe I should take you right here instead, take you apart piece by piece in front of your beloved stone nativity.”

Athelstan grasps his wrist, halting his hand from edging along any further. “We can’t—I can’t. Not here.”

“Then explain why your cock is telling me a different story, my love,” he hums, breaking free of Athelstan’s hold to cup the man’s groin in his palm. Ragnar feels his own cock twitch against his thigh. “Let me show your god exactly how I worship you.” Ragnar closes the barely-there gap between them, lips pressing against his messily, hungrily. Athelstan practically melts under his ministrations, just like always. He grips Ragnar’s wrist again, trying to keep himself grounded, or else he feels as if he might float away.

“Ragnar, we can’t, it’s wrong!” Athelstan isn’t sure if he’s saying it to convince himself or Ragnar. Maybe both. When he’s kissing him, he can’t be sure of much. “Seriously,” Ragnar kisses him again. “We shouldn’t—” Another kiss. “We can’t!” Another kiss, this one sloppier than the rest.

Ragnar mocks him teasingly. “We can’t! We shouldn’t! It’s wrong! You should give me a real reason, little priest.” He moves to kiss down Ath’s neck, sucking on the spot he knows will make the man whimper and shiver. “Don’t try and hide how badly you want this. You know I can see right through your little disguise, sweetheart.” Ragnar squeezes Ath’s quickly thickening cock, pulling sweet, embarrassing noises from him. Athelstan’s resolve is quickly deteriorating, much to Ragnar’s pleasure.

“This is no fair; you’re no fair, Ragnar,” Ath complains, forgetting to add malice to his insult. His blush has spread down the column of his neck, making Ragnar want to suck pretty purple bruises into the soft skin there. Ragnar’s quick to act on his impulses, leaving an impossible-to-hide bruise in his wake. “What—What if someone walks in?” Ath manages to stutter out.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating in his chest. “So what?” he snickers, kissing a line down Ath’s neck, roughly tugging on the neckline of his tunic so he can continue along his shoulder. “Who cares if someone finds us. It wouldn’t stop me.” Quickly finding the blue fabric irritating, Ragnar pulls it over Ath’s head and tosses it behind them without a care. Taking off his own shit as well, Ragnar pushes him to lie on his back, shoving his tunic underneath Ath’s head as a makeshift pillow. “So what if your beloved god watches me fuck you? He should be honored to watch one of his creations be so thoroughly taken care of,” he hums, his words sending another wave of sparks through Athelstan’s body.

Athelstan doesn’t have a response for him. And even if he did, he doesn’t think he’d be capable of speaking without stumbling over every word. So he stays silent to keep from embarrassing himself further. The lack of any comeback made Ragnar grin maliciously.

“Not talking, my little priest?” he asks coyly. “Now, now, why could that be? I know you’re good with your words.” As Ragnar speaks, his deft fingers quickly begin unlacing Athelstan’s trousers. “Perhaps,” he licks his lips enticingly, his grin morphing into a familiar cocky smirk, “perhaps you want me to turn you into a dirty little sinner. Maybe you just don’t wanna admit how hard the thought of defiling your beloved god’s house makes you. ‘Cause then,” Ragnar leans down to whisper in his ear, his breath hot against his lover’s skin, “you’d be a filthy heathen like me.”

All of the willpower Athelstan had mustered up ‘till down crumbles around him at Ragnar’s words, the thought alone making his pretty pale blue eyes roll backward in his skull. “Fuck, Ragnar,” he groans, his voice shaking as if he might start crying any minute. “Fuck it, fuck everything, fuck God—I need you right now!” Ath exclaims, wiggling out of his trousers and kicking them away. He fumbles with the ties on Ragnar’s pants, desperately trying to push them down his thick, muscled thighs.

Ragnar cheekily nips at the shell of his ear before helping Athelstan relieve him of his pants, leaving the pair in just their undergarments. “Didn’t hold out for as long as I thought you would, sweetheart. Are you that desperate for me to defile you? To ruin you in front of your god?” Ragnar kisses down his sternum, laving his tongue over the sparse freckles he found dotted across his lover’s chest. He teases his fingertips along the waistband of Athelstan’s underwear. “Is that right, Athelstan?”

Instead of words, Ath whines pathetically, embarrassment flooding his senses. He felt his cock throb and leak beads of pre at the sound of Ragnar saying his name in such a lustful, inappropriate manner. “How long do you truly expect me to hold out for when you seduce me like this?” He unties Ragnar’s ponytail but leaves the braided sections alone, running his fingers through his now mostly loose locks. “You should leave your hair down more often.”

“Only if you promise to pull on it,” he says with a smirk, earning himself a deserved smack on the shoulder. With a giggle, Ragnar unceremoniously tugs down Ath’s underwear, watching intently as his cock slaps against his lover’s toned abdomen. Laying between Ath’s now spread legs, he mouths over his jutting hipbones, kissing everywhere but where Athelstan so desperately wishes he would. Ragnar lifts Athelstan’s legs to rest on his broad shoulders as his rough, weathered hands wrap around his thick, supple thighs, keeping him from squirming away. Nipping at his inner thigh with his teeth, Ragnar slowly makes his way down to Ath’s groin, littering small kisses as he goes.

Slowly regaining his confidence, Athelstan teases him right back, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Starting to think your bark is worse than your bite, Ragnar.”

He cocks an eyebrow at him. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re going so slow it’s almost like you’ve got cold feet or something,” Athelstan smirks, egging him on.

Ragnar returns his gaze with sharp eyes, telling Ath everything he needs to know with just one look. If he wasn’t before, he’s sure in for it now. Ungentle hands spread the globes of Athelstan’s ass apart. The rush of cool air to the newly exposed skin makes his whole body shiver with anticipation. Ragnar licks a hot, thick stripe from Ath’s hole to just below his balls, drawing an unexpected yelp from him. The yelp soon turns to moans as Ragnar continues, each lap of his tongue sending his nerve endings into overdrive. Slowly working his hole loose, Ragnar slides a free hand up Athelstan’s chest, stopping when they reach his red, bite-swollen lips. “Go on, pretty boy, make them nice’n wet for me.”

He wastes no time, opening his mouth for two of Ragnar’s fingers, sucking on them fervently. Ath licks them from base to tip, acting as if they were his cock and not mere fingers. Once Ragnar deems them wet enough, he pulls them from Athelstan’s lips, a string of spit connecting them briefly before it breaks, now sticking to Ath’s chin instead. “Good job,” Ragnar hums, sliding his spit-slick fingers down Athelstan’s taint and over his entrance. “Do you feel your god? Can you feel him watching us? Watching you?” he taunts with a click of his tongue. Ragnar presses the pads of his fingers against his entrance, threatening to sink inside but never following through with it.

Athelstan nods, embarrassment bubbling to the surface once more.

“I don’t think he’ll still be your god after this, little priest,” he licks over his top teeth with a gross wet sound. “I think I’ll be your god instead.” With that, Ragnar presses two fingers inside him, and Athelstan’s jaw drops in a silent scream. The sudden stretch burns slightly, but he likes a little side dish of pain with his pleasure.

Ragnar sits up, folding his legs underneath him. Athelstan’s legs are still propped up on Ragnar’s shoulders, stretching to stay up there as he moves. He unhurriedly thrusts his digits in and out of Ath’s tight hole, watching smugly as a lewd expression spreads across his lover’s face. Using his free hand, Ragnar holds Athelstan’s left leg steady, peppering light kisses along his meaty calf.

“You can—fuck—you can add another finger; please add another finger,” he begs, fighting to keep his eyes open and focused on Ragnar.

He chuckles, but it sounds like it came from the Vikingr’s chest instead of his throat. “What if I don’t?” The pads of his fingers just barely brush against Ath’s sweet spot, enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “Weren’t you the one just lecturing me about how patience is a virtue?”

Athelstan huffs in frustration, mildly upset that his words were successfully being used against him. He chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on the first question posed to him instead. “I’d be upset.” He looks up at him with a devilish gaze as if he were daring Ragnar to go through with his threat. They both knew he wouldn’t. Ragnar enjoys taking him apart far too much to deprive him of it just to fulfill an empty threat.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we? A God has to keep his subjects happy, after all.” Ragnar slips out of him, wetting his ring finger with his own spit before pressing all three inside. Athelstan blesses his ears with a moan that sounds almost as pretty as he looks. “There we go,” Ragnar mumbles, spreading his fingers apart methodically, occasionally curling them against Ath’s sweet spot. After a few minutes, he deems Athelstan’s hole to be loose enough and pulls out, his knuckles glistening with a combination of their spit. Ragnar removes Athelstan’s legs from their home on his shoulders, motioning for him to sit up.

Quick to obey, he braces himself on the heels of his hands. Ragnar meets him the rest of the way, bending over slightly to kiss him. It’s sweeter than their previous kisses, but it’s not that way for long, Athelstan taking the lead and licking into Ragnar’s eager mouth, turning the sweet kiss into a sloppy makeout. Athelstan anchors his hands in Ragnar’s hair, tugging on it harshly, earning himself a low grumble from the older man. “Let me suck you off, love?” Ath whispers, lightly dragging his teeth down Ragnar’s neck.

He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest handsomely. “Like you need to ask.”

Athelstan wastes no time swapping positions, pulling Ragnar’s underwear down before settling between the man’s spread thighs. He doesn’t beat around the bush, far too eager to get his mouth around Ragnar’s thick cock. Laying down on the cold stone floor, Athelstan presses his face against the crease where Ragnar’s inner thigh meets his pelvis. Breathing in his scent, he lifts his head up and kisses the tip, licking a bead of pre-come off and swallowing. Holding Ragnar’s gaze, Athelstan slowly took him into his hot, wet mouth. Unable to keep his head up, Ragnar closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of Ath’s lips around him.

“Didn’t know you had such a sinful little mouth, Ath,” Ragnar groans out, putting all his effort towards not fucking his lover’s throat ‘till he can’t speak correctly.

He simply hums around him, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core. Sinking down to the base, Athelstan chokes slightly when the tip hits the back of his throat. He gradually quickens the pace as he loosens his jaw, allowing for more of Ragnar’s cock to fit down his throat. Returning the favor, Ragnar yanks on Ath’s dark brown curls, keeping him from pulling off for a few seconds. Spit and drool drip from the base of his cock and down his heavy ballsack, eventually pooling on the gray stone beneath them. Ath’s chin is also slick with spit, his beard damp and curling even more due to the moisture.

With each bob of his head, the room echoes with sounds of him slurping and the occasional gag. One would think Athelstan had no idea he was in a church based on how he was acting, slobbering around a heathen’s cock as if it were what he was put on this Earth to do. He tongues the thick vein running along the underside of Ragnar’s cock, drawing a strangled moan from the man. Ath does it again before moving upwards, focusing all his attention on the overly sensitive head. He teases the slit he finds there, eagerly lapping up all the pre-come that had begun to dribble out. The action causes Ragnar’s cock to throb and his leg to twitch, and he’s quick to tug on Athelstan’s hair again, a silent warning that he’s close. Noticing this, he promptly pulls off with a wet pop sound. His chest heaves as he quickly tries to catch his breath.

Somehow, Ragnar looks in worse shape than Athelstan does, long hair matted against his sweaty forehead, his cock a deep shade of red and oozing pre-come. The perfect depiction of Satan’s temptations laid out in front of him, just begging for Athelstan to come and take a bite. He doesn’t think twice about going against his Lord’s wishes or what it would mean for his soul, far too enraptured in the delicious spread before him to care about some pretty garden his Lord had to offer when he could have Ragnar Lothbrok instead. Not even the King of Kings can win a fight against the King of the Northman. Ragnar beats everything his Holy Father offers him with little effort. Athelstan looks him up and down, drinking in the sight of him as if he were about to devour him whole.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Athelstan shuffles on his knees to straddle Ragnar’s hips, his cock bobbing enticingly in front of Ragnar’s face. The Vikingr gazes up at Athestan, taking in the beauty before him. His rough hands grab greedily at supple hips, thumbs meeting at a belly button surrounded by a thick trail of coarse hair. Ragnar feels Ath’s hungry eyes on him, an unneeded boost to his severely overblown ego. “You look good enough to eat, my love,” he digs his teeth into his bottom lip, returning Ath’s hungry gaze with one of his own.

“Good enough for a God?” Athelstan asks, voice dripping with lust.

Ragnar pretends to contemplate the question as he rolls his hips upwards to grind against Athelstan’s. “Depends on what His sinful little disciple can offer Him.”

Licking his lips, Ath splays his hands over Ragnar’s chest, tracing over long healed scars with his fingertips. “He can devote his life in service to Him.” Athelstan can’t articulate why, but speaking of himself in the third person like this stirs something within him that makes a pleasurable heat pool in his abdomen. “Devote himself to loving Him, serving Him, obeying Him.” He leans down as he speaks, slowly coming nose-to-nose with Ragnar. Athelstan shifts further down Ragnar’s abdomen, ass now nestled just above Ragnar’s cock. “Would He like that?”

Ragnar’s mouth curls in a devilish grin, grinding against his plush ass. “He’d have to renounce his previous Lord. This God doesn’t like to share with others.”

He kisses the edge of Ragnar’s mouth, knowing how it drives him mad. “Will his new Lord take care of him for eternity?” Ragnar turns Ath’s head to face him properly, his pointer and middle fingers holding his chin as he captures Ath’s lips in a heated kiss. The passion within his embrace serves as Ragnar’s answer, something Athelstan effortlessly picks up on.

Ragnar pulls away enough to whisper against his lips, switching back to first-person language, his brain too addled with lust to adequately phrase sentences that way for any longer. “How about you make yourself nice’n pretty for your new God?”

“How does He want me?” Athelstan nips at Ragnar’s ear before kissing it, almost like an apology for biting him.

“On all fours, face down,” he slaps Ath’s ass, and Athelstan yelps in surprise, “ass up like you’re praying.” Athelstan gets off of him, but not without a furious red blush flooding from his cheeks to color his pale chest beautifully. Sitting up, he watches how quick Ath is to obey his request. It merely fuels the flames of Ragnar’s ego, making him even more eager to take Athelstan apart piece by piece and put him back together in his own image.

Ath makes a show of bending over, swaying his hips as he goes, and arching his back, making him the picture of temptation. “Like this?” he asks innocently, spreading his legs and looking over his shoulder at him, resting his weight on his forearms.

Ragnar settles behind him, shamelessly running his hands over the globes of Athelstan’s ass. “Mmhm, just like this. Such a sinful little worshiper you are. Defiling your previous Lord’s house, throwing away your chance for holiness without a second thought.” Ragnar fists his cock, spitting on it to get it wet again. He taps it against Athelstan’s still loose hole, watching it clench desperately around nothing.

Athelstan’s cock throbs pathetically at Ragnar’s words, sending a whole body shiver through him. He presses his ass into Ragnar’s hands, silently pleading for Ragnar to bury himself deep inside. All it accomplishes, however, is getting the Vikingr to smack his thick cock against him again.

“I think,” he hums, pausing solely to draw out Ath’s torment, “you should beg your abandoned Lord for forgiveness.” Ragnar presses his cockhead against Athelstan’s entrance, barely dipping inside before retreating. “You are sinning in his house, after all.” Athelstan gasps at his proposition, and Ragnar takes advantage of his lover’s shock, deciding it to be the perfect opportunity to push inside him. He bullies his way inside, not stopping to give Ath time to adjust until his balls are pressed against Ath’s thighs.

“Ragnar!” he yelps, the sudden intrusion knocking the breath from his lungs. On top of having been a while since they last laid together, Ragnar’s cock is far thicker than the three fingers he prepared him with, so there’s a slight burn in the stretch as he bottoms out. “Fuck, you’re so stupidly big!” Ath whines, gripping the makeshift pillow in an attempt to stay grounded.

He tsks at him. “That’s no way to talk to your Lord, Athelstan. Don’t you think?” Without waiting for a response, Ragnar pulls out nearly all the way, leaving just the tip. He grips Athelstan’s hips roughly, the pads of his fingers squeezing the soft, unmarred skin there.

