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clubforfrogs · 19 days

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Something That Will Last (James Potter x Reader)

Heyyy so it’s been over a week… whoopsie. This fic took so incredibly long for no reason. Send in requests if you got em!

Kind of an enemies to lovers type beat, except the reader just hates James at first.

3.7K words - enjoy!

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You moved swiftly down the halls of Hogwarts, your robes catching air behind you. You walked quickly, with purpose, and watched with satisfaction as scared first years scrambled to get out of your way. Now, you weren’t actually angry, in fact, you were in a great mood. But you had built up a bit of a reputation for yourself during your time at Hogwarts. You were a terrifying Slytherin, who chose to not align herself with anyone.

Everyone had receive your message: Stay away from me and I’ll leave you alone. If not, watch out. Well, almost everyone. The only exception? James fucking Potter. He was the only person who seemed to find your taunts empty, funny even.

James delighted in pushing your buttons and winding you up. It started in your second year when Slytherin and Gryffindor had potions together. He’d taunt you by shouting borderline declarations of love at you. It was disgusting, and you’ve loathed him ever since. It also seemed as though the universe loathed you, because James was in almost every single one of your classes. The only peace in your day was Muggle Studies. Absolutely boring class, but there was no James Potter making snide or flirtatious comments in your ear, so it became your favorite.

You were daydreaming about that very class as you walked into History of Magic. You took your usual seat in the back of the class, and James smiled widely at you as he took his usual seat right in front of you. You rolled your eyes as you took an inkwell and parchment from your bag, preparing to ignore him and focus on your notes for the rest of class. That’s when the professor decided to announce something that made your heart sink, “Alright students, we’re going to be partnering up for a project. Choose carefully, this will be a significant part of your grade.”

You quickly turned to look at Remus Lupin. Although he was associated with James, he was kind and smart, and your go-to partner. At least he was. You saw Remus already buddied up with Sirius. Both boys shot you a satisfied look, and you saw James waltz up to you, “Seems like we’re the only two not partnered up yet, a dazzling coincidence if I ever did see one.” You realized that Sirius and Remus definitely set the both of you up for this, or more likely, James told them to do this. You mouthed the words, traitors to the boys across the room, and they shrugged innocently and looked away to get started.

You rolled your eyes and sat back down at your desk. James sat in the seat next to you happily. “Sooo, partner, how do you want to do this thing?” You gave James an annoyed look, “I think we’re going to have to wait and figure that out after the professor explains what this project is about.”

James’ happy look didn’t falter, instead, his eyes brightened, “Right you are! Wow, I’m so lucky to have the most brilliant partner!” You rolled your eyes so hard you were sure they were going to come rolling out of your head, “Stop taking the piss, Potter.” You turned back the front of the classroom where the professor had started to explain your project. Each pair was going to be assigned an important magical figure from one of the lessons you had learned previously. Then, you would have to make a presentation about their life, and explain their contributions to magic. You and James were assigned Godric Gryffindor himself, much to your chagrin.

“Ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck with you for who knows how long, learning all about a guy that built a house full of James Potters.” You complained. “Oh don’t pretend you don’t love this. I know I do.” Instead of replying to his jokes anymore, you decided that the most painless way of getting through this project would be putting your head down and getting the work done. “I’ll start researching into his life from birth into early adulthood. You go from adulthood to death. Got it? Good.” James looked a bit stunned at your sudden change in attitude and pouted at you. “Alright, meet in the library at 7:00 tonight. We’ll get more done if we work together.” Before you could argue at his illogical and utterly idiotic words, the bell rung. He shoved all his belongings into his bag haphazardly and shouted as he left the room, “It’s a date!”

Walking to the library, you did realize that you had the choice not to go. You almost turned around and walked back to the Slytherin common room, but you decided that remaining somewhat civil with James would go a long way for this project. You spotted James not long after entering the library, sitting at a table and scribbling hurriedly in a book. You wondered briefly what he was writing, but then decided you didn’t care. You could have no distractions while working on this project; everything had to be done promptly. This would assure that the least amount of time possible was spent with James.

James didn’t notice you until you sat down next to him. He looked up from his book at you with his usual enthusiasm, “Ah, I was wondering when my beautiful little ball of sunshine would join me!” You glared at him, “Fuck off, Potter.” Well, there goes your civility, not a great start. Either way, your words did nothing to deter him, in fact, he seemed to like this “game” the two of you were playing, “Poetic as always, my dear.”

You scoffed and opened a book about the history of Hogwarts that you’d bought in your second year. It had plenty of information about all the house founders, perfect for this project. James had also seemingly found a book to gather his information from. The two of you worked silently for a bit, until the hushed voice of Sirius spoke from behind, “James! We’ve been looking all over for you!” You jumped in your seat, nearly falling over. James reached out and grabbed your waist, effectively stopping your descent. You felt yourself flush when James kept his hand around your waist as he spoke to Sirius.

Apparently, the marauders were supposed to go out and pull some stupid prank that night, and James had forgotten. You honestly weren’t paying much attention. Instead exchanging a desperate look with Remus, who glanced back at you amusedly due to your situation. You tuned back in when you heard Sirius say your name, “You don’t mind if we steal James, do you Y/n?”

You definitely weren’t going to object to that, “By all means, take him. Just make sure he starts on our project tonight.” James looked at you with a pout, then turned to Sirius, “She clearly doesn’t mean that. She’ll be devastated to be left here alone!” Sirius rolled his eyes and was about to respond, when Remus spoke up, “You know Pads, working on our project as well wouldn’t be the worst idea. What if we joined these two?”

James and Sirius made various sounds of dismay, as you excitedly squealed, “Yes! Study date!” James looked scandalized by your proclamation. “Oh, so NOW it’s a study date? You adamantly refused to say it earlier, but now that Padfoot and Moony are here…”

It was almost comical how the roles reversed as James (sort of) fake pouted, and you beamed at him, “Exactly, my two favorite people are here now, Sirius and Remus!”

That made James cross his arms and look squarely away from you. Sirius let out a laugh and cooed at James, “Aw cmon James, I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” The aforementioned boy looked at you with a coy look of hope in his eyes. You scoffed, but before you could say anything, Remus pinched your arm. “Be nice,” he warned. You scoffed, rubbing your arm, “I’m always nice, dickhead.”

You turned back to your book, hoping to get some real work done. Remus seemed to get the hint, but you couldn’t say the same for the other two boys. James and Sirius luckily only seemed to want to annoy each other. Shoving each other randomly than looking away as if you or Remus had done it was their go-to move. After the tenth time they’d done it, you looked up at the two of them, gave them your hardest glare, then pointed towards two books. The two of them looked terrified, and quickly picked up their respective books.

Much to your astonishment, they didn’t immediately go back to their tomfoolery. You had actually gotten a decent amount of work down the next time you heard James speak. “Y/nnn,” James groaned, dragging out the last syllable of your name. You glanced up at him, which he took as a sigh to keep taking. “Why don’t we call it a night? It’s Friday, and Gryffindor’s got a great party planned. Why don’t you come with us?”

The invitation caught you off guard- you had never really enjoyed the party seen, and to be honest, this seemed like a pity invite. “Oh I’m alright, I’ll just keep working on our project.” You said dismissively, expecting that to be the end of it. Instead, you were met with Sirius and Remus on either side of you, both whining out, “Pleaseeeee.” You looked back and forth at them while raising an eyebrow at their behavior. “I’ve got a lot of work left to finish, besides you guys will still have a great time without me.”

You finally turned your back to them, but didn’t hear any footsteps walking away. As you turned to investigate why this was, a strong set of arms lifted you up and slung you on their shoulder. “James Potter put me down this instant!” you whisper-yelled. Sirius and Remus giggled at the two of you like school girls. You sent them a withering glare, but their laughter only increase in volume.

Once James exited the library into the empty hall, you pounded on his back, “You big oaf, put me down!” He did nothing but keep walking calmly, as if he had no care in the world. “No can do, darling. You never come to our parties, and you’re practically working yourself to death!” You rolled your eyes, only James Potter would consider finishing an assignment a near-death experience. He continued, “You’re coming for a night out with the Gryffindors, and you’re going to have an amazing time.” His tone of voice was surprisingly firm.

The longer that James had you over his shoulder, the more you appreciated your situation. You had an amazing view of his… assets, and you could feel his hands on your thighs, though he was low enough to be respectful. Sirius had apparently noticed your wondering gaze, and snapped playfully, “Oi! Keep your eyes up. Prongs isn’t just a piece of meat for you to lick your chops at!” You snapped your eyes up after getting caught. You felt James’ shoulders shake as he chuckled, “I don’t mind, I know what I got going on back there.” His sheer confidence made you blush madly, and you said nothing. Luckily, the Gryffindor common room was now in sight. James set you down as you reached the portrait, and you half considered making a break for the Slytherin common room. Unfortunately for you, Sirius and Remus blocked your way and smiled innocently as you grumbled and crawled through the portrait.

You were quickly ushered up to the boys’ dorm, where Sirius sat you down on his bed and started throwing various items of clothing at you. “Sirius what the hell-“ your protest was cut short by a shirt being thrown at you, thus covering your head. You peeled the shirt off and heard the stifled laughter of James and Remus. Sirius chose not to acknowledge your displeasure, and instead started holding up various shirts, as if trying to picture you in each one. “Ok Sirius, what are you doing?” The boy just tutted at you. “Just let him do his thing,” Remus said from his own bed, where he sat with James. You grumbled , not wanting to be left out of the loop, but soon Sirius threw a few clothing items at you. He pushed you toward the bathroom while saying, “Go now, put that on and show me my genius.”

You gave him an almost worried look, but chose to appease him and change. Sirius had given you an old pair of jeans (presumably his) and a cropped t shirt of some muggle band. You looked at your self in the mirror, and were shocked at how flattering the outfit was. It was definitely simple, but the combination just worked. You walked out of the bathroom and spun around once. You were met with a chorus of praise from the boys. A grin spread out on your face as Sirius commented, “Oh Merlin have mercy, I’ve done it again!”

James let out a quiet “Wow,” that made your heart flutter in your chest. That confused you. You had never liked James, he had always been a nuisance to you. Yeah, that’s all he was. Nothing more, nothing less. You chose to focus on Sirius who was wiping away fake tears, “Sometimes I just can’t believe my own genius.” You pushed him playfully and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. When is this party starting. I need firewhiskey stat.”

Remus wordlessly handed you a flask, and you shrugged, taking a generous sip. It was James who answered your question, “The party should be in full swing now, but I think Remus and Sirius still need to get ready. I can take you down if you’d like.” Sirius looked as if he was about to butt in and complain about the falsities of James’ statement, but Remus put a hand on his shoulder, “Yeah we’ll be down in a bit.”

You gave them a questioning look, butsighed and looked at James. “Yeah I suppose that will work.” James looked thrilled, and offered you his arm, “M’lady.” You couldn’t help but grin at his antics. You took his arm and replied in the same posh accent he had put on, “What a gentleman!” As the two of you made your way down the stairs, you realized that maybe your disliking for James had been a bit unfair.

Yes, he was annoying. But he was also really sweet, and funny, and you couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous. You decided right then and there that maybe you’d start giving him a bit easier of a time. The music got louder and louder as reached the main common area. It was already full of students from various houses. They were all either drinking, dancing, or talking. A new song came on, and you gasped, looking at James.

“Holy shit I love this song!” You dragged James by his arm to this dance floor, failing to notice the deep red hue of his cheeks.

You started twirling and moving your body with the music. James did the same. Your exaggerated movements garnered a bit of attention, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. James grabbed your hand and spun you, before dipping you low. You giggled and blushed a bright pink. He smirked at you as he picked you back up with ease and continued dancing. This went on for a few more songs, until you noticed Remus and Sirius walking down the stairs. The pair of you walked off of the dance floor, and waved them over to where you stood.

“Moony! Padfoot! Over here!” James called. Remus spotted you two first with his higher vantage point, and made his way over, Sirius trailing slightly behind. Once they reached you, you spoke, “None of you lot told me how good of a dancer James is.” James blushed and pushed you gently, “Oh sod off, now you’re just making fun of me.” You looked up at him with genuine eyes, “No I’m not! Do you know how many guys would have been afraid of looking silly while dancing with a girl? You didn’t care and it made everything so much more fun!” A smile spread across his face, he looked as if he was going to say something, but Sirius got to it first, “Oh! A game of truth or dare is starting, let’s go join!”

All four of you walked over and joined the small circle. Already in it were Barty, Lilly, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, and Regulus. You knew all of them from various classes, and they already seemed well acquainted with the marauders. You walked over to Barty whom you were partnered with in Herbology. “Hey! Can we join?” Barty smiled up at you and gestured for you to sit next to him, “C’mere N/n! There’s always room for a few more.” James also walked over and sat on the opposite side of the circle.

The game started pretty mellow. Sirius dared Lilly to dance with a random fourth year, Remus made Marlene recount the harrowing tale of her first kiss, and innocent things such as that. Evan had just gotten done listing his too three people he’d want to date at Hogwarts (Sirius was offended he didn’t make the list), but then he turned his sights to you. “L/n! You haven’t been asked yet, so: truth or dare?” You considered playing it safe, but that seemed far too boring. So you made direct eye contact with Barty as you said, “Dare.”

There was a chorus of “oohs” heard from around the circle as Barty thought about what to say. He pondered for a moment before smirking at you. You felt a little nervous, knowing that the boy had about zero shame. “Kiss the person you find most attractive in this circle.” You wanted to scream. Daring someone to kiss someone else? It was so cliche. But, you didn’t want to be that person, the one who ruins the game for everyone else. You took a deep breath, and looked straight at James.

James’ expression was confused. He didn’t want to get excited, think that you were looking at him because you were going to kiss him, and then becoming heartbroken as you kissed Sirius or something. He held his breath as you slowly got up and walked in his direction. You got closer and closer, while James tuned everyone out but you. You eventually stopped right in front of him, and leaned down. James’ heart was pounding in his chest, and yours was doing the same.

You started to close the distance between the two of you, but James decided he couldn’t wait even a fraction of a second longer. His lips surged to meet yours. You let out a surprised sound, but wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. There was the faintest taste of alcohol of his lips, and you were desperate to taste more. The kiss definitely lasted longer than would be appropriate for a game of truth or dare, but that didn’t bother you. Not right now, not when the lips of James Potter were all over yours.

The two of you would have been content staying that way for the entire night, but a loud cough brought you back to reality. You pulled back, with a sheepish look, and saw that everyone else in the circle was grinning wildly. You started to get up, but James gently pulled you down and sat you next to him. Remus leaned into you and whispered in your ear, “I gather that you’ve gotten over your little hatred for Prongs then?” You shoved him into Regulus, who looked utterly offended at the action.

The game continued on, and your thoughts were running rampant. Did you just screw up your shaky friendship? James seemed like he was into it, but what if he just didn’t want to embarrass you? A large hand gently placed itself on your thigh. You looked to find James looking ahead, laughing at Sirius having to give Barty a lap dance. (The latter was absolutely loving it, but the same could not be said for the former.) There were only a few more dates before you decided to call it a night. Despite all of the signs he was giving you, you still didn’t want to let yourself believe James might like you back.

You excused yourself from the group, and slowly started to make your way out of the Gryffindor common room. Just as you were about to reach the portrait, a gentle hand came and grabbed hold of your wrist. You were about to slap some sense into whoever thought they could touch you without permission, but you were met with the nervous face of James. “Why did you decide to head out so early? Did I make you uncomfortable? Oh Merlin I did! I’m so sorry. Look I’ll leave the game and you can go back in and join. I really don’t mi-“

“James.” Your interruption made his rambling come to a halt. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I’m just a little tired. Parties aren’t really my scene anyways.” You decided to settle on a half lie. James really didn’t make you uncomfortable, but you were leaving because your own head told you he didn’t like you. James somehow seemed to detect that you weren’t telling the whole truth, “You’re lying. Why are you really leaving. Was I that bad of a kisser?”

His fake pout that accompanied his question made you giggle. The tension between the two of you eased slightly, and you decided to just tell him. If he seemed mortified, then you would hop through the portrait and drop out of Hogwarts. That seemed pretty reasonable to you. Before your courage had the chance to disappear, you laid it all out, “James, I really like you, and I really liked the kiss. Probably more than I should have. I don’t expect you to reciprocate this, so I’ll just leave. I can finish our project and everything don’t even wor-“

This time it was James who cut you off. His lips met yours softly, almost hesitant. You once again heard the hooting and hollering of your friends, who definitely hadn’t been watching the two of you since James walked off. You shrugged off all of the worry that had been mounting on your shoulders. He leaned into you more, and let out a slight groan. You smiled into the kiss, before parting. “So I take it you might like me back?” James smiled right back at you, “Yeah maybe just a little.” Your lips met again, and you knew that this could last.

#james potter x reader #marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders x fem!reader #james potter #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #barty crouch jr #regulus black #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #mary macdonald

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codenamesazanka · 28 days

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musings

Tenko saying ‘I chose to do this, I destroyed this house and my family out of my own volition’ is clearly a cope, evidenced by the following rationale ‘Otherwise, why would I even have these hands? Who would be able to explain why I was born this way?’

→ The neat easy solution is then, of course, to have it revealed that AFO gave Tenko Decay. He wasn’t supposed to have those hands. He wasn’t born this way. He didn’t actually want to destroy the house or the family (was just a kid feeling the emotions of a valid temper tantrum).

→ Therefore, he is not evil, he does not hold malice, he is not meant to destroy. He had wrongly believed his purpose was to destroy things. Therefore he is not supposed to be a Villain trying to destroy Japan. And he should stop.

→ This fits with what AFO said about Shigaraki/Tenko ‘To this day, you’ve never made a single decision on your own’.

For a Trump Card reveal though (assuming that 'AFO Gave Tenko Decay' is the trump card reveal) that’s supposed to give AFO more control over Shigaraki…

→ Tenko wasn’t supposed to be born this way… therefore he has no reason to listen to AFO, and every reason to fight back. Doesn't quite work.

→ If you take what Deku has done as Shigaraki finally receiving the blessing of ‘even if you were born with these hands, a Hero should still come and hold your hand’ (acceptance of himself, what he’s done, acceptance from Society Rep) then it's also a bit too late - he was rescued despite having these hands; but now that those hands aren’t actually his, he gets… Rescued+? Also doesn't quite work.

→ What it most likely has to be is: the shock and damning amount of tragedy of the reveal - beyond just being given Decay, but that AFO engineered his whole life - could render Shigaraki docile. For Shigaraki who tried so hard to assert himself and to lead with the creed ‘Do whatever we want’, it would undo all his efforts.

→ It's the fact that Deku has now symbolically rescued Shimura Tenko from the Shimura tragedy. That's more or less done. He's symbolically 1) stopped the massacre, 2) fixed the fact that no one reached out a hand, and 3) assured Tenko that even if he was born with destructive hands and feelings, a hero should still be there for him.

But even after all that, Shigaraki still insist on being a Hero for the Villains. Even after all that, Shigaraki believes he needs to keep being a Villain in order to give his friends what they want. He's intending to still rampage, in a way that's hard to counter because it's such a pure motivation... so it's the perfect time for the reveal that AFO was behind even this desire. Indirectly.

→ Previously, the symbolism of the Shimura House was that it was the accumulation point of social forces that had/will always reject Tenko and what he values (his outcast friends). That AFO might have built the house means those social forces don't actually exist, or don't exist in a capacity that would've given Shigaraki such hatred; it was AFO all along, and Shigaraki has been deluded about rejection. Essentially - Shigaraki's Jaku speech? Proven completely false. No relevance to reality.

And if he's deluded about this, then Shigaraki has no reason to feel rejected, to see himself as being rejected - he has no reason to want or have to be a Villain. Similarly, then, the grudges the League has with the world are also misguided. Shigaraki has no reason to want to continue being a Hero for the villains. Shigaraki must step down.

→ While this does stop the problem of Shigaraki's rampage, I feel like it also obliterates all remaining shreds of Shigaraki/Tenko's character. Even if his hatred fades, even if he's empty, he needs to be a Hero for the villains... So when you take away even that, what's left? He's emptier than empty, and thus will be easily dominated by AFO.

→ Perhaps it's time for Deku to rescue Shigaraki from AFO. However, not quite from AFO's construction of the reality - not when AFO revealed it himself and shattered it. No, it's time for Deku to rescue Shigaraki from his lack of agency...

…So it would be so funny if Deku has to sorta change course to convince Shigaraki that Decay is his power now and what matters is how he uses it and he should get angry and that he’s right for wanting to be a Hero for the villains and so he should help destroy AFO. Sorta the lessons from Todoroki + Eri + Gentle/Nagant combined.

