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abyssruler · 1 year

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the 7-eleven diaries

albedo, alhaitham, childe, scaramouche, venti x gn!reader

your job isn’t the best one out there, but it’s easy and keeps you from drowning in tuition fees and rent. working at a 7-eleven on a midnight shift was supposed to be peaceful, so why is it that you constantly find yourself being bothered by weird customers? (modern au)

fluff, comedy, crack, cashier employee reader, modern au, written for fluffvember!

ALBEDO

It’s difficult not to take notice of the perpetually tired college student (much like yourself) who always comes at the latest hours to order a cup of black coffee and a can of beer. The first time you saw him order that drink was a memorable one, if only because of the way your eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets when you saw him mix the two drinks in a large, empty slurpee cup and proceed to drink it all in a matter of seconds.

Another memorable time was when he came in with only enough money to buy a bottle of water, then took a seat at a table near the counter and took out a box full of what you initially presumed were cookies. It was a traumatizing memory you look back on with a shudder as you remember the way he crunched down on it like it was a piece of biscuit instead of a motherfucking spider.

“They’re surprisingly nutritional, full of protein and fibre. It leaves a strange aftertaste, but it’s a good substitute for dinner.”

Since then, you’ve made sure to keep some food ready in the microwave for him, free of charge. He just looked so pitiful sitting by himself with dark under-eyes and greasy hair — the very image of a normal college student — that you couldn’t help yourself from taking money out of your own pocket to help a fellow comrade.

One day, he came to the store with blown pupils and a sort of dazed look in his eyes, words slurring together as he tried to explain to you how he’s finally created an edible liquid that can keep sleep at bay for at least 120 hours…with some small side-effects, but it’ll wear off with time. That’s when you found out he was a bio-chemistry student well on his way to getting a PhD at his young age.

When questioned why he drank the liquid instead of having someone else do it, his response was, “To experience it firsthand, of course. The basis of research is accuracy and precision, how could I be remiss as to leave such an important experiment to someone who could, in their ignorance, fail to mention an important detail that their mind might have labeled as useless.”

You’re not quite sure how he’s still alive by this point.

But his weirdness aside, you resolve to take care of him in your own way, from a fellow tired college student to another. You remind him to get some sleep, steering him away from eating spiders and encouraging him to eat more meat.

“But I am eating meat?”

“Albedo, that’s a spider.”

“And are you saying that spiders do not possess meat?”

“Oh, for the love of—just eat the goddamn sandwich.”

You think he appreciates it, if the way he dedicated his latest thesis to you is any indication.

ALHAITHAM

You were in the middle of answering a math problem your professor assigned that morning, papers sprawled over the counter with you hunched over it, hand in your hair and trying not to pull at it in frustration over how difficult the problem was. And then he’d come in like an angel, all perfectly shiny hair and a no-nonsense look on his face, took one look at you and the papers scattered across the counter and said one sentence that saved your grade in math.

“You forgot to put a negative sign right there.”

That was the moment you decided that he must be an angel sent from heaven. He always grunts whenever you call him that, though whether it’s from amusement or annoyance remains to be seen.

He doesn’t visit the convenience store much, but when he does, he always spares the time to help you out with whatever assignment you were working on, sometimes even taking the initiative of asking if you need his assistance in answering a problem — though he says this on a much less nicer tone.

“Are you gonna make me do your homework again?”

“My professer didn’t assign me one today, surprisingly enough, so no.”

He seemed strangely disappointed when you told him no, but you chalked it up to him being some sort of math wiz who gets riled up by equations and the like. Seems like kind of guy too, what with all the times he’s made a subtle jab at your intelligence — or lack, thereof.

“How could you possibly need a paper to calculate the answer to four-hundred and thirty-two times fifty-eight?”

“Not all of us are smarter than Rukkhadevata like you.”

“Who?”

He’s not bad company, though that opinion stems solely from the fact that he helps you (solves it for you, more like) with all your homework. Not without making comments about you lazing about on the job and letting your customer answer your assignment for you. You respond in a mature way by making fun of him.

“I’ve never seen you without those earphones. Are you hiding a pair of large ears or something?”

“No.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject.

Sometimes you give him a drink, usually cola or juice, as thanks for helping you out. He takes it without question, taking sips from it as he tutors you about this and that, occasionally commenting about your job and how you’re only making yourself suffer by taking on midnight shifts. You don’t see why he cares. For all that you jokingly call him an angel, you know he’s far from actually being one.

You once saw him on campus reading a book by the library. It’s easy enough to come up to him and make conversation, handing him an unopened drink you just bought from a vending machine. It just feels wrong not to, more of a habit by this point.

It’s then that someone decides to dramatically drop his books to the ground and point at you and Alhaitham. The blonde guy gapes and asks how in the world Alhaitham managed not to scare you away. His eyes zero in on the can of grape juice on Alhaitham’s hand, and then he proceeds to laugh, asking Alhaitham since when did he decide to start drinking what he once called was an unhealthy drink composed of sugar and artificial flavoring.

You made a mental note of that response, and later that night, you decide to hand him a packaged biscuit. Nothing unhealthy there. Technically.

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if I should start taking medicine in case my stomach burst from the amount of cola you hand me.”

“You could’ve just not accepted, you know.”

“It was given to me. Not accepting would be considered rude.”

“Didn’t Kaveh say you threw a bottle of orange juice to his face after he gave you one?”

“I did.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject, but you’ve since resolved to only give him the healthiest thing you could find on the store—which isn’t much considering this is a 7-eleven, but hey, microwaved salad is still salad, right?

He grumbles about the radiation but eats the salad anyway. Another win for you, you suppose.

CHILDE

He came in near the end of your shift, lips busted and an eye swollen shut, blood splattered all over his clothes. The grin on his face should’ve hinted you at his lunacy, but you’ve always been blind to warnings and the like, so you went over the counter and helped him up from where he’s slumped over the chips and candies isle.

Aether, your co-worker and the one who’s about to take over from your shift, only looked at you with tired eyes, “It’s too early for this shit.” That was, of course, Aether’s way of basically saying, you’re on your own.

So you picked up the ginger lying on the linoleum floors, heaving his arm over your shoulder to drag him to the nearest pharmacy — never let it be said that you were just a bystander. He groaned as the movement bothered whatever injuries he may have, but he still looked at you with wide, strangely lightless eyes, as if only now registering your presence, and said, “Holy shit, you’re hot.”

After you finished dumping him on the pharmacy and leaving the people there baffled at what to do with an injured guy, he grabbed your wrist and, with a bloody smile he probably thought was charming, handed you a piece of paper containing his number.

You never text him. Or call.

He comes back to the store a week later with faint yellow bruises across his face and a far too bright grin for someone who’s visiting a 7-eleven at two in the morning. He pouts about not getting a single text from you, but before you can respond, he’s moving on to another topic, mindlessly picking up a box of tampons by the side and setting it on the counter.

He only seems to realize what he’s done when you give him a strange look.

“Tampons are, uh, great for bloody noses!”

“…Right.”

You weren’t convinced at all, but you decided to let it slide. He seemed like a genuine guy, if a bit too enthusiastic sometimes. His mouth never shuts ups, always going on about this and that, asking all sorts of questions that would’ve normally had most normal people backing away. But your brain isn’t exactly at its best condition and being sleep deprived for the better part of your life has made it less of a brain and more of an organ that just helps you get through the day.

You don’t know exactly why he stays to chat with you, buying ridiculous amounts of stuff that were frankly far too expensive just to have an excuse to talk to you. You don’t mind it much, especially when he’s a great deterrent for any unwanted petty thieves or middle school delinquents trying to rob your store every week or so.

Apparently, he’s got a reputation for being a bit of an adrenaline junkie and being willing to fight anything and everything that breathes. And apparently, word’s gotten out that he’s into you, like, really into you, so most guys who have less-than-well intentions have decided that robbing the local 7-eleven isn’t worth the trouble if it means having to deal with Ajax.

“Actually, it’s Tartaglia.”

“Tarantula?”

“No, Tartaglia. It’s my street name! Ajax just doesn’t inspire the same fear into other people’s hearts the same way Tartaglia does.”

“Whatever you say, Tortilla.”

“It’s Tartaglia!”

He never brings up the fact that you never call or text him back, even when he’s somehow gotten ahold of your number and started sending you memes and updates about his day. When asked, he just shrugs and says he’ll win you over eventually.

SCARAMOUCHE

It wasn’t intentional, and you’ll admit it was completely your fault, but did he have to be such an asshole about you dozing off on the counter?

“Have the standards really fallen so low that employees are now afforded to sleep on the job?”

Here was this guy at two in the morning, bemoaning society’s failure in raising the new generation to have a proper work ethic at a 7-eleven store. The guy had a rolex watch and clothes that looked like they were worth more than your monthly salary — you’re not one to judge other people’s appearances, but he’s the very image of nepotism. And frankly speaking, you’re of the opinion that rich people shouldn’t be entitled to an opinion on what the working class decides do with their life, like falling asleep on the job.

…And oh, you just said that out loud, didn’t you?

Oh well, your manager will understand.

The guy with a bowl cut leaves fuming, but not before slapping a wad of cash down the counter to pay for his stupidly expensive noodles, snarling at you to keep the change since you clearly need it more than him.

You do, in fact, keep the change. Money is money, whether it’s from your salary or a rich boy throwing a tantrum.

The next day in class, a bag slams down the seat beside you, and you’re met with the same rich boy from last night, a scowl painting his rather pretty face as he hisses lowly about how he’s surprised you can afford to go to college. Talk about holding a grudge, you would’ve forgotten all about him from last night if he hadn’t given you his change.

He fumes even more when you don’t give him any sort of reaction, merely nodding your head at him and turning back to the board to listen to your professor drone on about this and that. It’s rather difficult to focus, however, when he keeps muttering sarcastic comments and barbs to the teacher beneath his breath.

“If you even had an iota of charm about you, perhaps your wife wouldn’t have filed for a divorce.”

You choked on a laugh, hand coming up muffle the sound, but he clearly noticed, judging by the way he snaps his head to you, eyes wide and seemingly surprised you found it funny. You only smile at him, an amused little thing, but he quickly looked away and murmured something unintelligible beneath his breath, his fists clenched and the tips of his ears curiously pink.

He comes back to visit your job that night, still with that air of haughtiness about him but a bit toned down. Even more surprising was the fact he didn’t immediately leave the moment he handed you his money.

“Do you want the change?”

“Are you so desperate for money that you’d go begging a total stranger for some spare coin?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Tch, fine. You can have it.”

He never fails to come back every night, always giving you the change for his bill, even when the amount is more than the items he paid for. Sometimes, he’ll even take out a snack or a drink from the bag and slide them over to you, cheeks suspiciously red as he did so.

“Don’t think this means anything. I’m only giving this to you because I know you can’t afford it.”

“It’s literally worth ten mora.”

“Would it kill you to at least give me a thank you?”

“Thank you, Kunikuzushi. I’ll be sure to treasure this can of cola that I would’ve never been able to afford without your help.”

“Shut up.”

He buys you a tub of ice cream the next night, the ridiculously expensive kind, to prove a point. The two of you eat it together at one of the tables, him grumbling about the stain on the table and the overall lack of quality and taste — at a 7-eleven — and you laughing whatever he says.

Well, you suppose he’s not as much of an asshole as you initially assumed.

VENTI

He’s a bit popular in campus, in the sense that nearly everyone is friends with him, which makes it impossible not to have heard about that one guy who’s really great at singing. You were, unfortunately, one of the few that aren’t well acquainted with him — aren’t acquainted with him at all.

So when he comes up to the counter, all boyish grin and ridiculously short shorts and a cute little pink hair clip keeping his bangs away from his face, holding an entire household’s worth of vodka and wine, you do what any rational semi-adult would do and look at him with a blank face.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

He laughs at you like this is a common occurrence he faces on the daily before slapping down his ID on the counter. And huh, would you look at that, he’s even older than you are.

He then lights up once he gets a good look at you. “Hey, you’re Albedo’s friend, aren’t you?” He abandons his alcohol at the counter in favor of looking around your quaint little convenient store. “So this is that 7-eleven he keeps talking about…”

You’re not exactly sure what he’s going on about, but you do know he must be a friend of Albedo’s, which makes you ease up around him. He’s nice. Sort of. If you ignore the teasing and the jokes and the way he keeps asking you to give him a student discount. For alcohol. You’d given him what you hoped was your best imitation of Kunikuzushi’s stink eye. You think you got it on point, if the way he deflates is any indication.

He comes around the store every weekend, saying he’s here to get a little treat for the awful weekday he’s had. You never fail to remind him that he has class every Sunday, to which he responds by opening a can of beer (which he hasn’t paid for yet) and sitting on the counter, bemoaning the injustice of putting classes during the weekends.