He panics at the sudden empty feeling, immediately backtracking, determined to be a good boy for Ragnar. “No,” he choked on his words, his brain moving faster than his mouth could keep up with. “No, it’s not; please forgive me!”

“I’m not who you should be apologizing to, remember?” Ragnar goads as he sinks back inside at a gruelingly slow pace. “Or should I pull out to help jog your memory?” Keeping one hand on Ath’s hip, Ragnar sinks his right hand in Ath’s dark brown curls, tugging his head up to force him to look at the cross directly behind the nativity scene before them. “You tell me stories of how Jesus died for your sins, only for you to shame him by sinning in his chapel.”

Athelstan whimpers and whines, shamelessly canting his hips back on Ragnar’s cock. “Please don’t pull out,” he begs, sniffling. Despite how he sounds, Athelstan doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused in all his thirty-five years of life. Made to gaze upon the man he had once dedicated his life to serving, on his knees in mock prayer, but it wasn’t Jesus he was praying to this time. It looks unlikely he’ll ever pray to the Heavenly Father or His son again after this, having found something much sweeter and far more rewarding. Something more real to Athelstan than the figure on the wall or the marble Blessed Virgin Mother in front of him ever will be.

The unmistakable sound of Ragnar snarking breaks him out of his thoughts. He’s remained unmoving since bottoming out a second time, providing a deep-seated, pleasurable pressure within Ath’s abdomen. “I’m not above using you as my own personal cockwarmer until you start begging, darling,” he threatens, only this time Athelstan knows it’s not an empty one.

Unfortunately, Athelstan’s bratted too close to the sun more often than he cares to admit. This might end up one of those times if he doesn’t play his cards correctly. “What do you want me to beg for, Ragnar?” he questions cheekily, playing dumb, knowing exactly how to get the reaction he wants from Ragnar.

Ragnar yanks on his hair as a warning. “You’ve been good up ‘till now, little priest,” his deep voice rumbles low in his throat, words sticky with pent-up desire, the little self-control he has left quickly deteriorating with every passing minute. “I wouldn’t go fucking it up now if I were you.” He emphasizes it with a slow, punishing roll of his hips, cockhead brushing against Athelstan’s sweet spot. “But if you don’t want me to fuck you after all, keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

The moan Ath lets out is utterly sinful, and Ragnar hasn’t begun to fuck him in earnest yet. He briefly debates his options, but it wasn’t a hard decision. Solidifying his gaze on the nailed God before him, Athelstan began to pray for the Lord’s forgiveness. “Lord, I seek Your forgiveness and healing. Help me to release the weight of the guilt and shame that I carry.”

“Aww, there we go, little priest. Beg to your nailed god,” Ragnar taunts. He pulls out again and truly starts to fuck him now, thrusting into him quickly. The hand on Ath’s hip squeezes tightly, sure to leave bruises later. Ragnar tugs Athelstan’s hips back on each thrust he gives. The chapel echoes with sounds of skin slapping against skin and Athelstan’s choked, moaned prayers. Sweat slides down the ridges of Ath’s spine and pools in the divots at the end of his tailbone. “Imagine how disappointed he must be in you, Athelstan,” he says with a yank of his hair. He drapes himself across Ath’s back so he can whisper into his ear. “Once a pious little monk,” Ragnar delivers a particularly harsh thrust, hitting a pleasurable bundle of nerves inside Athelstan. “Now reduced to a devilish sinner by a blasphemous pagan.”

Athelstan wonders briefly about where in the world Ragnar could’ve learned that word, but the arousal thrumming through his body made any coherent train of thought impossible. He was barely managing to get out his prayers, let alone anything in addition to that. “Grant me strength, ‘O—oh fuuck—‘O Lord, to learn from my previous mistakes and help me grow,” Athelstan stops mid-sentence, interrupting himself with a slutty moan. “Ragnar, Ragnar, fucking hell, you’re so deep,” he whines, rolling his hips back on each thrust he gives.

His lips curl in a cocky smile. “How’s it feel, sweetheart?” The hand in Ath’s hair twists, making him groan loudly.

“It feels s’good, Ragnar!” He moans, white-knuckling Ragnar’s abandoned tunic. Ath fights his eyes from rolling back in his head, desperate not to appear as how slutty he feels. It doesn’t work. “Harder, Ragnar, please!” He almost forgets to continue his prayers, but a perfectly aimed thrust to his prostate reminds him of his orders. “‘O Lord, I thank You for even though I am a sinner, in the kindness of Your mercy!” Athelstan feels shame flood over him and the omnipotent eyes of Jesus Christ boring into him from across the room. Judging him, condemning him, and casting him down from the light of heaven, sentencing his soul to the fiery pit of hell for eternity. But that humiliating feeling is accompanied by a shameful pleasure that greedily spreads throughout his entire body, making his extremities tingle.

Ragnar is more than happy to oblige, fucking into him at a punishing speed, hips moving at a godlike speed. Each thrust hits Athelstan’s sweet spot dead on, ripping a loud moan from him every time. “You’re still so tight, Ath.” He bites the fleshy junction of his shoulder and neck, leaving a blotchy red mark in his wake. “It’s like your god made you to be wrapped around my cock like this.” He releases his hold on Ath’s hair, moving to fist Athelstan’s red, leaking cock instead. His hand nearly engulfed his cock entirely, just the tip peeking out from above his fingers. “What do you think, hm? You think he made you just for me?”

Ath manages to nod, biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. He’s given up praying for forgiveness now, his mind all-encompassed by Ragnar and the arousal coursing through his veins. “Just—Just for you, always been just for you!” He cants his hips into Ragnar’s hand, needy for any and all friction he could get against his poor, neglected cock. “Please, please, please, Ragnar!” he begs, unsure exactly what he’s begging for, just that he needs more of whatever it is.

“Please, please, please!” Ragnar mocks and Athelstan can practically see the conniving smirk he wears in his mind’s eye. “Please what, little priest? Can’t give it to you if I don’t know what it is.” Athelstan’s whole body shudders from his next thrust, eyes quickly rolling back from the intensity of it.

He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out are incoherent moans and slutty whimpers. “Please—oh, right there! Please, just, more, more of—fuuck—everything, please, Ragnar!” Ath’s arms give out from underneath him, his weight resting on his shoulders, cheek pressed against the cold stone floor.

“More, hm?” Ragnar slows his movements, earning himself a pathetic whine from his lover. “Even with all your pleas for forgiveness, you still want more?”

Ath nods with another high-pitched whine.

“Do you think your precious nailed god would approve of that desire?”

He shakes his head no.

“Perfect,” Ragnar growls, standing up straight once more, drinking in the sight before him as if it were the perfect cup of ale. He takes his hand off Athelstan’s cock and places it on his hip, spreading his cheeks apart with his thumb and forefinger. Reestablishing the pace he had previously, Ragnar watches his cock disappear inside him, a creamy white ring of pre-come circling his base. “I hope he’s watching when I paint your pretty insides and fully claim you as mine,” he pairs his words with a punishing thrust, far harder than anything else he’d delivered previously. “Watches me take you from him for good this time.”

Each thrust is like electricity, sending tingles from his toes to his fingertips. “Yours, Ragnar,” he hiccups, “Yours, make me yours!”

Ragnar lands a harsh smack to Ath’s asscheek, a slightly pink handprint blooming across his pale skin. “Always have been mine, little priest. Ever since I stole you from your comfy little monastery.” He angles his hips so he hits Ath’s sweet spot with every thrust. “I wanna hear you say it. Tell your beloved god who you truly belong to.”

“You! I belong to you!” he cries, voice bouncing off the walls, echoing his shame for all close enough to hear.

He yanks Ath’s head up, forcing him to speak directly to the cross instead of begging into the floor. Ragnar hoists him almost entirely off the floor, now barely able to graze the stone with his fingertips. “Look him in the eye when you speak, sweetheart. After all, you can’t disgrace him further by being rude, and I’m sure you don’t want that.” Ragnar’s words are soaked with liquid sin, the droplets burning a hole in the consecrated floors of this sacred building he’s corrupting with each passing minute.

Athelstan hums a yes and repeats himself, staring into the cold, metal eyes of Jesus, his former savior, who died to atone for humanity’s sinful souls. Even though it’s only a statue, Ath felt as if it were Jesus himself nailed there, flesh and blood dripping to the floor with cold splats. He can practically see him there, gold and brown colored metal morphing into pale skin marred with rivers of red. “I’m sorry, ‘O Lord! Please bless me with your kind mercy!” he cries out in his thoughts, but deep down, he knows it’s not a genuine apology. He knows God knows as well. Ath doubts his soul will be cleansed, but he can’t doesn’t care any longer. He has a new God.

“Tell him who you belong to.” Ragnar’s thrusts don’t let up, somehow gaining in force instead.

Ath swallows thickly before speaking, eyebrows pressing upward, his face screwed together in overwhelming pleasure. “You! I belong to you!”

Ragnar twists Ath’s curls in his fist. “Who? Say my name, Athelstan. He might believe you’re talking about him.”

“You, Ragnar!”

“Hm? I can’t hear you, Athelstan; you’ve got to speak up, or else he won’t hear you, either,” Ragnar goads, grinding his hips hard against his ass.

The curve of Athelstan’s spine is nearly pornographic. Ath scrambles to find something to hold onto but comes up empty-handed. “I belong to Ragnar! You, Ragnar!” he yells, stretching his arm backward to grip the back of Ragnar’s head, fingers anchoring in his hair. “Oh, my God—oh, my god fuck—I’m close, Ragnar, please!”

Ragnar releases his grip on Ath’s hair to wrap his arm around Ath’s stomach, holding him closer than believed possible. He presses his sweaty forehead against Athelstan’s shoulder, his thrusts growing uneven and sloppy as he approaches his limit as well. “Fuck, Ath-Athelstan,” he stutters, the mask he wore cracking at the edges, revealing just how desperate he really is. “Fuuck, yes, that’s it, you’re so fucking hot like this, baby. Fucked open and needy, just for me and no one else.” Ragnar splays his fingers over the tensed muscles of Athelstan’s stomach, pressing down gently.

“No one else, all yours, my love,” Ath babbles, leaning his head back to rest on top of Ragnar’s. His chest heaves with each gulp of air he takes, the lower half of his ribs showing slightly every time his stomach sucks in. “Gonna—oh, fuck, there—gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, Ath, make a pretty mess all over my hand, fuuck,” Ragnar moans out, words warbly and uneven as he does his best to speak without stumbling over everything. “You’re so pretty, so good for me.” His thrusts quickly lose whatever rhythm they had left as he reaches his climax, spilling his cum deep inside Ath’s spasming entrance.

Athelstan’s cock throbs and twitches when he feels Ragnar’s orgasm, his own cum spurting all over his stomach and Ragnar’s hand. His legs shake violently, toes curling and uncurling in tandem with each spurt of his cock. The short nails of his left hand rake across Ragnar’s back and side, making the man shiver. As they both come down from their highs, a mix of Ath’s cum and sweat drips wetly onto the floor. He can feel Ragnar breathing heavily against his back, finding his equally exhausted presence comforting.

As his cock softens, Ragnar carefully slips out of him, a rush of cum quickly following. Shivering, Athelstan shuffles to turn around before Ragnar does. Now face to face with his lover, Ragnar kisses him gently, as if Athelstan would break if treated too roughly, a stark difference from how Ragnar was manhandling him a few minutes prior. He tilts his head to one side and cups Athelstan’s unmarred cheek with his clean hand, thumb stroking his sweaty cheekbone. Ath licks into his mouth, nose pressing into Ragnar’s scarred one. The kiss lasts for both years and only a handful of seconds simultaneously. Neither knows who pulls away first. “Are you okay, Ath?” he asks, rubbing his nose against Ath’s.

He nods with a hum. “Are you?” Ragnar nods, too. “Didn’t know you had that in you, baby.”

Ragnar snickers, kissing the tip of his nose. “And this surprises you?”

“Nothing about you surprises me. Not anymore.” Athelstan scrunches his nose cutely after he kisses it. “We’ll have to be quick about cleaning up; someone might come looking for us.”

Ragnar snags his tunic off the floor and uses it to wipe away the cum dripping from between Ath’s legs. “Did you mean what you said? About belonging to me and only me? Forever?” he asks somewhat quietly, the insecurity he shows uncharacteristic of him.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Ragnar,” Ath says softly, his voice soothing, like a wool-lined blanket on a cold winter’s night, calming any worries Ragnar might be harboring within him. “You know that.”

Dropping his now-soiled tunic, Ragnar wraps his arms around him in a tight hug, corded muscles flexing beneath his skin. “Good; perfect. You’re perfect.”

Athelstan drapes his arms over Ragnar’s shoulders, hugging him back just as—if not more—tightly. Ragnar traces shapeless designs into the skin of Ath’s lower back, pressing soft, grounding kisses along the column of his neck. He kisses the bite mark he left, which is now starting to bruise. They slowly sink to the floor, Athelstan sitting in Ragnar’s lap, legs on either side of his waist, head resting against the lower part of his shoulder. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you, too,” Ragnar says, almost as if he’s been saying it to him for decades, not years. As if every time he’s said it, it’s always been for Athelstan, even before he knew him. As if his love is reserved for Athelstan and Athelstan only. He lays his cheek on the top of his head, careful not to dig his chin into Ath’s skull. “When we go home in the spring, we’ll hold the biggest feast our halls have ever seen.”

Ath gazes up at him the best he can. “What for? What’ll we be celebrating, other than a successful return like always?”

Ragnar holds his hand, lacing their fingers together. “A wedding.”

“A wedding?” Ath questions, getting a nod in response. “Who’s?”

Ragnar breaks his gaze, looking up at the ceiling. “Our wedding.”

Blindsighted but elated, Athelstan shifts to look at him properly, refocusing Ragnar’s eyes where they belong—on him. “Our wedding?” Ragnar calmly nods like he didn’t just propose to him. “You need to work on your proposal skills, darling,” he giggles as a stupidly wide, toothy grin spreads across his face.

“Is that a yes, then?” Ragnar asks, donning a toothy smile of his own.

Athelstan holds Ragnar’s face in his hands and kisses him. “You dumbass, of course, it’s a yes.”

Ragnar kisses him again, then litters small kisses across his cheeks, chin, forehead, and anywhere else he can easily reach. “Perfect,” he kisses Ath’s lips. “Next time I take you, it’ll be on our marriage bed.”

“Ragnar!” Athelstan gasps with a slight laugh. His words made his softened cock twitch in curiosity. “You can’t just say that!”

“Yes, I can.” Ragnar squeezes his waist. “We both know you love it,” he teases, pressing his thumbs into Ath’s soft abdomen, messing up the dark hair there.

He rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, unlacing his hand from Ragnar’s so he can drape them over Ragnar’s shoulders again. Ath holds his own hand, lacing his fingers together. “You’re so insufferable, you know that?”

Ragnar grins cheekily, far too proud of the fact. “You love it, don’t even try and deny it.”

“What if I do deny it? What’ll you do then?” Athelstan asks, licking his lips and shifting his hips to brush against Ragnar’s cock, who’s making an effort to chub up again.

He nips at Athelstan’s nose as a warning, a grin still spread across his face. “Something we can’t get caught doing in here, baby.” He reaches back to grab Athelstan’s tunic, blue eyes never leaving pale ones. Ath slips it over his head and stands, tugging on his trousers. Ragnar copies him, minus a shirt. They gather their things and clean their fluids off the floor as best as they can manage with the little supplies available. Once it looks like nothing sinful has occurred, the pair leaves the chapel hand in hand, eagerly heading for Ragnar’s chambers.

taglist: @moonlighttfoxx, @demon-of-the-ancient-world, and @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics.

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emelinstriker · 1 year

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Wukong ♢ 'Vacation'

Heads up, I haven't seen the sleep bug episode, or any other season than 4 in general, in a while and just remember the general plot moment of the episode. Also the moment of MK trying to get in contact with Monkey King while flexing his new abilities.