#nalslastworkingbraincell

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linkspooky · 7 months

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hello♥ I loved your and psycho's recent analysis posts about gojo after 236 because they made me realize I've kinda misunderstood him as a character for awhile. one thing I was wondering : how would you explain gojo's line about "nobody will have to be alone again" in the context of gojo consciously choosing to put a degree of separation between himself and others? and if he only fights for himself, why does he care about saving the youth of kids or raising the next gen of sorcs?

The answer to this question, like most questions with Gojo is "it's complicated."

Gojo himself says that he chose to draw a line between himself and others as living beings, and even if they loved him he never expected them to understand him. Yet, when talking with Shoko he says that he's doing all this so no one will ever be left alone again. If Gojo was the one who decided to separate himself from others then why phrase it like he was the one being left in the dust?

In this scene he's likely referring to Geto as the one who was "left alone" rather than himself. We know almost nothing about Gojo's childhood except for the three years of his youth in high school, because in story those are the only backstory details that matter to his present motivation. We're shown his high school days because his present motivation as an adult is all about what happened to him in his youth, that's what shaped him the most as a character. That's also what informs the audience about his character.

If Gojo's own springtime of youth had not been ruined, it's likely Gojo would never have worried about students or gone into teaching, if only because Gojo is not like Geto. He doesn't worry about ideology or right and wrong the way that Geto does. The purpose of Nanami's statement saying that Gojo only ever wielded Jujutsu for himself not to protect anything else, is to point out the fact Gojo enjoys being a sorcerer. It's the hardest job on earth for everyone else, but because Gojo is so untoucahbly strong for him it's a chance to flex his ability at the thing he's best at. Gojo enjoys being a sorcerer, and besides being dragged down by the burden of protecting weak people he likely would never have noticed what was wrong with society as a whole had it not impacted him and Geto.

As for his statement about never leaving anyone else alone, it's likely Gojo's attempt to try to understand what went wrong with Geto and the reasons for why Geto defected. Gojo doesn't worry about ideals after all so he can understand there is something wrong with the sorcery world, but not why Geto would risk his life for a completely impossible ideal. He just knows that something went wrong with Geto and in a year of Geto spiraling he didn't notice until it was too late.

Gojo's understanding of the situation is likely that the reason he wasn't able to notice what went wrong with his best friend was because of the sudden power difference between them. Geto even lambasts him for this, calling him arrogant for calling killing humans impossible when it's something that someone at Gojo's power level could currently do. Gojo therefore accidentally calling attention to the fact that him and Geto are on different levels now by pointing out that Gojo isn't strong enough to carry out his ideal of a world of only sorcerers.

Gojo seems to think where his friendship went wrong with Geto was when Gojo became so powerful that Geto could no longer keep up with him anymore. In general because Gojo has always been so powerful that being a sorcerer doesn't wear down on him like it does other people, he probably thinks something along the lines of if Geto had siply been stronger in the past then Geto never would have been worn down and snapped as hard as he did. It's Gojo misunderstanding a relationship built on empathy and understanding because he sees everything through the lens of being a sorcerer. At some point Geto stopped being someone constantly around him and started being alone, and Gojo's trying to rationalize why that happened through the way he sees the world.

I think Gojo cares about the youth for multiple reasons, number one he genuinely does believe in his ideal of protecting children because the three years of his schooldays were the only time he felt like a human being. Number two, a more pragmatic execution of his desire to change the world of sorcery. It's easier for him to start from the bottom up by changing the next generation. If he just slaughters everyone on top he'll be viewed as a tyrant and they might even team up against him and fight back against him. It's easier for Gojo who wants to exist in the world of sorcery, to try to work from inside. Youths are also easier to make as his political allies because (this is Gojo being really pragmatic here) they're more impressionable.

The last part is where he projects both himself and his failures in his youth onto the next generation, and is trying to correct those things. He had a year to seek out Megumi after hearing Toji's dying request and only did so after Geto's defection. Gege's word of god confirms he only took an interest in Megumi because he was a strong student with potential, but I believe he saw a lot of Geto in Megumi.

Before this Gojo says "but... it looks like me being strong isn't enough, I can only save those who are prepared to be saved." Gojo likely intervened earlier with Megumi, because he thought there was nothing he could do for Geto who had already reached what Gojo dubbed beyond a point of no return. However, he could still help someone who was in Megumi's stage who wouldn't refuse any help like Geto did.

However, Gojo's way of helping Megumi is misguided formed by Gojo's own misunderstanding. He tells Megumi to get strong otherwise he'll be left behind, because he believes part of the problem with Geto is that he simply wasn't strong enough to keep up with Gojo.

It's Gojo's central misunderstanding, he wants to have equals but he doesn't want to have to stoop down to other people's level or get off his pedestal so instead he seeks to bring people up to his level. If he could create a group of intelligent allies who were on his level, not only would he finally have someone on his level but it's in their best interest too because they wouldn't suffer Geto's fate.

If Geto had simply been able to keep up with him, Geto never would have gotten lost and his friend would still be here.

#askspookies #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen

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extraterrestrialechos · 10 months

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I have watched Episode 8 possibly more than any other episode and it's so vital what Jack's saying and what he thinks he's doing, which is completely centered around pointing out Stede's from outside their world and pointing out Ed he's wallowing in unsustainable excess.

Jack: Just for the two of you, huh? Hornigold'd shit himself.

Jack: That's a real pirate! Not like one of these store-bought types.

We're soon provided the information Jack genuinely believes he's been acting with Ed's full support and consent since back at the dramatics on deck.

Jack fully believes he shook Ed out of whatever weird, seemingly uncharacteristic funk Ed has gotten into.

Jack: Best thing that could've happened to you, if you ask me. Like when I heard that you'd shacked up with him, I said... Ed: Where'd you hear that? You didn't just happen upon us, did you, Jack? Jack: Took you long enough. The old Blackbeard woulda seen me comin' a mile away.

Jack: I figured you were on to me when I lured you to Blind Man's Cove, seeing as its distinguishing feature is that... Ed: It's impossible to make an escape.

Ed, otoh, had a good reason to want to show Jack, who he cared about, they could both be a part of Stede’s love in — he wanted to believe that there was room for Jack in muppet land, and a different future for both of them than they’d ever imagined.

That was so far from Jack’s reality he never conceived it was happening and believed they were co-conspirators in a completely different series of events from the one Ed was living.

Chauncey makes a similar point to Jack's in the next episode:

Chauncey: I'm afraid the offer doesn't extend to you, Bonnet. After all, the King was only referring to real pirates. He's from my world, not yours.

That Stede isn't part of the fabric of that world is pivotal to the thrust of the thing, because it's not just about Ed and Stede. The crew, who Oluwande assured in the first episode would come to kill Stede next if he didn't say he killed Nigel on purpose, and who'd all just reassured Jack would probably still mutiny on Stede in the future, decide at this moment that Stede, admittedly a work in progress, is worth standing up for.

And shortly after, Ed chooses to give up everything he's worked so hard his whole life for, a career and huge prestige and "more riches than you can shake a fucking stick at," to go into an unknown, barefaced future with Stede.

Despite Jack not believing Ed would throw away what he built from nothing, what they were stabbed and ground down to nothing and treated like dogs for a chance to aspire to, despite that Episode 8 exists to let Ed see the risk he's taking.

Throughout, Izzy builds up reminders of the bonds he forged with crewmen who believe in the him he chose to show them that he has to choose to separate from:

Ed: No, Izzy, we're not doing this. Izzy: No, you're not doin' this, so I must.

Izzy: Remember though, you said when you made me first mate, "Above all else is loyalty to your Captain." You're my captain, and I was never gonna stand by and let you destroy yourself for that... twat.

Izzy fully believes throughout he is doing what Ed (who at the start of this had repeatedly, disturbingly expressed suicidal ideation in Episode 4 leaving us with two long shots of Izzy standing stunned and shaken after he walks out) pledged him to do. To hold the outfit together and keep Ed's reputation secure.

There's nothing nefarious about the sad henchman sitting in prolonged denial.

Izzy: The plan is very much alive. He promised me.

But Fang and Ivan have now seen through the thing, too, and so they remind Ed of the sacrifices they've made to be a part of this outfit the three together. And still Izzy is careful not to speak in front of them when he offers to help secure their normal,

Izzy: I'll happily end it.

We can assume here, and when Ed couldn't do it and Izzy steps in, that what Izzy knows after all these years is Ed doesn't kill people face to face. How many other people has he dispatched to shore up the occasional slack for the continued honor of sailing with the most brilliant sailor he's ever met?

It is my strong opinion that diminishing these character’s belief in the Ed they’ve known for years and the loyalty they display diminishes the enormity of the choices we see Ed make and risks he taking putting his life and heart in Stede’s hands.

These are men he chose to forge bonds with through his own actions, and the resistance to change they put up comes out of having traveled well worn paths with the Ed who made himself king of the ocean who is suddenly exhibiting erratic and, to them, totally unprecedented behavior.

Ed returns to an Izzy whose faith is at last broken, and swiftly and expertly resecures his place of power. Even devastated himself that his start at a different life a part of him privately yearned for left him so completely bereft.

#ofmd meta #ed teach #izzy hands #calico jack #extechos

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for-the-sake-of-color · 8 months

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Happy Oc Sunday! For Nihlus or any one in crisis company!

👑: What does your oc want to be remembered as? Why?

🔫: Do they trust people easily? How easily will they turn their back to someone? Have they been backstabbed before? Will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

💧: Random angst headcanon

☄️: What do people assume about them? Are they right?

Thanks so much!!! asdjghasgh Sorry this took so long, tumblr desided it didnt like this post so its been hard tryinga get it to post

One Nihlus and Crisis Company, coming right up! (under the cut for lenth purposes) Gonna stop trying to format it and just post it cause this website likes to shit itself anytime you use its own built in features

What Do they want to be Remembered as?

Nihlus: Doesn't want to be remembered, and actually goes out of his way to make sure he is generally never perceived in the first place. To Nihlus, for Nihlus, knowledge about him is a weapon against him. Better to pass through most of life like a ghost. Jet: Wants to be remembered as a smart Captain and a Good Man if he can, someone effective and reliable at what he does. Jet would have deserted the GAR after Geonosis if he didn't believe in the cause of protecting the innocent from the horror of separatist occupation and destruction, because he doesn't believe in the republic itself. He doesn't want to be a hero or maintain a system, he just wants to end the suffering. Margo: She want to do something cool! Mostly just wants to be remembered as that awesome uncle that fixes everything everyone needs Cynic: Would love to be a beloved artist. He wants people to want what he makes. He wants to be remembered for what he can do rather than what he is. Many of his watercolor sketches already sit framed on the walls of Mary Ann's fine dining restaurants, so it could be a reality if the galaxy is kind to him. Heron: Doesn't want to be remembered by anyone except those closest to him. People would be harder to lure in to back alleys to try and mug him if they know to stay away from the guy with the prosthetic leg. And how can he commit crimes against the force gods if no one attacks him first? Lake: Chronically unsure, Lake thinks he wants to be remembered as a decent guy all things considered. Thinks they're all going to be remembered as monsters, but whatever. That's whoever comes next's problem to deal with, he's just trying to have fun and stay alive. Torch: Torch doesn't care if or how he's remembered after he's gone, he's also just here to have a good time while he can. His captain would probably say he's going to be remembered as a goofy problem soldier, but he's going to be remembered as absolutely devotional to his squad, and an excellent sharpshooter. Sprig: He wants to be remembered like a kickass fantasy spy advisor like leliana or zeveran from dragon age. Course the only reason they're deeds are known is because they're part of a video game. Maybe.... he thinks about writing a blackmail book. It would highly embarrass so many senators and office officials for petty (usually illegally so) shit, but that's what they get for legally making him the guy who had to deal with all the bomb threats by chance of birth. Empty buildings give him time to riffle through their shit.

Do they trust people easily? How easily will they turn their back to someone? Have they been backstabbed before? Will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

Nihlus: He trusts trustworthy people.... as long as they aren't Jedi or Sith. Anyone capable of resisting his ability to unconditionally access their thoughts and intentions is an eventual threat even if they chose not to resist him.

-He doesn't do things for the good of doing it, if he wants to help even at risk to himself, he really has to like someone. Otherwise that honor is reserved for his clan, for whom he would give himself at the lightest provocation.

-Nihlus ended up in the Era of the Clone Wars due to being locked into a stasis chamber in his archive meant for fragile documents by his former master and oldest friend, Kishta, who had lured him in there to prevent his attempted assassination of the sith emporor for the destruction of his previous clan

- Nihlus is physcially incapable of betraying any of his squad no matter the cost (one of Jets orders), nor would he want to if he could. that is trust for Nihlus. Anyone else is fair game to whatever else serves the needs of him and his people

Jet: Has a healthy suspicion of others because to do otherwise would be irresponsible, but it does not stop him from reaching out, from trying, when he feels that the person is worth it

- Jet will never turn his back on his squad, his family, by his own admission. Has, though, on numerous occasions given some orders that put them in unnecessary danger for appearances sake. no one is perfect.

-Jet has never been truly back-stabbed, but he has been lied to on numerous occasions

-Jet... is initially ready to trade Nihlus life if and when he has to, for the sake of his squad and their family, as was his deal when becoming the Siths Captain. However, the longer he has him, the less likely he is to actually do so. Would not be able to choose between the lives of his squad even if their lives depended on it.

Margo: She trusts hard and fast, but if her trust is ever completely lost... that's it. Good fucking luck ever getting it back.

- Puts her trust in her Captain, and would turn her back on anyone he deemed it necessary for. Otherwise, she goes with her gut to do what she thinks she has to, to be able to sleep soundly at night.

- There have been several times where Margorashly believes they have been betrayed, by Nihlus... by Jet... by militia allies... for the first two it turned out alright, the last one... is still up for debate

- Will betray anyone she has to, to protect their family. She's the second in command, and that saddles her with a certain level of responsibility damn whatever her own morals say.

Cynic: Does not trust a single soul outside of their squad, although its less of a "all of you are sus" and more of a "none of you are reliable"

- it's not turning your back on people if you weren't really going to help them in the first place. Anyone who isn't squad is just fodder for the cause, although he has far more of an affinity towards helping other clones than to even looking a natborns way

- you can only be backstabbed by people you trust and he believes his squad wouldnt do that, everything else is just an unanticipated attack

- has a tier list of who he would trade for who within his squad if he had to that he would never tell anyone else about. It's not based on who he likes best, but rather who he thinks would be able to best keep the squad going

Heron: Doesn't trust easily outside his squad, that's how you get caught. and he hates nothing more than when the jig is up, tehee

- easily, he'll easily turn his back on people (who arent his crew). The only people worth sticking your neck out for are the ones as willing to kill for you as they are to die for you.

- Definately thought Nihlus did that one thing that one time like Margo but was also wrong, although he didn't take it as personally as she did. He is well aware there are worse people them him out there.

- has a tier list like Cynic does. two, actually. one that he publically shifts around as a joke anytime someone fucks with him, and the real one that he holds close to his heart.

Lake: Wants to believe the best in people at all times, genuinely wants to

- would, in the opinion of much of the rest of his crew, would give his life too easily in order to do the right thing. would not easily turn his back on anyone that needed help

- All the time, if by back-stabbed you mean 'dissapointed', Torch is too cautious though, so Lake has never had the chance to be seriously betrayed

- Would never betray his crew outright, no matter what. the morality of his crew matters less than the vows he has made to them. Has been given an ultimatum before, and he made his choice.

Torch: Wants to believe the best in people, but always expects the worst, he has to. it's kept them alive before, and it will do so again.

- will trust easily, and will break that trust easily if he thinks he detects the slightest threat. His squad comes first, always. Will tattle on them to the Captain if he thinks it'll be funny though.

- His initial fuck-ups almost cost his training batch their spots in the GAR, but they didn't have to throw him as under the bus for it as hard as they did

- Will die with his crew before he betrays them, but if he thinks accepting the initial offer will get him a way to help, he can put up a pretty convincing front

Sprig: Trust is hard earned with Sprig, but he notices potential and offers tentative trust accordingly

- socially, he will not be caught unawares. he's spent too long watching people.

- Has never been truely betrayed. had brothers who told him they'd come back who never did, but it's hard to blame the dead, isnt it?

- Sprig will betray anyone he has to, again, for his crew. Jet built this squad well. for his crew? He also has a list of who's life comes first. like the others, his isnt on top of his own.

Random angst headcanon?

Nihlus: Sometimes he looks in the mirror tries to grin and wishes he could smile in full like he could when he was young and happy and didn't had nerve damage over a full third of his face

Jet: gets migraines from his numerous head injuries

Margo: Several of the squad she commanded before she became Jets second died very soon after she transferred, and sometimes she wonders if she had turned him down whether or not she could have done anything to prevent it

Cynic: feels a lot of insecurity initially over his place in the squad, although he doesn't show it, since it was Margo that requested (demanded) he join with her rather than Jet offering.

Heron: Gets phantom cramps in a foot that no longer exists if he leans on that side for too long without a cane, and nothing except straight 'sith magic' has ever seemed to help make it go away

Lake: For better (and through worse) Lake will stay by Torch's side, no matter how often he ethically disagrees with the rest of their squad, because the rest of their batch is DEAD and Lake will be damned if he loses his last batcher, no matter what sort of monster he has to become to keep them that way.

Torch: Constantly puts up a front of whimsy because he's afraid that what he has underneath it isnt worth loving.

Sprig: So, so scared of dying. It's one of the reasons he transfered out of the ordinence corps

What do people assume about them? Are they right?

Nihlus: People often see Nihlus' lightsabers and lack of clone armor when the squad is together and assume that he's either the Jedi, or the one in Charge. They are oh so very wrong on both accounts. He will get really pissy if they're stubborn about trying to talk to him over his Captain about mission shit he could really not care any less about. Jet: People assume that the Sith is some how mind controlling his Captain into doing what he wants, when he wants. Jet just scoffs in Blood Oath and orders Nihlus to scrub the refreshers for the third time this month as punishment for breaking some ships rules or ditching drills to hang around Kix, again. Margo: People often assume she's a mechanic, when she's just a tech. Sure, she dabbles in machinery, but she's much more capable on the software than the hardware aspect of technology. She can rewire the engines power cells but for the grace of the force don't ask her what model of spark plug the damn thing needs. Cynic: People assume that by his name and attitude, he hates fun. a real stick up his ass stick in the mud. Truth is he's an early twenty-somethings man trying to make the most of things, he's just a little pessimistic, like, all the time. Absolute party animal otherwise Heron: People assume that as a Medic he's a real 'save everyone you can, do the least amount of harm' mildly Hippocratic oath inclined kinda guy like a majority of the medical professionals in the GAR. Unfortunately, he has... serial killer tendencies. Bit of a god complex, Giver and Taker of Life kinda thing. See enough guys with your face die under you hands and your knife and it's bound to do something, warp you in some way. Lake: People may assume that as like, one of the few people with a truely morally compassionate compass of the group, that Lake would be the weak link to press on to coerce into betraying the squad, but they would be very, very wrong. He values his families life above all others, just not his own. Torch: His whimsical nature might trick one into thinking he's a fool, but Torch is actually one of the most tactically brilliant soldiers in Crisis Company, and has the best aim out of all of them. He's just... occasionally taken over by the urge to Have a Good Time. Sprig: Is a real Seems like a Cinnamon Roll, Could Kill You, kinda guy. Really great at drawing people into just talking. In reality, he's filling it all away to use at a later date should it come in handy. (rarely does it, so he always just comes off as a peoples person)

#star wars #star wars clone wars #star wars ocs #swtcw #swtcw ocs #clone trooper ocs #crisis company tag #jet tag #margo tag #nihlus tag #cynic tag #heron tag #lake tag #torch tag #sprig tag #sith oc #ask game tag #ask game

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callsignspark · 7 months

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Be real with me, Elle, how much is ‘the life that could have been’ going to ruin me??

(‘Your lap is my safe place’, I’m looking at you.)

I would apologize for this but, as with everything, this is all @gretagerwigsmuse's fault. below the cut because I do not have the ability to be brief, warning for mentioned miscarriage.

but when Bradley and Mary buy their house (the house that Carole always said she wanted to move into, a house big enough for their family, for their friends, the house they spend their entire lives in together) the twins are three and starting to get to the point where they're starting to think about of giving them their own rooms. so they start going through all the stuff that has accumulated when you build a life together - old clothes, holiday decor that never gets used, your parents' stuff.