You once asked him why he keeps hanging around this store when there’s a perfectly good bar right around the corner, owned by that popular red-haired business major from your university. Venti just laughed and said he prefers the quietness here — and the company, he added with a wag of his eyebrows. He always teases you, sometimes borderline flirting, but it’s easy enough to wave it away.

The day you discovered he was actually well known in campus was when your university hosted a local event. There’d been stalls and booths set up everywhere and even a little mock-stage put up near the center for any band or singer to perform in. It’d been nice to have a break from the monotonous routine of going to class and studying then working at your job and getting less than ideal sleep.

And then you heard your name booming out from the speakers, and you turn your head to see Venti on the stage with that little lyre he sometimes carries with him to the store, saying he’d like your opinion on a song or two he composed.

He dedicates the song to you in front of the entire student body, then proceeds to sing the cheesiest, most gut-wrenching and cringiest love song of all time.

“Why did you have to pick that song?”

“Because it’s fun and cute!”

“I sometimes question your ability to distinguish cute from horrifyingly monstrous.”

There’s a mortified look on your face, but amidst the embarrassment and the teasing remarks of his friends, there’s a smile on your face that you can’t bring yourself to wipe away.

i’ll be doing a part two on this but with diluc, dottore, kazuha, xiao, and zhongli!

@maehemthemisfit @sonder-paradise @96jnie @komiyaa @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @ineriris @yesntforno @serramii @shadowmist0706 @jmgrule @imeanwatever @c00kie-cat @serramii @xtodorokismistressx @ieathairs @endlessmari @strawberryclumsy @serenity-ren-bliss @scarasbaby

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #venti x reader #gn reader #modern au #fluffvember #fluffvember 2022

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strangersteddierthings · 11 months

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What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Prompt from @devious-kitten

Steve had a mild interest in DnD as a freshmen because of a cousin or something. The interest was killed by Eddie being mean since Steve is a jock. Post vecna Eddie finds dust covered DnD handbook Steve explains and Eddie faces a still hurt Steve as a results of his biases

((Half written fic, half rambling about how it would go down. Apologies for the formatting. Also I added more angst than the prompt called for hehe))

Steve has always loved sports. This is a well-known fact. He's played on some sort of sports team from the time he was old enough for his parents to be able to sign him up.

A lesser-known fact is that Steve loves fantasy. Or, at least, he used to. On the playground in elementary school, Steve could often be found playing knights and dragons, and it was anyone's guess if he would be a knight or a dragon on any particular day.

The summer between middle and high school, Steve spent with his grandparents from his mother's side, on the farm they'd retired on in Michigan. A month long stay that he'd shared with his cousins, Amber, Robert, and Christopher. Amber and Robert are twins, four years younger than Steve, and Christopher was two years older and infinitely cooler than anyone else Steve knew.

Christopher was on the varsity basketball team at his high school when he was just a sophomore, captain of the JV football team, president of the chess club, and in a games club.

Christopher was everything Steve wanted to be now that he was going to be in high school. Minus the chess club because

It was during that summer, Steve got to indulge in playing make believe for another summer with his younger cousins, without the judgement of people (his father and peers) who thought he was too old for such things. He also got to learn about make believe for older kids, because Christopher played a game called Dungeons and Dragons with his game club the last month of school before summer break and spent many evenings going over what had happened with Steve as a captive audience.

"I wish I'd brought the books," Christopher had whispered to him one night from the bed, peaking over to look down at Steve in his sleeping bag on the floor, "we could have played."

Steve wishes he'd brought the books, too.

At the end of July, Christopher, Amber, and Robert's parents show up to pick them up, five days before Steve's scheduled flight to Indianapolis. It's a sad goodbye because one summer a year isn't enough with his cousins but they live in Washington. Steve's always jealous their parents drive all the way to pick them up, but a little proud he gets to brag about how he's flown alone since he was seven. No one else in his class can brag about that.

His mom picks him up in Indianapolis and they go back to school shopping while there.

A week later, Steve receives a package from Christopher. Inside Steve finds Advanced Dungeons and Dragons books, three of them, and even though Christopher said nothing about advanced, he's sure he can manage. On the inside cover of the players handbook, Christopher has written:

Hey Steve, I think you'd rock playing a dwarf paladin. Let's play next summer? Christopher 1981

He spends the last three weeks of summer vacation reading the player handbook cover to cover and making a character. It's slow going, because letters don't stay where they're supposed to be on the page (that's a problem he's had his whole life, so he's not surprised but he is determined), and he's never been good at math, so getting the stats down on paper isn't easy. He can't decide what he wants to play, so he makes two characters; an elf magic-user and, of course, a dwarf paladin.

(He's a little disappointed you can't be a dragon.)

Steve's never been one to dread the first day of school, but he's never actually looked forward to it, either. It's just been another day.

Until today.

Today is his first day as a high schooler. And the only people who go to the first day are Freshman, except the upper classman that have volunteered to man the booths for school activities for the last hour of the day. It's supposed to help the Freshman get the lay of the land without being overwhelming and Steve's excited for it. He needs to see if Hawkins High has a games club like Christopher's school does.

Here Steve is, that last hour of school. He's already been to the basketball booth, promising to sign up as soon as the season started, and the swim booth because he's got a pool at his house and has been swimming for as long as he can remember and knows he enjoys it. He also stops by the football booth even though he's never played, or cared much, for it. (Maybe he's trying to emulate Christopher, sue him.). So, the final thing is to see if Hawkins High offers a chess club and a game club.

Steve is delighted to see that, though there is no games club, there is a Dungeons and Dragons club! That delight wavers because of the kid manning the booth. His hair is curly and falls just below his ears, with big brown eyes. Steve hates to think it, but he'd be cute if he didn't look like he wanted to stab Steve.

"Yeah, no, keep walking," says the boy, pulling the flier with meeting information on it out from under Steve's hand, where he'd been attempting to read it.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed in confusion. "I was reading that."

"And I said no. Jocks don't play Dungeons and Dragons."

"I could," Steve says, offended. He squints at the name tag sticker slapped diagonally across the way too big jean vest this guy's wearing. E-d-d-i-e. Eddie.

"Have you ever played?"

"Well... no, but-"

"No buts. Mitch let a jock join last year and that was a nightmare. He could barely read the rule book. And with how you were squinting down at the flier, and then my name tag, you're not going to be much better."

Jokes on Eddie, Steve's already read the rule book. Even if it was slowly. "I can read just fine."

"Can you math, then? What's eight plus seven?"

"What?"

"Simple addition. Eight plus seven. What is it?"

Steve knows simple addition. This is fine. It doesn't matter than he's been put on the spot, and that math is hard for the same reason as reading. He can do this. His hand twitches with wanting to pull it up and use it to keep track. He's faster at math when he can do that, but this jerk is mean mugging him and he just knows if he moves his hand, this guy will mock him the rest of the school year.

Eight plus seven. Ok. Make it easier, get to ten. It takes adding two to the eight to get ten. Ok. Take that two away from the seven now. That makes... five! Ok. Ten plus five is-

"Dude, it's fifteen," Eddie snaps.

"I knew that!"

Scoff. "Right. How about seventeen plus six."

Steve can feel his face turning red with embarrassment but he's not going to let this jackass be right. Round up. It takes three to get seventeen to twenty, so take three away from the six-

"23. Point proven. Go. Away. Go play your jock games and leave me- us alone."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, or maybe plead, that he can do this, and that, more importantly, he wants to do this, but laughter cuts through the air and for the first time, Steve notices the audience that has gathered. Three people are laughing at him, and his inability to do mental math, and it makes Steve snap his jaw shut and swallow.

"Mental math isn't that hard, Steve," one of them, Brant, says, as he elbows the guy next to him.

"Thank you!" Eddie says, "that's what I'm saying."

"Whatever, man, like I'd want to play make believe at this age anyway," Steve mutters and rushes away.

If, two weeks later, Steve watches Kyle trip who he now knows is Eddie 'The Freak' Munson in the bathroom, and drag him into a stall for a swirly, well, no he didn't. He briefly thinks of saying something to stop Kyle, but shoves the words down and instead turns on heel and leaves that bathroom just as the sound of flushing and Eddie yelling start. The thick bathroom door does a good job of muffling the noise and if Steve feels any guilt about that, he shoves that down, too.

Besides, Kyle's the captain of the basketball team and if Steve wants a chance to be on that team, he can't stay anything. It's a well-known fact that Steve likes sports, after all. He's going to stick to that. Screw Eddie Munson and his Dungeons and Dragons club.

Steve will get to play Dungeons and Dragons with Christopher next summer.

Except, halfway through the school year, Steve and his parents quickly board a plane bound for Washington. Turns out being as perfect as Christopher was is hard. Overwhelming.

They arrive the day before the funeral, and fly out right after it. Steve barely has time to mourn before they're shuffling him back to school that Monday.

Christopher died, and with him, so does Steve's desire to be just like him. He quits the football team. He keeps basketball because he does like it, even without Christopher's influence. He can't bring himself to get rid of the Dungeons and Dragons books, but he can't look at them, either. They end up in the downstairs hall closet, forgotten on the shelf.

So, years later, after rising to the top of the food chain (no one was ever going to embarrass him like Eddie Munson had again) and then falling to the bottom (who cares about high school popularity when interdimensional monsters exist) and of course, the years of fighting against said interdimensional monsters before ending it all in spring of '86, Steve finds himself, unwillingly, agreeing to host Hellfire since the school banned the club following the events of spring break.

Damn Dustin Henderson. Steve usually has the backbone to say no but Dustin had to play up 'getting a chance to finally just be kids' and fuck, how was Steve going to say no to that? Despite how quickly his own desire to be a freshman playing Dungeons and Dragon had been squashed, he can't be the one to ruin this for them.

"Thanks for hosting, man," Eddie says when Steve lets him in. He's an hour early but had asked if that was okay. Apparently the dungeon master has a lot of prep to do? Not that Steve would know.

"Sure," Steve says, dismissively, because while Eddie and he went through hell together, and Steve carried his sorry ass out of the Upside Down, Steve can't quite let his guard down around him.

It's funny. In the Upside Down, Eddie had made a point to tell him he's changed, is a 'good dude' now. So, what's funny is how much Eddie is exactly the same person he was five years ago. He was an ass to Steve five years ago, and as far as Steve is concerned, was also an ass to Lucas for wanting to play basketball just this year.

He swears to God, if he hears one negative thing about Lucas tonight, he's punching Eddie unconscious, no matter what the rest of Hellfire will do or say about it.

Eddie's been in his dining room for maybe five minutes before he finds Steve in the living room. Steve's got a movie playing but he couldn't tell you which one. He's not really watching it.

"Do you got a table cloth for that big table? Jeff's got a set of metal dice and I'd feel like a real ass if we scratched it on accident."

Steve takes a deep breath before answering. He hates that Eddie is considerate like this, has been since spring break if Steve's being honest, but he doesn't want to see Eddie's good qualities. So, he waves in the direction of the closet. "Yeah. There should be some in the hall closet there. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

He twists on the couch to watch Eddie cross the room to the closet door, listens as the door creaks opens, hears the quiet, pleased noise Eddie lets out when his eyes land on the stack of table clothes. Steve continues to watch as Eddie just grabs the whole stack and yanks them off the top shelf.

Which means his watching as the stack of non-fabric objects, which must have been half atop the table clothes, also tumble out of the closet, bouncing off various parts of Eddie. It's a bunch of miscellaneous items. However, Steve realizes with horror, the book that bounces off Eddie's head is his copy of the Monster Manual. Eddie has stepped back in surprise (and possibly pain), so the Dungeon Master Guide and the Players Handbook bounce off his torso and leg before landing on the ground.

"Fuck," Eddie curses, before he stares down at what just assaulted him. Steve just stares at Eddie, watching as he slowly comes to comprehend what he's seeing. He watches as Eddie bends down and grabs the Player Handbook, the last thing to fall, from a top the pile. "What the-"

Steve stands, suddenly defensive, but doesn't actually say anything or move closer. He just watches as Eddie examines the book, flipping it from front to back in his hand like the title will change if he does that enough times.

Then, Eddie turns to him, bewildered. "Present for one of the kids? Thought they all had their own copies."

"No."

Eddie flips the book open. Reads the words written in there so many years ago. "Who's Christopher? Wait. 1981? You were playing D&D in 1981?"

"None of your business, and no," Steve says, now kicking into action, stomping up to Eddie and snatching the book from his hands.

Eddie hold his hands up in defense before his eyes turn mischievous. The same glint in them now that was there when Eddie'd leaned into this space in the RV and called him big boy. "Are you lying to me, Stevie? You've played before, haven't you?"

It makes Steve's blood boil. "No. I haven't played!"