All's based in an AU anyway so we shall strife away from the canon timeline- whoo :D

I just know Monkey King doesn't fully return till like the end of season 2, so this shall have major timeskips-

♢ ~ Angst ~ ♢

"Sun Wukong! Where are you?!", your slightly irritated voice rang from behind some trees as you moved past some foliage, looking for your monkey boyfriend. He was supposed to train MK today and you wanted to pay a visit to Flower Fruit Mountain, but then you caught MK training on his own as his mentor was nowhere in sight.

MK told you that Monkey King decided to take a sudden vacation and that he apparently sent you a message just minutes prior. You didn't notice the message however as you were busy trying to get the sleep bug game notification off your phone. It didn't work, so you ended up just turning off your phone so you could deal with it later at home.

But the fact that he outright left not only you but also the kid like that was quite upsetting.

Knowing the stone monkey, he didn't actually immediately leave. He was probably still somewhere on Flower Fruit Mountain to collect everything he would need just in case while being away. And it seems you were right on the money. You found the Monkey King packing up some leftover things that weren't behind the waterfall or near his and MK's designated training area. The items seemed to not be for a relaxing vacation to be honest.

"Wukong! Why are you going on vacation out of the blue?!" You asked as you approached him with quick steps.

He froze, his tail stiffening for just a second to let you know you startled him. The monkey quickly turned to look at you rather nervously. "A-Ah h-hey heeey, peaches! Wh- Well, what a surprise to see you all the way out here!"

"Mhm. Same to you", you started, glaring at him, "But don't avoid the question. You should be all the way on the other side of the forest and training your successor right now, y'know?"

He waved his hand dismissively, "He's got the basics down and knows how to train himself. I did train for the most part on my own as well. He'll be fine. Besides, it's not like I'll be gone forever. I'll be checking in from time to time." Then he continued to pack two more items.

You were still quite mad at him despite the explanation. "But why are you going on vacation right now and without me?"

That seemed to catch his attention, but not in the way you expected. The simian's ears seemed to twitch a little at your words, but he refused to look at you as he packed another item.

"Listen (Y/N), I simply need to get away and be alone for a while. I'll be visiting some people I know from the past. I'd love to have you on another vacation, just... not this one." His tail lowered itself until it was tucked between his legs. That didn't stop you from feeling left out of yet another mini-adventure. It was far from the first time he insisted on you staying behind due to you being a regular human with nothing more than verbal strength.

This time was no different as you noticed that whatever he had planned, the seriousness in his voice told you enough that wherever he was heading to was not a simple vacation. But that was even more of a reason to at least tell you where he was going!

You clenched your fists in frustration. "Can't you just tell me what's wrong? It's not like you to be this secretive! I know you're off to doing something alone again because of whatever bits of a hero complex you have left, but-" "I can't tell you, okay?!" He snapped back, finally turning to you with the snarl of a feral monkey, catching you off-guard.

"Ugh, that's why I need a vacation right about now too! Gods, you're so pushy in moments like these, I just need a break!"

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes at his words, but you turned around quickly enough so he wouldn't see. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves and keep your voice from cracking.

"Fine. I hope you have fun on your vacation, Monkey King", you responded as you started to walk away, your back facing him the entire time while tears began rolling down your cheeks.

The simian was still annoyed as he began hopping onto his cloud and taking off. Only halfway to his destination did his brain finally register that you referred to him by his title. That's when the reality of the argument you two just had a few minutes ago hit. And so did the memory of how he described you, followed by you tearing up.

He did notice.

"...Shit", he muttered to himself dreadfully as he facepalmed. As much as he wanted to go back this instant and embrace you before you left Flower Fruit Mountain, his mission had to take priority as the fate of the world was in danger. He would have to apologize to you later...

"Later" turned into several weeks however as he fought to obtain information on how to beat the Lady Bone Demon. Occasionally he would check in on MK, of course. He did ask about you at least once everytime he got in contact with the boy though, even while being in the middle of battle. The guilt that was eating at him was a lot more bothersome than getting his hands on the Samadhi Fire's map.

MK noticed how often his mentor would ask about your well-being and at first thought that it was sweet of him to ask about you... But then he realized he could just get in contact with you directly too. You had a charm in form of a necklace that let you transport to Flower Fruit mountain, as well as open the waterfall and get in contact with your lover.

That's when he started to catch onto the suspicion that something must have happened between the two of you.

"Monkey King, why don't you just talk to (Y/N) directly? They still have the charm you gave them, right?"

The golden image of the Monkey King crossed his arms before scratching his cheek with a frown. He seemed suddenly very much uncomfortable.

"I... Uh... I don't have the time for a lengthy talk with them right now. I still need to visit another friend in a bit! Right! Yeah! Okay, see you later, bud!" "Monkey King, wait-"

And then the connection cut off. Feeling upset and abandoned by the one who was supposed to mentor him through his journey as hero, he decided to give you a call.

The phone rang until he heard your voice. Your recorded voice.

"Hi! This is (Y/N)! Please leave a message if you need anything and I'll listen to it as soon as possible!"

He hung up and tried to call again, but it also only went back to voicemail.

Raising an eyebrow at your sudden unavailability, he decided to just send you a text instead, believing you were busy at work and put your phone on silent.

'monkey king keeps asking about you btw, but doesn't seem to wanna talk to you directly :('

'tell me if you wanna talk to him and i can try get you two in contact'

'if he hasn't talked to you recently that is'

'he acts kinda weird rn tbh'

You should be able to read those messages once you got time. Probably after work.

And yet he never received any text back.

What he didn't know was that you weren't at work. In fact, you were being held captive by the Lady Bone Demon's servant, the Mayor. Him and his Lady knew about your relationship with Sun Wukong and how fragile you were compared to the rest of your friends.

"I don't have anything to offer you!" You yelled out as the Mayor held your arms effortlessly behind your back, forcing you to simply talk to his Lady's glowing image in front of you.

She giggled ominously, "On the contrary, (Y/N). Your destiny has been sealed the moment you agreed to a relationship with that damned simian and befriended his successor."

"What the hell am I of use for to you?! I don't have any special abilities you could even benefit from!" Your voice cracked towards the end from the amount of anxiety you had.

"Well, unfortunately for your frail body, your destiny involves succumbing to your wounds."

Before you could question her any further, the Mayor moved your wrists swiftly, breaking your arms in the process. You cried out in pain, breathing heavily as tears began to fall.

"For you see, the charm Sun Wukong gave you will aid us in creating the New World. Contact him through it." She smirked down at your quivering form. "And even if you decide to be uncooperative, destiny will catch up sooner or later..."

And as suspected, you were being very much uncooperative. So much so that you ended up with more injuries than you could keep count of. Probably half of which included several broken bones from the Mayor's raw demonic strength.

While the Lady Bone Demon wasn't so fond of your refusal to call your boyfriend, she merely saw it as a minor delay. She knew Sun Wukong and the rest of the crew would get suspicious and try find you eventually.

Even if it took days upon Wukong telling the crew to find the three four rings...

And find you they did.

But not in the shape they had hoped.

You were completely bloody and bruised, your limbs were mangled in a rather disturbing way.

The crew was horrified- Not only at the sight, but also at the realization that you were lifeless, dead...

The Monkey King felt the most broken. The memories of your forever last conversation being one big mess of an argument... He thought he was keeping you and the others safe...

He mourned over your dead body, letting his tears fall as he carefully cradled you in his arms, his fur and armor now having bloody spots. MK was struggling with telling his mentor to focus because he himself couldn't fully focus anymore at the sight of a close friend's body. However, the thought of other people, including his other friends, ending up in the same position as you were in was terrifying.

And that was all the motivation they both needed to keep moving. The Great Sage wiped away his tears, looking at your resting form one last time before glaring into the distance.

He would avenge your death, no matter what.

And if possible, would try find a way to bring you back... Even if it involves fighting the Heavens once more.

> Link to Masterlist <

#lmk x reader #lego monkie kid #monkey king x reader #sun wukong x reader #angst #spoiler alert: reader dies #wukong is kinda rude during the argument ngl #partially ooc i'd say but it's fiiineee #also last fic for today; i shall now rest

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aemondsvisenya · 2 years

Note

Hello! I saw you were taking requests for House of the dragon and wanted to request something if that’s okay! I had this idea for quite a while but haven’t been able to find any fics like this. I’d like to request a Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader hurt/comfort fic in which the reader comforts him after Viserys’ death. Maybe she finds him having a breakdown and like breaking things so she goes to hug him (with the head bump thing he does when he hugs people bc that makes me melt) and he just lets go for once. I know this sounds a bit ooc for him but I’ve heard that they cut off the scene in which he cried for Viserys and his daughter and I can’t get over it. I believe Daemon is actually more emotional than how we see in the show and that he feels a lot and is a very complex character. I’d love to see a scenario in which Daemon actually can’t hold his emotions in anymore and someone is there for him. Idk I just love him🫶🏻

Sorry for my english, it’s not my first language. Anyway, take your time and feel free to ignore this if it you’re not really inspired, have a great day!

Hi anon! Of course it’s absolutely okay to request! ☺️ I love this idea so much, oh my gosh - I actually did write a fanfic a couple of months back about Daemon in episode 10 (grieving not only his brother but also his daughter and stepson), and I totally agree that he’s incredibly complex. It’s a shame there were scenes showing his complexity cut from the show!

Anyway, I apologise for it being kind of short but I've been busy with work unfortunately! I also apologise if it sucks!

Grieving | Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of illness/death, angst, hurt/comfort, Daemon using his favourite four letter words beginning with c and f

Also, a note: Obviously this isn't canon-compliant - you're in a relationship with Daemon in this fic, so you could assume he's not married to Rhaenyra but... anyway.

The first thought on your mind when you heard the news of Viserys’ death was not of the inevitable power struggle for who would be the one to seize the throne, of the inevitable war and pain for both sides this would cause, or even your own feelings of sadness at the king’s passing.

No, the only thing on your mind was Daemon.

It didn’t take long for everyone around you to busy themselves with plotting how best to help the king’s named heir take the throne that was rightfully hers, Daemon chief among them; to anyone else, he appeared angry, filled with a dangerous rage that threatened to boil over and destroy everything in his wake, his desire for war and revenge clear. It was true, you admitted; it was obvious that your lover wanted to hurt each and every person who had caused his brother pain, who had disrespected that same brother’s wishes, who had held any part in usurping a niece he held dear. There was no question that Daemon Targaryen wanted revenge or that he would be the one to swing the sword as he sought it.

But you knew him well enough to know that there was more than just anger and hate driving him - everyone thought him a heartless man, incapable of loving or truly caring for anyone, but you knew this assumption couldn't have been further from the truth.

As darkness fell over Dragonstone that evening and the council meetings drew to a close, you saw the Rogue Prince leave quickly; his face was grim, mouth set in a firm line and a hand on the sword he kept with him at all times. No one noticed as you silently slipped away after him, too occupied in their own politics and war to care what you did or where you went - you were of little importance compared to the lords, princes and queen, after all.

You knew immediately where he had gone - there was only one place in the castle he would go now after a long day like this, especially in the aftermath of such news. In no time at all you were standing outside of the chambers the two of you were occupying during your stay, taking a deep breath and steeling yourself before ordering the guard posted outside of the doors to let no one else in unless of an emergency; the knight agreed, bowing his head low as you entered the room.

"FUCK!"

A goblet clashed against a stone wall, thankfully empty and not filled with wine that would stain the rugs. Your prince barely seemed to notice your sudden presence, so consumed by his anguish and rage that it seemed to blind him to all else; you tried not to wince as he next overturned a large table, sending the books and scrolls that had decorated it clattering to the floor in a mess. You had known he would take the news harshly: the king had been his older brother, his only brother or sibling for that matter, and while their relationship had been somewhat uneasy over the years, it was clear that they had loved and cared for each other despite any quarrels or disagreements they may have once had.

He let out snarl, kicking a nearby chair. "Those bastards... those fucking Hightower cunts..." He picked up a nearby vase and threw it to the floor; the object shattered upon impact, something else the servants would have to clean come morning. Most would have been afraid by his behaviour, by this violence - but not you. You knew he would not hurt you, that his actions were merely his way of expressing his pain and hurt.

"Daemon..."

He spared you a glance, enough to acknowledge you, before letting out a harsh exhale and stalking over to the window; he sat on the ledge underneath it, resting an arm against the glass and leaning his head against it. Like this, you could not see his face - but you knew what the small tremors that shook his shoulders meant, what he needed from you even as he tried to hide.

"Oh, love..." You crossed the room and without hesitating cupped his face, turning it towards you. "Come here."

Daemon looked at you once more, his eyes glassy. "My brother..."

"I know," You whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm certain he knew you were loyal to him, that you loved him - he knew it until the end."

"He's gone," He said, voice thick with emotion that he was only now allowing himself to feel properly. "Viserys is gone."

Your heart broke at the pain in his voice. "It's okay, Daemon... you don't have to be strong here, not with me."

There was a moment's pause before he leaned forwards, forehead gently bumping against your chin as he pressed his face into your chest. As your hands started to run through his hair almost absent-mindedly, knowing that this action helped to soothe him, he began to let go for you; his hands reached for the fabric of your clothes as if to clutch onto you, to hold you closer, and soon the tears came.

Very few people had ever seen the Rogue Prince cry, for he hated to be seen as weak, but the love and years you had spent together meant he trusted you enough to be vulnerable in front of. It didn't take long before his tears turned to quiet sobs, muffled by the way he pressed his face into you; all you could do for now was hold him tight and whisper comfortingly to him, to to be there for him by giving him the freedom he needed to grieve his loss.

Daemon would avenge his brother, of this you had no doubts - but for tonight he allowed himself to let go and mourn, and you were all too willing to be there for him when he needed you most.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #daemon targaryen imagine #hurt/comfort #daemon needs a big hug let's be honest #it feels right that my first request filled is about daemon considering i met matt smith like two and a half months ago

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laylarevengers · 1 year

Text

{ DON’T BLAME ME. }

manjiro ‘mikey’ sano x fem! reader.

bonten! mikey.

warnings; implied romantic relationship w sanzu, past relationship w mikey, cursing, guns, wounds, hurt/comfort (?), kissing, y/n says ‘f you’ to like everyone lol, not the best written because i’m in a rush, also some plot changes like izana and shinichiro are alive and not well.

y/n felt her breath slowly but surely get heavier and heavier. she ran through the parking, desperately trying to find the car to which the keys she has is. for a a couple of minutes, she thought she was being chased by whomever car she’s actively stealing belonged to, that was until she felt someone push her back towards the car.

it was too gentle, but she yelped as breath forcefully left her lungs. she fought back, trying her hardest to pull out the gun that was attached to her thigh, “get off of me, you motherfucker!” she yells. they don’t respond and her patience was running low.

she managed to turn around so her back is pinned against the car by the random person. she looks up and her eyes widen. she feels her words slur, but they make it out of her mouth coherent enough, “shinichiro..?” she doesn’t believe the name she’s saying, but there’s no denying it. that’s him.

“y/n, give me the car keys and go home.” she was the utmost happy to see shinichiro, but she could not let him stop her. she pushed him away, “fuck you. of course, the only reason you’re here showing your face is to tell me not to do it.”

“you think we’d just let you walk towards your death like that?”

izana. y/n scoffed. they have been gone for years. out of the picture, no contact. she fucking thought they died. “that’s none of your business. either of you.” she went to towards the car, before getting pulled away again. she looked at shinichiro with pure fury in her eyes.

“say you kill him, then what? you’ll be fucking miserable. you’ll be hunted. know how many people will come after you because you killed mikey?” shinichiro waits for her reaction. he only received a smile, “i’m already fucking miserable, shinichiro. at least after i kill him, i’ll have some sort of relief that that dick is gone.”

“he’s not some guy you can use your little toman stunts he taught you on. he leads bonten.” izana walked closer, his tone was harsh and y/n dared to say he looked angrier than her.