Bradley is going through a box of paperwork that Mav had after Carole died; it has a lot of important stuff. copy of her will, his parents' wedding certificate, and oddly enough, a folder with Carole's medical history. he flips through it, figuring she must have requested a copy when she got sick for insurance purposes or something, and a few pages in he wishes he had just put it back in the box.

October 13, 1986: Patient admitted to emergency department for severe abdominal pain and heavy vaginal bleeding. Diagnosed as spontaneous abortion, estimated to be between 10 and 12 weeks. Patient chose D&C treatment, local anesthesia used. Follow-up appointment scheduled for two weeks.

he feels like he's going to pass out. he was almost a big brother; he is a big brother, technically. he heads over to Mav's house immediately, barely saying bye to Mary which worries her but she doesn't press; she's seen the look on his face a lot. specifically, three times a year - on his parents' wedding anniversary and on the days they passed. she knows what he was looking at, figures it must have upset him and she sends Penny a heads-up text.

at Mav's house, he finds out that his mom didn't even know she was pregnant. that didn't tell Mav until Bradley was about 6 and she had a breakdown on the anniversary of her procedure.

he drives around for a little bit, ending up at the beach behind the Hard Deck, imagining what his life would have been like if his little brother had been born. it was too early to tell, but Bradley has been picturing a boy. Mav said that Carole had always liked the name Marcus, Marky for short, after Nick's father.

it goes through this in-universe AU I've been developing, where everything is almost the same except Bradley doesn't go into the Navy but he's a history teacher and he takes care of his little brother. does all the parent things - goes to parent-teacher conferences, goes to all the baseball games, takes a stupid number of photos at prom, etc. and it explores his feelings of watching his brother live the life he pictured for himself.

it ends with him coming home to the life he does have. his beautiful wife, his daughters he would do anything for, his uncle and the family he built for himself. Mary is like "you need anything?" and he's goes "just you baby doll, just you." the final bit is AU Bradley bumping into a pretty brunette in his bakery, "I'm Mariella, but you can call me Mary." because these two find each other in every universe, no matter what.

#and now I'm literally crying at my desk #I have so many ideas for this one #also Jordan: do you have any idea how far back in our conversation I had to go to find these messages??? so far back.#asks answered #sometimesanalice #MM fic #alexa tag 💖

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amysterywrappedinanenigma · 1 year

Text

Mysterious Benedict Society Episode 7 Liveblog - A Joyful Lens

I wrote this and then completely forgot to come back to it, but here we are, the day before the final episode is dropping.

Wow, immediate new record for how fast I’ve wanted to punch Curtain. Usually it takes at least a couple minutes but this time it was just. literally the first line. may your tea always be too bitter and scald your fucking tongue.

HmmmmMMMMMMM MA’AM ARE YOU FAKING YOU’D BETTER BE FAKING

I am staring at Number Two under a microscope rn, ma’am are you okay.

“Big day tomorrow” pls no that sounded so wrong. I’ve been saying big day today for the past year, and big day tomorrow made me v uncomfortable.

Tbh I wouldn’t be shocked if Curtain picked up on the fact that there was something in the tea. Not that I think he’s smart enough to pick up on it, but he just seems paranoid enough as a person to notice that something’s off.

UH OH UH OH UH OH OH NO

Ughhhhh having such conflicting feelings on number two getting whammied because yes it’s bad but also the things she’s saying are things that Mr. Benedict really needs to hearrrrrrr and things she should have been saying all season but ehhh. Mixed feelings.

Love Kate and Milligan’s farm system. All of the moments that show how much they’ve built their lives and relationship with one another over the past year really warm my heart. It’s a nice other side to the moments where they’re struggling with their relationship

RUN SILENT RUN DEEP!!! Thank you for the actual episode title bc I’m still uncomfy over big day tomorrow

But also yeah Milligan, running silent running deep really worked out well for you last time, uh huh, I’m sure it’ll go off without a hitch this time

Reynie did you really think Kate was going to stay put, I love your confidence in people

Hey disney I can’t take Reynie and Kate getting whammied too, so keep that in mind pls

AHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CRYIJG I’M LAUGHING EO HARD

THE STRAIGHTJACKETS

THEIR FACES

THE WAY EVERYONE IS JUST🧍‍♂️

CONSTANCE’S TERRIFYING SMILE

STICKY IS SO DONE HE LOOKS LIKE HE COULD SET CURTAIN ON FIRE WITH HIS EYES

I’m LAUGHING SO HARD

Oh my god this feels like a fever dream

J e f f e r s, he’s so proud of himself, you pathetic pathetic man

Where the fuck did you get straightjackets, Jeffers? Did you go to a store after grabbing them? HAVE YOU BEEN CARRYING THOSE AROUND FOR WEEKS???

The way unwhammied Constance would just be biting him. Someone get her some acid for whenever they bring her out of it

Jeffers of course you don’t know how to take off a straightjacket, can’t you see you’re undercutting Curtain’s reunion with two of his child nemeses?

CONSTANCE THROWING OFF THE STRAIGHTJACKET LMAOOOOO absolutely iconic

Shedding it like she’s shedding all the negativity in her life rn. She was in that straightjacket because she chose to be

Yeah Sticky!!! Get him!! Call him evil!!

Ew no Curtain you’re not allowed to refer to people as ‘friend’ anymore, I thought we left that behind last season.

Slightly disappointed we didn’t get Curtain expecting Constance to straight up murder him, but that’s okay

Wait no. Don’t you fucking dare.

FIGHT IT STICKY FIGHT IT

DO NOT TAKE STICKY TOO PLEEEEASE

It’s so much worse because Curtain knows all of Sticky’s insecurities from last season and just. AGHHHH.

WHY MUST WE ALWAYS CUT OFF BEFORE WE SEE IF THE HYPNOSIS WORKED. I’M TOO STRESSED FOR THIS.

The Mabel Pines voice is really jumping out now that Number Two is whammied

Ohhhhhh is number two getting whammied what’s going to knock Mr. Benedict out of the hypnosis??? He’s so worried

YEAH, KICK!

It’s really interesting that Mr Benedict has been able to have analytical thought about the hypnosis while he’s in it, like “why am i feeling this way, i feel like i should be fighting this” but other people don’t seem to be able to do that. It might just be for story purposes from the writers, but I wonder if there’s an in-universe reason?

H W A T

WHY ARE YOU SINGING

OH NOW IT’S BOTH OF THEM

WHY ARE WE GETTING THIWHQTTHEFUCJ

This episode is making me question my grasp on reality like none of the other episodes have

WOLVES CBSHFBSHB absolutely roasted

Hugs! Hugs! Hugs! Mr Benedict finally gets a hug~

“Dressed in the faded rags of a hostage” has the same energy as “the clothes of someone who has given up”. Unintentional jillsoncore

She! Requested! Yellow!

Kate not knowing what an alpaca is is really good content, thank you disney

“I know I tease you, Sticky, but the truth is, I enjoy your scientific facts.” Cuteeeeee, I kind of hope once she’s unwhammied she says she meant that even though she was under the happy influence, but she’ll probably just go back to her friendly bullying, which is okay too

Kate and Constance hug Kate and Constance huggggg <3 <3 <3

“She’s an absolute pleasure to be around” Sticky nooo, like I totally get it but nooooo

Oh thank god Sticky didn’t get whammied, I couldn’t have taken that.

Him doing long division in his head to avoid it is precious, he’s so good.

Ahhh it is once again cult leader time. Great.

WAIT IS THAT MISS PERUMAL IN THE BACK

FEAR FEAR FEAR

Uh oh Enzo

Oh that was REALLY fast since we saw him get hypnotized by Auguste like 2 episodes ago. I wonder why it seems to happen at different speeds for different people

Ohhh Curtain seems very shaken by someone else freezing

Lmaooooo J&J’s little super awkward backwards shuffle with the wheelie chair

N I C K Y

RED ALERT

OOF.

I’m just buffering over not now nicky

Okay okay back on track

The track I’m back on is adoring Miss Perumal

But also no thanks I cannot take the kids realizing their parents have been whammied

Milligan hugging kate but her expression just stays blank like she’s realizing what has happened uhhhhhh I’m in pain

Constance is just. vibing.

Idk if this is intentional but I love the framing of almost never having Constance and the other three in the same frame in this scene, and the only times they’re in the same frame there’s both a lot of distance between them and a tree splitting the frame between them

No, you DO need Dr. Garrison, because I need the show to bring her back

WAIT YES

I CALLED IT TWO EPISODES AGO, SOMEONE STOLE THE NOTEBOOK

I was wrong on who did it, since I had guessed it would be Constance, but I’m still excited

“Garrison’s proven she can’t be trusted with technology.” HEY. LEAVE MY FAVORITE WOMAN IN STEM ALONE. Haven’t you ever heard of intellectual property?

Uh oh he’s MAD mad

Lmao at Mr. B poking his head up over the window

But also oof now he knows about the people freezing

Jackson and Jillson I’m so sorry you guys cannot catch a singular break

Two people I love with all of my soul but also occasionally fear on deep a primal level

Excuse me Curtain you do NOT get to yell at them

Add J&J to the list of people who deserve post-Curtain therapy (and also to commit physical violence against him, but that’s a given)

LMAO the side eye towards frozen Marlon on “current personnel situation”

I hope Marlon can hear them vagueing him. Get wrecked.

Still going for that promotion, good for you guys

Curtain put your psych 101 “correlation does not equal causation” away, we all know you don’t have a degree.

✨Don’t fucking patronize my blorbos✨

Nooooo the way they both kind of just deflated the second he walked out of the room. Every time we see how scared they are of him I get sad™️.

It’s hard for me not to feel sympathetic for them because it’s framed in a way like they’ve invested so much in him and his methods, and then he’s very threatening and dismissive.

Someone made a comment last season that was something along the lines of “the girls are fightingggggg” and that’s what I think every time they snipe at each other <3

MR BENEDICT AND CONSTANCE HUG!!!

Thank god it’s actually him, I got so scared from the post-trailer discussion

But them them them <3 I’m so glad we got a proper little reunion even though I wish it was longer

“I’ve successfully stolen several items recently” yeah you have! You’re doing great!

I really love scenes where we see the talents of the kids being highlighted, I’ve really been missing that this season

The multitool!!!!!! I still think about Milligan saying “I whittled it. :) for the bucket :)

ASDFGHJKL THE DANCING

Once again feeling like I’m in a fever dream

We’ve got the dorky dancing and then Miss Perumal still looking absolutely STUNNING no matter what

“Where’s my dad? Let’s start with him” <3 <3 <3 <3

Still wondering why Mr. Benedict is capable of rational thought about the happiness but other people don’t seem to be. Maybe just a plot hole but hmmm.

This conversation happening during dancing feels pretty on point for this season

Katie kat!

Constantly torn between how wholesome the interactions are and being horrified that everyone is hypnotized, but I love Milligan and Kate as always

Kate’s lil smile when Milligan gets mad!!!!!!!

Miss Perumal looking STUNNING as ever, I want to dance with her. If she told me to stay and get whammied I would listen to her

Curtain imposing his fashion crimes on everyone else this season can’t touch her, she’s too perfect

SHE’S. VIBING.

“Trust me.” “And I do, with my life.” 🥰🥰🥰

J&J y’all need to run, I fear for your safety once number two gets unwhammied

I’M

WHAT

THEY JUST

HELP THEY STRAIGHT UP TACKLED HIM

HELP

When I said run that is NOT what I meant, but go off I guess uhhhhh

They’ve really been through it this season and I guess this was how those feelings manifested themselves

Rip Jillson’s shoulder

It’s all haha funny until I start thinking about the way he was immediately SO concerned for her

“That was an odd impulse!” WEUHFWIUVBS sir you just got tackled

“She gets a vote now?” Yes she does because she’s perfection personified and everyone needs to respect her more

c o m a e

Mr B looks :( :( so upset :( and it makes me upset

Number two definitely meant removing Curtain from his followers when she said the best way to stop a snake is to chop off its head, and totally doesn’t want to physically start removing Curtain’s limbs

“US” 🥰🥰🥰🥰🎉🎉🎉🎉

Curtain I’m begging you not to look into the camera while doing the hypnosis thing, it’s terrifying

The facade is once again cracking!!

Gotta have one scene every season where Curtain is losing it in front of a mirror

FLOWER DELIVERY

Good, get him

Mr B patting Curtain’s leg when they’re about to drive away is giving me feelings

I love all of the background interactions between the kids and adults

YEAH GOOD DESTRUCTION GOOD JOB MILLIGAN

Tell me why I half expected Jackson and Jillson to both have a sling just to continue the identical vibes

ALL OF THEM SLEEPING IN THE BACK OF THE TRUCK OHHH FOUND FAMILY FOUND FAMILY FOUND FAMILY

Wait no no NO NO NO

Like we knew it was gonna happen but FUCK

Okay final thoughts:

Overall, I loved this episode too! I’m finding I’m really liking the later episodes as the plot ramps up and character beats come to a head, but I’ve been enjoying it all. I’m really interested to see how they close things out next episode, and how the hypnosis side effects end up being resolved, especially now that I don’t know if the main group is going to be going back to the compound at all. (J&J call in Garrison please, she can fix this.) And excited to see more character moments especially when people come out of the hypnosis.

Where we’re at right now has me kind of worried for next episode, but I’m trying to stay optimistic. I feel like there are so many loose threads that need tying up, but with the much shorter episodes this season I’m a little worried things are going to feel really rushed next episode and not have very satisfying closures, or some things are just going to get dropped altogether.

But yes very good episode and I’m both excited for the next episode and already sad the season will be over.

#so much of this is just me screaming incoherently and for that i am sorry #and thank you disney for giving me more of my blorbos this season #i am treasuring them #mbsdisney #mbs disney spoilers #mbs s2 spoilers #mbs #mbs liveblog

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tsuchinokoroyale · 1 year

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I mean. If a guy only tells you he's married afterward, there's nothing you can do about that, I get it. But knowingly having sex with married men is 100 percent on you. You go into a whole philosophical breakdown of how he justified it to himself; how are YOU justifying helping these men break their wives hearts?

There’s a lot of interesting differences in our perspectives that I get from this response, but let’s start with the answer. How do I justify helping these men break their wives heart? I don’t, because I don’t have anything to justify. I think of it the same way I don’t have a mental breakdown every time I buy candy from the grocery store, even though I’m excessively contributing to capitalism. Did I need candy? No, but I wanted it. If I didn’t buy the candy, would I have crashed the economy hard enough to cause the government to shift gears? Absolutely not. I’d just have gone without candy. Translated: Did I need sex? No, but I wanted it. If I didn’t, would they have given up their philandering ways and changed their lives? Probably not. They’d just find someone else (( emphasis on the fact that these men were stunning ))

I am FAR from having to bear the cross of these men cheating on their wives, especially the 100% you claim. I’ll admit I’m a dime and a half and boys do be lining down the block just to watch what I got, but that’s not really my business if I did somehow tempt them into cheating. It’s like the difference between someone actually apologizing and someone saying “I’m sorry you felt that way.” Actually apologizing in this case is synonymous to, uh, not cheating on your wife. That’s not a foregone conclusion, you can just Not Cheat. Your response is closer to the second one, akin to saying I’m enabling their cheating by having sex with them. And this is where our perspective divide is: I see no reason to take ownership of their business even the slightest. I don’t know their names. I couldn’t give less of a shit what these guys are up to now.

Let’s rewind. You are engaged/married to a wonderful woman. You don’t want to have a gay sex liaison that might jeopardize the sanctity of your relationship. Do you:

A) Download grindr and set up a profile

B) Don’t

If you’ve chose A, it is no longer my business what your deal is. It’s called grindr. The old logo used to have gears because it was meant to be a meat grinder. You use it to grind meat. If we met on GoodBoysUnlimited I’d give pause but if I’m on a sex app it is for the purpose of having sex. I’m not breaking these women’s hearts, I’m engaging in my half of the agreed upon transaction. Instead of moralizing the sex, maybe moralize the 50 steps it took these men to get there?

I will say I still agree with you that it wasn’t the most morally correct choice. That would’ve been to slap these men on their wrists and say “beat it, bozo!” But I’m no angel, saint, priest, or even a wholly good person 🤭 it was hot! Here were these men who were so firmly heterosexual that they built a life around it, but saw me and wanted me badly enough to risk it all to get a piece of this? That’s an amazing ego boost! I prefer ethical non-monogamy by a wide, deep margin, where a lot of discussion happens before hand. But in this case, I was informed while they were already there. Like I’m not going to play marriage counselor to a man sitting on his knees slonking on my knob sloppy style.

I think it’s incredibly important to understand things you should and shouldn’t take ownership of. You are a person, you will make mistakes, people will feel raw about it, and you’ll end up feeling bad too. But there are also situations where people will try to make you feel a certain way about things even if it isn’t your fault. It’s a classic emotional manipulation tactic: it’s your fault I feel this way. How are you gonna take ownership for how I feel? And my answer is always: I don’t. You are going to have to definitively demonstrate my ownership over a situation in order to get a response out of me. Say guy #1’s girl came home and found her man playing mechanical bull with my dick. She says to me “This is all your fault!” I’d just say “baby girl, what’s my name?” I’d ask her man, “what’s my name?” There’d be no answer because I wasn’t in this situation as a person, I was just here to pound ass and go. I’m not even a named actor and you think I’m the main antagonist? It’s not healthy to get personally involved in everything you experience, and sex is no different. As long is everything is consensual between the parties present, go off. That’s why I think it’s funny you wrote off the second one so quickly as the morally better one. Because, ironically, the story you discounted is the one in which the answer lies. I consider it the worse of the two because I didn’t consent to being a part of that narrative. Don’t get me wrong, as I’ve highlighted above I probably would’ve shrugged and gone through with it anyways. But it highlights that the cheater is always the one that holds all the cards, even if he’s also the one that has all the chips to lose too. They can share with me whatever they want, but at the end of the day they’re the ones in charge of their own situation. I’m just a pole/hole sir 😮‍💨

#tsuchinoko villain monologue time babey! I hope I get cancelled I’ve never been cancelled before #is it bad that thinking back on my past is kinda making me want to top again? but… no… I shan’t…#asked and answered babey!

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detect-thoughts · 2 years

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🤥🥞🙈💎 4 lawrence pls ??

Sam I am so thankful for your love of my boy as of late, really bringing me through a tough week, I appreciate you <3

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

Lawrence is the worst liar of all time, he cannot lie to save his life, not for any facial expression or anything, it's his tail that gives him away, it's easy to read him through and difficult for him to conceal. That said most times he doesn't need to lie because he's rather blunt and doesn't make empty threats. He will also adamanetly portent any insights the team makes against him if at all possible.

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

Lucy typically skips breakfast most days, busy in the mornings with putting his harness and prosthetic on, doing his hair routine, making sure his clothes look neat and clean and preparing his spells from his spellbook, he'll typically have a plum or peach or piece of other fruit, that said one occassion he does indulge himself a breakfast wrap or egg muffin and a hash brown if he has the time and access.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

By far the side of him that doubts himself. He can cope with being occasionally vulnerable, if only for brief moments, but his entire image is built upon a foundation of confidence. That he not only can but will accomplish what others cannot by any means necessary.

He has some major chips on his shoulder about people not believing in him, and so he believes in himself enough for everyone, if he doesn't believe in himself, who will?. He worked hard to be the prodigy he is at such a young age. It's also a huge part about why he chose to become a Wizard despite being born with Sorcerous power, nobody can take these accomplishments from him or downplay them, he chose the hard path on purpose.

💎 DIAMOND - how rich are they? can they live the lifestyle they want to?

Aha! Lawrence De Luca is in fact the son of a (until recently, and because of Lucy himself) very prominent and influential Human Nobleman in the largest and most central city in the setting, and prestigious Tiefling Wizard, the pre-eminent authority in her field.

Lucy grew up living an aristocratic lifestyle and hated every damn moment of it, the soirees and the galas, the scheming and the politics, the petty and trivial "problems", and especially the resignation to mediocrity in favour of relying on the skills of others paid for in fleeting wealth instead of using it to develop and cultivate talent and skill of ones own.

With his father on trial for attempted murder and his mother being a fugitive on the run for treason, he is set to become Lord of his estate and house very soon, all the benefits of which he intends to immediately relinquish to his sister, beyond the title itself, and leave to continue his travels and field studies.

#There's a LOT going on for him lately #All the more pain waiting through this 5 week hiatus #I am excited for him to be raised to a Lord #He's gonna fucking hate it so much #He hates the nobility with every inch of his being #And that's a lot of inches #He's a tall boy #Ask #Aelyosos #OC #DND #Lucy

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luminnara · 3 years

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It’s Been a Long, Long Time | Alpha!Bucky x Omega!reader part one 18+ only

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Warnings: NSFW, knotting, abo, smut, mild dubcon

Request are OPEN! I would love to write more Bucky stuff!