"Alright. You could now, you know," Eddie says. And it's the way he says it, all nonchalant and like he's trying to be coy about it- it tips something over inside Steve. A bottle that held his humiliation and hurt from all those years ago.

"Oh, now I'm good enough for D&D? Now I can join? Aren't I too much of a jock for you!?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostility-"

"What's eight plus seven, Eddie!?" Steve snaps. His memory might be shit these days, with all the concussions, but the unfortunate part about Steve is that he always seems to remember the bad. And he remembers Freshman First Day like yesterday. "No? How about seventeen plus six? Come on, mental math isn't hard. Or don't you remember? I'm just a stupid jock too slow on the uptake, or no, what was it you said? It'll be a nightmare to play with me, 'cause I might be barely able to read the rules?"

He watches as Eddie's face morphs from confusion, to understanding and horror. "Holy shit, Steve. That was you- you wanted to join Hellfire-"

"Yeah, and you made it pretty fuckin' clear I didn't belong in it."

"I'm sorry man. I shouldn't have- if I'd known you, I never would have-"

"That's the problem, Eddie!" Steve shouts, waving the book in front of him. "You didn't know me. You looked at me and decided for me that I was going to be a jock and nothing else and then humiliated me in front of other people! You didn't even bother to try to know me. I spent three weeks reading this stupid book cover to cover because I knew I was shit at reading and I still wanted to try anyway."

He sees Eddie puffing up in anger. "Well, I wasn't exactly wrong, was I? You were a jock, a bully even!"

"Yeah, because I was a dumb, hurt kid who decided that it was better to hurt than be hurt. As if you weren't exactly the same that day, lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math. Fuck you, Munson!" Steve walks away, not hearing anything Eddie shouts after him as he sprints up the stairs and shuts himself in his room.

Steve knows he was a dick in high school, and it's not Eddie's fault he was a dick. Steve made choices he's not proud of and no one forced those choice on him. But Eddie doesn't get to throw that back in his face. Not when Eddie made him feel humiliated and stupid on the first goddamn day of high school, long before Steve became mean himself.

#pre-steddie #my fic #prompt #sophomore eddie is a jerk #but only because he thinks steves gonna be a jerk first so hes gotta beat him to it #also steves very mean to eddie in his thoughts but its only his thoughts #tw: minor character death #its an oc tho #tw: suicide implied but not stated

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xzaddyzanakinx · 3 months

Text

Study Buddy pt1

Stepdad!Anakin x femme reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: dubcon, dd/lg, PiV, unprotected sex, gen. smut, baby trapping, edging kinda?, manipulation, possessiveness, age-gap, stepcest, inappropriate relationship, praise kink, breeding kink, innocence/purity kink

Info: stepdad Anakin just adores his stepdaughter! It’s not his fault that she’s so fucking fine. Anakin is a perv but it’s okay cause he loves you, Anakin just wants the best for you! And the best for you is him, obviously. spoiled little naive brat reader but Anakin prefers you that way. Reader acts more innocent/naive than they really are. Reader is over 18

🕊 Dead dove do not eat 🕊

The one where you just need alittle extra incentive.

You sighed, taking your calculus homework into the living room. Handing Anakin the Pepsi he requested and sat down in the floor. Leaning back against the couch and setting the notebook down on the coffee table so you could get back to work.

"Good girl." He praised, his fingers brushing against your cheek from behind you. He took a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"What are you working on?" His eyes trailed downwards, lingering on your body for a moment, taking the opportunity to stare at the dimples in the small of your back. He was relaxed, shirtless and in his favorite pj pants with his socked feet kicked up on the coffee table next to you.

“Calculus homework.” You grumbled. “my brain is basically fried. This shit is driving me nuts.”

You pushed the notebook away in frustration and twirled the pencil between your fingers.

“Hey. Language.” He said gruffly. “Chill out, do you want help? I’m pretty alright at math.”

“Actually, yeah that would be great.” You nodded, grumbling in frustration.

Sometimes all you needed to understand something is to see it from a different angle, maybe Anakin, your step-dad could help with that.

"Alright, alright." He chuckled softly to himself before putting out his cigarette.

Standing up to stretch his arms above his head. The dark hairs leading to the waist of his pants exposed as his shirt rode up his abdomen. He knelt down so his face was level with yours. Reaching out, he took the notebook from you and scanned the pages.

"Hmm... huh... well, let's start here," he said, pointing to a problem written in your neat handwriting. Grunting as he sat down next to you, his arms resting on his knees.

After solving the equation he helped with the next question, and you were finally starting to get the hang of it. He gave you a kiss on the cheek as a reward, a soft one that made you smile, one that said ‘I’m so proud of you!’. For the next one you got right it was an unexpected but smooth kiss to your lips.

“Daddy.” You whispered in shock at his real kiss. “We’re not supposed to do that!”

Anakin’s gaze softened as he pulled you into a comforting hug.

“Aw sweet girl, I’m sorry. I should’ve explained myself first.” He sighed.

“This is real hard work isn’t it?” He asked, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah it is.” You nodded.

He laughed a little. “And what do I always say when you do hard work?”

“You always tell me hard work deserves big rewards.” You grinned, thinking of all the times he’d taken you out to your favorite restaurant, to see a new movie, to buy you new things.

But your favorite rewards and treats were the ones he got you on his way home from work. Sometimes when he felt like you needed a little pick-me up, he’d stop at the store and get you a box of candy or one of those tiny little cutesy squishmallows that come in the surprise eggs.

He smiled, giving you a light squeeze just above the knee. “Exactly!”

“I’ve found a much better way to reward you my sweet girl.” He spoke in a cheerful tone in an attempt to make you smile and it was working effortlessly. “Somethin’ real special that I think you will love.”

“And it’s kisses?” You said, tilting your head to the side.

“Sometimes kisses, sometimes not.” He said, giving you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

“Well what’s the sometimes not?” You asked excitedly, what could possibly be better than kisses?

“Oh come on now.” He teased. “Treats and rewards are always better as surprises aren’t they?”

“Yeah you’re right.” You giggled.

“That's better," he cooed, satisfied by your reaction.

“Now come here, let's continue our 'lesson.'" With a gentle tug, he pulled you into the empty space between his legs, scooting your back toward him enough that he could easily rest his chin on your shoulder to watch you work.

He placed the notebook back on the coffee table and leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your neck as he spoke.

“So, how about we start with some stuff you already know? Something simple to ease us back into things?" He traced slow circles on your exposed lower back with his thumb, his fingers pressing gently into the flesh of your stomach as his massive hand rested on your side.

"O-okay..." You stuttered, unable to ignore the sudden warmth spreading throughout your body.

“Alright.” He nodded, flipping through the text book until he reached the previous chapter you had been working on in class. He wrote out some equations for you to solve and quickly worked them out himself on his phone calculator before typing the answers in his notes app and telling you to get started.

Each step in the equation that you did correctly Anakin would press a tiny little barely there kiss to your shoulder.

“You’re doing real good doll-face.” He praised you quietly with his cheek pressed against yours and couldn’t help but smile when you felt him do the same.

“Just keep working hard and I’ll help when you need me to. But right now, try to work them out yourself and I’ll keep giving you sweet little reward kisses!” He said happily.

“Okay Daddy.” You smiled, leaning back against his chest and setting out to work on the next question.

He chuckled softly, pleased with your progress and willingness to please. As you finished each equation, he would whisper sweet words of encouragement followed by little kisses along your neck and shoulders. He even nibbled your earlobe a few times, which you quickly discovered had that strange butterfly effect in your tummy as well.

"Good girl, good girl," he murmured approvingly as your confidence in your work grew. "You're doing great, keep it up."

“Alright, now I’m gonna make you some new ones, they’re gonna be harder alright? Once we get these down, I’ll set up some more difficult ones and then you can try to ones you were assigned for homework. They’ll seem easy after you’ve worked so hard on these other ones!” Anakin explained as he began writing out new equations for you to solve.

He took great care in making sure to double check the answers to ensure he’d be able to properly tutor you.

After getting the first more advanced one finished correctly, Anakin started his plan to give you a new reward.

“Look at you princess, you’re doing so well!” His voice flowing soothingly as he switched from sweet chaste kisses to nibbling and sucking on your neck.

You gasped, in a state of awe at the way he could turn those chaste kisses into something warm and wet and lingering. Those silky soft lips momentarily destroying your ability to think freely.

While you were distracted, he took the opportunity to sweeten the pot. One of his calloused hands defied any pre-conceived notions that one might associate with such an attribute. One might expect a man with hands like Anakin’s; large rough palms, long fingers, overall strong and veiny, to be brutish or rough.

Though it seemed he was naturally the direct opposite. One of those big strong hands slid from it’s resting place to slip beneath the hem of your shirt. Splaying those long fingers across the expanse of your lower abdomen, pressing gently, just enough to properly feel each breath you took from the rise and fall of your tummy.

After a moment of savoring this intimacy Anakin brought that same hand up over the fabric of your shirt once more. A slow ascent to cup your breast, remaining motionless despite the twitch of his finger that exposed his want for more than a simple touch.

After the next correct answer he finally allowed that eager twitch to bloom into small deliberate circles around your nipple. Sparingly brushing his thumb over the hardened nub in order to properly appreciate and enjoy the helpless whimper that escaped your lips each time.

“Next question?” You asked quietly, Anakin only mumbling a ‘yes’ against your skin as he kept up his slow sensual neck and shoulder kisses paired with both of his now hands softly massaging your breasts and nipples. The added squeeze of his palm was almost soothing. As though he aimed to tame the warming embers of desire that lay dormant beneath your skin.

"Atta girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

"Now, let's try this one." He observed attentively while you struggled to focus on the task at hand.

He chuckled at the way you squirmed every so often and relented, now guiding you through each step while his hands continued their teasing exploration of your body.

"Almost there, I believe in you sweetheart." Somehow his words felt like the rays of afternoon summer sun that shone through the curtains. You imagined that this must be the equivalent to how your cat feels when he bathes in those rays.

“Well babydoll, this is how we’ll do your homework from now on! You’re doing so so good!” He praised you, reluctantly removing his hands from your breasts.

“You deserve alittle brain break okay?” He said, guiding your head to turn with one finger on your jaw.

Before you could speak Anakin slotted his lips against yours. His tongue swiping lightly across your bottom lip, a slight up turn of his mouth when you gasped. He gently, slowly probed your mouth with his tongue; savoring the unique flavor of you.

‘Raspberry tea and honey, yes, that’s it. That’s what she tastes like.’ He decided, locking that information away into the corner of his mind that was reserved for you. Though that corner was becoming much like the chair in the corner of your room that overflowed with clothes. A few more things stacked on top would topple the precarious pile, spilling all things you into every crack and crevice of his conscience.

Meanwhile you were currently short circuiting. The onslaught of completely foreign sensations he’d provided you with was beginning to quite literally fry your brain. You felt warm, mushy, like your brain was goo and your body was clay, ready and willing to be molded to Anakin in whatever new ways he saw fit.

He pulled back, a wide toothy grin taking over when he saw the glaze that had taken over your eyes. Those beautiful eyes, their rich color stolen away by the deep black of your pupil.

“See? You needed that huh?” He cooed, running his thumb down your jaw while we waited patiently for you to collect yourself enough to respond.

“Uh… uh huh.” You nodded slowly, your cheeks flushed and your throat feeling tight as stoked those ember-coals within you, now burning to form a red hot flame.

“Can I try something pretty girl?” He asked in that seductive whisper.

“Oh, ‘course daddy.” You breathed out, of course you’d let him. You’d let him do anything if it meant you could have more of this.

“Thank you baby.” He whispered as he gently rolled the hem of your shirt up, guiding it up and over your head.

You whimpered, the cool air hitting your burning hot flesh making a cold shiver travel up your spine. You swear you heard a little moan coming from Anakin when he finally caught a glimpse of your bare back, and you were positive you heard one when he reached around once more to massage your breasts and toy with your nipples; he was so incredibly grateful to be rid of that pesky fabric barrier, and even more grateful that you never wore a bra at home.

He squeezed and pulled your nipples gently rolling them between his fore finger and thumb. The feeling was good, warm, and tingly; somehow even better than before. Inwardly you wanted to smack him for not taking off your shirt sooner.

A low moan left your lips Anakin reacting with a light chuckle and a sloppy kiss to the under side of your jaw.

“That's it, you're doing great," He praised, his voice dripping with pride; pride at how well you were responding to him.

He was proud of the you he was slowly bringing to the surface. Teasing the little minx that hid behind your innocence, he knew it was waiting for him. Ready for him to capture and keep it, to train it to feed from his palm.

"Now, let's try this one." He suggested, showing you another equation.

Now his fingers trailed slowly down your stomach towards the top of your shorts. He paused just above them, to follow the curve of the elastic cotton waistband with featherlight fingertips.

"This one might be a bit trickier, but remember, I believe in you." He cooed.