“i don’t fucking care what or who he leads!” y/n harshly pulled away from shinichiro’s gentle grip. “bonten is a fucking hoax. it’s horrific. who’s on top there, huh? rin? ran? sanzu? koko? kakucho? all of them can go fuck themselves. they fucking betrayed me. they stood there in front of me and choose him. i’ll kill them right after i kill him.”

shinichiro and izana both stood in silence. y/n’s heavy breath filling the cold air. “why are you doing this? to save me or save him?” she asked. “yn. i won’t let you kill yourself or my brother.” izana looked her straight in the eye.

“your brother?” she was appalled. “your fucking brother? you barely even know him, you hypocrite! now you have this saviour complex? now you want to save him? fuck you, you’re just like him!”

“don’t. don’t do say that.” shinichiro demanded. y/n looked back at him. she shook her head in pure annoyance. she didn’t say another word. she walked towards the car, started it and left.

though, the gun she pulled out and placed on the passenger seat did not go unnoticed by izana.

y/n watched from her car hidden in-between others. her gaze was on the two guards who stood in front of the club, eyeing and memorising every single person who walked in or out. she did not have a plan. every plan she has ever had went to shit.

she toke the gun and put it in her pocket. she walked towards the two guards at the front gate. “who are you?—” her fist instantly met his face, knocking him unconscious. the other guard went to pull out his own gun. y/n kicked his hand, making the gun fall. she kicked it a couple of feet away and pushed his face in the wall next to door, pinning his hands behind his back.

“where are the haitani brothers?” she asked. “you crazy bitch! what are you—” he groaned in pain, she smacked his head against the wall. “where the fuck are the haitani brothers?”

the top floor in a room with a huge diamond studded door. that’s what he said. y/n pushed throw crowds of drunkards and people dancing. the smell of alcohol was almost making her faint.

“the hell?” she pulled her hand away instantly at someone who gripped her arm.

“what are you doing here, yn?” koko yelled over the music. y/n looked at him and thought for a second, “take me through the guards and security to rin and ran.” she ordered. it felt nostalgic. almost as if she was ordering him to go talk to inui when they fought, except this time it was more dangerous and inui would do anything other than seeing koko.

things changed. they all changed and she hated it.

“no—“

“it’s the least you could do. you owe me.”

koko couldn’t believe he obliged, but she was right. he did owe her. all of them owed her.

yn walked pushed the enormous doors. she was ready, at least she thought. rin and ran looked back from the window they stared out of at her and koko. “yn?” rindou whispered. it was low and perplexed and filled with regret.

“you don’t look terrible,” y/n pulled out her gun, pointing it at both haitanis. rindou and koko’s eyes widen. ran goes to open a drawer in his desk, y/n assuming to fetch his own gun. she points the gun solely at rindou, “open that drawer and your dear little brother has a hole between his eyes.”

ran stepped away from the desk and closer to rin. he asked what she wanted to which she replied by simply saying, “call sanzu.” koko opened his mouth to object but was suddenly interrupted by y/n repeating herself, “call sanzu. now.”

rindou turned to look at ran. he nodded towards his older brother. ran picked up his phone from the desk, his gaze repeatedly turning from the screen at her. rindou broke the silence, “what happened?”

“what?”

“you’re bruised up really fucking bad. what happened?”

y/n lowered her gun. she kept it in a tight steady grip and her eyes observed every movement any of them made. “it’s not easy finding any of you. had to hit and get hit to be here.”

“thought you left.” koko said. he knew she didn’t. mikey made him keep tabs on her. check on her, make sure she’s good. he knew this was going to happen, he just didn’t know it’d be this soon.

y/n annoyingly sighed, “clearly i didn’t. now stop stalling and fucking call him.” she waved the gun towards ran. he turned the phone around to show her. ‘S.H.’ the caller id said. “it’s ringing.” ran was calm. he got mature, y/n thought.

but he was still an instigator. “why you wanna call him? miss him?” y/n laughed, “i’ll fucking kill you.” he smiled back. ran put the phone up to his ear once sanzu picked up.

“put it on speaker.”

ran sighed and obliged. “the hell d’you want?” sanzu said. ran maintained eye contact with her, “yn’s here. wants to see you,”

y/n glared at him.

“and mikey. mostly mikey. has us held up at gun point.”

“what?!” sanzu yelled on the other line. before sanzu could speak up again, y/n did not give him a chance. “i want to see mikey, sanzu. ain’t that difficult. i’ll give you thirty minutes to come here and take me to him or else i’ll kill his executives. i am armed, they are not and they’re too much of pussies to actually fight me.”

silence.

sanzu sighed, “i’ll be there in ten minutes.” he said. “five.” didn’t you say thirty two minutes ago? rindou thought. sanzu hung up and ran slowly put down the phone. he called again and told her to go to the back of the club.

y/n turned around, foolish, she knew. but they wouldn’t do anything, she also knew that. “yn.” rindou said. she turned around and looked at all of them.

“we’re sorry.”

“so am i.”

y/n assumed that the car guarded by fifty men in black suits was the one she was supposed to enter. the front driver’s seat’s window opened down. sanzu.

“get in,” it sounded like an order, but she knew it wasn’t. the look in his eyes begged her not to go into that car, for what reason? no idea. she hummed in response and went to open the door right behind him. “no. no, the other side.”

she annoyingly sighed and walked in front of the car. it looked rich. the windows were tinted black, she had no idea what or who is in the car. she opened the other door and got in.

the seatbelt she was trying to put on just in case sanzu was a planing on killing them abruptly fell off. “fuck!” she looked next to her, to where she initially was going to enter from. mikey was sitting there.

his black hair looked like izana’s. his head was turned away from her, his neck visible. that tattoo. the bonten tattoo. even without him looking at her, he looked paler and sick. she could tell he was not eating, barely sleeping and overall dying.

well, good thing she was about to end his misery.

sanzu started the car, the club fading into view alongside rindou, ran and koko who stared at them from the window. “where are we going?” y/n asked. “don’t know yet.” sanzu replied.

the tension between them was so visible it was sure to make mikey uncomfortable. he stared at her from the rear view mirror, she stared back.

“home.” mikey suddenly said. sanzu looked away and hummed in agreement. y/n glanced at mikey then back outside the window. she memorised every street, turn and movement they made.

she felt a hand on her and then her gun was snatched from her pocket. she held mikey’s hand, the one with the weapon. they locked eyes, his dull and black, hers angry and mean.

“this is a cop’s gun,” his tone was nonchalant, uncaring. “i only have it to kill you. don’t care who it belongs to.” she spat at him. he let out a small huff, “mm, it can be traced.” she scoffed, “as if someone fucking cares about you enough to try to find out who kills you.”

she knew it was bullshit. he knew it was bullshit, but he understood her point. he gently gave her the gun back.

the continuous car ride was silent.

y/n walked behind mikey into his penthouse. he upgraded. they walked behind one another until mikey stopped by his balcony. the view was beautiful. y/n felt nostalgic. looked like the view from the little cliff he toke her to with his bike years ago. where they kissed for the first time. where she became and honorary member of toman after. where she hugged as he sobbed from multiple of things that were thrown on his shoulder. where she gave him the doryaki she made every week hoping it gets better by practice. (it did)

where he broke her heart when he said he’s leaving.

“come on,” he spoke up. “do it. not gonna stop you.” she looked at him and felt her eyes burn. she didn’t want to cry in front of him, she really didn’t, but she just couldn’t. the tears fell and she somehow managed to stop herself from sobbing.

“not going to stop me? why?” his eyes glinted for a moment. it was as if there was life in them for a second. they looked the same they did when they loved her. “because i don’t have anything to live for. you’re right, no one’s gonna look for me.”

“no,” she breathed through her tears. “you do have things— people to live for. emma, shinichiro, izana, ken, takametchy, and so many other people that fucking care. but you’re right, no one’s going to look for you. they’re going to look for manjiro, not whoever you are right now.”

he chuckled, “so many except you. makes sense, i guess. you are here to kill me.” he walked closer and when he saw her not budge, he kept getting close until they were inches away. he felt the gun on his chest. he looked at her, he lifted his hand up to her face, wiping away the tears.

“i fucking hate you, manjiro. ‘hate you so much. fuck you..”

“i know.”

she closed her eyes when his lips touched hers. she wanted to push him away. she put her hands on his shoulder, ready. instead she pulled him closer. he felt so familiar. comforting. but then she opened her eyes and he looked so pale, his eyes were way more tired than they used to be. his long blond hair that she used to play with for hours end was gone. the smell of fresh baked doryaki gone and replaced with the smell of strong alcohol and cigarettes.

they parted ways and their eyes stayed on each other. “i’m sorry..” why was she apologising? why the hell was she apologising? she hated herself for it. almost as much as she hated the fact that no matter how horrible he is, how much his dark impulses increased and how much of his soul is taken away;

she would always choose him. she will always choose manjiro sano.

“no. i’m sorry, yn. for everything that happened and for everything that will happen.”

“..what?”

“you’re staying. sorry. you weren’t secretive. everyone knows you’re tied to me. can’t let you go now. never could let you go, but now you’re in danger. what’d you always say? love made me crazy.”

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ugh-yoongi · 2 years

Text

fall apart & redefine | knj

(or, things are hard. namjoon falls back into old habits.)

→ pairing: idol!namjoon x f. reader → genre: porn with plot | angst, smut, canon compliant → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: vague prior relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, namjoon is really going through it (a lot of talk about mental health, unhealthy coping mechanisms, identity crises), basically namjoon’s 220721 live happens and he booty calls his ex, when you try your best but you don’t succeed aka when you’re selfish and a lil toxic and trying to be better but aren’t sure how, this is basically a three-thousand word blowjob, so smut warnings: oral (m. receiving), some hand action, one very brief instance of dom!joon. this is basically my yoongi fic in a different outfit. → wordcount: 3.5k → listen to: 5 seconds of summer - take my hand • troye sivan - angel baby • duncan laurence - arcade • bloo - i’m the one • stray kids - red lights • keshi - xoxosos • blanks - lost in the moment → a/n: started this forever ago (literally right after the aforementioned live, so we are not gonna talk about how long it took me to write 3k words) and needed to get out of my slump so i’ve finally finished it. thank you to jess & bee for all of their help, always. thank you to namjoon for posting sadboi shit on his ig stories.

Namjoon shouldn’t have called you.

Because it’d gone like—

(“You know I can’t fix you,” you say, voice so soft. Almost hesitant, like Namjoon will hear your uncertainty and spiral further, start running. Familiar, he thinks. He’s done that before. “Can’t fix this.”

Still, he sighs. Says, “I know, I just…” and somehow it’s enough.

“Okay,” you reply, and it sounds more like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than placate him. Sounds like a question. “Okay, I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page here.”

Namjoon stares at his bedroom ceiling and wonders what page he’s on. Doesn’t feel like he’s even in the book, to be honest. He’s untethered, drifting faster than he can ask for help, faster than he can reach out and grab onto an anchor, and when he’s like this he reverts to old habits. Just does what’s familiar, what feels good, and he knows it’s not fair, knows he always asks too much of you, but everything’s fucked. Everything is just really fucked and he doesn’t know who he is let alone what page he’s on.

“We are,” he lies. You aren’t, but the pain from that mismatch will hurt less than whatever’s going in his head. At least he has the self-awareness to know that much.

You’re quiet on your end of the phone. You’ve always had a penchant for calling out Namjoon’s bullshit: this is just more of it, wrapped up in the illusion of complexity. But the silence stretches on. Namjoon shouldn’t have called you, but old habits die hard or whatever. Every bad day before this had ended with you in his bed, so he’s not all that inclined to change it. Doesn’t really want anyone else there—not just because it’s too much fucking work, but they wouldn’t be you. Wouldn’t know him like you do.

Wouldn’t have that history.

“Is your door code still the same?”

It is.)

—and now he’s here.

Staring up at that ceiling again. Head a fucking mess, so much bearing down on him. This was supposed to be the easy part. Imagine his shock when it wasn’t. When, each day, it’s all he can do to get out of bed. Check his phone. Drag his ass into the shower. Stay awake. This was supposed to be the easy part, so why does he feel worse than ever?

“You’re not eating well,” you say, fingertips brushing over the valleys between his ribs.

Namjoon swallows. Tries to think up an excuse, but there’s no point, is there. He’s laid nearly bare beneath you and there’s nowhere to run. “No,” he admits. “Lost some weight.” His Adam’s apple bobs uncomfortably in his throat, exists alongside the lump that seems to have made itself a home there.

You just hum. It vibrates against his skin, raises goosebumps as he shivers involuntarily. “Still gorgeous,” you say, lips forming the words against his stomach. “Still so beautiful, Namjoon.”

It’s too much. He’d wanted this, sought it out, but it’s still too much. “Please,” he whispers, words waterlogged, and he’s going to cry, he is, but he knew that. He knew he’d be in this bed, powerless and overwhelmed. “Please don’t.”

You hum again. Dare a quick look up at him from between his legs. “Don’t tell you how beautiful you are?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Why not?” The pads of your fingers dig into the dimples at his hips. Dip beneath the waistband of his briefs, stretched thin around his thighs, tug downward. They’re stretched too thin. “You want me to lie to you?”

Does he? His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Sometimes.” He’s fully bare now, might as well play the part, tell the truth.

“What do you want me to lie about?”

All Namjoon can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. The sound of you kissing down his body, hip to thigh to calf, until you reach his ankle and run your thumb lightly over the ink there. Reverent, almost like you can’t believe it. Sometimes he can’t, either. Never thought he was built for that kind of permanence. Never thought he’d have anything that’d warrant a permanent reminder. “Want,” he begins, but his throat is so hoarse. “Want to hear you li-lie about all the things that used to be true.”

That catches your attention. Your gaze is sharp when it focuses on him, the nail of your thumb bordering on painful as it digs into the thin skin of his ankle joint. “And what would I have to lie about, Namjoon?” A crescent moon left behind.

A different kind of tattoo.

So much, he thinks. Whatever the two of you used to be isn’t what you are now, and so often he finds himself caught in all those things you used to say. All the words you used to use to tell him you loved him, and all the words he used to tell you that you shouldn’t. “That you—” he starts to say, but it’s choked off when you take his cock in your hand, the slick slide stealing away his focus. You’ve given him so little and he’s already teetering on the edge. Can feel the streaks of tears on his cheeks. All it does is make him feel worse. He’d asked for this and can’t even keep it together. Can’t even make it worthwhile for you—

“That I what?” He can’t answer you. The words are there, biting at the back of his teeth, and he can’t say them. Can’t say, I want to hear you lie and say you love me. Can’t say, I want it to not be a lie, but I’ve already stolen enough from you. “Namjoon.” Can’t say, I don’t deserve to hear my name sound so delicate in your mouth.

But you know. You always fucking know, and it drives him crazy, how gentle you are with him when he was so reckless with you; how you don’t hate him the way you should. So you just sigh, thumb the slit of his cock just to hear him whine, and say, “You want to hear me say I love you?” He shudders, tries to collapse in on himself. Finds it impossible to focus on both the way you’re touching him and the things you’re saying. Has to be one or the other. Nearly misses it when you just tsk, say, “I wouldn’t have to lie about that.”

A lie, just like he’d asked. That’s all it is, because he’s not brave enough to let himself hope. Hope is dangerous. Hope is how the two of you wound up here, with you between his legs, mouthing at his cock, and him in tears as he reaches another new low.

Namjoon shouldn’t have called you.

Your cheeks hollow around him and the pressure is delicious, on the verge of too much, and there’s the most obscene noise when you pull off of him. Then your hand’s back, stroking leisurely, like you have all the time in the world. “Why am I here?” you ask. Tone so soft. He doesn’t deserve it.

“I don’t know.”

You twist your wrist. “Don’t lie to me. We’re past that.”

He squeezes his eyes closed. Heat furls in his belly, threatens to spread all over, engulf him. Not yet, he thinks. “Habit,” he admits. Hates the way the truth sounds in his mouth, but it’s as honest as he’s willing to be. “You—you know. You know me. How I get.”