Also posted on AO3

Part one | Part Two | Part three |

In a world full of massive, snarling, strong alphas, nobody wanted to use something as small and physically weak as an omega to do war. Omegas were better suited for other things, like nurturing, and giving life. The alphas were the ones who fought and maimed and killed and protected and hunted. It wasn’t even until relatively recently that omegas even had many rights in the modern world, and there were still plenty of traditionalists who stuck to the old ideals. Omegas were for breeding and claiming and little more. Though those ideas were fading, there would always be those who believed that there were things omegas couldn’t and shouldn’t do--

And fighting was at the top of that list.

Omegas weren’t built for it. They were sturdy, sure, to help them withstand the ruts of big alphas who couldn’t control themselves, but they were generally small, and, many believed, unable to fend for themselves. Their role, their purpose, was to be claimed and bred by big strong alphas, and that was that. It made sense; after all, someone needed to stay and care for the pups, or else there would be little chance of survival. Throughout most of history, survival wasn’t something that was ever guaranteed, and having a secondary gender that was intended for rearing offspring greatly increased the likelihood that pups would make it to adulthood. Alphas were bigger and stronger, natural leaders, always ready to fight and defend their territory and their pack, and omegas were always there to carry the young.

And that was that. Omegas weren’t meant to be warriors. Their only place on the battlefield was in the medic tent, where they could tend to wounded alphas and betas. It was nearly unheard of in many places for there to be omega soldiers, even infantry.

Until the twentieth century.

The catastrophic proportions of both World Wars brought with them an all hands on deck mentality. In the states, male omegas were being drafted along with the others, newly-invented heat and rut suppressants meaning that they could all work together without the danger of blunders thanks to anyone’s natural cycle. Back home, not only were alpha and beta women suddenly flooding the workforce while the men were overseas, but omegas were joining them. It was unprecedented, and began to change many minds. Maybe omegas were useful for more than incubators. Maybe they could work.

They still weren’t the best choice for hands on, tactical things, though. While there were omegas in the army, they rarely became officers, because who was going to want to listen to them? They weren’t natural born fighters, and they were hardwired to obey alphas. They were better as battle fodder, extras to pad out the numbers. They certainly weren’t anyone’s first choice for special missions or programs.

Well...almost anyone’s.

When HYDRA got their soldier and programmed his brain, they were pleased. The big alpha, James Buchanan Barnes, had survived the super soldier serum, and with his mind wiped and his old life far away from him, he was the perfect assassin. The Winter Soldier was strong, well trained, and easy to control, when given the proper commands. The serum made him practically unkillable, and he had the speed and strength to rival that annoying Captain America.

Unfortunately, the serum also made his ruts much harder to suppress. HYDRA would never permit him to settle down with an omega, of course not...but an omega was the only thing that could ease his rut cycle. Without one, he could spend a week snarling and pining, absolutely useless. With one, he was only out of the field for a few days. Until they could develop better suppressants, their only solution was to give him an omega.

Unfortunately, they weren’t very good at surviving him.

He didn’t like any of them, not really. He never meant to kill them, never really tried, but HYDRA had a habit of starving the poor things before they tossed them into the lion’s den, and they just couldn’t keep up. The soldier used them to alleviate his ruts, always mechanical in his movements, and that was that.

HYDRA didn’t particularly care whether the omegas lived or died, but they did reach a point where it was getting to be a bit ridiculous to catch so many for their soldier. Someone along the way had the bright idea to simply make a stronger omega, one who could withstand their asset’s forcefulness. Giving the serum to an omega was such a ridiculous idea that it just might work, and so they did, and oh, did they get lucky with the omega they chose.

Taking scent samples from several omegas they already had, they presented them to the soldier, allowing him to choose. It was, perhaps, the one time they had ever given him a sense of autonomy over himself and his life. It was the one time he had any freedom, despite the incredibly controlled circumstances.

While strapped down to a familiar chair, he watched the doctors pacing around. He was expecting the familiar agony of having his mind refreshed before a new mission, or maybe even the chill of preparation to go into cryo for a few years until he was needed again. Instead, they presented him with strong-smelling test tubes, each one unmistakably omega. He inhaled their scents with mild interest, none seeming to particularly stand out...until they reached the last.

Amoretta Arancini was a young adult female omega, whose file stated that she was “a kicker.” From the moment she had been captured with the intent to be given to the soldier for a rut, she had clawed and kicked and bitten at anyone and everyone who came into contact with her. She was nearly impossible to deal with, and had the soldier not immediately flared his nostrils and strained against the leather straps that held him down, she would have been finally put down.

Neither she nor Bucky knew it, but he was the only reason she was allowed to live.

The soldier was placed back into his usual cell, and the doctors set about gathering the unruly omega he had chosen. It only made sense that the big, killer alpha would go for a positively savage little monster of an omega, after all.

They administered the serum, unsure whether an omega would even survive it, and by the time their soldier’s next rut came around, she was ready. If she could withstand him, she would have a purpose within HYDRA, and they would be able to stop wasting so much time on finding new omegas for him to burn through.

She was given double the suppressants he was. They didn’t care if she experienced side effects; after all, her only job was to present herself to the soldier at the start of every rut. She didn’t need to be out in the field. If that meant she was groggy and nauseous all the time, who cared? It seemed to work, keeping her heat and fertility at bay while leaving her lucid enough to get the asset through his cycle. The last thing HYDRA needed was an unscheduled heat or pregnancy to deal with.

“The asset is entering his rut. Bring in the omega.” A voice on the intercom said.

An alarm blared, a door slowly screeching open, revealing a cold cell, bare save for the cot against the wall. It was a cell specifically used to hold the soldier during his ruts, and now, it would also hold Amoretta.

She stumbled along, a beta guard with a cattle prod stalking behind her. She was naked, having been allowed to shower before meeting the soldier for the first time, her dark hair still damp as it fell behind her shoulders. It was the cleanest her skin had felt in weeks, so she could only be so angry about it...but she was still angry.

With the threat of electricity behind her, she entered the empty cell. A door slammed shut the moment she stepped in, another sliding open on the other side of the small room.

His scent hit her like a freight train. Motor oil, earth, and cloves...Amoretta’s lip raised in a sneer, partly because she had a feeling she knew what was coming, and partly so that she could try to disguise the way she suddenly began salivating.

Sure enough, just as she suspected, the biggest alpha she had ever seen in her life came stalking in, eyes dark and wild as he searched for the omega he had smelled on his way in. His chest was heaving, sweat prickling his brow, and as his musky rut-scent wove around Amoretta, she swallowed hard. She definitely knew what was coming next.

She had never seen the asset before, but she had heard whispers and seen the other omegas they offered up to him. Before she was injected with the serum, she lived in a cramped cell with several others, and whenever someone was dragged out, it was always a toss up whether they would return or not. When they did return, they were never in good shape.

Now she could see why.

He was predatory in his movements, dark hair falling in his eyes as he stalked toward her. The door slammed shut the moment he was clear of it, and suddenly, Amoretta was trapped with him. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide from what was quite possibly the most dangerous alpha in the world. If he decided he wanted her, she would have no choice. If he decided he didn’t want her...she would probably die, either by his hand, or HYDRA’s.

She stood as still as she could, watching him with level eyes as he sized her up. A large part of her was surprised that he hadn’t pounced yet, and as a low rumble started up in his chest, she sort of wished he would. The sound went straight to her core, her thighs pressing together of their own free will while she did everything she could to keep from biting her lip.

His nostrils flared as the scent of her arousal mounted and he pressed himself up against her. The soldier was still looking her over, taking a surprisingly long time to examine the omega standing before him, especially considering that he was rutting. He slowly lowered his head, inhaling deeply, brushing his nose over the scent gland on her neck. The rumbling in his chest grew louder, and this time, Amoretta couldn’t help the needy whine that escaped her throat.

The soldier’s hot tongue swept over her gland, his hands gripping her hips. He liked how she smelled. He liked how her flesh tasted.

He wanted more.

He gave her a small shove towards the cot, but as he did so, this little omega glaring up at him actually snapped. She bared her little teeth at him, trying to tell him to slow down, and he responded with a snarl of his own. His tore through his throat, a savage noise, and while it shut her up, it didn’t get rid of the harsh look she was shooting at him.

The asset wasn’t used to anyone, especially the omegas that HYDRA offered up to him, talking back. They usually went belly up for him the moment he stepped into the cell, behaving and presenting themselves for him to take. That’s what he preferred--a willing omega, whom he could enjoy for a few days. He didn’t like...whatever was going on here. Why was this one so upset with him? He wanted this omega to relax, to take him easily. His mind, usually so analytical and tactical, was clouded by his rut, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Amoretta saw the way that he hesitated and she lowered the lip she had raised. So he was capable of listening, after all. That was a good sign that he had some control over himself. Ever so slowly, she relaxed, allowing him to give her a little nudge. It was impressive that he was allowing her to set the pace, especially considering that his musky scent was growing heavier by the second. She definitely hadn’t expected him to be at all interested in what she wanted, and she had been pretty sure that he would just push her down and take what he considered his.

He was almost...gentle, though. Gentler than she thought possible from such a big alpha, at least. She turned and walked toward the cot of her own accord, knowing full well that she didn’t have much choice in how all of this was going to play out. If she was going to be knotted today, then she might as well try to enjoy it, right?

The way his scent made her mouth water gave her the feeling that that wouldn’t be too hard.

The soldier watched her with predatory eyes, following every movement closely. Absentmindedly, a hand drifted down to the loose pants he had been provided, palming his already hard cock through the fabric. He liked this omega. He liked how she looked, how she smelled, how she moved...he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her hips as they swayed slightly, a pleased rumble rising in his throat. He knew what was coming next, and he couldn’t wait. He was aching to be inside of her, to fill her up, to knot her...he wanted to make this omega his, and take care of her, and protect her, and he’d be damned if his captors got in the way of that.

Amoretta climbed onto the cot, her back still turned to the most dangerous alpha on the planet. All too aware that she was completely naked, she crawled onto her hands and knees, dipping down until her chest hit the sheets, her ass up in the air for him. Her primal, omega brain was clamoring for this chance to present before such a big, strong, handsome alpha, and as the cool air tickled at her, she couldn’t help but let out a shrill, needy whine. He was taking too long, and part of her was genuinely worried that he was going to reject her. She was doing everything right, she was submitting, she was in a very vulnerable position...so why wasn’t he already on top of her?

A tiny bead of slick trickled down her thigh as she glanced back to see him standing there with his hand on his bulge. Oh. So that’s what he was doing instead of jumping on her. At least he was turned on by the sight of her...right?

Wait. Why did she care? Why did she care at all what this terrifying alpha thought about her? This terrifying, big, strong...nice smelling...alpha…

If she weren’t on so many suppressants, she was absolutely sure her heat would have started then and there. He was so goddamn handsome, standing there all shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Her body wanted him, she wanted him, and if her hormones were allowed to do what they wanted, they would have been absolutely raging.

His nostrils were flared as he took in her scent, his blue eyes wild and his pupils totally blown out as he finally stalked towards her. His movements were brisk, filled with purpose, the bulge in his pants clearly visible even as she craned her neck to look back at him.

“A-alpha,” she whined, warmth rushing through her as she spoke.

The sound of her voice seemed to have an effect on him, a shudder rolling through his body.

“‘Mega,” he growled, voice impossibly low. “My ‘mega. So obedient...good girl.”

His words had her trembling.

All at once, he was shoving his pants down and grabbing for her hips, rubbing the length of his cock over her lips. She keened, more and more slick running down her thighs as he pressed the head inside of her. Even though she was loaded up on suppressants, her body wanted him, her cunt already dripping wet and relaxed enough to accommodate his sizable girth.

Still, the feeling of him stretching her out was absolutely delicious, eliciting a filthy moan that came pouring from her lips as she buried her head against the sheets. He wasn’t gentle by any means, thrusting into her as far as he could go before pulling back out roughly. His pace was harsh and quick, his body immediately caging her in as his chest pressed into her back. He was possessive, trying to hide her from the surveillance cameras he knew were situated in the upper corners of the cell. He didn’t want anyone else to see his omega, especially not while she was beneath him like this. She was his, and his alone.

As rough as he was, he was still paying attention to her. Somewhat, at least. He was well aware by this point that she was tougher than the other omegas HYDRA had given him, and he took the opportunity to sink into her deeper, fuck her better than he normally could have. She could take him, all of him, without complaint. She could withstand his harsh grip on her hair as he pulled her head up and forced her back to arch. She didn’t have any problems accepting what was happening to her, her body responding to him happily.

“Such a good omega,” he grunted, forcing his cock even further into her.

“I-I want your knot,” she whimpered, her voice surprisingly demanding considering the position she was in. “Fill me up, Alpha…”

How could he deny her?

When he had spilled his seed inside of her and his knot had inflated to a nearly painful extent, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her to his chest as he laid them both down on the cot. He was happy with his choice, with his omega. She was everything he wanted, and as his rut continued for the next few days, he had his way with her again, and again, and again, before HYDRA separated them once more.

The soldier snarled and roared, refusing to be taken away, but as soon as they recited his trigger words, he was compliant. Amoretta listened and watched, eyes wide as they led him away. She had only spent one rut with him, but she was already head over heels, her heart aching and pining for her alpha to come back to her.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #alpha bucky #alpha bucky barnes #abo #omegaverse #avengers x reader #avengers x oc #bucky barnes #it's been a long long time

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thesolferino · 3 years

Text

Power(less)

⤷ smp!dream x gn!reader.

⤷ genre: angst, soulmate au

⤷ word count: 3.7k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: you pay a visit to the man you hate most when he exiles your brother/best friend, tommy

If there’s one thing you were sure of in this pathetic, despicable life of yours, it was that you hated Dream.

Honestly, how couldn’t you? He ruined everything you stood for, stomped over all of your plans for a hopeful future before you even started, never let you and your brothers build your life the way you wanted, because he had always been, and always will be, a selfish, narcissistic bastard. No matter how much you tried to negotiate, how many times you cried behind those walls because you knew you’d never be left alone, how many times you begged and pleaded Wilbur to let it go, let it all go, let Dream win because he’ll win every single time, no matter how many times the three of you try to stop him, he never gave up on making your life a living hell.

Despite the fact that you’d spent countless nights up, tossing and turning in your bed, wondering if life like this was really worth it if you’ll forever live in fear, if you can’t leave your window open at night without fear crawling up your spine that maybe, just maybe, he’d throw a bomb inside and kill you in your sleep - despite the fact that you always wondered if maybe you should flee, and never look back - you were one of L’Manburg’s proudest and strongest soldiers, at least for the time when the country was exactly what you built it to be.

You waved your country’s flag and sung the anthem with equal pride, and you always stood right by Wilbur and Tommy’s side, chin high in the air, stance unwavering in the presence of Dream and those who stood by his side, always ready to show him what L’Manburg citizens were really made of. You shot best with your special crossbow - Wilbur had always complimented you on your eagle’s eye, and while you were built for a battle like the one Dream and Tommy fought for the prize of L’Manburg’s independence, Tommy was far too loud, confident, and forever blinded by his own vanity to have you fight it instead.

Of course you’d let Tommy have it, despite being aware that he’s far too cocky, beyond his abilities, and that you’d handle it much more swiftly, because he felt the obligation to; because he wouldn’t give in and let you do it. Two sides of you chewed you away to insanity, because Tommy was your favorite - both you, and Wilbur’s - and while you wanted to let him have it, wanted to let him have the title of #1 soldier and have it his way, you also didn’t want him to get beaten by Dream, because you were sure it was going to happen. As much as you despised the man and everything he stood for, you had to admit that he was one hell of a warrior, and quite good with a crossbow.

That’s why, when Tommy got impaled by the arrow, you were the first to run up to him amidst all of Dream Team’s cheers, nursing supplies already out, (Dream had asked if you were so insecure in Tommy’s skills that you brought those along in preparation or if you were so confident that you had brought them to nurse him, instead; Wilbur had to physically hold you back from pouncing on him with the sword strapped to your back) slowly plunging the arrow out of his stomach and assuring him he’d be fine, that his well being meant more than a thousand L’Manburgs did. Dream missed none of your soothing murmurs and the worrying glances you shot to a boy no less than your brother, whether by blood or not, and he chose to turn his back, celebrating another victory.

He couldn’t look away, though. No matter how hard he tried, his gaze always flew to the two of you.

What did it feel like - to be cared for? He’d have to ask Tommy, or Wilbur - what does it feel like, to have a chunk of your heart? What does it feel like to have you stare at him with flames in your eyes, but flames lit by adoration, and not by resentment? What does it feel like, to have you on his side?

Truth be told - he tried. He tried, he really did. When you first walked into his land, a traveller, somebody from beyond his sight, a fresh pair of eyes with a fresh perspective, he tried to befriend you, because even if he didn’t want to, it seemed like everything in this world brought the two of you together. He always ended up close to you, next to you, observing how you laughed, how your eyes crinkled, how your brows furrowed, how you tapped your fingers when you were bored and swung your legs back and forth when you sat on a wall too high for you.

One thing you didn’t seem to care for, however, was Dream’s best attribute, and that was power. You didn’t care that he held all land on the palm of his hand, you didn’t care that he appointed and laid off whoever and whenever he pleased, you didn’t care that all looked up to him - you didn’t care that he was most powerful.

He wasn’t the only one with the power, though. Power comes in different shapes and sizes, and a bold man is a powerful man. A man who stands out holds power, and the two who always stuck out like a sore thumb were Wilbur and Tommy. Because physical strength or resources aren’t always what make a man powerful - an entertainer is a powerful man, an intelligent man is a powerful man, a witty man is a powerful man, but above all, a courageous man is a powerful man. And Wilbur and Tommy were all of the above.

He envied Tommy, because Tommy knew how to get the attention on himself without the use of power. He envied Wilbur, because he had somebody to fight, he had something to stand for, he had a purpose, something in which he could put equal part bravery and intelligence in, both of which he had plenty. He envied the two, because they could be heroes, because he was there to witness their story getting built, while Dream was there from the beginning, and the only witness he had was himself.

You grew close to the two of them before he even had the chance to try - his chance got wasted before he could even try, because the more Wilbur whispered into your ear and crafted plans, and the more Tommy encouraged you to go with the two of them, the less he saw of you and your shiny smiles. At first, it bothered him to no end, because he saw so much potential in you, both as a friend and as a warrior, and Wilbur just kept on stealing you away from him, over and over again. But then, when he saw you helping build those giant walls, and heard Tommy proudly announce that: “We’ve got Tubbo, Eret and Y/N on our side, too!” shiny smiles became dull, menacing even, to the point he didn’t want to look at them anymore.

And when the war had started and you proudly defended Tommy, no matter what, with an insane glint in your eye that he only recognised from reflections, he realised that the chance had fully, entirely slipped out of his fingers, and you’re nothing more than an enemy anymore. The opportunity to get you on his side was long gone, if it ever existed in the first place.

You were with them through everything, thick and thin - you were there when Tommy turned over the discs, cheering on Wilbur during the election, even retaliating against Schlatt once he revoked the citizenship of your two best friends, nothing short of brothers, and leaving with them, spitting on his shoes before running amongst a sea of arrows that were being thrown your way, escaping out of the country you built of your own blood, sweat and tears like a criminal, like a foreigner, like an outsider and not the very founder of the land they stood on.

You were always by their side, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you always agreed - you had gotten into way too many passive aggressive fights with Technoblade, told Tommy and Wilbur far too many times that he was nothing but trouble, told them that there is no more dangerous man than a man with power, and you thought they’d learned that lesson with Dream, long, long ago. But nonetheless, you stayed through it all - you stayed through the makings of Pogtopia, Henry’s unfortunate death, and the festival, at which you didn’t fail to shout “I TOLD YOU SO”s at Wilbur and Tommy despite being in a near-death situation. Technoblade suffered a kick in the groin, because you just couldn’t help yourself, which led you into a sword fight that was way more than you bargained for, and was ultimately stopped by Tommy who forgave Techno just to stop the two of you fighting, not looking forward to having your head cut off in front of him.

You were there to see Wilbur spiral, breaking apart in the prison of his own mind, you were there to see the glint of heroism in his eye get bent into one of a villain, you saw him become the man he had once swore to you he’d never become. And perhaps, when you fought for L’Manburg again, deep down, you knew what would happen; but you still fought tooth and nail, desperate to get back what you once had. You fought next to Technoblade, even though both of you knew you hadn’t forgiven him, and you never will - you fought next to Wilbur, even though you knew he’s not the same Wilbur you once knew, even though you knew L’Manburg would never truly be L’Manburg again, because its founders aren’t the same as they once were, when their heart was full of foolish hope and love.