“Okay daddy.” You nodded, breathing heavier. “If you think I can do it.”

“I do princess.” *He reassured you.

Anakin's touch became increasingly bold, his fingers making their way to your inner thighs. Leaving tingling sensation to form between your legs, you jolted for a moment, that single flame of desire growing, burning hotter and hotter.

“Lift up sweetheart.” He whispered.

“M’kay.” You squeaked, your voice feeling small.

He gently removed your shorts, a satisfied hum rumbled in his chest when you sat back down and his hand returned to its rightful place between your thighs.

His teasing touch, the torturously gentle tracing of the edges of your panties making your wetness seep through the thin material of your underwear. He continued to stimulate your nipples, and switched to the opposite side of your neck, while he changed tactics on your lower half. Two fingers pressing lightly against that dampened cotton, massaging slowly, making you squirm slightly in response.

“Oh no, is that uncomfy?” He asked gently, concern in his tone.

“Yes,” You whimpered. “all tingly.”

“It won’t be for long alright princess? Daddy’s right here to help.” He promised, his lips against your ear lobe.

“But-“ You started, wanting to complain. Wanting to ask for more; more of what? Good question and only Anakin had that answer.

He tsks, shaking his head slightly. “Finish this one up sweetheart.”

You whined in response and huffed at not getting your way. But followed instructions regardless because Anakin was always right, he was always here to help, always here to guide you, and always gave in to your wants eventually. He couldn’t stand to tell you no, he just couldn’t do it. It was like it physically pained him to see your bottom lip in a pout.

He signed and applied alittle more pressure to encourage you to get back to your work.

A few agonizing minutes later he confirmed your answer was correct, resulting in your excited and eager reaction. You turned slightly to look back at Anakin expectantly,

He grinned, rolling his eyes. He knew exactly what you were doing, you were waiting for him to deal the next card in your new game.

"Perfect job darlin’ you got it on the first try!” He praised, nuzzling into your hair to smell the warm vanilla scent of it.

He tapped your thigh and you instinctively lifted your legs up. He cooed, soothing words while slipping your panties off and lifting you into his lap. Your wet pussy pressed against the large bulge in his pants, those two fingers slipping past your pussy lips. He coated his digits in your slick, dragging them back and forth, up and down your slit.

“Is that right? Did I do that one? I feel like it’s n-not right.” You asked him for help, and when he confirmed it was correct he dipped the very tip of his middle finger in between your soaking wet folds.

“That's right, baby girl." His voice was low and husky, though alittle richer, perhaps it could be described better as darker.

"Now let's try this one together." With a slow motion, he inserted his middle finger into you fully. As you struggled with keeping your sanity, trying to hold a pencil, and trying not to cry from the overwhelming urge for more, Anakin was merely breathing heavily. Occasionally grunting as your cunt fluttered around his finger, his cock throbbing against you.

"How does that feel?" He asked, his tone dripping with satisfaction at watching you squirm and writhe under his touch.

“I- I like it daddy. It feels good.” You whined, feeling him add a second finger and stretching you a bit. It burned, but in a good way.

“That’s right baby.” Anakin nodded. “It’s supposed to feel good, and I’ll make it even better after we get alllll this silly homework done okay?”

Anakin said as you bucked lightly against his palm, chuckling when he heard a low moan escape your lips as he curled his fingers and pushed them in slowly, dragging them back out even slower. The snail’s pace was tolerable, a thousand times more satisfactory compared to his mean and teasing touches before, though they still continually added to that growing fire pit of yours.

“That's it, baby girl." He praised, adding another finger to stretch you even more.

“Daddy.” You hissed, sucking air through your teeth.

“I know darlin’ it’s okay.” He soothed. “Just sit real still.”

You sniffled, accidentally wiggling a bit too much. “S’hurting daddy.”

He began to thrust his three long digits slowly in and out of you, his hips rocking rhythmically in time with his hands movements.

“Shhh. My little princess." Anakin's voice was filled with sympathy, his fingers moving slower inside you. His thumb starting to rub circles on your sensitive nub. “Daddy’s here, just trust me.”

Your furrowed eyebrows slowly turned into an upward swoop, your anxious lip biting coming to a halt as your jaw dropped open in a silent moan.

“That’s better isn’t it doll?” Anakin asked, a low hum reverberating from him after you responded with a rapid head nod and an experimental roll of your hips.

“Much better.” You breathed out a sigh of relief, his fingers starting up that slow pace again. His thumb flicking back and forth across your puffy little clit.

“This calculus is real hard huh?” He said.

“Yeah it is.” You mumbled, meaning to sound angry, but it really just sounded like a plea.

“Gimme your hand babydoll.” He softly commands.

You let him take your hand and guide it behind you, helping you wrap your delicate fingers around the rock hard bulge in his pants.

“Daddy…” You moaned as your body responded to the feel of his cock in your hand.

“Do you know what a cock is? What it looks like? What it’s for?” He asked slowly and you giggled, nodding in response to his questions.

“Have you ever touched one?” You vehemently said no absolutely not.

“Well daddy is gonna pull out his cock, and help you settle down on it alright? We’ll go real slow and gentle; you tell me immediately if you want me to stop okay?” He explained while softly gliding his hand through your hair, while continuing his slow exploration of the warm, gummy walls of your cunt.

“Can I see?” You asked timidly.

“Of course doll. You can touch it too if you want.” He said softly, removing his fingers from your tight hole.

He took a minute to admire the creamy slick gathered on his digits before offering you one of his fingers.

“Do you wanna know what you taste like?” His voice dark and almost sinister.

You didn’t answer, just parted your lips and let the tip of your tongue hang out. He smirked and slipped his index finger past your lips and rubbed it on your tongue. Your nose scrunched up for a moment, the taste unfamiliar and strange, but it was easy to get used to.

He chuckled, removing it so that he could properly clean each finger with his lips and tongue. Sucking each digit thoroughly, moaning with his eyes fluttering closed at the first taste.

“So sweet.” He whispered.

“Hop up and turn around for me sweetheart.” He said, pinching your ass cheek playfully, just hard enough to make you yelp.

You did as requested and settled back on his thighs. His face was just as red as yours felt. His pupils dilated beyond belief, his bare chest had a thin sheen of sweat. His plump bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he finally got a good look at you.

He had wanted to wait. To wait until he couldn’t stand it any longer. The teasing was for him just as much as it was for you. The reward of such a long and torturous game was well and wholly worth it. To finally see you like this. Flushed and wanton, needy for his cock.

Those tits. God those fucking tits… he moaned cupping them in his hands again. They were beautiful when he could see them from behind you, looking down at them from over your shoulder. But up close and in his face? Stunning. Absolutely breathtakingly stunning.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispered, entranced temporarily before he snapped out of it and realized this was not one of his sick and twisted dreams.

Oh and how he had dreamed. Night after night, waking up and having to palm his cock roughly just to get enough relief to go back to sleep, only to wake up the next morning and spend half his time in the shower fucking his fist and desperately wishing it were your tight little cunt.

This was real. He had you, completely naked, drooling and sopping wet, putty in his hands.

“Daddy is gonna make you feel so so good after your homework is done.” He smiled, dreamy and spaced out.

“Pull out my cock baby.” He encouraged, taking your wrists in each hand and helping you pull his pants and boxers down his thighs.

Anakin's cock sprang free from his pants, standing erect and proud before your wide eyes. It was thick and veiny, slightly curved upward towards his belly button.

“Ani…” You whimpered worried about what to do, how to properly do this, if you should do this. You wanted to, needed to. But should you?

“What’re you thinking doll?” Anakin asked, his hands on either side of you running his knuckles up and down your tummy soothingly.

“Am I gonna get in trouble?” You whispered.

“What?” He asked, in confusion. “Why would you get in trouble sweetheart?”

“Well, ‘cause of this…” You mumbled.

“Babydoll.” He cooed, his thumb and forefinger pinching your chin and tilting your head back so he could look directly in your eyes. “You won’t be in trouble. I’m your stepfather right?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded.

“So that means I get to help make the rules around here doesn’t it?” He said soothingly, cupping your cheek.

“Yeah.” You nodded, a small smile beginning to form on your lips. You were beginning to see his reasoning and justification clearly.

“So it would be silly for you to get in trouble for something I said was okay wouldn’t it?” He smiled softly.

You giggled, nodding. Happy that he answered your question, amazed as always that he was so easily able to wash away your worries and concerns.

“There’s my little princess.” He cooed, rubbing his nose against yours. “Are you ready now?”

“Yes Ani.” You nodded with a smile, kneeling over his dick.

His large hand grabbing the base, holding his visibly throbbing cock steady as he slowly pushed the head against your tight entrance.

"Just relax, baby doll," He whispered in your ear, his other hand gripping your waist tightly to help guide you down his length. "Just breathe in and out slowly."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you put your arms around his neck and took comfort in the way he took control and made you feel safe even when you were so vulnerable in his arms. You were trusting him with a lot right now, the most intimate and sacred side of yourself.

“Anakin… oh gods.” You gasped in pain as he pushed in farther. He rolled his hips gently, popping your hymen, groaning when he felt that precious little thing snap.

“Shhh it’s okay, I won’t move anymore for now.” He held your hips firmly in place, allowing you to bury your face in his neck in an attempt to steady your breath as he did the same.

Your pussy involuntarily clenched around his cock as he shifted, making you wince in dull pain and Anakin grunt in pleasure at the constricting tightness.

"That's a good girl," He praised, his voice hoarse as he forced himself to maintain control. "You're doing great, just relax."

His hands moved down from your hips to squeeze and support your ass cheeks. Leaning in for a kiss, letting out a questioning hum as he ever so slowly started lowering you again. You nodded, letting him know it was okay despite the prickly sensation of tears forming in your eyes.

You focused on his tongue, on his hands, on the racing of his heart beneath your palm.

"Let me know if you need me stop, okay?" He broke the kiss to lovingly ask. “I don’t want to hurt you sweetheart.”

“I will Ani.” You promised, nodded vigorously as he slowly, steadily impaled you on his cock.

“Jesus.” Anakin whined, breathy and strained as he finally bottomed out. Buried to the hilt, feeling comforted in know that you would soon adjust to his size, and he wouldn’t be hurting your poor little weeping pussy anymore.

He hated to see you in pain, and knowing he was the cause was really, really killing him. It was inevitable of course. You were gonna end up speared on his dick sooner or later, and while he was thrilled that it was sooner, he just wishes he could’ve found a way to make it alittle easier on you.

“Be real still, just relax, get used to the feeling doll.” He cooed, soothing hands running up and down your spine.

“Yes Ani.” You whined, thankful for the chance to adjust to feeling so… full.

"Now, let's finish these final problems together, okay?" He said, his voice huskier than usual as he picked up the paper with the remaining equations. “Get your mind off the hurt okay?”

You held the notebook and kept working on one of the equations while Anakin latched on to your nipples and bit down gently.

“Ah!” You yelped, wincing as his bite made you jolt, your cunt squeezing his cock. “Anakin!”

He chuckled kissing your neck and massaging your ass cheeks. “Sorry baby.”

"You know, you're doing really well," he said, his voice full of satisfaction. "I'm impressed with how quickly you've learned it all. This is definitely going to be the way I help you study from now on." Anakin smiled, kissing you softly.

“Almost done.” You whined, scribbling frantically on the page. Trying your best to sit still.

“Baby.” Anakin growled. “Stop wiggling unless you want me to start training you to hold this big fucking cock in your tight little cunt all damn day.”

“Sorry daddy! Didn’t mean too!” You sniffled. “just feels so full, I need to move.” You whimpered, biting your lip.

You were getting impatient with waiting and sick of this stupid math homework and really, really, really impatient for Anakin to help you fuck yourself on his cock.

"Alright, alright." He chuckled, slowly lifting you a little before thrusting up in again.

You sat there, spread out wide on your step daddy’s massive cock. His callous fingers rubbing tight circles on your poor little clit as he fucked you so, so slowly to stop your wriggling and squirming.

“You’re a real good teacher Ani.” You moaned, finishing up the last equation and fighting the urge to moan and cum right then and there just from that tiny bit of relief. “All done.”

Anakin's eyes lit up at your words of praise, his cock twitching inside you in response.

"That's my good girl! So smart." He praised, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in with more strength than before.

His hands gripped your ass firmly and lifted you up and down his cock until you got the hang of the movement. Slowly picking up the pace once you started a low string of moans that Anakin’s hungry mouth swallowed up in a kiss.

“Reach down and play with your clit while you bounce on my cock.” He ordered.

“yes daddy.” You squeaked in response, whining in relief as you started circling your neglected clit.

“That's it, baby girl." Anakin groaned, his hips moving faster as you found your rhythm.

"You're so fucking good at this.” He praised, his head falling back on the couch cushion.