“Mm. Know you get stuck in that head of yours.” Namjoon nods, feels his hips leave the bed as you take him back in your mouth.

“Bad this time,” he says. “Can’t se-seem—fuck, baby—can’t seem to get out.”

You moan around him in response. I know, it says. A tap on his thigh, wordless instruction to keep going, keep talking. How many times have the two of you done this? How many times has he come in your mouth as he talks through some crisis, only for you to drag him back down to earth? Yeah, that’s habit, all right. “Everything is so hard,” he breathes. “Everything feels so impossible.”

He tangles his hands in your hair. Needs something to keep him grounded. Needs to touch you just to remember you’re real. “It’s su-supposed to be easy right now. Hiatus.” He snorts, derisive. He’s never had the luxury. “I’m almost 30 and I have no”—he moans loud, unabashed, when he hits the back of your throat—”no fuckin’ idea who I am. How am I supposed to start figuring that out now? I’m so far behind.”

“Are you?” you ask, alternating between long, languid licks at every spot he’s most sensitive and quick sucks at the head of his cock. “You’ve been secondary in your own life for twelve years, Joon. That’s not your fault. Why do you think you need to have it all figured out right now?”

Because not knowing has already cost me so much, he thinks. Can’t bring himself to say that, either, so he just… whimpers. Doesn’t trust a fucking word that might come out of his mouth if he opens it. Grabs onto your hair tighter and tries to guide his cock back into your mouth, but you slap his hand away. “Practice,” you say, finality in your tone.

Namjoon is sweat-slick, chest heaving. Right on the brink of an orgasm that’d have his toes curling, and you’ve just… stopped. He’s not going to whine. Not after he’s spent so long crying already, but he wants to. Instead, his brows pinch, hands tremble a little at how hard it is to reorient himself. “What?”

“Practice,” you repeat.

He wants to rip his hair out. “What the fuck d’you mean? How?”

“Start being honest.”

You might as well have shot him. “I—” I am, he nearly says. Sometimes he lies, like so many times tonight, but sometimes he’s too honest. Can’t stop himself from prying open his ribcage and inviting everyone to come take a look. Yoongi always tells him it’s just in his nature: as an artist, as someone always in pursuit of meaning, as someone who’s desperate to understand as much as he’s desperate to be understood.

Namjoon shouldn’t have called you tonight.

He should’ve called you before he went live and talked a bunch of shit.

That kind of honesty isn’t what you want. You already know he isn’t eating. You already know everything feels insurmountable to him right now. You already know he’s fucking miserable, because Namjoon has always been good at hiding when he has to, but never from you. In front of you, he’s always stripped bare. Always ten steps behind and needy, never on equal ground.

And he wants to do what you’re asking of him. He wants to be good for you, but the kind of honesty you want isn’t the kind on offer. “I can’t,” he says simply.

You click your tongue again, refusing to put it to better use. Namjoon doesn’t deserve it, anyway. Can’t even be honest. “Of course you can,” you answer. “How will you ever figure out who you are if you can’t even figure out how to tell the truth?”

It strikes exactly where it’s meant to. All those fucking songs Namjoon’s written about this: about personas and masks and being someone else, and you’ve just gone and stripped them all away. Took all those fanciful, bullshit words he’s written and set them on fire, dared him to exist as a person without them. Authentic. Namjoon’s not even sure he knows what that fucking word means, so he’s just a hypocrite on top of everything else he is.

“S’different,” he argues, and this time it’s you that snorts.

“We both know that isn’t true.”

His skin is scorching hot when he dabs at the sweat on his temples with the back of his hand. “What do you want me to say, then? You already have some fucking script thought up in your head?”

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Namjoon has this nasty streak in him, sometimes. Loses his patience and lashes out when he feels like he can’t keep up, like everyone’s long since moved on and he’s only just gotten the joke. So used to being the smartest person in the room.

“That wasn’t very nice,” you say. Bite at the juncture of his hip, at the pad of fat there, and Namjoon can feel himself sinking again. Remembers how it feels to just let go, to exist outside of his body just for a little bit. “Apologize.” Remembers how it feels to relinquish control.

He whimpers when your teeth sink in again. A flashbang of pain to distract him from the storm inside his head. “S-sorry, baby, I’m sorry.”

Then you’re laving over all those bites, easing the sting. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Joon.”

“Didn’t mean it,” he continues, mumbling reassurances you don’t need. “Just—I just…”

When he dares to look down at you, you’re already staring back, head cocked. A question. What do you need? A prompt. Tell me how to help you. “Need your mouth,” he near-whines. “Please.” Your movements are hesitant, fragmented, and Namjoon fists the sheets to stay calm. Doesn’t know what to do with this headspace, that low-frequency thrum beneath his skin.

Still, you don’t give in. Stop moving altogether, and Namjoon whimpers. Feels the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, thinks about begging—knows you’d give in, you always do, always so good to him—but can’t force the words out. “I think,” you begin, filling in the gaps of his silence, nails dragging lazily across the insides of his thighs, “that we both have something the other wants.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches.

“You want me to get you off, and I want you to be honest.” You stick out your tongue and Namjoon stares, helpless, at the spit pooling on your tongue. Watches as it drips from your mouth down the length of his cock. As his vision goes a little blurry, he thinks he’d agree to anything.

So he just says, “Okay,” and keens high in his throat when you finally, finally follow the line of spit with your tongue. You work him over once, twice, and then your soft hands replace your hot mouth and Namjoon’s shuddering.

“Tell me something true,” you say, voice wrecked and hoarse. Namjoon did that. Fuck, Namjoon did that to you.

There’s very little keeping him from coming except knowing that he shouldn’t. He feels delirious. Reasons that all the sounds he’s making can’t possibly be coming from him, but they are, and he manages to shut up long enough to give you what you want. Says, “I still—still love you,” he grits out. Hands abandon the sheets, an arm thrown across his face because he can’t bear to look at you.

Doesn’t want to know your reaction.

But the stream of consciousness is nice—the mindlessness, the freedom, the thought of maybe ruining something permanently. Because he needs to let you go. Can’t let whatever the two of you have keep existing in this limbo, this liminal space. How ironic that Namjoon can give you everything except the only thing you want.

“I still love you,” he repeats, hips thrusting in search of friction, “and I’d still make all the same choices.”

You still. Namjoon isn’t sure if the gasp—so soft, blink and you’ll miss it—comes from him or you. Not that it matters. You’ve gone still and Namjoon finally just fucking said it and what else is left. What else can the two of you desperately cling to, now that you know Namjoon would do it all over again? Make the same choices every time? Watch the tears form and cling to your lashes as he clears his throat and breaks your heart, lets you go?

He’d do it again and again. Break your heart, give you some space, call you up with some sob story. Meet you in his bed. Kiss your forehead at the door but never ask you to stay.

His hand finds the back of your neck. Tangles in the hair there—gentle at first before it turns demanding. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything that Namjoon knows you this well: knows when to take and when to push. Knows the thrill you get when he’s beneath you, needy and desperate, but also knows what it does when he plants his feet and takes what he wants.

You’re just along for the ride. Maybe that’s always been the case.

“Your mouth, baby,” he says, gripping his cock with his free hand to guide it to your lips, still spit-slick and ready. He groans, fucks your mouth in shallow thrusts, just enough friction to keep him teetering on the edge but not enough to spill over. Liminal space. “Sometimes it scares the shit out of me, you know. That I’m capable of hurting someone this much and can be this selfish.” A deeper thrust that has his cock twitching against your tongue.

“I love you and it’s still not enough.” There’s the anger. Namjoon feels so many things lately, but anger is always easy. Familiar, like a pain that still lingers long after he thought he’d gotten rid of it. “I think I used to be a person, before all of this.”

Namjoon thinks about Robert Johnson, about this story Yoongi used to tell him in those early days when they had nothing and were nothing, scared to death, staring up at a ceiling they now shared with too many other people. We could just sell our fucking souls to the devil like that American guy, he’d said, if all this shit winds up being for nothing. The only two awake, always paralyzed by fear back then: Yoongi terrified of failure, but Namjoon—Namjoon dreaded the success.

Namjoon had known who he was back then: too smart for his own good, a rapper with a stupid haircut, a gamble some guy with just enough money had been willing to take, someone too young to bear all the weight that had been placed on him. Success would change him; he knew that. He’d be more shocked if it didn’t, with the way they’d all come up. Pit against one another, always competing, always doing stupid shit to make money. Everything had been a game, dog-eat-dog, and maybe they had sold their souls, just not in the way Yoongi had joked about.

Because who is he now, when there’s nothing left to prove?

Almost thirty, more money than he could spend in a million lifetimes, a pile of broken hearts at his feet. Yours, most egregiously. Who is he now, after a decade-plus of a one-track mind? Sold his soul, and now he’s paying the price.

This is too much introspection for the middle of a blowjob, he thinks. It’s not like this happens often. Namjoon doesn’t have the energy for it, the searching and the discretion and the fear that always comes after. Whole life tumbling down like a house of cards because of a signature on the wrong line. You’re safe, just like anger; might as well savor it. Try to commit it to memory while he can.

Not that it’s hard to do, when you’re working him over like this.

It’s been raining a lot in Seoul—wet season, streets flooded, still not enough to wash you away. Namjoon dreams about a simpler life: meeting you for a date in the park, the sky cracking open unexpectedly, the way your eyes would widen and your laughter would trail behind you as you ran, hand clasped tightly in his. Namjoon thinks about the way you’d cup your hands and catch the rainwater. Thinks about all the rainwater you’ve collected and lost.

Namjoon loves you and it’s still not enough, in the same way that the rain will always spill over, disappear through the spaces between your fingers.

Namjoon thinks he might be the rain.

He’d written a song for you once and never admitted it. Funny how that goes: how he can strip himself to the bone for words and still hide behind them. tokyo. Thunder booms, you do something with your mouth that has him spilling into it, and the words he’d written taste acrid in his mouth.

If I could choose my dream, I just wanna stop right next to you.

He’d chosen his dream. Said he’d choose it each time, in every lifetime: there isn’t a universe in which he’d choose you.

(Namjoon shouldn’t have called you.)

You decline his offer to reciprocate. Clean yourself up in his ensuite without much fanfare. Don’t linger as Namjoon redresses and walks you out. What is there to say, when he still loves you but doesn’t regret letting you go. Namjoon kisses your forehead at the door and doesn’t ask you to stay.

(You shouldn’t have picked up the phone.)

As always, thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

If you want more of this universe, please check out the series masterlist!

#bts imagines #bts fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon x reader #bts smut #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #namjoon angst #namjoon x you #bts x reader #bts scenarios #namjoon

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zbeez-outlet · 7 months

Text

This is my (unasked for) review and critique of Netflix’s live-action adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender. I’m not expecting much of a response, I just have so much to say and no one to talk about it with. I’m putting it here so it doesn’t fester in my brain and it’s my blog, I can talk about whatever I want.

I am going to divide it into two major sections, the first being a review of the show as a stand alone, the second being a comparison to the source material. Each section will have smaller headers so I can stay on topic and organized, I’m going to try really hard not to obnoxiously rant or flood my review with unsupported opinions. I have a lot to say, but I want to make sure I articulate myself well and don’t fall into venting without reason. If you see me doing that, please let me know.

I want it to be made clear now that these are my thoughts on the show, I’m not forcing anyone to think the same as I do or insulting anyone for having different views than me. I also want people to know that this is an extensive detailed review, I’m going to be covering a lot of very broad and very narrow topics. I’m not trying to nitpick inconsequential details, this review is supposed to focus on important and fundemental aspects of the show. I will be harsh, but I’m going to try not to be unreasonable.

This is going to be extremely long. If you’re not interested in reading it all, I completely understand and I’m going to include my initial rating and a summary of why I gave it that rating here.

My overall rating of the show: 4/10

Review Summary: While the visual effects and environments were for the most part really great, the quality of writing fell behind drastically in comparison. There were major issues with characterization, consistency, and plot development that will pose a challenge in future seasons. The dialogue was often dry and overly expository, it allowed no room for nuance, subtlety, or complexity because they’re constantly telling us what everyone is doing, thinking, and feeling. The acting was mostly subpar, but I think that was because the writing suffered so greatly rather than through major lack of talent or skill from the actors. The pacing was abysmal, 8 episodes was never going to be enough time to tell this story. For me, it has a very surface level amount of entertainment but as soon as you try to look a little closer, try to answer questions or search for any depth, the quality drops entirely.

Extensive in depth review below. Because I’m not watching the show as I’m writing this, please let me know if I’m misremembering any major details so that I can correct myself if/when needed.

Sorry in advance for how obnoxiously long this is, I tried to give clear headers so you can bounce around any specific topics that interest you.

NETFLIX ATLA as a Stand Alone Show

In this section, I will not be making any comparisons or references to previous Avatar content. I will do my best to strictly speak on what Netflix gave us and its quality in different categories.

Costumes/Makeup

Overall, I thought the design of the costumes and styling was really solid. They felt really unique and representative of the different cultures, which is always appreciated. There was an issue for me though that took me out of the show sometimes. Nothing looked lived in. There was no dirt, stains, wrinkles, or wear and tear of any kind and the colors were so bright. The actors sometimes looked like they were doing a theater play or dressing up for Halloween, not living in a struggling world at war. Overall, costuming and makeup was really good, just throw some dirt on there!

Yue’s wig was terrible, I think we can all agree.

I do have a gripe with Zuko’s design though. His scar looks like a bruise or an eye infection, not a gruesome burn scar. I know I’m not the first person to say this, and I’ll keep saying it until they listen. It needs texture, it needs to be larger, and for the love of god shave his eyebrow.

Environments and Locations

I thought the locations looked great, especially the artful cgi on the wide shots of places like the Southern Air Temple, the Fire Nation and their ships, and Omashu. Good cinematography and just really well done work as a whole. There’s a few times when the backgrounds during scenes looked more like stage sets than lived in cities or villages, but it was rarely anything so drastic it harmed the show for me. I really liked the amount of background clutter and knickknacks that helped with realism and there was always a lot of people that helped these places feel populated. Zuko’s room on his ship especially was so cool, it told so much of his story without ever needing explanation. Having a collection of avatar artifacts and plastering his walls with drawings, research, theories, maps, and plans was genius. I loved that they included animals, once again it helps with immersion and realism, and it would be really easy to just not include them for simplicity sake. Especially the funky animal hybrids, I hope to see more going forward! The use of ice, wood, furs, and bone for the Southern Water Tribe was so good. The massive rib cage for the community hut in the tribe was fantastic. I could go on for a long time. For me, the settings were probably the best part of the season.

Bending Graphics

The strongest elements of bending visually were air and fire. They really captured the movements of each, the fluidity and speed of air bending, and the aggression and passion of fire bending. Earth bending looked okay, the actors did a pretty good job of making it look heavy, but overall it felt like it was moving too slowly to me. I think the scene at the beginning of the first episode was the best example of earth bending. The fight with Bumi was very underwhelming for me.

Water bending looked terrible almost the whole time. The way the water physically looked was pretty good, but there was absolutely no weight behind it. Every time Katara hit someone with water, it splashed with the force of a Nerf water gun. The movements were slow, clunky, and so nonthreatening I probably wouldn’t have tried to dodge a single one of her attacks. Her battle with Pakku was one of the most boring battles I’ve ever seen. There was no haste or desperation in either participant. I’m hoping they’ll figure out how to do this better in the future. The ice was decent though.

As a whole, the fight choreography looked pretty good. Certainly moves I could never do. There were times when characters were completely cgi to account for difficult or impossible moves and it was really obvious. Aang in particular looked very wonky when he was fully cgi during his Avatar State moments or when he was flying around like his introduction scene. So passable but definitely room for improvement, I think the artists who work on these aspects of shows and films are very impressive.

Dialogue

The dialogue is 80% exposition, 19% repetitive conversations about responsibility and duty, and 1% misplaced poorly written humor. It’s unnatural, it’s dry, it doesn’t allow for any nuance, and there’s no room for character growth or connection when they have to waste all their words on making sure the plot is on track.