You were there to see Wilbur mouth an apology to you, and even though you didn’t know what he would do, you knew that the apology wasn’t an apology, but a goodbye; at least a late goodbye to the Wilbur you once knew. You were there to see the betrayal in Tommy’s eyes when Technoblade turned against you, summoning monsters with his own hands, forcing the rest of you to kill them while he watched. You were close, so close, too close to putting an arrow through his heart, ready to get rid of him, tired of the tears and the blood you shed over getting back what was always rightfully yours; but you didn’t, because Tommy’s hand laid on top of yours, telling you not to do it. So you didn’t, and instead you aimed for the porcelain mask that haunted you in your dreams, the cause of all destruction. Unfortunately, you missed, with his foot jumping back right before the arrow was supposed to plunge straight through his chest, and you fell to the floor, defeated.

You were there when L’Manburg’s government formed again - you were there when Tommy burnt down George’s house on accident, and, unfortunately for you, you were there when your younger brother got exiled. You were there, watching him get escorted. You watched him leave. You watched that monster of a man escort him out, kick him out, away from you, from everyone he loved. You watched him, and gripped your crossbow with tears in your eyes, swearing to yourself that you’d never let him get away with this.

That’s why you stomped into the Community House the next day, knife strapped to the inside of your thigh, sword fastened on your back, crossbow slinged over your shoulder, fire in your eyes, demanding to see him. And sure enough, as soon as you spoke his name, he was in front of you, cracked mask covering his face, dirty blonde hair combed, as if nothing had happened in the first place, as if he hadn’t made life a living hell for all of you.

“Hel-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cut him off, speaking through gritted teeth as you took a step towards him, heavy boots creating even heavier footsteps on the wooden floor. The mask remained expressionless as always, and his body language gave away nothing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Dream? Is this funny to you? Are we some kind of sick joke to you? Is that what this is? Are you having fun, Dream?” you continued, almost spitting at him. “Take off that mask, talk to me like a fucking man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said, hand shooting to grip the porcelain at the mention of his mask, although he simply adjusted it slightly, still leaving it on.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. How could you kick him out?! He’s a fucking child, Dream! A child!” you yelled, hand clenching into a fist.

“Is this about Tommy? I’m sorry, Y/N, but it was not my decision. The people, and Tubbo, decided that he should be exiled- I just did my job.” he claimed, still stiff, expressionless, and you fired back almost before he even finished the sentence, rage lighting your whole body ablaze.

“Right, because you only have power over other people when it fucking fits you! You only have power when you want to! You’re only the most powerful person in this whole fucking land when you want to terrorise other people! What are you, Technoblade? Poor baby got succumbed by peer pressure? Miss me with that bullshit, Dream. You and I both know that if you stood up for Tommy, and refused to exile him, nobody would’ve done shit! But no, you chose to exile him, and you know that. So at least admit to your actions and don’t shift blame, asshole.” you spat, fury getting the best of you, and apparently him, too, because he pulled his mask off so quickly that the strings almost broke, menacing green eyes boring into yours.

“He shouldn’t have burned down George’s house, he shouldn’t have tried robbing George, he shouldn’t have been a criminal when he’s vice president of a country! All actions have consequences, and he has to suffer those consequences to learn!” he borderline shouted, defending himself.

“He’s supposed to learn by being exiled and ripped away from everyone he loves? That’s how he’s supposed to learn not to fucking rob people? He’s sixteen, Dream! Sixteen! He’s a fucking kid- yes, he makes mistakes, but so do we! And we’re adults! Full, grown, fucking adults. What has he done to you to deserve this, you fucking psycho?!” you yelled, and you briefly saw him grit his teeth, jaw clenching.

“I’m not a psycho and you won’t be calling me that. He can’t go unpunished for the crimes he committed. Tommy is not as innocent as you make him out to be. And, once again, this was not my decision, it was made by Tubbo. If you have any issues, take it up with him, not me.” his eyes go darker than they were before, mirroring a brewing storm with no glints of the sun anymore.

“Right, because you’re so innocent. You never committed any crimes! You’ve never done anything bad! Our favorite good guy, Dream. Never tried to kill any minors. Bless his heart.” you mocked.

“I don’t fight anybody unless they provoke me first. Every time I fought Tommy, I wished I didn’t have to.”

“I really expected more from you, Dream, I really did. I expected you to at least fucking admit to your actions, at least give me a proper excuse as to why you haven’t left me and my brothers alone from the start even though we wanted nothing but to live in peace and independence, why you do so much of the fucked up shit you do, but I guess I expected too much from you. You’re nothing - even Technoblade is more of a man than you, you know that?” you asked, leaning on one foot lazily. You see his hand clench - someone’s getting mad. “Technoblade admits to his fucking actions. Technoblade has had his goals set from the start, he’s always made them clear, and even though he’s a dirty traitor, at the end of the day, it’s still your fault for siding with him. But you - you’re a liar. You’re a liar, and a manipulator, and you never play fair - you always play dirty and play with people’s emotions and that’s how you win.”

You continue: “That’s because you can’t win fairly. That’s because you lose when you play fair. You think you have power, but you don’t. You just play by a different set of rules than everybody else, and we let you. Power will turn a man evil, Dream, but you’ve been evil from the start. People will always fear you because you trick everyone into believing you’re far more powerful than you really are - but you know what people will do with me, Wilbur, and Tommy, that they’ll never do with you?”

Silence.

“They’ll respect us. And you are a man worthy of no respect.”

You unleash your sword, pressing the blade to his throat in a matter of seconds, ready to push it through with no preparation but he grips your hand before you can do it, and he’s about to speak, when your eyes dart to his, and suddenly, your vision blurs, a movie playing behind your eyelids without you closing your eyes at all.

It’s almost like you see the events play out in the depths of his gaze - you see him, the real him, who stands before you, and you see his face mirrored in the scenes that play out, you see him staring right at you through some kind of screen, a smile plastered on his face. His features look softer, and his eyes don’t glint the same way they do now, but it’s not a bad thing; they look warm, homely. Something bursts in your chest the more you look at him, and it all goes by so fast, but you manage to somehow catch all of it.

You manage to catch his warm smile just as the days pass in flying colors right before your eyes, you manage to feel heat spread through your chest when you look at the man before you, you manage to see him cooking, and laughing, and running, and driving, and crying, and sleeping, and kissing you and it all feels so odd but so perfect at the same time. You’re looking at Dream, but it’s not him - you call him a different name. You can make out the silhouette of the actual Dream, who still grips your wrist, behind the scenes of you and the man with a striking resemblance to him, and you wonder if this is happening to him, too.

You see him on one knee, at a beach, and you feel yourself crying even though you don’t know what’s going on. You see him in a field, and you can make out a man who looks awfully like Sapnap sitting on a plastic chair in the front row among many, wiping tears before your gaze turns back to Dream, who grins at you, dressed in a tuxedo. You see a young boy with blonde hair running around the house, laughing, while you try to catch him, and then Dream appears in front of you, picking the boy up before you could. You see his face wrinkle as the days pass, and you finally see him close his eyes one last time while tears run down your face uncontrollably, and the whole thing stops. The scenes disappear and you’re snapped back into reality, Dream’s teary eyes boring into yours.

And that’s when you realise.

You harshly pull away from his grip, eyes wide in shock, putting your sword back in place as you shake your head in disbelief. The tears don’t stop flowing, and you can’t tell if it’s shock, horror, disappointment or betrayal - betrayal in who? Fate, you suppose.

“N-No way. No way. No.” You keep shaking your head, voice trembling as you back away from him. He can barely collect himself, too, staring at you as if you’re not real, as if he’s seeing a ghost.

“We’re- no. Fuck no. Fuck this shit, dude.” You laugh dryly, no humor in it whatsoever, a mix of disbelief and fear still weighing down on your voice as he tries to step towards you, wiping the tears off his face.

“We’re- we’re soulmates.” He stutters, but manages to ground himself way before you do, gripping your wrist again, and you feel almost electrocuted when a spark shoots through your whole body at his touch. You pull away, again, stepping backwards, praying there’s no wall behind you.

“No.” you repeat like a broken record, not even bothering to wipe the tears. “No- I- there must be a m-mistake, this can’t be-”

“There’s no mistake, Y/N. You’re my soulmate.” He takes both of your hands into his, holding your fingers gently, and it takes all the power in your body not to burst out crying again.

“Y-You’re no soulmate of mine.” you gulp, pulling your hands away once again, finally managing to somehow collect your thoughts. “Fuck you. I don’t care what- what we fucking are. I’ll never love you.”

You see him visibly stiffen at your words, mouth parting, and you almost feel bad. Almost.

“You can’t- you can’t go against fate like that. We’re soulmates, Y/N.” He sounds hurt. You manage to convince yourself that you don’t care.

“Watch me do it.” You spit, anger recollecting in your gut once again. “Fucking watch me. Find yourself somebody else. I’ll never forgive you.”

“Listen, I’ll bring Tommy back, just listen-”

“So now you can suddenly go against Tubbo’s orders? When it fits you? Fuck you. You don’t need to bring Tommy back, because I’m leaving with him. Him and Wilbur were more soulmates to me than you ever, ever will be.”

And with one last glare in his direction, you turn on your heel, stomping out of the Community House, rage burning your whole body as he watches you leave.

A powerful man needs those who will give him power. Watching you walk away, Dream realised that one day, he’ll have no one.

#dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x you #dream x y/n #dream imagine #dream angst #dreamwastaken x you #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken angst #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt angst

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bts-trash-blog · 3 years

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Best Of Us

Prologue:Story Introduction

Summary: Being an Omega is hard, it could be so lonely. The hardships that you would sometimes feel seemed to much, always expected of things you could never fully reach. Always seen as a piece of meat to some, seen as weak and stupid. So you worked your ass off to finally work your dream job. And the world all changed when you met one of the bosses. And couldn't help but end up falling.

Paring: Rap Line X Fem!Chubby OmegaReader

Warning: A/O/B!VERS, mentions of sexual harassment, heats, ruts, knotting, breeding, angst, possessive behavior, more warnings will be added as needed.

An: Trying something diffrent with intrducing this story to you guys! This story over all, is going to be a diffrent experinces as it goes along for you guys. I can’t wait for this story to progress, and can’t wait for you guys to read.

...._.NEXT

Being an Omega was hard, being a female Omega born from an Alpha base family was harder. Though you were lucky, your family loved you. Your father an Alpha and mother a Beta, they both had no clue how to go about raising an Omega. When you presented at 16, you were a surprise to them, your mother trying to stick close to you during your heat though she had no way to help you. But they tried. They did anything and everything that they could do to help you.

Your father during these five days, had dragged himself to Omega classes for non omegas, to learn about your sub-gender. He had taken fucking classes, to learn how to help you adapt to your new senses. Things he had no clue about. When you came out of your heat haze, and was greeted with protein and fat filled food you had felt comfort. Especially when your father has wrapped you in a blanket that smells like him and your mother. Soothing your omega more. When you learned of your father taking classes you had cried, which had surprised the shit out of both him and your mother since you had barely cried over anything.

From that day on, your life changed.

You lost friends, and grew distant from certain family members that gave you the creeps your parents even followed your omega intuition which you learned later in life that not many families do. Your father grew more protective, your mother filled with more worry, doting over you making sure you were eating the right amount of everything. You figure changing drastically, hips wide, breast had grown full and your thighs and stomach had thickened up. Though you felt gross, your parents reassured that you were beautiful, and that your subgender was just making sure you were healthy.

Over the years, you had grown accustomed to the eyes that would linger on your curved frame, friends leaving in fear of their partners wanting you instead of them. The only friends you had were other omegas, who knew what you felt. It was nice knowing who really had your back, who was really your ride or die in this world. You honestly were now just waiting for the right mate, or pack, to come in and love you. Choose you.

You went to school but it was close enough to your home that you could still live with your family. Hence why you probably hadn’t found anyone even remotely interested in you, though you know it wasn’t necessary they didn’t find you attractive or didn’t crave the omega scent that twisted with your own. Your scent didn’t drive the crazy. Didn't make their Alpha scratch to claim you.

So you waited.

As you waited, you worked your ass off to prove that your subgender status did not define how smart, and determined you were. It was a struggle when you were applying to colleges after high school. They weren't the typical schools that omegas go to, the ones that taught omegas how to build a home or to teach them for educational purposes. No they were for music and business, odd looks and even professors judging you as you walked into a Beta and Alpha filled class had your head spinning at their pheromones. Yet you pushed through it, you proved yourself in class after class. Lecture after lecture. Wanting to show that you knew what you were doing, that music was a true love of yours.

You had always loved music, your mother having been a music teacher for some extra cash in the house. So the soft sounds of piano keys or the strum of a guitar, the sting of a violin was always heard and played throughout your home. It had made you curious, your head peeking into the spare room watching child after child play. Till one day your mother called you in. The feeling of the cold piano keys against your fingers as you slide onto the piano stool, your finger pressing the smoot keys as a simple melody you heard your mother student play echo out making your mothers face light up. From that day on, when your parents couldn’t find you, they made the house silent to hear the simple yet sharp keys play, slowly growing more and more bold as you aged. Smile bright on their faces.

You still remember that day. It was like any other, your father was driving you to campus the two of you talking lightly about the movie you had gone and watched with your friends you had made in school. A loud and crazy pair of Omegas, Lisa and Bambam. You were laughing about the moment Bmabam had dropped the popcorn onto an attractive Alpha when it happened. The jerk of the car, blaring of a horn and the bright lights of the other car. You remember the pain in your neck, the feeling of something dripping from your head as you opened your eyes to see your fathers head slaked to the side, the last memory you have of him. You remember calling out for him, arm stretching out to him but wincing and dropping in pain, so much pain you had blacked out. When you woke up, you were met with a dim light and the beep of a heart motter, your mother practically on the bed with you clutching to your fathers jackets. Her face was sunken in, under her eyes were blue yet the edges were red with an irritated look, when she felt you shift she had bolted up and looked at you with wide eyes, filling with relief. When the words pasted her lips after a few questions with your doctors, her hand smoothing down your hair as you shook your head. Your father had died on impact.

The piano sound stopped playing, the sharp keys that you had learned with your soft voice had stopped the day your father passed away.

You switched major to just business, music fading from you as you worked but your work ethic never deflated.I n fact your ethic seemed more driven, you pushed yourself harder and pushed yourself to limits you never thought you would reach. It worried your mother from time to time, walking into your room, your fathers blanket wrapped around your shoulders, body bent over crossed legs passed out. She had even seen you work on a paper during your heat, in between waves of pain. You worked your way past every obstacle that was in front of you, jumping through hoops and dodging everything thrown at you. You reached your senior year without a hitch after your fathers passing, your mother was proud even more so when you had fallen into an internship at one of the most reptile companies in the world. Min&Jung

They were two of the most powerful men, and Alphas in the world. They had worked from the absolute bottom and had built one of the biggest electrical manufacturing companies. Have an Apple product? A smart t.v? They were the reason it was functioning. Your teacher had helped you get the interview, she loved how persistent you were and how you always pushed yourself further and further. And somehow after your first interview, you had another, then the final one with their personal assistant. Out of thrifty other students they chose you. Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok had chosen you.

Little did you know that their choice alone would change your life forever.

Tag List:

@kth-kpoplover @alex4243 @malyxsoulpersonal @purelyecstacy @ryuyalana

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yeoldontknow · 3 years

Text

smoked peaches ↣ jhs (M)

↝ A/N: a sequel to Molotov Cocktail | because i truly could not leave these two alone ugh i love them. happy valentines day! i hope you enjoy! ↬ DISCLAIMER: absolutely, under no circumstances should alcohol or cocktails be used in a manner such as this. food play is fun only when its safe, and cocktails dont really have any place in the bedroom. furthermore, essential oils should be used safely! ↝ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: established relationship au; pwp; smut; romance; fluff ↝ Summary: Three years into your relationship with Hoseok, you have learned what it means to be truly happy. With him, you are seen, understood, and adored - and not once, even despite all your flaws, has Hoseok ever asked you to change. So when Hoseok starts to become withdrawn and quiet during the brief hours you have with him at night, you assume it’s down to stress at work. You never imagined it would be this, something so much bigger than any obstacle you’ve confronted before or will again. Something that will last forever. ↝ Rating: NC-17 ↝ Warnings: explicit language; explicit sex; dom!jhs; dirty talk; food play (cocktails); unprotected sex; heavy petting; dry humping; blindfolds; biting; marking; oral (f); breast play; use of sex toys; clit biting; clit spanking; creampie; overstimulation; multiple orgasms ↝ Word Count: 14.5K ↬ written for the bon appetit collab with @jamaisjoons @yoonia and @chillingkoo \\ thanks to @jenmyeons for reading parts of this and offering endless encouragement <3

‘God, I’ve missed this.’

Pulling back from your lips, Hoseok whispers his affection with unprecedented conviction, the longing in his voice so tangible your chest tightens in the wake of it.

Unwilling to open your eyes, you remain still, luxuriating in the feeling of his breath as it wanders over your cheeks. The cascade of warmth is a tickle that tugs at the corners of your lips, a smile of pleasure emerging at the feel of his closeness. Languidly, he presses his fingers into the nodes of your spine, seeking out the pressure points that always ignite colours behind your eyes, his touch alone giving birth to little fires beneath your skin. Eager and lonely, you lean up, searching for his lips, his mouth, his tongue; searching for more - so much more.

Hungrily, he returns to you, proving that he had not drifted far - not really. Bumping his nose against yours, he is playful, sinful, a paradoxical combination of both that has your grip on his neck tightening as he nips gently at your bottom lip. He’s smiling, too, a beam of delight against your lips that grows wider with the strength evident in your touch. Feather light, he drops brief, teasing kisses to your lips, not nearly enough for you to feel satisfied, and so you huff in frustration, wiggling to get closer.

Amused by your needy enthusiasm, he chuckles to himself quietly, a rumble in his chest that reminds you of thunder. This laugh is one of your favorites, the sound of a man contented by your presence - by the way your legs are draped over his thighs; by the way you have pressed yourself against his chest; by the way you are utterly, impossibly insatiable, matching his thirst equally, earnest in your desire to be encompassed by his embrace.

Slowly, you open your eyes, wanting to see him, to chastise him for separating from you so soon, but are instead left bereft. Hoseok consumes your vision, his adoring eyes, his wet lipped, unwavering smile the only thing you see - all yours, all for you, as he rubs the tip of his nose against your cheek. City lights pour through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the pronounced length of his cheekbone. Even this late at night, the light still seeks him, his skin, nestling beneath his pores and offering him an otherworldly glow. The unnatural shades of the billboard signs, yellow fluorescent lights of the high rise apartment buildings, and the bright neon of the game arcades blend together, ensuring that he radiates with every colour and shape of the life you have built together among the clouds.

Tonight, the billboard along the highway is a rich crimson, the persistent reminder that it is Valentine’s day flooding into the room. When you came home, Hoseok suggested leaving the blinds open, eyes full of mirth as he stated he to let the whole world in, tonight; with his arms around your waist, he said he wanted to show the world how love and romance really looks. Now, enveloped around you, you know he means it.

Tonight, he wants everyone to witness this - the possessive way his tongue explores your mouth, the unwavering grip he maintains around your waist as his hand drifts from your spine to the gaps between your ribs, and back again. Hoseok wants the world to see how years with the same person, the same body, the same routine diminishes nothing, perhaps, only causes the love within your souls to become insistent and ardent. It’s grown deeper these past few months, your yearning for him evolving into the very genetics of your DNA, a piece of your chemistry, eternally.

Hoseok left the blinds open, and still he glows not unlike the rays of sun. Beneath your hands, he is resplendent, undiminished by the artificial radiance of neon. The moon hangs in the center of the sky, not yet at the height of her arch, but she has become washed out by the luminescence of the city. Hoseok is unmarred - late at night and still he outshines the universe, the brightest thing you have ever seen.

Your hand cups his cheek, thumb running over the bone to catch the light that clings to him. It hugs him in ways it does not hug you, a part of him that remains incandescent and unexplained. You’ve never been able to understand it, spent your days kissing and kissing at it in the hopes of sharing the luminescence he radiates. It never works, though he says you glow too, a radiance brought to life because he chose to love you in spite of all your incorrigible flaws.