As you got more confident in your movements he started to meet you halfway with his own thrusts, his cock hitting your G-spot relentlessly, you could feel your orgasm building up rapidly. Your moans turned into high-pitched whimpers of pleasure, your nails digging into his shoulders that you gripped tightly for balance.

“I knew you’d be good,” He moaned. “your body is made for me, it’s perfect. So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Y-yeah daddy.” You whispered on the verge of orgasm. “M’feeling something.”

“Fuck. Th-that’s right doll, I told you I’d make you feel good didn’t I?” He moaned, his voice dark with possessiveness.

Anakin growled low in his throat, his grip on your asscheeks tightening almost painfully. He bit down hard on your neck, leaving a mark as evidence of your sinful affair.

"You're about to cum. That’s what that feeling is darlin’ don’t fight it, just let go." He panted between erratic thrusts, his breath hot against your throat. “Once I make you cum it means you’re mine and mine only. Do you want that?”

“Yes daddy.” You agreed, slurring your words as your body tensed up. “I wanna be only yours.” You were practically drooling as you came violently around his cock, flooding his lap with your juices.

Anakin groaned loudly, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. The intensity of the fact that he’d given you your first orgasm, that he’d properly and officially earned your virginity, made him feral. His cock twitched and pulsed inside you, releasing wave after wave of hot seed into your tight channel.

“God damn,” he hissed out. “such a good girl, letting me fuck this pretty little pussy full of my cum.”

You whined at his praise, grinding down on his cock when you felt the strange but good sensation of stickiness coat your walls.

"Fuck, baby doll." He panted heavily, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he rode out his own climax. "God you just made me cum s-so fuckin’ hard.”

He stilled his movements and yours to catch his breath, nuzzling your neck and holding you close as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair. He pulled back after a moment, looking down at your disheveled state, he grinned widely, licking his lips in satisfaction.

“Did I do good?” You asked with a wobbly lip. Feeling overwhelmed by your senses, overstimulated to the point of tears. “did I make you happy and proud daddy?”

“Oh, you did more than just make me happy and proud, baby girl." Anakin's eyes glittered with something dark, something… a little scary as he gazed down at you.

“You’re gonna make me a fine little baby momma too.” He growled, his hand reaching out to trace gentle circles on your stomach. “Aren’t you?”

Part Two (final part)

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@sweetcheesecakesblog@rga11 @luvskywxlker

@angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the tag list.

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars #anakin x you #sw anakin #darth vader #darth vader smut #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #stepdad!anakin

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megumisgirl · 11 months

Text

nerd!megumi x fem reader part three ↝ feeding you horny ppl because this is one of my most liked and requested one! hope you enjoy <3

nerd!megumi who always tutors you before every major exam. teaches you in a more effective method. "listen, y/n," he grabbed your attention, spinning you around in your chair so you'd face him, his hands on both sides of your handrest, trapping you, "let's play a game, shall we? everytime you get an answer right, i take a particle of my clothes off. and if you're wrong, you take them off."

a sly smirk would be plastered on his face by how hard you were trying to get all the answers correctly. by now, you were just in your panties and matching bralette, and he was in his sweatpants, frurstrating tears welled up in your eyes from not being able to remember the simple math formulas that were so easy for you before, but now you need help to learn.

nerd!megumi who cooes you, strokes your hair and calms you down as you cry about your math struggles. you hugs you tightly and doesn't let go till your breathing and heart rate is normal again. but it's difficult to slow down your heart rate when you're on his lap, his large long hands under your hoodie calming you down as he whispered the softest, nicest compliments into your ear.

"shh..shh...it's okay, it's okay. it's just a math problem," he laughed airly, as he hugged you tighter, "your too smart for it, butterfly. come on, clean yourself up," he said, leaning back to look at your red swollen face, and puffy nose, your lips glossy from drool and your eyes bloodshot, "then we can cuddle, watch star wars, and have ice cream, hmm?" you shot him a small smile as you wiped your face with the back of your hand. "you look so pretty when you cry..."

nerd!megumi who sends you nudes in the middle of your lecture.

Megs <3

Attachment : 1 image. do you like it? sent 11:05am

him shirtless, with wet hair, his glasses fogged up and he's only covered by the thin towel that hangs lowly on his waist, showing his v-cut. your eyes trailed down to his abs, water droplets coat him and you hope it was you.

You

I'm in class!! sent 11:10am

Megs <3

you don't like it? Attachment : 5 new images. sent 11:25am

this time the towel was gone. his pink tip was wet and his cock huge. one of his large hand covered his cock and you closed your eyes, feeling the heat grow between your thighs.

"ms. y/n, can you repeat anything i just said, or is your entire syllabus written on your phone?"

nerd!megumi who goes to the dean demand that your teacher stop being so unprofessional and rude towards you. megumi who asks you to step outside, and threatens the dean, "i'm your top student, aren't i?" he pushed his glasses up, the dean shifted nervously on his seat. megumi stayed quiet, waiting for his answer.

"yes."

"then you know if i say something out in the public, how deeply it would effect your college. teachers would get fired, i wonder if you will even stay. especially with your affair with the assistant teacher of mrs. passwater." he smirked, the dean's eyes widened as he opened his mouth but megumi put his finger up, shushing him, "who is fifteen years younger than you. keep mr. suguro's gaze out of y/n, and i will keep my mouth shut." megumi, who comes out of the dean's office with the most unreadable of expression, "wanna get waffles, butterfly?"

nerd!megumi who is so nervous when he's metting your parents. "do you think they will like me?" he sighed, "maybe i should've worn the suit. maybe the hoodie was bit too casual." he mumbled, fixing unknown creases from his hoodie as you held his hand. "i love you so much, you know that?" you smiled at him, kissing his temple as he blushed furiously, "i hope you love me like the way i love you." he sighed, his deep blue eyes growing a little sad as you kissed his cheek.

"i love you, too, megs. you don't have to doubt my love, be like anakin." he smirked, as you smiled cheekily. your parents definately hit it off with megumi. they ate every joke, every observational comments, and they, of course, loved the fact that he was so good at his studies... and that he was rich. "they love youuuuu!" you said happily, hugging him, "we should get married." his eyes widened as you gasped, "after we graduate. and have our careers on the ground."

"i'd marry you any day." he said, mumbling against your lips, "i love you."

"i know."

#megumi smut #jjk smut #megumi fushiguro #megumi #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi jjk #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #notsfw #nsfr

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plussizefantasia · 7 months

Text

Revenge

Flufftober Day 18: Teacher AU

literature teacher!Loki Laufeyson x math teacher!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

AN: I actually love this one so much. I also just realized that we are over halfway done with Flufftober which is kind of sad. Anyway, we've got 13 more days left and I'm looking forward to the plans I have for each one. If you liked this story please reblog and I'll see y'all tomorrow.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

You are going to kill him. You are going to murder that man. You stayed after your last class yesterday so that you would be able to draw out the problems that your students would have to solve for class today. Now, written right on top of your trigonometry diagrams were the words:

“Mathematics may be defined as the subject in which we never know what we are talking about, nor whether what we are saying is true. -Bertrand Russell”

Written in the ever so familiar scrawl of the Literature Teacher, Mr. Laufeyson. Loki was a nice guy, a great teacher, and at times, a giant pain in your ass. You have no idea how this little feud of yours got started but you are certain that it has escalated beyond what it once was.

At the start, it was just funny little jokes between the two of you. He had once stolen all of the red pens that you used to grade your student’s quizzes and when you went to go look for them, they had all been taped together in one big ball and were sitting in your “Math is Fun” mug that you kept in the teacher's lounge. That was annoying and you also had no real way of knowing who had done it. Until he had brought it up the next day and asked how grading had gone.

You had retaliated by going in early the next morning and moving all of the furniture in his classroom an inch to the left. It had thrown him off just enough that he had tripped on his rug during a lecture and faceplanted. All of your students were talking about it two periods later when they arrived in your class and you were all smiles for the rest of the day.

So far, there has not been any lasting damage, and all of your coworkers find it more amusing than annoying which is a good thing because neither of you wanted to get the administration involved.

You were not amused by the board graffiti you had found when you came in your class this morning, and while you were re-drawing the problems he had ruined you were thinking of how you could get back to him later that day.

Your plans for revenge had to be put on the back burner as students started filing into your classroom. Half of them looked so tired that you genuinely thought they might fall asleep at their desks and the others looked entirely too frazzled for 7:30 in the morning.

It wasn’t until after you had had your lunch break that an idea had come to you about a way to get back at Loki. You grabbed the pile of graded quizzes from your desk, ones that you were able to grade in red pen thank you very much, and started making your way upstairs to where Mr. Laufeyson’s class was located.

You knew that he was teaching his British Literature elective right now, as it was fifth period. You also knew that most of the kids in that class were also in your Calculus class at the end of the day.

You didn’t wait for very long before pulling open the door to his classroom and waltzing right in with a smirk across your face.

“Good Afternoon Mr. Laufeysoon, pardon the interruption but I have some quizzes I need to give back to some students ASAP.” Without waiting for a response you began walking up and down the rows of desks in his class passing out the graded quizzes to your very amused students. You noticed that he had stopped talking when you had walked into the room and hadn’t started up again. “Go ahead,” you had told him, “don’t want to waste valuable teaching time.” You continued to pass out the papers, all while trying to not burst out laughing at the look on his face.

“Um, yes right. Well as I was saying. Shakespeare was a minor god of his time. His ability to-”

“Hey Derek, I wanted to talk to you about this question that you got wrong, would you be able to stay a little bit after our class to talk about it.” You sent a small wink to Derek and put a finger to your mouth to indicate that he shouldn’t say anything. “I just don’t want to waste any class time going over it today, we have a lot to cover.” Derek just nodded and you could see his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

“Are you done?” Loki asked, slanting his hips to one side and placing the hand not holding his open book on them. “Because I have a class to be teaching right now.” He lifted his eyebrows and you acquiesced. You wanted to mess with him, not ruin his whole class plan for that day.

“Yes, I’m done. Thank you for letting me hand those out.” You smiled sweetly at him and began walking back out of his room. Just barely hearing his mutter of “I didn’t let you do anything.” As you passed by him.

Mission accomplished you headed back down to your classroom and started gathering up the things you would need to teach the next period. You didn’t expect that he would have the time to be able to get you back today. But you were for sure expecting some kind of retaliation the next day.

It wasn’t until your last period that you were proven wrong. Everything seemed normal, your students filled in slightly ansty as it was the last period and everyone was ready to go home. They all pulled out their work and started on the problems you had written on the board.

It wasn’t until you started calling on them that you realized what you had opened yourself up to.

You called on Derek first, he was one of the more academically inclined students you had but he was shy about answering in front of the class. You knew he had gotten the answer right, you had looked at his work before you called them all back to focus. But what you weren't expecting was for him to give you his answer in eh most god-awful British accent you had ever heard.

“I doth believeth that the answer to this problemeth is 42.3”. You were baffled. You had no idea what was going on and the fact that Derek had said all this with such a straight face made you think you were having some kind of hallucination episode in the middle of class. But instead of mentioning it you just decided to move on.

“Oh-kay. Um… Samantha what did you get for number 2.”

Again you were met with an awful accent and weird olde- english phrasing.

“Yes, Madame, the answereth I haveth arrived at was X equaleth 110”.

Now that you knew you weren’t just having a breakdown and something was actually happening you didn’t hold yourself back.

“What is happening right now? I don’t- why are you guys being so weird.”

You were met with utter silence, which was rare in your classroom of 23 teenagers. But you didn’t move on. You stared each of them down, focusing a little harder on trying to get the weak ones to crack. Finally, it was Abigail who let the cat out of the bag. She was sweet, but notoriously bad at keeping secrets.

“Mr. Laufeyson said he would give five bonus points to anyone who used a bad accent in your class today.” She let out in all one breath, “More points if you spoke like someone out of Shakespeare.”

You ran your tongue across the front of your teeth. “Did he?” You let out a sort of incredulous laugh and shook your head a little. “Well then, bonus points on the next quiz to whoever can steal the marble apple off his desk and bring it to me tomorrow.” Your students all began to laugh a little bit and some had a look of extreme determination across their faces at your words.

Your class continued sans silly accents and you sent your students home for the day without any homework. As you started cleaning up your desk, putting your laptop in your bag, and grabbing your sweater off the back of your chair you were interrupted by the voice of your arch-nemesis.

“You are positively wicked.” Loki was leaning up against the frame of the door to your classroom, his jacket also on his arm and his messenger bag slung across his shoulders.

“You started it with the Russell quote on my board. You knew how much time I put into drawing those problems.”

“Admit it, it made you smile when you saw it.” He began to cross across the room towards your desk,

“Maybe, but what really almost made me lose it laughing was Samantha’s horrible British accent.” You looked up at him and let out a small laugh at the memory. “So maybe, Mr. Laufeyson, you are the wicked one.”