When the introduction of your main character is him looking directly into the camera and telling us the kind of person he is, there’s a dialogue problem. When so much happens off screen that you have to have characters talk to fill in plot holes because there’s just not enough time to tell the story, there’s a dialogue problem. When you put intentional pauses around bad jokes for people to laugh, there’s a dialogue problem. When characters have to say over and over that they’re family but they don’t feel like family in the slightest, there’s a dialogue and characterization problem. I’m not going to script the bad examples, I don’t have the time or patience for that, but I was very unimpressed. It felt like the first draft of a script to me.

And I dare anyone, of legal drinking age of course, to take a shot every time a character says the words responsibility or duty. I swear the floor and ceiling will switch before you reach episode 3. If characters have to keep shoving their responsibilities down our throats without actually doing anything to solve them, there’s a dialogue, characterization, and plot problem.

Also one of my biggest pet peeves with a series is when the first episode or movie ends with a line like “It’s only the beginning” and then plays crazily dramatic music. But that’s a personal preference, not an actual issue.

Acting

First and foremost, I have nothing against any of these actors. I’m sure they’re perfectly wonderful people and they deserve opportunities to prove themselves. My goal here is not to shame or insult or belittle any actor on this show. That being said, none of their performances were perfect and I do have critiques. This is not meant to be a personal attack on any of them or on anyone who enjoyed their performances.

I think the dialogue and overall writing really worked against the potential these actors had. I don’t know how involved the director was in the filming process or helping them with their performances, but there were definitely some failures here.

The strongest performances to me were Sokka, Iroh, Lieutenant Jee, and the Earth bender that threatened Iroh when he was captured (I couldn’t find his name, but he had an unprecedentedly good performance). By far the best was Jee, I felt his emotion more than any other character on the show and would love to see a lot more of him. Sokka balanced well enough with what he was given, but he also had the most character opportunity (which I’ll get into in the next section). Iroh I think filled the mentor roll pretty well, the writing for him leaned a little to close to fortune cookie, but he did feel wise and powerful when he needed to be, mostly. For a comedian though, his humor fell really flat to me, I wish they had given Paul Sun-Hyung Lee some freedom to improv, I think he would’ve done a good job if he could play with the character.

Katara and Azula were awful (so was Mai, but she didn’t get a lot of screen time so I’m not going to focus on her). Katara was so dull and emotionless for the majority of her role, her delivery felt so unnatural. Again, I think the writing was an obstacle, but I felt no connection from Katara at all. And certainly not between her and any of the other characters, which is a major problem for one of the main cast. Her and Sokka felt like strangers half the time, like they were getting to know each other as much as we were getting to know them. I swear Azula’s actress was reading off a teleprompter the entire time, she was somehow robotic and overacted at the same time (I’m sorry, I know that’s harsh, but she just isn’t a good actress, at least not in this).

Zuko had some really solid moments, his scenes with Iroh in particular were great, but overall I didn’t love him. A lot of people seem to be upset at his “tantrums” but honestly I think they fit the character well, though there was one or two too many. He’s an extremely troubled teenager estranged from his family and home, tantrums make sense. Again, I think the dialogue really got in the way of his potential and I don’t think he pushed his acting range enough. Almost every actor needed to show more emotion in one way or another.

Aang has some of the best moments and some of the worst. I have a lot of respect for young child actors, especially ones taking on the challenge of such a massive beloved character or franchise. It’s a lot of pressure for someone still growing up and learning how to be his own person. He handled the few childlike moments Aang was given so so well, he has the brightest little smile and playful attitude. The disconnect came with his more serious moments, he’d get these long monologues and, like Azula, sometimes seemed like he was reading off a teleprompter. I do think it’s a character he’ll grow into really nicely though as long as the writing lends itself to that.

It’s very important to remember that the director signs off on everything. Every performance, every scene, every script (that is also signed off by the lead writer). If something is off, it is not strictly the actors’ faults and should never be treated as such. Do the actors need more experience? Sure, but they more importantly need better direction, scripts, and support from the crew than what they’ve gotten. I’ve seen interviews with the main cast and they all seem wonderful with a lot of potential, particularly the actor for Aang, so clearly the director and lead writer are the ones that are slacking.

Characterization (of the main cast)

Aang

He goes through no change or character development from the beginning to the end of this season.

His water bending training hasn’t even started and he has no further control of the avatar state, so power wise he’s remained completely stagnant.

He constantly says how important Sokka and Katara are, because they’re his “friends”, but there’s been no bonding or development of their relationships. If they didn’t tell us so often, I wouldn’t even think they knew each other beyond first day of school ice breakers.

His most profound moment was his conversation with Gyatso in the spirit world, which I actually really liked. I think he really needed support from someone who knew him before. The home being deserted when Aang goes back to see him definitely hurt.

It feels like this show really really wants us to hate this 12 year old boy. Every adult or authority figure is constantly yelling or berating Aang for something he didn’t even do, it was an accident he didn’t come home and got frozen in ice. Especially from the avatar spirits who should know for a fact he didn’t purposefully run from his responsibilities. The tone is all off and I’m not sure the writers understand what they wrote.

Aang’s biggest mental hurdle will continue to be his guilt for disappearing, which he didn’t even do on purpose so the guilt is unjustified, at least the amount others are thrusting on him.

He looks confident at the end of the season, but I don’t buy it because he hasn’t earned it, there was nothing that he did or said that showed why he would feel so confident when he hasn’t learned anything and he hasn’t proven himself capable beyond getting possessed by the right spirits.

His reaction and aftermath to the death of his entire culture was very underwhelming. His grief sent him into the Avatar state and then he mutters a bland apology and the others are mad at him for falling apart when he’s literally lost everything and everyone he’s ever known. It’s something that needs to be handled far more delicately and it’s not.

As the titular character, it kinda sucks how sidelined his character development has been.

Sokka

If I had no knowledge of this series going into it, I might assume Sokka is the main character because he has the most developmental moments in the season and is easily the most well written character.

Physically handing over the protection of his tribe, while small, was a profound moment for him because he was not only going against his father’s orders, it was the first step to realizing he could be something more than a fishing boy from the south. Which is pretty much his whole emotional arc.

With Suki, he was able to prove himself as someone willing to learn and better himself as a warrior. He learned too fast considering it felt like they were only there for a day maybe, but they were on a time crunch with pacing.

In Omashu, Sokka found that his hobby for invention shows he has a talent for engineering and being a tactician. These are pretty important traits that make him a well rounded character.

By the end of the season, he’s gone through pretty profound loss and change to become the beginnings of a leader.

He was kind of supposed to be comic relief as well, but honestly to me it was done as a sloppy afterthought and almost none of the humor landed. Not just with him, but with most comedic moments.

Katara

I’m sorry, I’m about to rip this poor girl to shreds, the writing for her was awful.

She has absolutely no personality beyond the thousand yard stare she gets every time her mom comes up. Every emotion she has is weak and downplayed by exposition, she’s mostly passive and has almost no effect on the characters around her (besides Jet sort of? And I guess Pokku during the most boring fight of the show).

She adds almost nothing to the team besides being a water bender. It’s literally her only characteristic beyond dead mother.

Speaking of water bending, she did absolutely nothing to earn the title of master and no one can convince me otherwise.

She learned six moves from a scroll, trained off screen so we have to take her word for it, made one move that she copied from another bender, and never once had a single second of instruction from an actual master. Getting that title when she’s done nothing to earn it is crazy.

Teaching herself with no support or guidance is not empowering like the writers seem to think it is. It’s just lazy and so unrealistic it’s laughable. She doesn’t have any of the training necessary to be considered a master.

Also I just really dislike how every obstacle for her to be a better water bender is a mental one, first with Aang and then with Jet. Like yes, clearly emotional state matters, but it’s still a physical discipline that requires technique and training of which she’s had none of besides pictures in the scroll.

The fact she was so dismissive and disrespectful of healing bothers me too when it’s a very valuable practice. She didn’t stay for that training either, so how is she going to use the oasis water in the future? Oh wait, Katara’s “a natural” which is just so infuriating because she’s barely struggled to learn a thing the whole season. As soon as she’s in a good mood, her bending works just fine. That’s not how learning or mastering a discipline should work.

Sorry, I know I’m getting into ranting, I’m backing off. It’s just such poor character work for someone so important to the story.

Zuko

Episode 6, “Masks”, was by far the best episode and largely because of Zuko’s character work. Outside of that episode, he’s pretty consistently narrow minded and angry which doesn’t offer him a lot of depth. But it’s all packed into “Masks”.

I loved that the 41st division was his crew as it was physical proof of his sacrifice and compassion for life. Obviously his scar is also proof, but seeing the people he saved alive hits different. And the fact that he didn’t try to take any credit is very modest and honorable for him.

However, I wish he had chosen to make the 41st his crew rather than it being forced on him as an additional punishment to his banishment. I think if he had made that choice, it would have showed even stronger resolve.

His moment with Aang in the shed after rescuing him as the Blue Spirit was very well done and showed how hard it’s going to be for him to overcome his father’s influence.

Lu Ten’s funeral was a wonderful moment meant to build on Zuko’s relationship with Uncle Iroh, it was quite beautiful.

Unfortunately, outside of the moments I mentioned, there wasn’t much other opportunity for character growth because it had to be so exposition heavy.

Although he did choose to go after his Uncle instead of the Avatar in Omashu and that’s an important value in family that Zuko has.

I do appreciate that they cemented his ideals around honest and honorable glory, but it did get a little preachy and repetitive.

I think overall he has a lot of potential for growth in future seasons.

Pacing

Whoever thought 8 episodes was enough to tell this story is extremely delusional. Having more minutes does not equal having more time, 8 episodes offers no wiggle room for such an expansive story no matter how long they are. I’m so sick of production companies thinking it’s okay to so heavily compress storytelling, let your characters breathe and give them some time to develop. It’s one thing when it’s something like Queen’s Gambit (which is fantastic, if you haven’t watched it you should!) that only focuses on one person vs Avatar which is balancing four or five main characters, extensive world building, and complicated plots. It’s something that needs time, but is instead rushed so drastically there’s barely any time to comprehend one conflict or character before another one is expositing in your face. Netflix is one of the biggest offenders of this, but HBO does the same. The Last of Us could have used an extra episode or two for Joel and Ellie’s relationship to solidify more (I’m not going to get into TLOU though, so please don’t come for me for this opinion, it’s not the focus and if you want a more extensive review of that, let me know). It feels like writers think characterization and development just happens and they don’t have to take the time to actually write it in.

With 2-4 more episodes, they could have had the time to really explore the things they needed to without overloading on exposition. Ask yourself how much time did you feel like passed between episode one and eight? Did it feel like the few months it was supposed to be? To me it felt like maybe two-three weeks, and that’s not the fault of watching it so quickly. There’s never any indication of how much time passes, which is its own issue, but also ultimately confuses audiences if they have to guess.

Every interaction and conflict is rushed, why are these writers so scared to take their time? If Netflix isn’t offering more episodes, then you need to adjust your writing to compensate, not condense everything like a sardine can and then act surprised when it’s a structural problem. It’s a fundamental issue that affected the entire potential of the show.

Plot

Aang should have, at the very least, started mastering water bending. It’s stated several times in the season that he needs to in order to fully become the avatar and be powerful enough to end the war. That is the overarching plot that is integral to the story. And yet he doesn’t bend a single drop of water the entire show until he’s forced to after being possessed by the vengeful ocean spirit (and when Kyoshi also possesses him, but again that wasn’t him, that was the avatar state). Because of the time skips that’ll have to happen between seasons, he’ll probably do most, if not all, of his water bending training off screen. Which is, say it with me, bad writing!

They kept hinting at the comet but never outright said what it would do or when it would arrive. Not giving any kind of timeline for the biggest conflict of the show is really worrisome for their future plans. I understand they have to allow a certain amount of time flexibility to account for the younger actors aging, especially Aang, which I completely understand and respect. That’s why time skips will happen. But to not give any kind of timeline shows really poor planning.

Also, please tell me if I’m misremembering or if I somehow missed it during my watch through, but I’m pretty sure Team Avatar still doesn’t even know about the comet, what it means, or when it’s coming. That’s a pretty big thing to overlook when it’s the catalyst for the Fire Nation’s power.

The fact that the show kicked off with the genocide of the Airbenders, who are all conveniently in the same spot, and Aang just happened to escape it because he essentially went for a walk to clear his head and got caught in a storm that came out of no where is way too coincidental for believable circumstances. It’s, louder for those in the back, bad writing!

They had four years to plan this all out, I don’t understand why it all seems so unfinished and thrown together with pieces from different jigsaw puzzles!

Comparisons to Source Material

In this section, I will be comparing the Netflix adaptation of ATLA to the original animated series. This will be about things that stuck out most to me as consistencies, changes, and valuable moments in each rendition of the story.

Consistencies

Writing-wise, obviously they got a lot of the big plot points down, and I’m not going to list them all. If you’ve watched both, you know what they are. Pretty much the essentials…sort of. The great divide even got a shoutout which I thought was funny.

I mentioned above how “Masks” was by far the best episode of the Netflix season, well it’s not a coincidence that it also has the most parallels and consistencies with the episodes it was based on (“Storm” and “Blue Spirit” which are also arguably the best episodes of Book One). I was going to be so mad if they took away the Blue Spirit part of Zuko’s character, but clearly it’s a fan favorite and for the most part I think they did it justice.

I loved that they kept in a lot of the hybrid animals, at least in dialogue if we didn’t actually get to see them. It would have been a really easy thing to just get rid of for simplicity sake. I hope we get to see some more CGI versions of these animals because the ostrich horse looked really good. Momo and Appa for the most part looked good, sometimes a little wonky but nothing crazy, I just wish they had more screen time. They don’t feel like characters yet, just a pet and a vehicle (essentially).

I was really pleasantly surprised to see Hei Bai, I was honestly expecting them to scrap him. He looked really cool too. I do wish we could have seen him turn back into a panda when Aang helped him, but overall I’m just glad we got him at all.

I didn’t love what they used him for, but Kho was visually amazing and everything I hoped for. Absolutely terrifying, will haunt my nightmares again.

June was also a pleasant surprise, I hadn’t looked too deep into the cast list and wasn’t sure if she’d be included. I did think it was a little weird she was flirting with Iroh vs the other way around (like what was the point of that? just take out the flirting entirely if you’re going to be weird about it) but overall she’s pretty much one to one the same and I still liked her a lot. Nala should have been a little more anteater/mole-like instead of wolfish but overall not bad at all.

We got the Cabbage Man. They teased him a little a first, but we got him.

My Favorite Moments from the Netflix Version that Change or Expand on the Original

I sang its praises above, but again Lu Ten’s funeral scene was just so beautiful and really built on Iroh’s fatherly affection for Zuko. I know it’s mostly a replacement for the leaves from the vine scene in “Tales of Ba Sing Se” because they’re never going to be able to fit in that episode. So it’s nice that they deemed it a moment worth capturing in a different way.

I’m not going to reiterate exactly what I said above so go see Zuko’s characterization again if you need to, but making the 41st division his crew members was a constructive choice that I liked a lot.

I don’t know why but just the idea of Gyatso sticking around in the spirit world to be able to speak to Aang one last time hit me so hard. I absolutely loved it as an addition to building their relationship. Aang always deserved a goodbye, and even though this wasn’t exactly that, it was what Aang needed to cope with his immense loss and the pressure he was under.

When Iroh was arrested by the guards of Omashu and being taken to the pit, he had a really intense but moving interaction with one of the earth bending soldiers. I think it was such a good way to portray war and perspectives from both sides. The soldier rightfully and angrily blamed Iroh for his brother who died at the siege of Ba Sing Se, which Iroh was responsible for. He accused Iroh of being evil, of having never gone through loss, which we as viewers know isn’t true, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t defend himself. Doesn’t reveal his own loss to get even. He takes the abuse and the blame and just utters that enough people have been hurt. Great performances all around, really solid writing. I wish more of the show had followed this example.