Walking your hand along his cheek, you tilt your head and wind your fingers into the hair just behind his ears, heart stuttering in its rhythm as he sighs in pleasure. The dimples of his cheeks almost emerge, almost bloom to life, but he keeps them as a secret, choosing instead to rest his forehead against yours in devotion.

‘I’ve missed you,’ you murmur, not wanting to interrupt the peace that has come to occupy the four walls of your living room; the bone deep comfort that has blossomed between your chests.

Separating just slightly, he leans into your touch, craving more and more of your affectionate caress. ‘You’ve been busy with the auction.’

‘Not so busy.’

Shaking your head, your pout feels petulant, youthful in its disagreement. Letting your hand slip from his hair, you wiggle deeper into the hard muscles of his chest, blinking distractedly at him as his own fingers worm their way under your shirt. Gripping the collar of his black shirt, you sigh, a flush heating your cheeks as the simplest of his touches sends electricity down your synapses. To be touched by him, to be in love with him, is to feel and love absolutely everything, your awareness heightened to its peak.

Always, you prefer him this way - hair unkempt and eyes glossy with devotion; prefer the nights when has abandoned the suit and tie of his usual work clothes in favor of his old university shirts and grey sweatpants, discarding the persona of Jung Hoseok to unravel into your Hobi. It happens less and less these days, ever caged by the success and importance of Hopeworld, his chain, his business, as much a fixture at the Fairmont Hotel as the valet parking.

When you met him, he was in a suit. When you fell in love with him, he was in a simple shirt and jeans, a smile tucked into the corner of his cheek that demanded you crave him, and now your yearning for him is relentless.

Sustaining your childish pout, you drag your hand down his chest, tracing the shape of his pecs and ribs as you let the pads of your fingers find his arm, gliding against the vines of his tattoo.

‘Sometimes,’ you mumble absentmindedly, watching the petals in his forearm disappear beneath your touch, ‘I come home and you’re not here. I’ve been busy with the auction, but it feels like I’m always missing you.’

Head tilting back against the couch, Hoseok sighs, lips downturned with regret. Still, his hold on you is unwavering, immovable, only tightening in the aftermath of your lament.

‘I’m not mad,’ you say hurriedly, earnestly, voice thick with sincerity. ‘I just miss you.’

In truth, you are not angry, not even really upset at his long absences. If you’re honest with yourself, you couldn’t be more proud of the business he’s built with his own hands, relying on nothing other than the strength of his determination to succeed. Little distracts him from his purpose, unencumbered by the opinions of anyone other than himself.

The lights of Le Bernardin seemed to dim as your father sat back in his seat, tapping the corner of his mouth with the expensive egyptian cotton napkin. Bitterness rose on your tongue, the flavor of your wine souring as you watched him posture the pretense of politeness for so long you wondered if he had even heard Hoseok’s announcement.

‘I won’t help you,’ he announced, tone empty and expressionless save for the severity of the derision that swam in his eyes.

From where you sat, you could feel the apathy, the admonishment and expectation that Hoseok would fail at opening, managing, and cultivating his own bar before he had even started. Thousands of arguments hung dangerously in the air, hovering above the table with threatening closeness. It was heavy, oppressive with reasoning and judgemental logic that he did not have a degree in business; that a mixologist was not a manager; that corporate holdings and the economic legalities that came with running a business were beyond him. It was not, you knew, that your father didn’t think he was smart enough - it was, you were certain, that he simply deemed Hoseok wasn’t worthy enough.

Your father’s stare remained icy and unforgiving as you gripped Hoseok’s thigh, nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his trousers as your tongue prepared to sever your father’s iron will. After years of this sort of combat, you were used to becoming venomous, used to shaping yourself into a creature of malcontent, the spitefulness of your contempt the armor you regularly wore. For so long, you had worn it like a second skin, felt most like yourself under its scathing anguish. For Hoseok, you would become monstrous, ugly; would grow fangs and claws and teeth in the glory of your wrath, but he gripped your thigh in kind reassurance and smiled as though hardly anything had happened at all.

Settling back against your seat, you scowled unforgivingly at your father’s passive expression. He cocked a tempestuous brow at you, a challenge though not necessarily a warning, which you mirrored, always so good at looking exactly like him.

‘It’s ignorant to presume someone would ask help from a person who is not willing to even offer it,’ Hoseok said patiently, amiably, so much better at different tactics of aggression.

You never had it in you to adorn the sickly sweetness of polite averice. You’d never wanted to be misunderstood.

‘Besides,’ he continued, removing his hand from your thigh to cut into his filet mignon. ‘That bar will be mine, not yours. You have a habit of claiming possession over the things you let into your life, and I’d rather burn in hell than watch you claim my name as another wasteland for your empire.’

Head whipping to look at him, your eyes went wide, suddenly so aware of all the ways in which light gives way to shadows, of the way light reveals absolutely everything. You’d grown used to the way rage gave birth to ugliness within you, but he wore his anger like a tantalizing weapon. You were moved by him, arrested into an uncharacteristic silence around your father, but Hoseok continued, magnificent in his slow reveal of his true humanity.

‘The bar will be mine,’ he pressed, glancing up from his plate and undeterred by your father’s scathing glare. ‘The money will be mine. I’m just telling you to be polite, because that’s what good sons do even if their fathers are worthless to them.’

Two years later, and the money is indeed his - the money, and the glory, and all the fame that comes with a chain centered in the lobby of the most expensive hotel conglomerate. Two years later, and he has a chain in his name, a business of his own, a life of his own making, even if it meant that there are countless, painful hours in which he is not, and cannot be, with you.

‘I know.’ His sigh is deep, a long huff of breath through his nose in shame. Staring up at the ceiling, he considers his words carefully. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been...’ For a moment, he drifts, lost in thought as he lowers his gaze to search your face, though for what you cannot be sure. His scrutiny is heated, intense, eyes roaming over your features over and over until you’re certain he could paint your likeness if asked. ‘It’s just been frightening,’ he announces, finally. ‘I’m not worried, really, it’s just the Hotel’s name is wrapped up into it, too.’

Peering at you carefully through his eyelashes, his grip on your waist tightens, and you feel him everywhere he is not. Hoseok roots inside you for answers to questions left unvoiced, reacquainting himself with all your intimate details. You are not certain what he seeks, why his apology is quite so sincere, and so you let your hand return to his cheek, smoothing all the edges out of his features.

Eyes fluttering closed, he holds your palm there, and you find yourself distracted both by the softness of his skin and the way the light illuminates the tattoo adorning his arm. Idly, you wish you could stay like this eternally - together, unencumbered, enraptured. Valentine’s Day has never been worth celebrating, not to you at least, but he is worth celebrating, and so you lean forward, kissing at his jaw to remind him of this sentiment.

‘It’s your first time with an inspection of this size.’ Your suggestion is soft, a soothing cadence you hope is evident in the lilt of your voice. Walking your hand up to his temple once more, your card your fingers through his hair, relishing the thickness of the strands, offering tenderness where your words might not. ‘Your license is on the line. Trust me, no one understands better than I do. You don’t have to apologize.’

Months of this, months of coming home to an empty bed only for Hoseok to climb in later, when the hours night drip into the morning. Government inspections are not new, but now with three bars under his belt, and all the inspections happening at the same time, he’s been distant. Not on purpose - never on purpose, but you feel his absence like a blade whenever the house, the bed, your life is empty of him.

‘Yes I do.’ Falling forward, he buries his face into your neck and breathes in deep, taking the scent of you into his lungs. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you smile at the feeling, blood warmed with rapture. ‘I hate not being home with you, but I promise it will be worth it.’

Hoseok accentuates his words by grazing his teeth against the tendon in your neck, his favorite spot to bruise. Usually, your skin is purpled by him, consistently red and aching with the marks of his teeth and tongue, but lately the visible proof of his attachment to you has faded. You’ve missed the burn of it, the stinging delight that would last for days. Latching his teeth to your skin, you shiver into his hold, pressing your fingers into the muscles of his back. The wet texture of his tongue against your skin has you shivering, a quake that starts in your bones first until even your heart is trembling with it.

‘I know it will,’ you hum, stroking his hair, unashamed of the way arousal pools at your groin.

Since dinner finished, you’ve been here, with him, kissing and kissing to reacquaint yourself with his lips. Your underwear has been damp since the first stroke of his tongue against yours, and you’re certain he’s felt you clenching around nothing, craving and anticipating the feel of him between your thighs.

‘But I hate how this one is making you so anxious and quiet.’ Slowly, you take your time guiding one of your hands to the back of his neck, nails scratching into the soft, thin hair at the base of his hairline. Holding him in place, you revel in the feel of his mouth moving against your skin, in the way his shoulders expand and retract as he breathes as if making way for wings. ‘I miss my sunshine boy.’

Hoseok chuckles against your neck, replacing his tongue with a cascade of warmth exhaled from his nose. ‘I’ll repeat that you’ve been busy, too.’

An impish smirk unfurls in your expression, and gathering the strands of hair at the crown of his head, you tug gently until he is pulled from your neck, blinking at you with an innocence you know can dissolve in an instant. His lips are swollen and wet from kissing your neck, the base of your jaw; all red and pink, smooth skin so enticing and the sight only serves to invigorate the thought that burns behind your teeth.

‘My love,’ you begin, sweely, ‘I’m sure I could regale you with the legalities of museum auctions, but I think we both can agree there is something far, far more worthy of our attention.’

The pads of your fingers trace idle patterns over the tendons in his neck, down to the base of his shoulders, around and into his ribs. Reaching between your bodies, your curious fingers seek the hardness of his erection, the evidence of his intense arousal pressing vigilantly against your thigh. Cupping the semi-hard girth of his cock, you offer a gentle stroke as you twist your hand. Darkness lives inside his groan, equal to the darkness that clouds his eyes, half lidded as he looks at you in warning.

The thin material of his fleece sweatpants does little to conceal the way the movements of your hand send blood and heat directly into his cock. Beneath your palm, it gradually hardens, straining against the cloth to be reunited with the feeling of your bare palm. You’re confident he can feel the heat that emanates from your core, your folds starting to leak with wetness each time he breathes through his parted lips. Each stroke has his exhale filling the silence, raising the hairs along your arms, his hips starting to thrust upwards into your hand.

It’s a dangerous game to play with him, a test of his control and dominance that always ends with you at the mercy of his lust. Just as quickly as it started, he presses one hand to your hip and taps your thigh with the other, an unspoken signal that he wants your thighs straddled on either side of him, your core presses against the tip of his clothed erection, your body against his, an unstoppable force of desire that succumbs to his will, only.

Quickly you adjust, releasing his cock only to replace the pressure of your hand with the pressure of your core, the heat from your folds and the dampness of your legging having you both exhale in unison.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he moans, easing your hips down roughly against the tip of his cock. ‘Come here.’

Once more, he works his hand beneath your shirt, warm palm journeying the length of your spine until it is gathered around his arm and your neck is gripped by the strength of his fingers. Cupping his face, you press your mouths together, grinding your hips downward as you run your tongue over the seam of his lips. Instantly, he opens for you, tugging at your hair in a gentle reminder he wants you to move slowly, to let yourself enjoy the feeling of being consumed by him. Hoseok is unhurried in the way he explores the cavern of your mouth, the tip of his tongue curious as he thrusts the wet muscle in time with the slow grind of his hips.

Your responding whimper echoes deep into his open mouth, and your hands move slowly down to his shoulders where you brace yourself, clinging to the parts of him that exude strength. His physical presence alone is a keen reminder you are whole and not undone at your very seams.

All sense of time disappears as you suck at his tongue, and only when he pulls away to catch his breath do you latch your teeth to his bottom lip, pulling back to you with greed. His lips still taste of the whiskey he had with dinner, whiskey and the flavor that is only him, so unique and rich, your favorite sort of honey.

The tip of his cock moves in a rhythmic motion, over and over, a slow drag against your covered slit. Every third movement, he rocks upward, pressing against your folds hard enough you gasp into his open mouth, only for him to retreat a moment later. A high pitched keening whine spills from your chest, and he laughs into you, pulling his tongue back to relish the way he has complete control of your responses. Digging your nails into his muscles, your brow furrows, doing your best to gather your words, your thoughts, amongst the insistent teasing pleasure.

Falling forward, your forehead rests against his, and with your eyes closed your senses become heightened. You can see it, imagining this very scene as though you are both completely present in your body and apart from it, watching him grind into you as your blood races to your chest, your cheeks, your cunt. The whiskey on his tongue has your mind fogged, and the graze of his cockhead against your slit has your limbs feeling weightless. He’s always been skilled at this, at rendering you needy, silent in the magnitude of your wanting. You thought pleasure was never meant to overwhelm a person like this, an addiction to sound and touch and taste that exceeds all realm of perception.

‘I’m glad we did this,’ he mumbles against your lips, using his thumbs to work bruises into the flesh of your hips.

All you can manage is a mindless nod, the motion sending your nose bumping into his as you press yourself harder against him. Smirking, he angles his face downward, kissing at the spot just below your ear. Electricity saunters down your synapses, and you thug your bottom lip between your teeth, uncertain how much longer you will be able to maintain this teasing game. You, above all else, are an impatient woman, deciding that which you crave most and claiming it for yourself.

Now, you want him. You want him to lay you on this couch and peel your clothes off with his teeth. You want him, his cock, so deep inside your cunt you can taste him on your tongue. You want him, his skin against yours, with no space for air to slip in between.

You have always been impatient, but Hoseok is a master of his self control, always more composed if not patient; always in command of his expression of thirst, and he pulls back slightly as he feels your slow wiggle of restlessness against his thighs.

‘Never thought we’d be a couple that has to make time for something like this,’ he comments, as though you have not soaked the very tip of his cock through his sweatpants, as though he cannot feel it at all.

With each rock of your hips, your underwear slides over your folds. Now coated with the slick substance of your juices, the thick juices spill out from the sides and onto your thighs. Your leggings, too, are drenched, a sensation that would otherwise be uncomfortable were it not for the way Hoseok rolls up into you in time with the movement of his tongue over your neck. Your sense of awareness has scattered, absconded to the parts of your body where only his touch exists. He is all you can focus on, all you want to focus on, the feel of him on and against you deemed the most important of all.

It takes work finding words to muster a reply, and you hate that he is so skilled at maintaining stability in his voice. You are best at sparring matches, at defending your worth and value, a tension you have become expertly accustomed to. From the moment you first kissed him, felt his tongue at the tip of yours, felt his muscles beneath your fingers, you have learned tension of this kind is your great unmaking.

Frustrated you huff through your nose, a noise of annoyance diminished immediately by a moan of ecstasy as the tip of his cockhead presses roughly against your covered clit. Scratching your nails into his skin and hoping the marks will last, you struggle to gather your composure, wanting to play his game as well as he. Yet, when you open your eyes, you are confronted with the impenetrable black of his dilated pupils - his tell - that he is just as ravenous as you. Always, he wears the light as though it was born from him, made by his joy alone, but when he wears the sheer darkness of his appetite he becomes utterly exquisite, a sinister promise of his wish to unravel you.

Swallowing thickly, you tilt your head to the side in mock consideration.

‘I think every couple is at some point,’ you muse, feigning a pensive tone as you grind roughly into his cock. Hoseok bucks upward, whispering quiet expletives as his eyes widen. Your smirk of victory is a tempest, an ignition of gasoline to the fire he keeps beneath his skin, and he holds you in place against him, preventing you from moving. ‘They just don’t talk about it.’

Hoseok hums in consideration as he moves his lips to the center of your throat, right over the place where your voice echoes. As he drags his teeth over the tendons, your head falls back, clenching your thighs around his.

‘I’ve missed you.’

He presses the words into your skin, embedding the rich tenor of his cadence directly into your blood. Your pulse quickens, directly responding to the feel of him replacing the oxygen in your vessels. Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging him upward and hoping to ease him back to your hungry mouth, wanting to kiss him again. But he pulls back, regards you through the length of his eyelashes and shifts his hips, moving the tip of his cock down towards the center of your folds. He lingers there for a moment, and you curse the clothing that separates you with a whimper of annoyance.

His hands move from your hips to the ample flesh of your ass, where he grips your cheeks with vigor and rolls your body forward. ‘I have half a mind to fuck you right on this couch.’

Eyes fluttering closed, you lick at your lips, all swollen and red, sighing in pleasure. ‘Then why don’t you.’

‘Because I have another surprise for you.’

Abruptly you open your eyes, feeling the mood shift as your arousal is put on pause. Lowering your gaze, you eye him conspicuously, pulling back enough you are not longer in the throes of his orbit. With each passing moment, the adrenaline in your veins shifts from the eroticism of your carnal longing to dazed confusion, blinking at him as you catch your breath.

Years with him and not once have either of you felt it necessary to buy gifts on Valentine’s Day. You are not a gifting couple, choosing instead to share all the little things that make up the life you have built: your time, a meal, hours in bed together, or hours alone - somewhere special or nowhere at all; a restaurant or your couch, each a persistent reminder that you have chosen one another. The small simplicities of your life and daily routine are more about your love than a gift of chocolate, a card full of words you would rather hear him say. Your commitment to him extends beyond a social media post, beyond a tagged location and the withering petals of discarded roses.

For him to suggest this, after he has already prepared a meal beside you, after you have stained the wine glasses with your lips, after you have told him, repeatedly and ardently, that you love him is a shock to your system.

‘I…’ Your voice fades, the guilt gripping your throat. A lump forms, not of woeful regret but of fear, the utter horror of ever seeing him disappointed. ‘I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry...we said we wouldn’t. We aren’t the type?’

‘No, no,’ he shakes his head quickly, removing his hands from your ass to rub at your arms. ‘I don’t want anything. I’ve had the world since you ordered a negroni in the middle of summer.’

Cocking your head back, you laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. ‘I swear, one day you will move past that.’

‘Never.’ The brilliance of his smile would almost overshadow the intensity of his disagreement, but you find it a compliment, a reassurance that your idiosyncrasies are the things that endear him to you the most. ‘Most beautiful person alive to ever order a negroni.’

‘You’re just saying that cause you weren’t alive in the forties,’ you scoff, though you match his smile, always moved to delight by the sight of him.

Hoseok shakes his head. ‘Even then.’

For a long while, you simply stare at one another, luxuriating in this closeness as you remember: the night you met, the orange peel on the rim, Namjoon - who has become one of your closest, dearest friends - ordering the drink with surprise on his cheeks; Hoseok, leaning over the bar, close enough he could smell you, and both of you, drawn to one another’s orbit, lonely moons fated to collide.

‘But no,’ he sighs eventually, the weight of it changing the mood of intimacy you had cultivated. Not eradicating it, not entirely, but something about the way he looks at you has your nerves resting on edge. ‘It's not a gift. Not really. It’s a drink.’

Leaning back, you settle away from his cock and onto his lap, curious and cautious. ‘For the new menu?’

‘No.’ Once more, he shakes his head, slowly, seductively. The movement of his head, the way the hair falls into his eyes as he smiles and smiles dances over your heart, a thunder against your sternum. ‘No this one is just for you.’

‘All these years,’ you smirk, ‘and still you think you can pull me away from my negroni?’

Now, it is his turn to laugh, a hearty sound that has you moving back over his cock, victorious.

‘Baby, trust me, I’ve long since given up that fight.’ Again, he regards you, though this time you catch traces of all the thoughts that race through his head, a glint of affection matched with a glimmer of something hopeful, though you cannot imagine why he finds a drink so serious. ‘This is different. This drink comes with a set of requirements.’

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you tilt your head to the side in question, but he says nothing. Instead, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips as he taps his hands on your thighs, a signal he wants you to get up. Swinging your leg over his thigh, you settle on the couch, folding your hands in your halp expectantly, but he does not linger beside you. Rising to a stand, Hoseok grabs both your hands and pulls you up to meet him.

‘What’s going on?’ you ask, glancing around the room, bewildered.

‘So many questions,’ he sing-songs, pressing his hands to your shoulders as he turns your body you are facing forward, away from him, and begins walking you through the living room.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you do your best to regard his expression but he lifts one hand and taps your cheek gently, wordlessly advising you to face forward. His thumbs rubs slow circles into your shoulders as he walks you to your bedroom, where he lowers his hands to your hips and pulls you against him.

Immediately, you recline into the toned muscles of his chest, resting your hands over his as you sigh in delight. Relishing the closeness, you breathe together for a moment, enjoying the silence and the air of romance he so easily rekindles. It’s always been like that with him, so simple, all your passion and all your ardor brough to the surface the moment he lays his hands on you.