“I might be, Mrs. Laufeyson but you were the one who married me.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” You chuckled once again and leaned up to place a kiss upon your husband’s lips.

“May I ask what plans you have concocted to get back at me tomorrow Darling?” He asked.

“You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself tomorrow, Love.”

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flwrshee · 7 months

Text

✉️ LOVE NOTES

duo ﹒ jake x fmr genre fluff , classmates to lovers , high school au wc 1,4k warnings two pecks and use of nicknames

you didn't know when or how or how you fell in love with jake but you did. maybe it was when you noticed how he would lift his glasses on the brim of his nose when he concentrated on a hard maths problem, maybe it was when you saw him feed a stray dog outside of school or maybe it was when he helped you in physics and gave you a sweet for doing well.

every since you had come forth with your feelings for him, you would wait for a new school day. just seeing him walk through the same hallway as you or revise his notes in the same class as you, he brought a smile to your face that you never had before. your monotonous days became just a little bit more exciting with him to look at.

your days that were filled with joy were something you wanted to reciprocate to jake, so you left notes in his locker. your friends had told you multiple times that everything would go wrong if jake had found out the real owner of these notes — three months without getting caught proved to them and yourself that nothing would happen.

however, today was a day that you had been anticipating for a long time, it was the day that you would finally reveal yourself. you were the one behind all the love written pieces of paper, you were the one behind the daily chocolates and you were the one behind the physics puns that you stayed up all night thinking of.

looking outside of the bus, you see the cherry blossoms on the trees slowing falling to the ground — autumn had finally come. you could smell the faint rain from the night before and the breeze lightly graze your hand. today was perfect.

making your way into the school grounds, you go to your spot that you always stand opposite of, his locker. the plan was to put a note in which had your name on it so jake would know it was you. however, who knew that there would be a sudden change of plan?

about to place it inside, you hear a sudden whistling sound way to familiar to your ears — it was jake's.

you were screwed.

shutting the door of his locker and trying to make the run for it, you hear a voice call out your name, "kim yn? come back yn!"

turning around slowing, you come face to face with jake and his friend sunghoon. both in their football kits you assume they have morning practice, they still look so good. jake's hair is slightly ruffled in some places and his bareface makes him even more angelic at nine in the morning.

"yn? are you there?"

a hand waves in front of your face and you recognise it as jake's, you were day dreaming this entire time? oh god, you have never wanted to kill yourself so bad.

"um, yes i'm here i was ju—"

"what did you put in my locker, pretty girl?"

before you could answer his question, jake's eyes had already gone to his locker and picked out the note you had put it. this was going to ruin the whole plan, everything you had wanted to do was going to fail.

"another note? how cute." he says under his breath while a slight chuckle leaves his lips.

did jake just call you cute? well he didn't know it was you but his words still had an affect on you, you could feel your heart beating in your chest, very immensely.

"i hope you have a good morning jake, make sure you keep smiling because you remind me of an angel when you do! good luck with your practise and make sure to drink enough water, we can't let our captain pass out :( but most of all, i really like you jake / dear yn." he recites the whole note that you spent the whole of yesterday night thinking of — you barely had any rest after that.

how humiliating. this was the second time you wanted to kill yourself so bad.

when he finishes saying it out loud his face, painted with a smirk, turns towards you. you were expecting him to be ashamed, perplexed, flabbergasted but teasing you with his smirk? you did not expect this at all, you almost believed it was a plot twist in some type of action crime movie.

"so.." he takes a pause before shifting his face closer to yours, you could see your reflection in his marble-like eyes. you were intoxicated by his stare and the way his lips moved when he talked didn't help your fantasies at all.

"pretty girl yn has been giving me all these notes?" his words are laced with a teasing voice and a glint of seductiveness — his words and voice were about to become the death of you, funny how he didn't realise the grip he had on you.

putting your head down in embarrassment, you neither respond to his question nor make eye contact with you.

but to your surprise, your chin is on the tip of his fingers and all your attention is on him, but you can only focus on is the way his pupils stare at your face, examining every small detail he can find, the way he tries to look at your lips not so obviously and the way his eyelashes would flutter every couple of seconds. jake was a dream, right in front of you. no scrap that, he looked even better than he did your dreams.

"not going to answer me, huh?" the distance between your faces decreased enormously and you could feel his breath fanning your face. the more you didn't answer him, the closer he got. at this point, if you moved your face just the tiniest bit your lips would be on his. your noses were already touching and you could both see yourselves through each other's eyes.

"fine! i did, but i did not expect to catch me red-handed like this."

he moves his face away from yours, making you sigh in relief, and straightens his back. looking at you, he chuckles for the nth time today, adding more nervousness to your poor heart. he says an inaudible phrase that you can't really hear before making eye contact with you.

"did you know yn? you have always been pretty that's why i call you pretty girl, but today you look even more prettier than usual."

what on earth did your two ears just hear? sim jaeyun complimenting you was the last thing you had expected to happen today, you could now say that you were officially dead. without yourself knowing, your face had already flushed into the same colour of a strawberry and jake was looking directly at you with the most prince-like smile that you never knew existed. but all of a sudden, your trance gets cut off when you feel something soft touch your lips.

jake just pecked you. the sim jaeyun just put his lips on yours.

you didn't know whether to feel flabbergasted and over the moon because as you look up, all you see is the prettiest man you have ever laid eyes on with the most innocent yet smug smile that you wanted to kiss right off. he was not allowed to be this fine you thought — in your mind it was illegal.

"was that what i think it was?"

"do you want me to show you again pretty girl?"

flustered and taken aback, your back hits the wall behind you as jake leaves a dangerously small distance between the two of you, one of his hands hovering behind your waist. you still hadn't got over the peck he had given you and he was already putting his face up yours. before you could say anything he cuts you off by telling you,

"meet me at the garden at lunchtime pretty girl and i really like you too."

he doesn't forget to peck your plump, lip gloss coated lips one more time before leaving to practice while whistling. everything that happened to you in the past few minutes felt like a fever dream — this can't be true right.

but by the time you were debating whether or not everything was true, you had realised that jake liked you back, you had achieved the number one goal on your list of silly things you wanted. whether it was a dream or not, all you know and care about is the fact that jake is now yours.

taglist! @goldenhypen @sjyuns @okwonyo

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somedaylazysomeday · 6 months

Text

An Emissary of the (Goblin) King

Your quiet life as a teacher falls apart when a student wishes you away. Eventually, Jareth has to decide what to do with you.

Jareth x fem!reader (no use of 'y/n')

*This was written for a request in which the reader was supposed to be plus-sized. As such, there are a few scattered references to weight and body shape.

**Not related to my other Labyrinth works.

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 6,800

Warnings: themes of being forgotten, slight loss of identity, bar flirting, slight harassment, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

Masterlist

---

When you had gotten wished away in your thirties, you were… perturbed.

After all, you had been long past the days of fairy tales and make-believe. Magic was a lovely story element for children, a way to encourage their imaginations and allow them to dream of the impossible. But it wasn’t real.

At least, that had been your theory between the ages of ten and thirty-something. Then, one of your second-grade students in the after-school tutoring session had gotten upset with you. You had told him that he couldn’t have a second helping of snacks unless he agreed to work on his math problems with you. He had been struggling with subtraction in particular, but was so energetic that it was difficult for him to focus.

You hadn’t really been able to blame him - it was after school hours and the sun was beginning to set, throwing beams of blazing orange light from beneath a carpet of dark purple clouds. It was the perfect counterpoint to the playfully spooky Halloween decorations you had put up around the room.

Anyway, when you had insisted that your student sit down and focus on his math sheet before you let him have another handful of gummy worms, he had pouted his tiny face. With an impressive amount of venom for a six-year-old, he said, “Well, I wish the goblins would take you away right now.”

You were still wearing an indulgent smile when you appeared in the straw-strewn throne room with an anticlimactic pop!

The Goblin King was lounging on his uncomfortable-looking throne, watching you with his own indulgent smile. “Wished away by a child, were you? Pity. He likely meant nothing by it, but… well, what’s said is said. I doubt he will opt to run the labyrinth, but let us see if he calls.”

Operating under the idea that you had fallen and given yourself a rather nasty concussion, you simply nodded and took a seat on the cleanest section of the stone floor you could find. It was quiet in the throne room, though you could hear the unmistakable sounds of distant chaos.

It had started small - brushing a piece of straw from the stone slab next to you. It fell into the pit and that made you feel a little better. Then you pushed the straw from the next stone, and the next until the section around you was clear. Then you started using your feet to push the straw down the stairs until it was gathered in a neat pile at the bottom.

“Would you like a broom?” the man with the wild hair asked. You were cautious when you faced him, but he simply looked amused.

“And a dustpan, if you don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “Unnecessary.”

You hadn’t bothered asking what that meant. Instead, you applied yourself to neatening the throne room, working from the edges and sweeping all the debris toward the pit in the center of the room. Even the brown dots - ones you hoped were mud but suspected were some kind of dried fecal matter - lifted easily enough under the stiff bristles of the broom.

At last, the room was clean and you swiped your forearm across your perspiring face. You didn’t know how the pit was going to get clean, but you were going to be miffed if the answer was ‘you’.

When you caught movement from the corner of your eye, you jumped. You hadn’t forgotten the room’s other occupant - how could you? - but he moved with such impossible silence that you couldn’t track him with hearing alone.

The man came to stand beside you and you took the chance to study him subtly. He looked… strange.

You shook yourself, reflexively berating yourself for the unkind thought, but you hadn’t been wrong. His face was narrow, flaring out at the cheekbones. His eyes were mismatched, but not in a heterochromatic way. No, one of his eyes was bluish-green while the other was simply black, as if it were entirely pupil.

His hair was long and straight, though cut at various lengths that left it tapering from his head down. Like a shag haircut on steroids. You were a little jealous and had vaguely started wondering whether you would be able to pull off the style when he turned. You realized just how tall he was.

His mismatched stare was heavy and intense, and you redirected your attention as soon as possible. You opted to look at the pit instead, to take in the pile of straw and droppings, but it was gone.

“What happened to the straw?” you asked, bewildered by the empty pit in front of you.

He smirked, lips twisting with an amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. “I discarded it, of course.”

“No, you didn’t,” you contradicted. “I’ve been standing there the whole time.”

“I used magic,” he clarified.

“Magic isn’t real.”

The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed at you. “Have you not yet realized that you’re in a different place than you were when you were wished away?”

“You said that earlier,” you remembered. “‘Wished away’. What do you mean?”

“At last, the typical questions,” he sighed. “Admittedly, far later than they are usually asked. Allow me to explain.”

The explanation that followed had been interesting, if mildly ludicrous: the man was actually a fae named Jareth. He collected lost and wished away items, though the only ones of them people cared enough to chase down were living things. He guarded the Labyrinth, collected the living things that appeared in the Underground - mostly children and pets, as he had explained - and allowed the wishers to run the Labyrinth if they wanted their disappeared item back.

It could have been a far shorter explanation if you hadn’t been far more convinced by your concussion theory.

In the end, Jareth had gotten tired of listening to your counterarguments and had sent you to ask Hoggle the rest of your questions. Hoggle had answered your questions… eventually. With a lot of complaining and work between giving those answers. You didn’t mind - work was something to keep you from running in circles in your own thoughts, and you learned a lot about the Labyrinth and the Underground simply by following Hoggle around.

Jareth didn’t call you back to the throne room for nearly a week.

“It seems as though your wisher is not going to run for you,” he said, taking on an expression he may have thought looked pitying. “He is at home with his mother, playing and eating and sleeping quite well without another thought of you. Quite the heroic youth."

“He’s six!” you reminded, mildly outraged at Jareth’s censure. “Even if he had offered, I wouldn’t want him running your labyrinth. It’s a death trap.”

Jareth’s expression had flattened at your insult, his mismatched eyes glittering with irritation. “Whether he would have run or not is irrelevant in the end. The real question is: what is to be done with you?”

“I…” You disliked asking questions you already knew the answers to, but there was nothing to be gained by playing things cool. “Could I go back home?”

“No.”

The blunt answer, though exactly what you had expected, still made you wilt.

Jareth, for all that he made you nervous, didn’t look cruel about it. In a voice that was kinder than you had hoped, he said, “Even if I would agree to send you home, it would be impossible. You have been here too long. You have eaten and drank from the Underground. A single bite, a single sip… those could be reasoned with. Enough to influence a dream, forge a connection. But anything more? You are of this place now, more one of us than one of them.”

You wanted to argue, but something in your chest agreed, some nameless tangle of a thing recognizing that everyone and everything you had known were ‘them’. And you were not.

Not anymore.

You had expected to be eaten by the Firies or thrown into the Bog or at least turned into a goblin, but Jareth had given you a different job: you were to be his hands and eyes in the human world.