That lady hitting Zuko with a brush to stop him from attacking Aang, a child, in Omashu’s marketplace. That was one of the funniest scenes in the whole show. Bring her back!

“Everything I need is on this boat.” - ‘nuff said.

Major Character Differences (I’ll try to keep this concise)

Aang

He lost the majority of his lightheartedness which made him so lovable in the first place. He does a lot of monologues and speeches to intense music now. He’s still 12 guys, let him swim with giant elephant koi and dress up as Pippinpaddleopsicopolis the Third to get into Omashu!

I really don’t like that they changed him actively running from his title and responsibilities to just going for a jaunt with Appa to clear his head. That removes so much depth, guilt, and fear that he should have. In the original, it was his choice to run away with the intention of hiding and never coming back, in the Netflix version, it was an accident he never came home. That’s a massive character change.

People called him a coward, but he literally isn’t when it was a very coincidental accident that forced him into the ice in the first place rather than his choice to actively run from his destiny. He’s yelled at and screamed at and insulted constantly, even by people who are meant to help him, when he didn’t even do what they’re accusing him of. He didn’t deliberately run away, he accidentally got caught in a storm. And he just takes all of that guilt and blame and anger from everyone when he genuinely did nothing wrong.

Getting rid of his crush on Katara is a problem, but I’ll get into that more later.

I don’t care why they think they did it, but making Aang agree with Pakku in any respect about not letting Katara train or fight was so extremely disrespectful to both characters.

His reaction to losing his people was way underdeveloped, they gave him no time to grieve. And the fact that Katara doesn’t help him out of his initial Avatar State spiral is so damaging to the friendship they’re supposed to have. Their friendship always came first, let them interact and build that relationship!

Sokka

His small sexism arc that everyone is up in arms about. Do I think it should have been included? Yes. Is it the end all be all of his character? No, like I mentioned above, he got the most character moments in the show. But it was really important in its own way. I saw someone say, “Sokka may not be misogynistic, but Netflix’s ATLA adaptation certainly is.” And they’re right.

What I really didn’t like was what they did with his relationship with his father and ice dodging. Sokka had a great relationship with Hakoda built on trust, mutual admiration, similar tactical mindsets, and strength of character. He passed his ice dodging test with Bato with flying colors. There’s no reason to completely flip those dynamics, there’s already enough other conflicts to explore without giving Sokka daddy issues he didn’t have in the first place. Whoever made that choice was projecting hard.

Hakoda eventually trusts Sokka to lead the invasion in Book 3, but none of that exists here and it doesn’t feel like there’s a path yet to lead to that. (I have a lot to say about the invasion later)

They have Sokka take over a very paternal role with Katara instead of her being maternal, and he is constantly very overbearing, patronizing, and talking down to her as if she has no (or does not deserve a) mind or agency of her own. They (as in the writers) are acting like the age difference between them is 10 years instead of 1-2 years.

Also taking out the very important moment when Sokka was the one who saved an entire Fire Nation village from Jet was just wrong. Not only was it an important stepping stone towards leadership and diplomacy for Sokka, but it also showed that even on the “bad side” of the war, there are innocent people who deserve protecting.

Sokka wasn’t nearly as funny as he should have been.

Katara

Everything about her was wrong, scrap it and try again.

She had none of the passion she should have had. Katara gets mad, she yells and insults and waves her arms around to make her point. She gets jealous and petty. But she’s also so unbelievably kind and caring, she’s the only reason any of them take proper care of themselves. She’s lighthearted and fun when she can be, she plays and laughs and cares so incredibly deeply.

Katara inspires people in a way none of the other characters can, although Aang does learn a lot from her in that regard. She’s incredibly hardworking, loyal, and dedicated to those she loves. And yes, she feels immense pain and sadness for her mother, but that’s not all she is.

LA Katara felt like a hollow shell 90% of the time used for exposition, 5% mom trauma, and 5% sort of emotional. The writing just didn’t lend itself to complexity, flaws, or character depth.

She’s one of the first well written and well rounded female characters a lot of us encountered as kids and they stripped her of everything that made her who she is. Someone for young girls to look up to. It’s shameful.

For some reason they made her explicitly and directly responsible for her mother’s death, which is a very strange and damaging change to make that I don’t think they totally understand the difference of from the original.

They took away all of her maternal behavior, which just tells us what they think of maternal behavior, that it’s a weak trait for a leading character and not worth exploring in a person that had to take that role in her family and village as a whole at such a young age. It’s like the writers thought that Katara being motherly was problematic and sexist, which is a mindset that is itself problematic and sexist.

They’ve essentially turned bending into a magic that relies solely on emotional and mental stability instead of a martial arts form requiring discipline and training. I don’t even think the writers realize they’ve done this, which in and of itself is a massive issue.

Although I will say the water whip on the flaming arrow was a good use of water bending, it just didn’t feel earned to me.

For as much as they focused on her mom, they never once brought up Katara’s necklace?? They took out Pokku’s connection to Gran Gran and never mentioned anything about betrothal necklaces. There’s just so many changes they made, large and small, that feel pointless or contradictory to the source material for no reason.

Zuko

Frankly, so early into Zuko’s character arc, there isn’t a lot of difference here. Most of his development starts in Book 2. I do like the animated version a lot better, though. I am biased, but I also think that even though they hit on almost all the same points, the original just handled it with far more nuance, care, and time. With the Netflix version being so rushed, any payoffs we had just didn’t feel totally earned.

I do think it was a big shame that they had Iroh kill Zhao instead of allowing Zuko’s attempt to save him from the ocean spirit. It’s a pretty important character moment that shows how Zuko wants to help people, save people, if he can regardless of how they’ve treated him. They can make this point again if they do “Zuko Alone”, but I’m honestly really scared they’ll cut it.

Having Zuko fight back during the Agni Kai against his father in the flash back was way out of character and takes away from the severity of the punishment and the trauma of the abuse. He was a 13 year old child terrified of not just disappointing his father, but of suffering harm from the one person he should trust most. And Ozai convinces him he deserves it, so there’s no world where he would have fought back in that scene. And it changes the meaning from a father violently burning a child that has surrendered and begs for forgiveness to a soldier winning a one-on-one battle against another soldier and branding his victory, no matter how dishonorable it is.

Also, at this point, Zuko is an amateur fire bender with barely any experience or progress in his training. Him getting the high ground over Ozai for even a second is ridiculous and diminishes Ozai’s skill level. It could be argued Ozai did it on purpose to give Zuko an opportunity to prove himself as ruthless as Ozai wants him to be, but that completely goes against the precedent set by Ozai that he hates being questioned or otherwise made to look weak in front of anyone. I think I understand what they were going for, but honestly it came off as an opportunity to show off the actor’s fighting skills rather than holding the weight it should for the story.

I DO like that Zuko has a war journal (*diary*) about the avatar, history, and essentially a map of his journey. I DON’T like that Team Avatar uses it as an expository tool and excuse to not properly explore the world and learn things for themselves or through other people.

I don’t think Zuko said the word “honor” once, but please correct me if I’m wrong.

Iroh

Similar to Zuko, they hit a lot of the same surface level points with a few misses here and there.

They didn’t show us Iroh’s connection to the spirit world, they just told us right before the battle at the North Pole and we’re supposed to believe it, which we do because we’ve seen the original, but that was kind of lame. (Not including Roku’s dragon was also lame, but I digress).

They expanded on his past in a few different ways which I did like a lot and mentioned above.

The Netflix version comes off more preachy and gimmicky to me than wise, which is disappointing. I think the actor could have done amazingly with the right script.

They didn’t show him redirecting lightning, which is arguably one of the most valuable skills in the entire show and extremely important for the finale for both Aang and Zuko.

And just like Sokka, he was not nearly funny enough.

Bumi

His characterization was all backwards and wrong and I hated it.

Visually, his makeup and design was pretty good, but that’s the extent of any positives with the Netflix version.

Bumi would absolutely never ever ever have made a joke about the genocide that took Aang’s entire people. That was disgusting and disrespectful to Bumi and Aang.

He was never mad at Aang for disappearing, he was actually extremely understanding and only hoping to teach Aang further about his duties as the avatar. He quite literally welcomed him back with open arms.

The way he treated others, especially his servants, was appalling and borderline cruel.

He never stepped down from protecting his people or became complacent in a way that put them in danger, Omashu was thriving beautifully under his care. When he surrendered to the Fire Nation in Book 2, it was the best way to protect his people without bloodshed and he knew he’d eventually get their home back. He was literally waiting for the Solar Eclipse to do it (which I’ll touch more on later).

This also means that by having Bumi actively fight and lose, instead of surrendering with neutral jing, he won’t be able to realistically give Aang the advice that is supposed to lead him to Toph. Wait and Listen.

I did appreciate the lesson he was trying to convey to Aang about the difficult choices that wartime forces on us, especially leadership (like who gets what food or medicine), but they did it all wrong.

Shame on the writers for what they did to Bumi’s character, I could write an entire essay on everything they screwed up just with Bumi.

Suki

They made her into a lovesick day dreamer instead of the strong warrior and leader she was meant to be. She’s going to go off to war, don’t diminish her strength. Her being a fighter should be the forefront of her character, not a lonely girl pining for a boy and dreaming about the big world.

Her and Sokka’s relationship should have been built up over time, their kiss was so misplaced. When not much time passes before Sokka falls for Yue, it makes him seem like a player.

And that moment Suki’s staring at him shirtless is cringy and yucky, they’re teenagers. Don’t do that.

We’ll see how she is when she shows up again…I actually liked the actress quite a bit, but her writing wasn’t good. That seems to be a theme here though.

I do wish her hair was still auburn instead of black, that’s personal preference though.

Gyatso

They did him so dirty with his death, it was anticlimactic with none of the power or savagery that was implied in the original. His skeleton was literally surrounded by dead Fire Nation soldiers, I wanted to see that dangerous potential on screen and am very disappointed not to get it given how explicitly they wanted to show the genocide of the airbenders.

Jet

Jet’s vendetta is specifically against the Fire Nation. On some level I do believe he would resort to violence against a traitor giving the Fire Nation information, but I don’t think he ever would have put Tao or other innocent (non-Fire Nation) bystanders at such great risk. Maybe that’s splitting hairs though since in the original he was prepared to drown an entire village, of Fire Nation people specifically, as a whole he felt pretty consistent.

I just don’t like Netflix smashing so many plots and characters together, they deserve room to breathe in their own stories.

I hate that he was the catalyst for Katara’s bending training though, instead of her own hard work and practice or training with actual masters. Jet knows nothing about bending or how it works. It’s another instance of stripping Katara of her skill and work ethic.

Yue

As a personal preference, I hate that they made Yue a water bender. She has part of the spirit of the moon in her, so logically I understand where they’re coming from giving her those abilities. But she’s not a water bender! The spirit was working to keep her alive, not to give her powers she shouldn’t have had in the first place.

She’s a princess dedicated to her people and wanting to learn how to lead but also buckling under the pressure of expectations, particularly around her arranged marriage. I saw none of that in the Netflix adaptation, except that she likes to make desserts when she’s stressed, so there’s that I guess. It’s just still missing the depth, but again they don’t have time to really explore these topics.

They make a point with Pokku about the role of women in the Northern Water Tribe and yet somehow Yue is allowed to just call off her arranged marriage. That’s a pretty distinct cultural contradiction. It just shows me the writers don’t know how to portray misogyny as a narrative tool or how to do consistent world building.

Her wig looked awful.

They should have used what happened to Momo (which ouch, that wasn’t necessary) as an opportunity for Katara to prove that she knows how to heal, because she hasn’t done it yet and she’s supposed to bring Aang back from the dead in Book 2.

Azula

I appreciated her introduction scene where she exposes a coup against her father while undercover. It was a little cheesy with her reveal, but it does establish her character decently well early on. And the cover she chose, dead brother and mother, is really interesting narratively.

The writers for Netflix went off about how they didn’t want to portray sexism, through Sokka specifically, but then they stripped the main female leads of most of their agency (Katara, Suki, and Azula all fit this category, I’m worried what they’ll do to Toph).

Azula has almost none of the arrogance that she should have, certainly none of the calm calculated intensity that made her so fearsome and intimidating. Azula should be scary, and she’s definitely not here. She just came off as such a brat with a twitchy face and prone to tantrums.

Her fire isn’t blue, that bothers me a lot. Blue fire is hotter than red fire, it’s supposed to be an indication of not only her fire bending strength but also her temperament. Plus it’s supposed to help us differentiate between their powers when she’s fighting Zuko.

Lightning bending requires so much skill, precision, power, and focus. I don’t believe for a second Netflix’s Azula should actually be able to do it. She was only able to do it because she was mad, and that’s not how it’s supposed to work.

She definitely didn’t earn being able to overpower Bumi and takeover Omashu. Although granted it feels like they nerfed a lot of Bumi’s power, he certainly doesn’t feel like one of the most powerful earth benders in the world.

Ozai had originally sent her out to collect Zuko and Iroh, not to lead an army in a battle against one of the greatest (or what should be one of the greatest) strongholds in the Earth Kingdom. It’s unrealistic and silly. And it’s not like Bumi gave up like he did in the original, he literally said “We’ll be ready to fight” when he revealed that the Fire Nation was headed their way.

Ozai treating her like a nuisance is also way out of character. He’s supposed to feed into her ego and inflating all of her more dangerous traits because he sees them as powerful and necessary for the future leader he expects Azula to be. Zuko should be the disappointing son with no faith or support from Ozai, and Azula the gifted prodigy given every opportunity and surpassing Zuko in Ozai’s eyes. As Zuko said, “He used to say Azula was born lucky, I was lucky to be born.” Somehow that dynamic has almost completely switched and Azula suffered the most from it.

She’s very miscast, the actress was awful. I’m sorry, but not sorry enough not to say it.

Ozai

Ozai should despise Zuko, he’s far more terrifying that way. It’s way more compelling watching a son that’s been so manipulated by his traumas try to win the affections of his father that don’t even exist than the same daddy issues we see in almost every movie or show where the son is trying to live up to his father’s expectations unhappily. Ozai should have no expectations for Zuko, that’s the difference. He sent Zuko on a mission he wouldn’t come back from on purpose, to get rid of him.

That’s terrifying, how disconnected he can be from his son. Trying to make Ozai more human or sympathetic by making him care for Zuko takes away from the monster he’s supposed to be as a villain. They’re not making him more complex, they’re making him more generic.

I just kind of generally don’t like that they’ve revealed so much about him and Azula in Book 1 because part of the well written structure of avatar is that the “villains” escalate from season to season, going from Zuko to Azula to Ozai as the main antagonists. I’d rather they had kept that structure and given more time to better plot and character development.

Plus revealing him so early took away a lot of his intimidation factor for me. Mystery and intrigue is good you guys! You don’t always have to lay all your cards on the table right away.

And at the end when Ozai more or less says that the attack on the Northern Water Tribe was a distraction to take Omashu makes zero sense to me. Not only is it an arbitrary copy of what Sozin said in the beginning about attacking the Earth Kingdom as a distraction for killing all of the air benders (which is also stupid), but thematically and structurally it doesn’t make any sense. The timeline doesn’t add up at all, not that they gave us any indications of timeline. And at this point in the war, the different nations, tribes, and kingdoms are so segregated that the Water Tribe probably wouldn’t have gone to help Omashu in the first place, certainly not in time.

Also I refuse to ignore the blatant contradiction they put in Zuko’s scar story. Zuko is punished extremely severely for INDIRECTLY insulting Ozai, when he’d literally been asked what he thought of the war plans, but when Iroh DIRECTLY questioned Ozai in front of the entire court and spectators (interrupting the Agni Kai, a sacred type of battle in the Fire Nation), there’s no punishment at all. I really don’t understand what the writers are doing with the amount of contradictions.

Roku

Botched, I hated what they did to Roku.

Trying to make him funny? That, right away, ruined his character entirely. I won’t ever be able to take him seriously. He would never make jokes when Aang is desperately looking for guidance and understanding. He’s not a funny silly character, it’s like the writers forgot to add in some levity and chose literally the worst character to force humor onto.