It’s different in this room, where the blinds are closed, where the world is cast out. In the living room, your longing had space, room to breathe and crevices to fill. Now, it clings to your skin, cloying in the way it moves through your pores and into your lungs. Every breath you take is filled with his cologne, every exhale is an utterance of your need, a whine at the back of your throat that threatens to disrupt the quiet way you take your time savoring his attention. Still, he does not give you the opportunity to consider the room beyond these feelings, nor does he allow you to turn and face him, to regard the face you long to kiss and kiss and kiss until he is a permanent fixture in your spirit.

Easing your hair over your shoulder, making space and granting himself access to the supple skin that so often goes untouched, he kisses deftly at the back of your neck as he moves a silk blindfold over your eyes, blocking your vision. The silk cools your heated cheeks, and in this darkness the smooth texture feels almost forbidden, clandestine in the way he removes your senses and demands that you trust him, implicitly. Raising your hands to touch it, you slide your fingers over and over along the threads as he ties it securely at the back of your head.

Furrowing your brow, you cannot help the chuckle that blossoms at your sudden realization. ‘Is this one of your ties?’

Burying his nose in the crown of your head, he nods, nestling it into your hair as he breathes in deep. ‘Looks better on you, in my opinion.’

Instantly your mental image of the bedroom dissolves, fading into nothingness until your senses are overwhelmed with all things Hoseok: the rich clove and bergamot of his cologne, the rhythm of his heart as it beats against your back, his lips as he wanders down and down to the shell of your ear. Even still, you see him with your whole spirit, his smile against your skin entering your heart, taking root and filling the nodes of your lungs with visions of his euphoria.

‘I want you to strip,’ he commands, voice low and full of gravel. A growl lingers at the back of his syllables, and your mouth runs dry. ‘Get undressed and stay silent. I want you naked and waiting on the bed for me.’

Against the blindfold your eyes open, and your eyelashes struggle against their confinement, another wave of arousal dripping through your folds at the sound of his voice. You are aware of absolutely everything, all the way down to the fibers of your clothes, senses brought to attention by the implication of his words. Hoseok has adopted the tone he only uses when he means to make you kneel in worship, exerting his dominance as a show of the magnitude of his affection. So rarely does he speak to you with such power and control, your muscles tense in willing obedience.

His voice saunters through your very existence, your nipples erect and sensitive as they press against the cotton of your tee shirt bra. You hadn’t planned on wearing lingerie, haven’t needed to since your first Valentine’s together when he said it didn’t matter what you wore or how you dressed, all he wanted was you naked beneath him and anything else deterring this was viewed, in his eyes, as an obstacle. Had you known he was planning something, you’d have planned, too.

‘Be good for me,’ he whispers, nipping at your earlobe before he departs from the room entirely, your body shivering in his absence.

The seconds that pass feel like an eternity, your heart racing as you gather the strength of your senses, reigniting the muscle memory of your bedroom. All over your body, you sense the energy of things, objects, certain you are near the bed without even feeling it. Diligently, you begin to undress, hands shaking as you reach for the hem of your shirt. Careful not to shift or undo the blindfold, your slow removal of your clothing feels ceremonious, a ritual of preparation for something holy. In the darkness behind your eyes, this room becomes your sanctuary, each removal a prayer of obedience and commitment.

As you ease your leggings down your legs, the strong scent of your arousal reaches your nose, and you part your lips from the intensity. You’ve been on edge from the very moment you felt the first stirrings of Hoseok’s cock within his sweatpants, from the very moment your tongue met his. When he returns to the room, he will smell how terribly wet you have become, how much of a mess you have made of yourself just for him, because of him.

Stepping out of your leggings, you reach behind your back and undo the clasp of your bra, each touch of your own fingers sparking a new world of lust as colours bloom behind your eyes. Your hands tremble, but your heels press into the hardwood of the floor, rooting yourself within the gravity to ensure you do not drift from the force of your desire.

Discarding your bra, the air hits your breasts and you move to cover yourself, only to ball your hands into fists and return your arms to your sides. Hoseok does not like it when you hide, a habit you have learned to unmake beneath the heated intensity of his unwavering, loving gaze. With him there, you have learned not to cover yourself, but when there is only nothing, you wonder now why your first instinct is to hide, why the vulnerability of such exposure has you feeling young, unfamiliar with the significance of such eroticism.

Relying on muscle memory, you move towards the bed and perch carefully on the edge of the mattress. The air in the quiet room is wrought with unprecedented tension, your senses scattered to every surface as your hair stands on end.

Even though it’s unnecessary, even though the silk blindfold is heavy against the bridge of your nose, thick enough to block out all the light, you still keep your eyes closed. The silence of your bedroom is deafening, oppressive in its effort to intensify the eroticism of this darkness. Gnawing your bottom lip, you strain to hear just what he could be doing in the kitchen - what else there is to be done - but you hear nothing. All the quiet seems to accomplish is heightening the ever growing reverberation of his command in your mind, an echo control that haunts even the marrow of your bones.

Like always, Hoseok inspired the full totality of your obedience with just one sentence, stripping his voice of all sunshine, all warmth, rendering you naked down to your nerves; the only one to ever live inside you, so deep. Your neck still burns, right above your pulse, right where he’d kissed his words, the fire of his open mouth removing all your clothes before your shaking hands could undo the rest. The fervent laughter that always nestles in the end of his syllables, in the corner of all his smiles, was absent, and now you are left anticipating him, craving him, hoping that you will be good for him - that you will be the wick he decides to ignite.

Rolling your shoulders back, you raise your breasts and keep your posture straight, poised, hoping that he will be pleased when he sees you. You cannot remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly raw in your nakedness. When you came home, the apartment felt too warm, the heat raised to a limit that always makes you feel uncomfortable. Now, you are trembling within it, skin and nerves tender, forced to acknowledge the full length of your body; the supple texture of your sinew, the voluptuous curve to your breasts, the slope of your hips, the dripping folds of your sex.

In this silent loneliness, you are left to contend with the reality of yourself - to recognize all the pieces of you he adores.

Still, the anticipation of his touch, his breath, has your hands fisting in the sheets, and you laugh. He’s changed them, the fabric of the duvet softer, smoother than the thick cotton you often prefer. The texture against your skin raises gooseflesh along your arms, a shiver taking its time to walk up the length of your spine. All of this softness, all these delicate fabrics against your skin, and all they create is a cage of your longing. Too long have you been left wanting him, missing him, and now he means to entrench you in it.

Now, he demands that you experience just how badly, how desperately, he has been wanting you, too.

The bedroom door pushes open, a sound usually so innocuous, so meaningless, causing your walls to clench around nothing. Grimacing, you take in a sharp breath to apologize or comment on the messiness of this reality, but you remember that he told you to remain silent, and so you force your lips to close. The sheets will be stained by the end of the night - of this you are certain. Nothing, you’re sure, will wash away the remnants of your desire.

The further he walks into the room, you are overcome with the intense aroma of peach and cinnamon. Such delicate scents overtake the space, maximized in their power, wafting over and into you, until you’re certain you could taste it on your tongue. Hungrily you salivate, and so too does the wetness between your folds seep leisurely through your slit, as if motivated by the ghost of flavor within your mouth.

Accompanying this scent is the light clinking of glass, and your ears perk up at the first trace of noise. Hoseok remains silent, but you can distinctly make out the silver swizzle stick he uses to mix drinks gliding along the rim of a glass. Recently you’ve heard it in the late hours of morning, before dawn has the opportunity to kiss the sky. He stirs and stirs, your bed empty and your hand resting on the space where his body had been, mattress still warm. Usually, this very sound eases you back to sleep, a comforting night song that kisses your sense when he cannot.

Now, the high pitched rattle is a sting against your nerves, a call to attention and reverence.

But this too does not maintain your attention for long. There are other noises, other clattering sounds of metal, plastic, and something else you cannot quite make out that alert you to an assortment of items - a tray, a selection, and, suddenly, mist. As Hoseok approaches where you sit, a gentle, cool fog passes over your skin, and you reach your hand forward to let it slip between your fingers. It sticks to the all the minute, normally unnoticeable crevices of your skin before dissolving, a whisper of sugar and honey that settles against you as if by magic. Before you, hidden behind a blindfold, a rich meal, a just dessert, has been laid out, while Hoseok views you in kind.

Tendrils of mist add to the moisture and heat in the room, the sweetness raising the temperature against your skin as your arousal swirls expectantly in your belly. The darkness that surrounds you has your skin feeling tender, ripe muscle taught with wanting, and you lean forward, seeking the relief of Hoseok’s lips against your soft, malleable pieces.

Reaching forward through the mist, you seek the tactile solidness of his touch. ‘Hoseok?’

You cannot help the exclamation of his name, an oath of allegiance and questioning of what mystery he has brought into the room, hoping he will say your name to fill the room with his voice.

‘Ah, ah,’ he cautions, and though the commanding nature of his voice still lingers, the sound of something other than your beating heart in your ears is an extraordinary relief. ‘I said to remain silent. Only speak unless I tell you to.’

Pouting, the retraction of your hand is swift, and your fingers furl into the bed sheets as you acquiesce to his wishes.

Hoseok moves the swizzle stick through the glass, once, twice, before he hums pensively. ‘Do you know why I became a bartender?’

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you shake your head, certain that any answer you would give is not the one he is seeking. When you were new together and newly in love, you asked this question as you laid with him in bed, running your finger over his heartbeat. So much of your first start was centered around you, the war you waged with your father, your question of worth for things that chose you instead of you taking it as an act of defiance. You wanted to spend the rest of your days learning about him, learning his thoughts, his war, and his answer was a journey of money and consequence.

Over time, you’ve learned the journey was one creation, of inspiration as much as necessity.

‘Do you have a guess?’

Parting your lips, you focus on finding your voice, the stimulation surrounding the darkness so potent all your words come slowly. ‘You like making things. You like pleasure.’

‘Good,’ he praises, and you preen delightedly, offering him a wide smile full of love and pride. ‘Do you know why I became a mixologist?’

Hoseok places the tray on what you presume is the top of your dresser across from where you sit, but you both feel and hear him move to the side where places something in the nightstand at his side of the bed. You focus your attention on these movements, letting your mind come to several of its own conclusions, all wholly unrelated to his question.

Had he also stripped while he was away from you? Is the amber golden texture of his skin on display, concealed from you by a simple strip of fabric? How does his tattoo shift in this light, the blossom of the bird of paradise just as rich as the fruit that fills the room?

You imagine all of it - every color and texture and shape of his body, certain you have learned every nuance of his being down to the very bone. These thoughts entice you, but so too does the thought of another of his praises, an encouragement that has you hurriedly responding to not keep him waiting any longer.

‘Passion.’

‘Close. Similar.’ Hoseok moves to the tray on the dresser, and you strain to discern the things he touches, unable to come up with anything beyond the obvious drink he had created. ‘It’s like perfumerie,’ he explains, shifting items along the tray and stirring the drink once more. ‘I think everyone, at some point, wants to bottle the thing they find most beautiful. They want to wear it, permanently. They want the smell to wet the tongue, to inspire the possibility of skin on skin, to provoke the curiosity of more. Mixology is like that, but you don’t wear the drink, you taste it. You have to hold it in your mouth, until it becomes a part of you.’

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you wait patiently for the closeness of his body in the ensuing silence and consider his explanation. He’s always been like this, passionate to a point of burning, his drive running deeper than you can ever comprehend. Every time you come close, it has changed, his every moment of creativity sparking a more enduring affection for his craft.

Hoseok walks closer to you, but still chooses to remain just out of reach, far enough you can feel the magnetic chemistry of his closeness and your skin begins to ache. Childishly you raise one hand, reaching for him and hoping to pull him against your skin, but he does not move, only chuckles at your display of indignant neediness. Instead, he releases a slow hum of breath through his nose and taps the swizzle stick against the rim of the glass, delaying your reunion even further.

‘You’re like that,’ he continues, the rich intonation of his voice a thick syrup that molds over your skin. Placing the swizzle stick back on the tray, Hoseok inches ever closer, the pads of his feet against the floors a rhythm that incites a riot of excitement in your heart. With him, he brings more mist, more spice, more peach, all of it waftering onto your chest and mingling with the perspiration that has started to coat your sinew. A moan of thirst worms its way through your chest, a keening, tiny sound of impatient defeat.

Finally, when he is close enough the steady exhale of his breath joins the fog in tracing patterns over your sternum, your jaw, your lips; his presence, an instigation of juices that drip once more through your folds and onto the sheets. You want to say his name, want to talk, want to reach your hands out and cup his cheeks to bring his lips to yours, but with each continued speech, Hoseok sounds more and more serious, and you obediently remain quiet.

‘That is what you are,’ he repeats softly. ‘A whisper that is always on my tongue. A taste I can’t seem to quit.’

He bumps against your legs, and immediately you spread them wide, luring him into your orbit. The act separates your folds, allowing more of your thick juices to drip into the bed and changing the scent that fills the room. The mist is persistent, a tingle of pleasure that walks down your nerves, and now with Hoseok between your thighs, the warmth that radiates from his aura overtakes your senses. He’s everywhere, nowhere, a ghost that haunts your bones and spirit, and you tilt your head back, looking upwards into the nothingness, waiting for his lips.

‘I made this for you, because it is you,’ he murmurs, though the proximity of his voice is a wildfire. ‘I call this drink the Whisper Blend. It’s how you taste to me, how you make me feel. I wanted to bottle you for myself, to keep you with me, always.’

HIs hand comes to cup your chin, guiding you in a direction you imagine is perfectly poised to accept his tongue, his mouth, his soul.

‘I want you to taste yourself.’ All the gravel of his voice, arousal and seductive intent, reaches into the caverns of your heart, gripping you completely. ‘I want you to taste how you make me feel.’

Gripping the edge of the mattress tightly, you lean forward, pressing your chin into his fingers. Your nerves run haywire, electric and scattered, and you are certain that were it not for your bones your spirit would erupt absolutely everywhere to press itself against him. Hoseok takes a slow inhale, long and deep, and lowers his mouth to your lips. On instinct, you part for him, expectant and eager to experience the way he feels when that is all there is - no sight, no sound, just his touch, holding you because he can, and because he wants to.

Still, he does not kiss you - not really. Gently, he exhales, and an abundance of peach fills the cavern of your waiting mouth, the rich flavor invading the crevices until it dissolves leaving only his breath. The cocktail smoke dissipates on your tongue, a sweet residue left behind that has you humming in pleasure. Pulling back, he breathes in again, the smoke shifting around your body as it is pulled into his mouth. When he returns to you, he presses his lips to yours, this time pausing in the contact of this kiss, before he exhales once again.

Unable to help yourself, your hands come to cup his face, holding him there as you inhale, moving your lips in a slow, reverent motion. Again, the smoke dissolves into the ether, leaving just the distinct, sweet flavor of his mouth against yours. His fingers massage slow circles into the bones of your jaw and chin, his own sigh a waterfall down your open throat. When he pulls away, you suddenly feel disdainful of the tie that covers your eyes, wanting to take your time admiring him, the flush at his cheeks that you feel beneath your fingertips, the glimmer of hunger in his eyes.

The third time he returns to your lips after a full inhale of the mist, he comes to you and lets his tongue press languidly against yours amongst the smoke. You hadn’t expected the intrusion, moaning in utter satisfaction at the fulfillment of your desires. Idly, he strokes his tongue over yours as he kisses you, exploring the parts he had coated with sugar and peach. With each motion, your inner walls clench around nothing, folds slick with and sticky against the bed as your parted legs do their best to hold him in place. You’ve become utterly overcome with the intimacy of sharing breath, and sharing yourself, your heart racing to shatter the hard bone of your sternum.

Desperately, your cunt aches for this kind of attention, for the invasion of something solid and thick, stroking at the places that live deep inside of you. Focusing on the emptiness of your core, you moan dejectedly, walking your hands into his hair where you fist handfuls of the strands to deepen the kiss. This, he only allows for a moment, relinquishing his tongue only to bite at your lip before sucking eagerly at it. And all too quickly, he pulls away and guides your chin upward to carefully tilt your head.

‘Drink,’ he commands, pressing the cool glass to your swollen bottom lip.

With your eyes closed, it’s difficult to drink and anticipate the flood of liquid, but Hoseok maintains complete control, sustaining a slow flow of the cocktail into your waiting mouth. On impact with your tongue, colours blossom behind your eyes - rich crimson of cinnamon, pale yellow, purple for the floral of lavender, and clear white for the sharp bite of vodka that lingers after the sweetness fades.

Hoseok has bottled a dessert, a warm summer that bleeds into the first chill of autumn. In a single glass, he has contained an aroma of life itself, a richness full of crisp dreams that refuse to fade over time, zeal and ardor, passion in a glass that overwhelms the difference between life and living. He said this was you, your taste, and you choke slightly on the drink as emotion wells in your chest, the action causing some of the cocktail to spill out from the corners of your lips, down your jaw as it drips onto your chest and breasts.

Immediately, he pulls the glass away, and you catch your breath only for it to be swiftly taken away. Placing open mouthed kisses across your chest, he laps up the stray remnants of the cocktail, using the tip of his tongue to lave your skin clean. Your hands tremble where they hold his head, breath coming short and heavy in your lungs as he moves down, and down to the top of your breasts. He wastes no time in biting delicately at the supple flesh, leaving a mark against your body for only you both to see.

Releasing his hand from your chin, his touch vanishes for just a moment before he swipes two fingers over your nipple, digits drenched with the cocktail. Swirling them over the sensitive, hardened bud, your body reacts instantly, invigorated by the sudden overwhelm of contact. Bucking your hips against the bed, you urge him for more, wanting his mouth where his fingers rest. Sensing your impatience, he drags his tongue down to the swollen bud and flicks it with the tip before rolling it between his teeth.

‘Lay back for me,’ he commands, pulling away from your breast, and this time you smirk. His voice is a rasp of taught strain, the edges of his control beginning to fray. ‘Lay back and spread yourself.’

Without any hesitation, you obey, releasing your grip on his hair to press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself back and back until the thick cushion of the pillows presses into the base of your spine. Spreading your legs wide, wider than you could before and wide enough you are confident he can see the way your slit glistens with slick, you rest your head against the headboard and lower two fingers to your core. Knitting your brow, the contact with your neglected folds as you gasping in relief, the pads of your fingers gathering all the juices that have gathered, smeared over your thighs, and still leaking from your center. Quickly, they become coated, this likely the wettest you've ever been simply from his endless teasing. Taking two fingers, you rub them over your slit before parting your folds, forming your fingers into a wide ‘V.’ Clenching your inner walls, more juices drip from your core, down your ass and into the sheets, forming a new stain for you both to admire.

As you expected, the sight of your spread cunt has Hoseok growling, and you feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he joins you on the bed. Somehow, you sense that he crawls to you, a hunter on the prowl, and you imagine how he looks now based on the all the times you have seen him like this before.

With your insides still warmed from the cocktail, your skin begins to flare with heat, demanding the feel of his hands against your for fear of your bones coming undone. You can feel him between your thighs, the ripples of magnetic waves of his closeness sauntering through your muscles. So too does his breath tickle the supple sinew at the inside of your thighs, a cascade that seems to travel along your nerves and directly into your opened core. The texture of your fingers at the swollen flesh of your cunt is a tantalizing sensation, though it does not provide the relief you seek.

This stretch is a display of your wanting, but it is not nearly enough to satisfy the ache that lurks in your belly, your core, all the way to the barrier of your cervix. Any other night, and you would demand he fill you completely, but even now you are uncertain you could gather enough strength to be so demanding.

Impishly, Hoseok takes hold of your knee and bites at the inside of your thigh, so close to where you want him most, yet far enough you cry out in shock and frustration. Hands fisting in the sheets at the sensation of his teeth grazing over your skin, a feeling that travels all over your body, as though his teeth are everywhere all at once, your back arches off the bed, presenting your breasts to the open air. His name builds at the back of your throat, the only word you think you could manage, a short set of syllables full to the brim with your primal yearning.

As if sensing your will to speak, always so aware and in tune with your needs and the responses he pulls from your body, Hoseok smiles against your skin, kissing and kissing.

‘It’s okay.’ Your muscles clench, feeling his voice trickle into the marrow of your bones. He kisses his words into the apex of your thigh before running his nose up to your center, where he rests the tip at your parted folds. ‘Say my name.’

‘Hoseok,’ you exclaim, pressing your spine into the bed to shift your parted lips closer to his mouth.

‘Fuck,’ he curses, releasing your thigh and pulling away. He shifts on the bed, reaching for something he unscrews not far from the bed. ‘My name sounds best coming from you.’