“After all, no one will wish their belongings to me if they are ignorant of my existence,” he had told you. “You will spread information. Books and legends, stories told by firelight and in dark rooms as their occupants drift to sleep.”

And that was your task, had been for an eternity before you thought to check what year it was at all. People didn’t recognize you when you went to the human world, not even if you happened upon someone you had once known. That was fortunately rare, and became more so as the years faded. You didn’t seem to age, not the way you had. Perhaps there was an extra strand of silver in your hair or an aching joint where there never had been before, but it was uncommon.

Oh, you looked the same as you always had. You could verify that any time you were on the surface. Just then, for instance, you were standing outside of a bar and could see yourself in the shine of the old-fashioned, gilt-edged windows. You were generously curved as you had been before, your face the same shape.

If you stared too long, though, you could catch something strange in your face, in the way you walked. Nothing overt, of course, but something that made you look… sharp. Wild. It drew some attention when someone watched you for too long. The mask of your humanity - what remained of it, anyway - fell away with exposure. From there, it could go either way. Sometimes, humans fled like prey before a predator. Other times, they hit on you.

Had humanity always been like this? So willing to run into danger? You didn’t think so, but it was getting difficult to remember.

Either way, you had barely sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of wine before someone slid onto the barstool beside you. To be fair, you couldn’t be too upset about it. You had been searching for company.

“I’ll pay for that,” the man announced to the bartender. The bartender didn’t look like she could have cared less, but she managed a nod. “So, what’s your name?”

“I’m much more interested in learning yours,” you deflected.

The stranger beamed at that and you smiled back. If you had your way, he wouldn’t learn your name. Even if he did, he would forget it before the day ended and you would never see him again. You would feel guilty about that, but you needed him for temporary relief from your body’s needs, nothing more.

He could never be anything more.

You pushed all of that from your mind and focused on your partner for the evening. He was handsome, the type of person you dated before you were wished away. It was getting harder to remember those days.

The man’s personality was a little intense, but that tended to ease back a bit after someone realized that you weren’t going to disappear from them… yet.

Two drinks in, you had offered a smile that was almost genuine and were getting ready to suggest a change in location when your chest vibrated.

That wasn’t quite the right way to phrase it, but it was a difficult sensation to describe. It felt as though your ribcage and all of the organs it protected shook in tandem. The closest you had ever come to pinpointing the sensation was to compare it to the ringing of a gong, though thankfully, without the noise of the actual strike.

The sensation was a warning that the Goblin King wanted you back in the Underground. It would happen more often the longer you ignored the summons, and would eventually grow painful.

You rarely let it continue that long.

“I have to go,” you told your potential partner, standing abruptly from the stool and handing your credit card to the bartender. “Drinks are on me.”

At least, you assumed it was a credit card. It had no numbers or identification on it and you certainly didn’t have any money, but you had never had trouble paying for anything with it. Jareth had given it to you with minimal explanation.

“Hang on-” the man protested, catching at your arm. You looked at his hand, then at him. Some of your strangeness must have shown through, since he slowly withdrew. He wasn’t wary enough, since he continued to speak. “What happened? I thought this was going somewhere.”

“It was,” you agreed simply, accepting your card from the bartender and scrawling a series of loops on the receipt she slid toward you. “Now it’s not.”

Fortunately for your almost-partner for the evening, he thought better of trying to physically stop you again and you left the bar unaccosted.

Transportation to the Underground was rarely as dramatic as it had been that first time. Instead of a sudden, jarring switch in location, it happened as a slow fade. In this instance, you were walking and your surroundings seemed to blur slightly. When you could see clearly once more, you were in the Goblin King's throne room.

Your forward motion hadn’t stopped, but it was far more risky to keep walking with the goblins thronging around your feet. You looked down at the group currently blocking your way and said, “Excuse me.”

The goblins - who had apparently been occupied in some kind of chicken-based game, shrieked and tumbled to either side. You continued toward the throne.

For his part, Jareth was pretending he hadn’t noticed you yet. Instead, he was sprawled across his throne and studying the riding crop he had resting across his knees. Most observers would believe he was pensive, utterly lost in thought, but you knew better. Jareth loved to be watched, and if he could convince you that you had chosen to look without any prompting from him, so much the better.

“You summoned me, sir?” you asked, reaching the base of the throne and offering a small incline of your head.

Jareth glanced over, managing to look surprised, curious, and haughty. “Yes, I want a report on your progress.”

“Do you mind if I dismiss your subjects?”

“As if you do not number among them?” Jareth tested, a corner of his mouth quirking upward knowingly. When you simply maintained eye contact, he gave a slight nod. “Very well, if it would please you.”

With effort, you managed not to shake your head at him. You were well able to focus even with the din of goblins around you, but Jareth took any respite he could get from them.

“Can you all go downstairs for a while?” you asked, directing the question to the room at large. “I need to speak with the king.”

“You’s is speaking to him now,” one squeaky goblin pointed out, sounding sullen.

Before the others could agree, you quickly cut in and diverted them. “You’re right, I am. But we need to talk about some very boring stuff and we need the room to be quiet. If you want to stay, you can’t make any noise. In fact, you could even help clean the throne room…”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything else, the goblins rushed out of the room in a panicked tide. You smirked at the receding wave of excitable, temperamental creatures. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since you had taught six and seven year-olds, but the goblins weren’t so different from human children.

When you turned around, Jareth was sitting on the throne like it was a chair rather than a fainting couch. One of his eyebrows was raised and he looked impressed despite himself. “Someday, you must help me gain such mastery over my subjects.”

“Impossible,” you told him flatly. “They’re too focused on impressing you.”

“That has always been my burden to bear,” the Goblin King drawled, preening slightly as you tried not to roll your eyes.

Jareth was the king. If you were to be technical about it, he was your king. He had left you alive when he didn’t need to. Even more than that, the nature of the job he had given you meant you had certain powers. The Goblin King did not bestow those lightly. You felt like you owed him at least basic respect, if not anything more subservient.

Besides, Jareth had enough people - well, goblins - trying to respond to his every need. You liked to think that he enjoyed the bits of personality you were willing to share with him.

Rather than voice any of that aloud, you gave a shallow nod. "But you summoned me for a purpose. What do you need?"

With the amusement still dancing across his fine features, Jareth tilted his head at you. "The work I gave you has never taken so long. I wanted an update on your progress."

"My…" For the first time since you had found yourself in this strange land, you were thrown off by Jareth. He had never given any deadlines for your work, never ordered you to be done by a specific time. In fact, the opposite had been true. On the rare occasions that you worried about how long something took, Jareth was the first to remind you that he - and, by extension, you - had all the time that would ever exist.

You managed to scrape together a semblance of competence. "An update. Yes. I can- That is, the work you gave me is complete. I distributed the books, set up special showings of the film, and orchestrated the release of some photographs."

"All of that has been done?" Jareth checked. When you nodded, he gave you a stern look. "Then why did you not return to me immediately?"

As if on cue, something low in your stomach gave a heaving, disgruntled throb. You had never been overly desire-driven when you were fully human, and you blamed that for your current awkwardness - sex had never been common enough for you to grow blunt about your need for it. But you still had that need, and your body’s complaints were almost enough to drown out the weight of Jareth’s stare. Almost.

“I was in the middle of a different task,” you replied, trying to make it sound as bland as possible. Jareth’s attention span was stronger than that of his subjects, but he still made a concerted effort to avoid boring subjects. “Nothing of importance.”

Jareth studied his hands. “No, I imagine there is not much of importance in a dirty tavern.”

You froze. Not that you had been moving very much before, but every muscle locked down in response to the pointed revelation that Jareth could and did know where you went when you were Aboveground. “I-”

“You?” Jareth repeated mockingly. “Yes, you. You allowed a human to ply you with alcohol, then to paw at you. Though I suspect, given the tone of your conversation, that is far more innocent than what you would have done if I had not summoned you back here.”

“But how-”

Your question cut off abruptly when Jareth made a noise of impatience, tapping his cheekbone twice, just below his human eye.

“You watch me?” you demanded, surprise turning swiftly to anger and embarrassment. “Why?”

Jareth treated the question as literal rather than rhetorical, musing for a moment before he answered. “At first, to see if you intended to flee. It would not have worked, but it is always amusing to see humans try. Then, to be certain that you were performing your tasks to my standards. And finally…” The smile on Jareth’s face was indolent, with more than a hint of mischief. “Simply because I can.”

Glaring at an omnipotent fae king was probably not the wisest thing you could do, but your fury made you bold. “And have you watched me during my personal time before?”

Jareth let his head loll toward you for the best view of his self-satisfaction. “Yes.”

With a barely stifled noise of outrage, you spun with every intention of storming out of the room. Unfortunately for you, the powers Jareth had allotted you were nothing compared to his own. Without a sound or a motion from him, Jareth ordered the heavy doors to swing closed and there was nothing you could do to force them open once more.

“I do not see why you are so offended,” Jareth told you, conversational tone coming from nearer than his throne. “I am well aware that humans have needs.”

“Then why interrupt me…” Your hissed demand had caught in your throat when you turned to find Jareth much closer than anticipated. The Goblin King twisted his head slightly to one side, matching the smirk that twisted his lips. You cleared your throat. “Why interrupt me when you know I’m occupied? Like you said, I have needs. It doesn’t help anyone if I’m too busy to meet them.”

“You are missing the most obvious solution,” Jareth informed you, spreading his hands to either side. “I can help meet those needs.”

“You?” you repeated skeptically.

Jareth’s arms dropped and he looked almost offended. “And why not me?”

It may have been a rhetorical question, but you gave it as much thought as he had to your earlier question about his reasoning. “Well, you don’t seem like you would be interested. You don’t usually do things unless you have something to gain.”

“Have I not struck you as altruistic?” he asked. You shook your head, opting for honesty above tact. “Good. You are right, I don’t perform favors out of something as naïve as kindness. I have much to gain from this offer.”

“Like what?” you asked. The suspicion in your voice was so thick as to be almost comical, but Jareth didn’t seem offended.

“Pleasure,” he answered simply. “Do you want to meet your needs now? Or will you wait until the next time you have a spare moment to be disappointed by some human in a bar?”

You thought about waiting, you really did. Jareth was cocky enough without giving him access to something as personal as your pleasure. But you were growing close to desperation. That could make you more likely to be careless in Aboveground, something you weren’t willing to risk.

“You’re right,” you said. “It is the most obvious solution.”

The only thing that saved you from the self-congratulatory smile that slid across Jareth’s face was the fact that you erased it with your lips a moment later.

The Goblin King’s teeth were sharp. It had been one of the first things you noticed when you met him so long ago, but you were still a little shocked to be confronted by that sharpness when you slipped your tongue between his lips.

Jareth’s surprise rivaled your own, though for different reasons. For half a moment, he seemed taken aback by your ardor, but he recovered and took control of the kiss before you could get used to the taste of him. He was like the sweetest wine, and you were instantly addicted.

A hand latched around your jaw kept your head positioned just where Jareth wanted it, and he swept through you like a hurricane. It was all you could do to keep up with him, but you were the first one to succumb to wandering hands.

His clothes were always so decadent, and you had been waiting a long time to see if they felt as lovely as they looked. You were delighted to say that they did - textures sliding and dancing beneath your fingertips - but you were more focused on what you felt under those clothes.

The heat of Jareth’s skin was immense even through his clothing, enough to pull an answering sensation of heat from you. Every item of clothing you removed from him ratcheted the temperature further up until you felt like there was fire under your skin.

Halfway through removing Jareth’s ostentatious cape, you pulled away to deposit it safely on his throne. It wouldn’t do to have it trampled by goblins or, worse, land in chicken excrement.

Jareth muttered complaints for every moment you were away from him, pulling you impatiently closer the moment you were in arm’s reach. “I don’t know why you did that. I intend for that throne to be our next destination.”

You cast an assessing glance toward the door. It looked heavily barred, and you hadn’t been able to budge it, but there was a distinct possibility… “Fine with me, as long as you’re sure we won’t be interrupted. I don’t want to toss any of your subjects from the window of your throne room.”

“The door is locked,” he assured you, ducking his head to press wet kisses down your neck before blowing gently across his handiwork.

With a shiver at the abrupt shift in temperature, you nodded. “And no goblin has ever managed to circumvent a locked door before.”

Jareth paused, clearly intent on undoing your shirt, but gave a marvelously exasperated groan. “Fine.”

Your triumph was cut off by an abrupt shriek as Jareth pulled you into his arms so strongly that your feet left the floor. “Jareth! What are you doing?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this, pet,” he replied, pouting. “I’m not wasting any more time.”

And then he was striding toward a section of the throne room that looked distinctly… soft around the edges, and you recognized it as a portal. All of that was secondary, of course, to the ever-present awareness of being held in Jareth’s arms.