Roku is one of the coolest and wisest characters in the series with some of the most badass scenes and they took away all of them. The future of his portrayal does not look bright.

Kyoshi

Now, I love Kyoshi as much as the next person, but she got way too much screen time.

Not only did they give Roku’s badass possession moment in the Fire Nation Temple to her for absolutely no reason on Kyoshi Island, but they made her the leading influence of Aang’s spiritual journey (he’s constantly trying to reconcile with the advice she gave him) which makes zero sense.

The hundred year war is the consequence of Roku’s legacy and mistakes, it has literally nothing to do with Kyoshi. Roku should be the one mentoring Aang spiritually and guiding him through the remnants of his choices as the Avatar.

Giving her weird future vision for the attack on the North Pole was really weird and made no sense to me, and completely shifted Aang’s motivations from learning water bending (which he never does even once) to warning the Northern Water Tribe, which they end up not even needing him to do because they’re already prepared to fight. Just a convoluted mess narratively.

She isn’t supposed to be that agro of a character, she’s pragmatic and diplomatic. They based her off the memes far more than her source material and it shows.

Making Kyoshi so much more prominent feels like such an insincere thing to do for the sake of “girl boss strong female characters hoorah” that ultimately hurts the writing.

Kuruk

I don’t really know why they decided to give Kuruk so much screen time when it should have been given to Roku or any other character for some development, but I would say it was a decent portrayal. Just an unnecessary one.

They actually used book material for him, which is surprising given the changes they made, but it was specifically for the “spirit killing knife” which was stupid and no one can convince me otherwise.

Having spiritual conversations with so many of the past Avatar’s this early on feels like they’re going to be removing, or at least drastically changing, the Lion Turtle scene in the finale which has me very concerned.

Egregious and Potentially Detrimental Changes from the Original

Removing Jeong Jeong and Aang’s First Experience with Fire Bending

Aang’s terror of fire after hurting Katara when he got too confident is vital for his development. It’s the main reason he eventually accepts Zuko as his fire bending teacher because they both struggle with having hurt people and wanting to fix their mistakes.

This was also supposed to be Katara’s first use of healing, which again I think is something really important for us to actually see she can do. Because all they’ve said is she’s “a natural” just like everything else and that’s such bad storytelling.

Jeong Jeong is a member of the White Lotus and a really important factor in Iroh’s endeavor to take back Ba Sing Se in the finale. Could they do it without him? I guess, but it’s really disrespectful to me to just not include him.

Taking him out will affect plots all the way in season 3.

Not only that, but Jeong Jeong is a valuable example of someone born on the wrong side of the war wanting to make a difference and change his ways. It’s realistic nuance for war!

What Seeing Wan Shi Tong in the Spirit World Means to Me, the Implications for the Library, and Consequences

Wan Shi Tong, similar to Tui and La (the moon and ocean spirits), came to the physical world with the express purpose of bettering humanity. He made the personal sacrifice of staying away from the spirit world so that the human race would have access to his vast and wonderful knowledge. He couldn’t go back and forth between the physical world and the spirit world because he had to be there to keep the Library standing in the physical world in the first place, it can’t stay there without him. The fact that he’s in the spirit world, to me, means that the library may not be in the physical world at all.

Other indications that his library isn’t in the physical world are that Zhao didn’t get his knowledge of Tui and La from the library, he got it from ancient Fire Nation scrolls and records instead (which doesn’t make a lot of sense), and the sun dial that Sokka would have used to discover the solar eclipse and begin the plan for the invasion is now located in the Fire Nation instead. How is Sokka going to learn about the Day of Black Sun now for the invasion? (There’s a lot of setup for the invasion that they’ve screwed up and I’ll talk about it more in a couple other sections).

So assuming we’re no longer going to have the library, there’s a lot of follow-up implications and consequences. This means that we won’t have Appa’s kidnapping which causes a few problems.

One, Appa’s kidnapping directly leads to Jet’s death, the only major on screen death (or injury that leads to death) in the entire show. I guess you could also count Combustion Man, but Jet’s was infinitely more emotional and important to the story.

Two, Appa’s kidnapping and subsequent rescue is vital for proving to the Earth King that Long Feng is a traitor and the Dai Lee has been compromised. This leads to the Earth King trusting Team Avatar’s word implicitly about the Kyoshi Warriors which allows Azula to infiltrate, learn about the invasion plans, capture Katara, and ultimately “kill” Aang at the end of Book 2. Can the writers work around this? Probably. Do I trust them to? No.

Three, protecting Appa is how the Kyoshi Warriors get overpowered by Azula in the first place and Azula is able to infiltrate the Earth Kingdom in disguise. It’s how Suki is captured and ends up at The Boiling Rock prison.

Four, Zuko being the one to let Appa go is a massive character moment as he struggles to let go of the burdens that Ozai pushed onto him to capture the avatar at all cost to others and himself. It leads to his “metamorphosis” as Iroh calls it, leads to him giving up the Blue Spirit identity, and is what makes his later betrayal so painful. Plus, Appa likes him now which is a stepping stone later for Aang to trust him when Zuko wants to switch sides.

And five, Appa’s brief stop with the guru as he’s trying to get back to Aang leads to how Aang gets any instruction on controlling the avatar state. Which also leads to his “death” at the end of Book 2 when he tries to reopen his chakras like he was taught during the fight with Azula. Again, do I think there’s a workaround here? Yeah, but I don’t think they’ll do it well.

Where’s Haru and What it Means for the Future

Removing the “Imprisoned” storyline takes away Katara’s first and one of her most important moments of being an inspirational leader, learning how to speak up for others, and how to make connections with people outside her culture. But they’ve already stripped Katara of so much of her depth, I’m not surprised they took it out.

The more important issue is that Haru, his father, and their people (all Earth Benders) that she helped rescue were very prominent foot soldiers for the invasion in Book 3. Where are they going to get alliances to build an army against the Fire Nation now? My bet is either they won’t, which is concerning for many reasons, or it’ll happen between seasons off screen which is a massive writing problem! Vital events and plot points happening off screen shows extremely poor planning.

Indications of Removing the Swamp and More Poor Planning for the Invasion (are they cutting it out?)

I’ve pretty much convinced myself that the writers are cutting the invasion out of the plot. I’ve listed many reasons above why I think that’s the direction they’re going, but the last straw was when Sokka and Katara were in the spirit world.

I’m almost 100% sure they’re getting rid of “the Swamp”.

When Sokka and Katara are in the spirit world, they are confronted by their worst memories and most difficult emotional obstacles the same way they had been in the original when they were in the swamp. It wouldn’t make any sense to do that again, so they’re probably getting rid of the swamp entirely.

Which means Team Avatar will never encounter the Swamp Water Benders, which then means they lose even more foot soldiers and allies for the invasion. That’s two major allies that just won’t be involved. Between the potential changes to the Library, the lack of allies, and the fact that Hakoda has no trust in Sokka as a warrior, I don’t see how they’re going to realistically be able to do the invasion. If they do, I’ll be shocked and skeptical of how they manage it.

And as another personal pet peeve, taking out the swamp also removes another facet of water bending, being able to control plants by the water in them (which additionally leads into blood bending).

Other Changes That Really Bothered Me

Exposing the Genocide of Aang’s People and the Comet in Episode One

While I did appreciate (to a degree) getting to see the attack on the air benders and how the fall of the Air Nomads happened, I really don’t like that it’s the first thing we see. Like I mentioned earlier, it’s okay and often more beneficial not to reveal everything right away! I much preferred getting bits and pieces as we went along to put together the whole puzzle and have the time to process each new facet of the war. Giving it to us all at once and as the first thing we see takes away so much intricate story telling.

I really didn’t like that all of the air nomads were in the same place for the attack, that’s so unrealistic that they had to create an arbitrary festival to make it happen.

Originally, the Fire Nation attacks all four Air Temples with the power of the comet to back them up for the initial attack. It shouldn’t take one night where they’re all conveniently in the same place (except Aang) and kill them all, it should take one night to deal them such a severe blow that finishing them off over the next few years is easy. Because of course some would get away and were hunted down, that’s how war realistically works.

Removing Aang’s Crush on Katara and What it Means

Oooooh this bothers me for so many reasons, but I’ll try not to be too crazy about it.

I don’t know why they got rid of it completely, unless they’re just waiting until Aang and the actor are a little older for it to be more appropriate. But with what they did with the “Cave of Two Lovers”, I think they’re scrapping the love between Aang and Katara entirely.

Which they haven’t done anything to help them bond at all as friends in the first place except like two moments of bending instructions from Aang and a lot of dialogue about how they’re family. Aang and Sokka have had way more bonding moments together, I can believe they’re friends at least.

One of the biggest issues will be, if they somehow manage to trick Netflix into letting them adapt Korra as well, Aang and Katara’s kids and grandkids are fundamental to the plot there. But that’s getting way ahead of ourselves, let’s just focus on ATLA.

Aang’s feelings for Katara are very important, particularly for being the sole reason he stops trying to master the avatar state, only to attempt it again later to protect her, and then he ends up “dead” for it. He admits to loving her out right in those episodes.

The thing about Avatar is almost every detail is valuable in some way and dominos into a larger plot point. Their love for each other isn’t a major focal point of the show but it does matter, I just really hope they’re not planning on changing love interests.

Moving Anything from Other Seasons into Season One

I’m not going to spend a lot of time on this, but bringing anything from other seasons into season one when you already have such limited time is really irritating because that time would have been better spent on actual character development or including more vital points from season one.

Changing Lore

Aang accidentally bringing both Sokka and Katara into the spirit world with him just because they were in close proximity is ridiculous. He shouldn’t be able to do that. It makes much more sense that they’d be stolen by Hei Bai than piggybacking off Aang when neither of them are spiritually inclined.

Making Avatar shrines the only way for Aang to access his previous avatar is so limiting and irritating, he gets better at it as he becomes more spiritually connected to the avatar state (like in the ocean during the first episode of Book 3 when Aang contacts Roku, or on the Lion Turtle when Aang contacts four past Avatars). Also they completely contradict this rule letter in the season when Aang sees Avatar Kuruk for a few seconds just outside in the Northern Water Tribe. Like they specifically said it, and then completely contradicts themselves, that’s a pretty big consistency error when it’s a change they made.

They removed any significances of the solstices. Once again, giving us no timeline or indication of time passing in the world.

The reason Roku is able to control Aang’s body and powers as much as he can in the Fire Nation Temple is because of the winter solstice when the veil between spirit and physical world is thinnest. But now any Avatar can do it as long as Aang connects with them at their shrine. Kyoshi should not have been to do that to him and it replaced Roku’s very profound moment at the temple.

I don’t like that they said Tui and La are only in physical form one night a year (I think that’s what Zhao said, or something about an ice moon, whatever), and then that night just happened to be near. I can’t think of a single reason why they would make that change. There’s just too many convenient coincidences happening in this version of the story. Tui and La specifically gave up their spiritual forms for vulnerable physical forms for a reason, learn the lore!

The special spirit killing knife was stupid. I don’t know if it’s in the novels and I missed it or if the writers (more likely) came up with it, but it’s seems like really convenient and silly lore that actively contradicts a lot of what was originally set up about the spirits. And added a lot of unnecessary exposition that didn’t even tell us how Zhao got it.

In another similar vein, the MacGuffin of the statue of the many faces goddess spirit that Aang took from Roku’s artifacts to save Katara and Sokka from Kho was just so weird to me. He just eats people now? What happened to him stealing faces if you show an emotion? That was what made him so terrifying, and it was just another moment they stole from Aang and showcasing his potential. It wasn’t his negotiation skills or his self control that saved his friends, but a very convenient object just sitting on a shelf waiting for him.

None of their lore changes made sense or had a purpose to me other than to arbitrarily be different from the source material.

Mature ≠ Graphic

The writers said repeatedly in interviews and articles that they wanted this live action adaptation to essentially be a more mature version. They even likened their vision to be something similar enough to appeal to Game of Thrones fans, which to me was a massive red flag going into the show. Please, do not mix up maturity and graphic violence.

The only thing more “mature” about the live action is that we actually see people being burned alive and killed throughout the season. The original has far more mature writing because of how delicately and intricately it handles very serious concepts. The Netflix writers either do not trust audiences to pick up on subtle and complex ideas, do not trust the actors to portray subtle and complex ideas, or they do not know how to write subtle and complex ideas. Or some combination of the three. Everything is exposition, which I’ve said so many times before, but I will keep saying it until they learn not shove plot right in our faces with no nuance.

The writers simply think they’ve created something more mature because it’s sometimes violent and not a cartoon, which isn’t how that works.

It’s not mature, it’s graphic. Know the difference and you’ll be a better writer for it!

Humor

Yes the humor in the original leans a little more childish, but you don’t solve that by stripping the humor entirely in the adaptation! Almost any attempt at humor, to me, felt like an after thought and was mostly misplaced in a scene (like with Roku, I’ll never get over that). Just overall lost a lot of the whimsy. I understand that animation lends itself to way more expressive, cartoonish, and childish humor, but there’s plenty of funny live-action films and shows. Why did it have to take such a back seat? Again, that’s not a sign of maturity, it’s a sign of a very surface level understanding of how writing works and of what the original ATLA had to offer.

What Was The Point and What Could They Have Done Instead (imo)?

Being brutally honest here, I really don’t think there was any point to making this live action adaptation, especially with the limitations they put on themselves. I think it was, overall, a waste of money and resources. In theory, it was really exciting to have the opportunity to see the world come to life. And in a lot of ways I think they accomplished that between the location designs, costumes, respectful and accurate casting, and environments. I just think that was their main focus, making it look right, that the writing took an unfortunate back seat that made the whole show suffer.

There are two directions I think they could have taken instead.

One, I think they should have planned for six seasons. Every book of the original has a roughly mid season event that could act as really solid season finales. They would be able to stretch out the story and not compress or rush their writing so much. It would be structured more like this:

Season 1 Finale - The Winter Solstice and Discovery of Sozin’s Comet

Season 2 Finale - The Siege of the North

Season 3 Finale - Getting to Ba Sing Se and The Drill

Season 4 Finale - Aang’s “Death”

Season 5 Finale - The Day of Black Sun Invasion

Season 6 Finale - Sozin’s Comet and Confronting the Fire Lord

I understand that doing this doubles the length, and subsequently the cost of the show, which is a big ask. But I also think if they don’t have the resources to do it right in the first place, then they shouldn’t have done it at all. Is it better than the 2010 version we got from Shyamalan? Of course, but please allow yourself to have higher standards than literally scraping by the bottom of the barrel of quality.

I don’t expect anyone to have as in depth opinions or critiques as me, and I don’t begrudge anyone for enjoying the show or even liking some of the changes! But I will say that we all, no matter how critical a viewer you are, deserve better than mediocre quality.

The second direction I think they could have taken, and I really think they should have, is to write something completely original within the world setting of Avatar. There are quite literally dozens of avatars that existed before Aang that have no story yet! They had an opportunity to write some original that actually fits into the 8 episode limit they had while also further expanding on the history and world we all love so much.

I just think the audience, that mostly consists of fans of the original, would have been far more accepting and open to an original story rather than a middling attempt at retelling a story that’s already so beloved.

If you made it this far, I am extremely impressed and also worried for your health! This was mostly me needing to get all of these thoughts and critiques out of my head without ranting to friends and family that have no idea what I’m talking about and would get annoyed.

Anyway, that is my very extensive review that nobody asked for! If you need clarification or further analysis on anything I said, or if there’s something I missed that’s a critique for you on the live action, or if there’s anything you disagree with that I’ve said, please let me know in the comments below! But be nice, I will block anyone being mean about people opinions or thoughts. This is an open friendly space, I won’t tolerate bullying.

Thank you for probably far too much of your time!

#avatar the last airbender #atla #netflix #netflix avatar #avatar live action #my review #please don’t be mean to me if you disagree #I know this is obnoxiously long but no one is forcing you to read it

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