Rubbing his hands together, he returns to his position between your thighs, the blindfold preventing you from watching him. This is your favorite sight: him, between your legs, a hungry beast who regards you with his heart first. He looks good between your legs, even better with his lips covered in your juices, and so you wiggle your hips impatiently, running your fingers over your slit before pressing them inside, taunting him.

‘I told you to be a good girl,’ he threatens darkly, pushing your hand away with his wrist. Settling between your legs, Hoseok finally holds your hips, fingers coated with an oil that sends a shiver down your spine. Through the aroma of peach and cinnamon, mint begins to blossom, clearing the air and sending tingles of excitement over your nerves, a winter on the brink of your bedroom’s autumn.

‘Peppermint oil,’ he explains, rubbing his fingers into your muscles in a slow massage. Yet, there is no relaxation to be found. Lowering himself to your folds, he places a wet, open mouthed kiss at your slit, letting the tip of his tongue press at the seam of your drenched core before retreating. Crying out, you roll your hips forward, bucking up to seek his tongue once more. ‘I want you to tremble in it, the warmth and the chill. Do you know how often you unmake me? I want you to feel it.’

Again, he lowers his lips to your folds, stroking his tongue through your slit and against the sensitive walls of your core. A strangled cry rumbles through your throat, a moan of ecstasy at something thick and solid penetrating your core. Unfurling your hand from the sheets, you reach down and rest your hand at his head, intending to hold him there so you can rock your hips against his mouth, but he retreats immediately, clicking his tongue in derision.

‘Are you trying to take control, baby?’ he sneers, his hold on your hips tightening as he rubs the oil deeply into your skin. ‘I know how much you hate to give it up, but tonight your job is to receive.’ You feel his eyes wander over your wanton form, studying the voluptuous curve of your breast, the part of your lips, the perspiration that has gathered at your neck and beneath your breasts. ‘You can touch me,’ he amends softly, ‘but no pressure. Just touch. I’m the one who dictates how hard and how fast tonight.’

With that, he returns his tongue to your slit, curling it inward to collect the juices that have gathered at your core. Returning your hand to his head, you card your fingers through his hair as your cry of ecstasy fills the room. Unable to keep yourself still, you roll your hips forward, into the stroke of his tongue to urge him deeper, and he growls, the vibration of his voice careening through your joints.

‘Oh, fuck, Hoseok,’ you whimper.

He sets a steady rhythm with his tongue, plunging your folds with a vigor that feels almost brutal. Having no real contact to your cunt for so long, wanting him for so long, and no longer being able to see him, you cannot remember the last time the feel of his tongue inside you was such an intense sensation. Warm and wet, the muscle explores your core, your walls clenching around it as a new wave of juices leaks from your cunt into his waiting mouth. It soaks the flesh of your ass, his lips, the bed. Over and over, he pushes his tongue into your cunt with unfettered ardor, thrusting ever deeper with piercing intensity, doing his best to collect every drop while simultaneously stroking every nerve that comprises your walls.

Tension builds in your muscles, thighs taught with the magnitude of your arousal as you drag one foot over his ribs, over the smooth muscles of his back. In silent praise, Hoseok removes a hand from your hip and walks it up your side to cup your breast. The oil at his fingers chills the swollen nub of your nipple, and you clench once more against his tongue, quivering with fervor. Between the knuckles of two fingers, he clinches your nipple, the slight pain of oversensitivity combatting the unbridled pleasure at your core so harshly you moan out his name, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes.

Pulling his tongue from your folds, he moves it to your clit and begins the same attention, flicking it with his tongue. Shuddering, you fist one hand in your hair as your other clings to his for some semblance of sanity. But your Hoseok is always relentless in the way he delivers pleasure, in the way he chooses to pleasure you, and the remaining hand at your thigh drifts away for just one moment. The pressure does not leave the bed, and so you know he has not gone far, but against the blindfold your eyes widen into darkness at the sudden click of a vibrator.

Brows raising to your hairline, your breath catches. ‘Ho-Hoseok?’

Wordlessly, he simply rolls his tongue over your clit in time with the way his knuckles massage at your nipple. You hear the sound of the vibrator inching closer until, all at once, it is pressed to the barrier of your slit as he sucks harshly on your clit, nipping at it gently. The tremors from the toy ripple up into your thighs, juices spilling out from your slit as your arousal courses through the totality of your existence. You suppose you have always been in this state, have always been trapped in such a volatile state of craving, your spine pressing into the mattress to ground yourself to reality.

Without any warning at all, Hoseok sucks deftly at your clit once again as he presses the head of the vibrator through your slit. Your walls part around the toy, its vibrations cascading even into your bones, and you clench around it, hoping to lure it deep inside of you. Biting your tongue, you keep yourself silent, wanting to say more than his name, more than just a few curses. Pleas for him to fuck you ruthlessly live and smolder to ash against your teeth, an impenetrable barrier of obedience you are unwilling to break.

Palming your breast with the whole of his hand, he massages the oil into your skin, another shiver of frost against the bruising summer of your flesh that has you groaning. As you grind down against the toy, he proceeds to trace figure eights with the tip of his tongue against the hardened bud of your clit, thrusting the toy all the way into your cunt. The thick girth of the toy and the vibrations now filling the whole of your core have you releasing a scream of surprise, back arching off the bed once more as though preparing to sprout wings.

Hoseok fucks the vibrator into your relentlessly, almost ruthless in the pace he maintains in time with the motions of his tongue and the hand at your breast. Your orgasm builds just as mercilessly, a tightening coil at the base of your spine that turns your muscles to steel. Juices spill over from your foils, the damp patch of sheets beneath your waist soaked, and you’re certain he must be soaked as well, the mental image of it inspiring a choked gasp within your lungs.

He knows you like it this way, intense, unforgiving, each thrust bordering on painful to ensure that you will feel the ache deep within for days. Long after he is gone, you want to resonate with him, haunted by the ghost of his seductive prowess, unable to liberate yourself from his clutches. With each inward thrust of the vibrator, your walls clench, hoping to hold it in place as the whisper of your orgasm builds within your muscles. The heat is almost oppressive, your breath a heavy fire in your lungs, tongue slick with the embers of each howl of pleasure you have worked to contain.

The vibrator is not set to a very high level, this toy one of your shared favorites. You have grown familiar with the sound and the shape and the feeling, but somehow no longer seeing the toy or seeing Hoseok as he uses it has every aspect of it feeling new, foreign, the level of this toy infinitely stronger than any other you might own. And, paired with Hoseok’s skilled mouth, you doubt anything could ever compare again.

The curl of your fingers into his hair is a give away, the muscles of your arm sore with the effort of not pressing him harder, deeper against you, and your hand quakes with the effort of remaining the pretense of passivity. Instead, you direct this motion into the roll of your hips, meeting the toy thrust for thrust as you rock against his open mouth, fucking both the toy and his tongue as he suck s your clit. Sensing your impending orgasm, Hoseok growls, the rumble joining the vibrator within your walls.

‘Oh,’ you cry, soft enough you think it might be missed over the sound of his wet sucking and the thrum of the toy. But still this exclamation is a betrayal, and you are swiftly proven incorrect.

Releasing his lips from your clit, he rests his head against your bent thigh and breathes heavily. ‘Are you looking to cum?’

Unable to speak, you nod furiously against the pillow, the swell of your impending climax lurking just at the edge of your perception. Yet, he is dissatisfied with your silence, and abruptly turns the vibrator up to another level. The sudden increase in intensity sends a quake through your thighs, your hand releasing his hair as you slap the bed, groaning in response.

‘Talk to me,’ he urges, gentle yet still maintaining his tone of authority. ‘Use that pretty mouth of yours.’

‘Please, let me cum,’ you cry, caught in a battle of holding yourself back, panting into the open air and unashamed of how depraved you might look. ‘I need to cum.’

‘You know this is all for you, baby.’ Moving off your thigh, you feel his breath return to the wetness of your core, each exhale from his nose cooling the drenched spit and slick at your clit and slit. ‘Make sure to leave some for me though.’

Offering a rough flick of his tongue to your clit, he sucks at the bud and thrusts the vibrator into your cunt, turning up the notch one more time. The blunt head of the toy brushes against your spot, pulling a choked moan from your chest in surprise. Eyes wide, yet empty, you peer at the expanse of black in a daze, mouth opened in a silent scream. Your orgasm comes swiftly, violently, shattering all resolve you had managed to maintain. Rivulets of your juices spill from your cunt, and Hoseok’s lips suck diligently at your clit, occasionally letting his tongue drift downward to join the toy at collecting the traces of your cum.

In the aftermath, you convulse into the bed, and Hoseok pulls the toy from your core. Crawling up the bed, lays his body over you and finally you can feel that he, too, has been naked this whole time. Skin against skin, he holds you against him, rubbing his hands over your ribs as you quake with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Limbs feeling boneless, heavy, you wrap your arms around his back and cling to him, tears drying against your cheeks.

The head of his cock lingers at your entrance, threatening to breath through your sensitive folds. Burying his face in your neck, he breathes against you, tossing the toy to the other side of the bed.

‘I need you inside me,’ you announce, driven to a brink of insanity in the throes of your climax. Forgetting the rule to remain silent, you toss it aside, damning it, needing the girth of his cock bearing down at your cervix.

‘Did I ask you to speak?’ he rasps into the tendons of your neck, where he bites.

‘No,’ you manage, ‘but I’m going to.’

Removing a hand from your side, he burrows his hand between your bodies and slaps at your clit. The sudden pain against your swollen, sensitive nub has you calling out his name. The sensation of your tenderness wanders all the way up into your throat, your lungs reverberating with the harshness of his slap.

‘You want me to fuck you?’ His words come with an impish smile, followed swiftly by a bite to your pulse that has your hips bucking up against his cock.

The head of his cock protrudes deeper through your folds, but he pulls back and once more slaps your clit, a tap to the nub that has you groaning.

‘Please,’ you whimper. ‘I can tell you want it, too.’

Gliding your hands down the expanse of his back, you palm the cheeks of his ass with your full fist, guiding him closer in the hopes of pressing him inside. Hoseok releases an expletive against the beat of your pulse, the flow of your blood rushing to his lips, hoping to be kissed. The feel of his teeth grazing over the thunder of your pulse has your legs widening to ease him deeper, muscles straining at their limit. Kissing down your neck to your breast, he sucks the erect nipple of your opposite breast into his mouth as the engorged head of his cock sinks deeper into your core.

‘Just fuck me already.’

Pushing down on his ass, you force him all the way into your cunt, pressing his head right against your cervix. His concentration snaps, his eyelashes grazing your skin as he squeezes them shut, shuddering against your hips and thighs. Feeling victorious, you smirk into the darkness, clenching your walls around his cock. Moaning your name, he rolls his hips forward in warning. Hoseok’s moan is an avalanche against your skin, an earthquake of violence that rumbles into your lungs.

‘Don’t do that,’ he threatens. ‘I won’t last.’

Taking back control, you clench your walls again and meet the roll of his hips with yours, taking him deeper. ‘That’s the point.’

Bunching the sheets in his fist, Hoseok sets a punishing rhythm, thrusting abruptly against your cervix and ensuring your walls feel the veiny texture of him drag against the sensitive nerves. Unable to speak, you simply breathe together, sharing breath and sharing life, hoping that the smell of him remains on your skin for all eternity. Every thrust has your thighs shaking, the heavy sack of his balls slapping against your ass. The sound of it joins the moans you release with every press of his cock into your spot, your voice loud and unashamed. You don’t care who hears you, don’t care who you wake, you ensure the celebration of your voice rolls off his skin and into his heart with each gasp of his name.

Hoseok moans in harmony with you, garbled and broken, as the vice grip of your walls clench his heavy cock. Pleasure ripples within and through you, spreading all the way from your core to the crown of your head, all your senses heightened. No trace of light penetrates the blindfold, and so your mind wanders to every fibre and sense of your body, aware of every texture of his cock, every press of his fingers into your skin, every burn of oxygen in the vessels of your blood.

The wet sounds of your fucking only serve to reinvigorate the traces of your orgasm. It becomes impossible to focus on anything other than this - the rough pound of his hips against yours and the stretch of your walls around his heavy girth. The brutal pace of his hips sends the bed frame into the wall with each inward thrust, and you relish the pain that comes with his unrelenting force.

‘Fuck, Hoseok,’ you cry out, digging your nails into strong flesh of his ass. You press crescent moons into the supple skin, leaving your mark against the sun.

The perspiration that gathered at your hairline grows into beads of sweat, the exertion of meeting his pace causing your body to melt beneath his warmth. Hoseok pants his gasps into your skin, an added wetness as his saliva trickles from his open mouth and down your neck and chest. The liminal space of this fucking nearly unravels you, so used to the feel of his cock buried inside you while certain you have never experienced the totality of it quite this way. In the darkness, there is only this lust, only this passion, and the very weight of it consumes you from the inside, building your orgasm to new heights.

Hoseok fucks you open, ensuring that no one will ever have you again - as if you would ever let them. Each brush of his cockhead against your cervix is a declaration of possession, a promise of an eternity with his marks against your skin and bones, and behind the blindfold you see your whole life stretch out before him from this moment up until the very last, when your atoms are scattered in their search for his. Reality beyond the border of your body dissolves, your universe beginning and ending where his hips meet yours, and the immensity of the love and lust you harbor for him nestles your impending climax directly at the center of your core.

Thighs shaking, you clench around him again in warning. But as deeply as you know Hoseok, know the nuance and details of his very existence, he knows you too. Releasing his hand from the sheets, he scratches at your ribs before moving it between your joined bodies, using the blunt edge of his knuckle to massage your clit once more. Still raw and tender from your first orgasm, the contact sends a jolt of pain through your nerves, a yelp of shock bleeding into a cry. Your grip tightens on his ass, and your thighs close tightly around his sides, latching him in place.

‘Let go of control,’ he says, pulling away from your neck to kiss at your lips with every word he speaks. ‘You’re close, I can feel it in the way you’re shaking.’

Certain that your reality is crumbling, your hands move from his ass to the middle of his back, clutching him as your whines increase in pitch and frequency. You feel yourself become dizzy, the scent of him, the scent of peach, the scent of mint, the scent of vodka all over your skin and all over him has your mind fogged with little other than the intense stimulation he provides.

‘I’m gonna cum,’ you whisper, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

Your orgasm threatens to unmake your very existence, a silent revolution inside the marrow of your bones, and you fight it back just long enough to obey any of his possible commands. But still, it keeps you burning at the edge, a flame only the stroke of his cock against your cervix could coax into an inferno.

Pressing his knuckle deep into your clit, Hoseok urges you to cum without words, without encouragement or instigation from his authoritative tone, easing his tongue into your mouth. Stroking at the muscle, he swallows the scream of your orgasm as your release undoes your sense of reality. The world behind the blindfold erupts, a kaleidoscope of colour brought to life by the swirl of his hand against your clit and the piercing thrust he delivers to the barrier of your cervix, demanding entry to your womb. You want him there, want him inside you always, and you clench around him tightly as your orgasm overtakes your muscles. Your body is an earthquake caged in his arms.

You, a perfume and a drink, a war and a victory, an earthquake and a hurricane, every season belonging to him alone.

As you come down from your high, Hoseok only increases the pace of his thrusts, somehow gaining strength at the feel of your juices dripping around his cock. The stimulation stings, and he pulls his tongue from your mouth to let you both catch your breath, your whimpers of pain an echo of the intensity of his cock stretching your walls. The bulbous head of his cock is unforgiving, picking up speed as he breathes against your cheeks. Still, you can feel his own limbs begin to shake, and you attempt to soothe his tremors with tender massages of your fingers into the wings of his shoulders.

Grunting with exertion, Hoseok becomes speechless as he chases his high, and the tingling pain that once lived at your core soon gives way to another orgasm within your belly. How starved have you been for him? How long have you wanted him? It does not matter, you think, the removal of distractions and the urge to focus only on him has your body pouring its lust into the feel of his cock at the entrance of your womb. Whining, you cling to him once more, joints taught in preparation for another, sudden orgasm.

The feel of your walls gripping him so tightly causes his hips to stutter, and the incoordination of his impending climax overtakes the power of his movements. With your own orgasm readying in the base of your spine once more, you hold onto him tightly and roll up into his hips yet again, matching him thrust for thrust.

Only three strokes more and you both come undone, the searing heat of Hoseoks’s cum filling your core as his body shudders in your arms.

‘Fuck, shit,’ he moans, burying his face into your neck as he thrusts each spurt of cum into your cunt.

Wetness greets your cheeks, the tears from your eyes flowing freely, a surprise and a shock without any vision for them to blur. Together, you breathe in unison, riding the aftershocks of your orgasms until the walls of your cunt burn with the force of your clenching. He collapses against you, breathing heavily as your hand comes to stroke absentmindedly at his core. Every now and then, your walls clench, his cock presses deeper, his cum dripping from your walls to greet the mess you've made of the sheets.

Time presses on, the world continues to turn, but behind your blindfold the universe is on pause, suspended in only this moment in which you are holding him, he is inside you - softening, but still yours - and there are no gaps between your bones for air to move between. Idly, you suppose this is the paradise many so often speak - an empty mind, a comfort in your limbs that comes only with immense peace, a contentment to your heart that says you are both seen and safe, with no difference to be found between the two.

Eventually, Hoseok removes his hand from your core, easing it up to the blindfold. You smell the traces of your juices on his fingers, and you part your lips, readying to taste yourself as he so often commands you to do. But he bypasses your mouth for the bone of your cheek, where he toys with the edge of the fold. Easing it away from your eyes, he pushes it back to the crown of your head, and you blink rapidly, readjusting to the world. Immediately, you lower your gaze to his face where he rests at your side.

In unison, you smile at one another, everything looking precisely the same, yet wholly, irrevocably, different.

‘Hello,’ he whispers, the intimacy of his quiet greeting causing your chest to swell.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you trace his brow with your thumb, smiling deliriously. ‘I missed you.’

This time, there is a difference to this missing, and he chuckles quietly at your joke. You luxuriate in the act of admiring him, taking in the depth of his features. Redness lives beneath his cheeks, a glistening sheen to his skin of perspiration; his hair has been mussed several times over by the fore of your hand and never, not once in the time you have known him, has he ever been so beautiful. Glancing down further, you regard his arm where it drapes over your waist, the tattoo that bleeds up his muscles and over into his back.

All night you have pressed your fingers into the bird of paradise painted on his skin, but it was not what you saw or envisioned at all. It crosses your mind that perhaps what you envisioned was his spirit, the very essence of his soul - scatterings colours and energy that are both formless and yours.

Almost too soon, he looks away from you, turning to face to the right at the end table. With your vision obscured by the crown of his head, you cannot see what exactly he reaches for, and so you continue to admire the mess of his hair with a small chuckle. He takes his time gathering the item, grasping it tightly in his hand before turning to face you. Slowly, he eases his softening cock from your core, repositioning himself on the bed to linger at your side, legs sprawled carelessly over yours.

‘I don’t have a speech planned,’ he begins, suddenly sounding terribly disappointed.

Furrowing your brow in worry, you regard him with confusion, cocking your head to the side patiently.

Hoseok raises his eyes to yours, his irises glassy with emotion. ‘We’re not the type, are we?’

Still uncertain what he means, you shrug in reassurance. ‘We’re not the type for a lot of things,’ you suggest, and he nods, seeming distant.

Moving his hand into your view, he reveals a small black box. Breath halting in your lungs, you regard it for a long moment, suddenly aware all over again of the weight that encapsulates the room. Using his thumb, he flicks it open, revealing a rich sapphire ring, dotted on either side with sparkling diamonds.

‘Will you marry me?’ he asks, looking at you with an intensity you’re certain could rival the sun.

He must expect you to be shocked, must expect you to have to gather your words, because your immediate, resounding yes, has him blinking wildly, in the same rapid fashion as when you were finally allowed to see again.

‘Yes,’ you repeat, sliding back against the bed to sit up. ‘Yes, yes.’

You don’t really think there’s anything else to say, not really. If the universe of your love could be contained in three simple letters, you would give them to him over and over again, until only they comprised your language, your alphabet.

Wasting no time, he pulls the ring from the box and slides it over your finger, taking his time to let his fingers stroke over your skin.

‘Mine,’ he mumbles to himself.

The word takes you all the back to the first time you slept with him, to a day when you had been burning with torment, wet from the rain and wet with a passion for a world you wanted to claim. That day, he asked you to be his, and you said yes, an echo of this moment in which you somehow knew it was the only choice to make. Your past self and yourself in this moment are one and the same, time becoming a construct that is meaningless when it comes to him.

‘I told you the first time I was,’ you tease.

‘I know,’ he says, leaning up to kiss deftly your jaw. ‘I just wanted to join you in the war.’

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