As someone with a proud set of curves, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d been lifted by a lover. That was a shame, since being carried was something of a weakness for you, especially when you weren’t worried about being dropped. And nothing in Jareth’s expression or posture warned that he was about to run out of strength.

You were still basking in the sensation as Jareth stepped through the portal and into a room that was nearly as large as the throne room. The major differences were that there was no pit and that the place of the throne was occupied by the largest bed you had ever seen.

A smile stretched across your face as Jareth set you down on that large bed, and he frowned at you. “What is amusing you?”

“This bed is enormous,” you explained. “Yet I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

“I’ve had a partner here on numerous occasions,” he told you haughtily. “Perhaps you have not seen them because you are so busy finding partners among the humans.”

“Perhaps,” you agreed readily enough. “Or perhaps it has been such a long time that your last partner and I missed each other.”

“That…” Jareth’s lips pursed, “...is possible.”

You didn’t necessarily remember closing your eyes while you laughed at that, but you must have. When you opened them once more, Jareth was looming over you. “Pleased as I am to provide amusement, there are other noises I would rather pull from you.”

Your breath caught at the rough admission. Jareth’s face descended before you could scrape up a response, and then you were too concerned with meeting the intoxicating rhythm of his mouth against yours.

The next thing you knew, you were resting more securely on the bed with Jareth holding himself above you. Both of you were fully naked and you had no idea how you had gotten that way. Most likely, he had used his magic to remove your clothing, but it was possible that you had been too thoroughly distracted by his kisses to worry about something as minor as what his hands were doing.

In any case, you were reveling in the way your hands could roam over him without encountering any barriers. Jareth’s body was pale, muscles dancing subtly under his skin. That paleness was marked with occasional scars - silvery marks that spoke of injuries from long ago. You couldn’t see much of him below the mid-torso since he was pressed so tightly to you, but you could feel the delicious length of him, hot and hard against your thigh.

When Jareth finally pulled away, he only went far enough to make eye contact without either of you crossing your eyes. “I want to taste you. Is that acceptable to you?”

“You’re the king,” you reminded him with a sardonic smile.

Jareth’s jaw flexed and his mismatched eyes narrowed. “Precisely. Which is why I expect an honest answer when I ask a question. Do you want this?”

“Yes.” The confirmation was a little breathless, but Jareth’s reply had been unexpected for someone who placed such an emphasis on retaining control. “Yes, I do.”

“Good,” he told you with a nod.

His patronizing tone might have set your teeth on edge, but Jareth accompanied it with a praising stroke down the length of your body. His fingertips trailed fire from your collarbone, over one breast, across the swell of your stomach, and down to the part of you that was aching for him. At the same time, he slid down until his face was even with your hips and you could hardly keep still with the anticipation filling you.

With your knees already parted around him, Jareth had only to wedge his shoulders between your thighs to gain full access to your core. The sudden exposure to the air of the room sent a chill through the parts of you that were burning the hottest, but the coolness only heightened the sensations.

Jareth didn’t give you any warning, any time to brace. Instead, he ducked his head suddenly, swiping the flat of his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the very top. He paused for a moment while you made a sound of startled pleasure, his lips quirking.

“Delicious,” he told you. “I wonder if you’re even sweeter inside?”

Before you could offer any reply, Jareth apparently decided to see for himself. One of your legs was tossed over his shoulder while he pinned the other to the bed. That was the only thing that kept you from trying to strangle him with your thighs when he began to torment you in earnest.

Those plush lips and wicked tongue explored every part of you, wringing pleasure from you like it was something precious he could save for later.

An elegant finger pushed into your core, pressing into the heat and slickness of you without a bit of difficulty. Your muscles spasmed so dramatically that it forced you to sit up - or, more accurate, to try. Jareth’s arm across your hips kept you pinned to the bed, leaving you to writhe, squeeze your legs around him, and cry out your pleasure loud enough for the entire castle to hear. The hand pressing you into the softness of the mattress strummed fingers across your hip.

With an expression that felt wild with pleasure, you stared down between your own thighs and clenched even harder around that finger. Your eyes had met Jareth’s mismatched gaze where it peeked over the roundness of your tummy. Mischief glimmered on what you could see of his face, and there was a clear sense of enjoyment in his bearing.

That eye contact sent an electric thrill through you, and you were gone. Your head kicked back against the pillow and you seemed to leave your body for an eternity, shattering into infinite pieces under the onslaught of pleasure Jareth was using to assault you.You may have made a noise - probably had, if you were judging from your experience so far - but you couldn’t hear it over the way your ears rang with the sound of your mind shattering.

When you finally settled back into your body again, it felt too small to possibly contain everything you had felt. Jareth was applying long, luxurious licks to your core, sweeping over the entirety of your slit and it was all you could do to push him away.

Jareth gave you a moment to collect your breath, but soon enough, he was peering down at you with no small amount of pride on his strange face. “Will you recover?”

You were a bit embarrassed by the strength of your reaction to him, but you managed a smile and a nod. “Guess I needed that more than I thought. It’s been a while.”

The fae tilted his head to the side, a hint of a smile showing the white points of his teeth. “My dear, do you honestly believe I have lived so long without learning to draw pleasure from someone? Your state of arousal has little to do with it.”

The post-orgasmic glow kept you from mustering the scoff that deserved. After delivering a sad little huff, you told him, “Humble as ever, Goblin King.”

“I would so hate to leave you with an inaccurate idea of my skill,” Jareth drawled. “I would be happy to provide further proof at your earliest convenience.”

Your breath caught in your throat, leading to an embarrassing cough. On the positive side, that cough gave you a moment to internally puzzle through that. Was Jareth volunteering to do this again sometime? He was technically your boss and your king, and thus a romantic connection you had never experienced before, but you couldn’t honestly say you wouldn’t be with him again. Even ignoring the pleasure - difficult as that was - you… really wouldn’t mind repeating this experience.

“Uh, okay,” you said elegantly.

Jareth simply smiled at you, but something about his intent gaze warned that he understood your thoughts as clearly as he did his own. Still, all he said aloud was, “Did that satisfy you, pet? Or would you perhaps like to continue?”

Before you could fight it, your gaze dropped to the apex of his thighs. He was visibly hard and ready for you, his body betraying an eagerness that was totally hidden in his expression. Despite his state of arousal, Jareth was still giving you the option to be done with him. As he was known for his lack of tact, you recognized and appreciated the effort Jareth was putting into making you comfortable.

And what better way was there to show your appreciation than to offer some relief?

“I think I might need a little more,” you told him, playing coy. You even added a demure drop of your gaze, though you could see him through your lashes.

That was how you watched when Jareth’s expression sharpened, though his voice stayed careless. “I don’t believe in offering partial respite. I shall see this task through until it is complete.”

The smile that fought to spread across your face was only stifled by the way Jareth caught at your ankle and pulled you further down the bed. He surged upward at the same time until you were firmly beneath him. The fae dotted your face, jaw, and neck with kisses as he settled heavily on top of you. Your legs parted automatically to wrap around his waist and draw him closer, but you were taken aback when the length of him pressed against your still-sensitive core.

You were still surfing the wave of heightened sensation when you felt the tip of Jareth’s length notch into your opening.

Jareth’s fingers trailed from your forehead down to your jaw, turning your head until he could peer into your face. “Are you ready for me, pet?”

“Yes,” you agreed eagerly. “Please…”

“Don’t beg, sweet thing,” he instructed. “You never need to beg for me.”

And then he was driving into you - robbing you of any ability to process that.

Jareth had seemed to have an average build below the waist, as you had expected from his elegant physique and slender limbs. Still, he felt earth-shattering as he eased inside of you, enough to take your breath away even considering how wet you were with the remains of your earlier orgasm.

You were utterly still as he pressed in, locked in place by the amount of concentration you had fixed on the feeling of him. But the first time he withdrew from the depths of you, every part of you writhed beneath him. Your hands grasped, your toes curled, your head tilted in an attempt to ease the groan that fought for release from your throat.

Jareth swallowed that groan, dipping down easily to sweep through your mouth just as thoroughly as he had the first time. He plundered you greedily, feeding on the sounds you made for him as his hips danced closer and away, closer and away.

Infuriatingly, he kept you - and himself - poised on the edge of orgasm for an eternity, slowing whenever either of you came too close to the precipice. Jareth chased pleasure eagerly, though, tormenting you with fingers and lips to push you higher without allowing you the relief of release.

“Jareth, please,” you begged as his hips slowed once more.

He arched a brow at you. “Yes, pet? What do you need?”

“I-” You gave a hoarse gasp as a deliberate twist of his hips left the length of him brushing against your g-spot. It was followed by a noise of frustration when his pace slowed to a fraction of what it had been. “Please, I need to come.”

His smile was so sudden that it looked almost fierce. “My dear, why did you not tell me earlier?”

A retort sprang to your lips, but it died there as he shifted infinitesimally inside of you. That minor change had devastating effects on the angle of his thrusts inside of you, which picked up speed until it was all you could do not to drown in him.

Your body tightened around his as it had done so many times before, but he didn’t slow this time. Instead, his lips caught yours as his thumb strummed your clit.

That kiss was only broken when your orgasm hit you like a train, kicking your head back and dropping your mouth open so you could cry out from the incredible intensity of the pleasure that filled you. Your limbs curled around Jareth, constricting to keep him pressed against you as tightly as possible.

On his side of things, Jareth didn’t seem inclined to fight his imprisonment. His hips pistoned between your trembling thighs, burying himself in you over and over until - finally - his rhythm faltered.

Those sharp teeth were bared in a snarl as he pushed himself as deeply as he could get. The warmth of his release flooded you.

When the frantic pulses of his hips slowed, Jareth let himself drop on top of you. His weight was on you for a fraction of a second before he twisted to pull you on top of him instead. Since he was still buried in your core, the motion left you in the grip of an aftershock, but you recovered enough to move off of him.

Jareth’s eyes were closed, but his hands lashed out to keep you from moving as soon as you started to. “I don’t know where you think you’re going, pet, but you are mistaken.”

“I’m just rolling off of you, Jareth,” you told him, exasperated. “If I crush you, it’ll be regicide and I can’t imagine a goblin trial is pleasant.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, eyes still closed. “But mostly because they show an inability to focus on a single issue for more than seconds at a time. And as for being crushed by you… Not only is it an impossibility, but it sounds rather pleasant.”

“Jareth…” you sighed.

That made him open his mismatched eyes and you were startled to see the changes in them. The blue-green of his human eye was expanding both toward the pupil and over the white sclera. The pupil-less darkness of his fae eye was doing the same, slowly working out until the entire orb of his eye was dark.

When Jareth finally spoke, it was with a smile that showed his sharp teeth. “Did you know there is a difference in the way you say my name now?”

You paused, scanning over his face for a moment before you asked, “And what does that mean?”

Jareth didn’t immediately answer you, but his smile didn’t fade during the stretch of quiet. At long last, he said, “It means that things have changed between us. It means that I encourage you to seek to satisfy your needs in my bed. And it means that I chose the perfect person to serve as my emissary in the human world.”

That was significantly less worrisome than what you thought he would say. In fact, it was even… sweet. “I certainly never thought I would end up here, but I can’t say that I regret it.”

“Faint praise,” Jareth said dryly. “But praise nonetheless. We shall see whether we can further improve your outlook on your place in my kingdom.”

“I look forward to that,” you admitted, relaxing slightly into him.

Jareth’s arms tightened around you, drawing you even closer. “As do I.”

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I'm not officially accepting requests, but someone sent this one in and it caught my interest enough to help me break through some writer's block.

Happy Halloween!

I don't offer a taglist for spicy fics, but you can find other works on my masterlist.

#labyrinth #labyrinth 1986 #jareth #jareth the goblin king #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader insert fanfiction #jareth x reader #jareth x fem!reader #jareth x you #lemon #spicy #minors dni #not suitable for minors #ink's asks #ink's fics

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starz222 · 1 year

Text

operation: true love | scaramouche x gn!reader

synopsis. scaramouche is one of the highest ranking students in teyvat high! how is it like having him as a seatmate? notes. scaramouche as eunhyeok. based off ep 23 of operation: true love on webtoon ! i haven't read operation: true love since aug 2022, i only read until ep 10 bc the rest needed fast pass. anyway, i know this scene bc of a tiktok edit, the premise is similar but slightly different! i read webtoon a lot, so dialogue is also referenced from seasons of blossom! not proofread !!

it's math class, and you weren't paying attention. you begin to doze off as the chalk clashes with the board. in an attempt to stay awake, you rip a piece of scratch paper and draw a hashtag with a circle in the center. you write a little note underneath – "let's play."

you pass it to your seatmate, scaramouche, one of the highest ranking students in the school. of course, he had plenty of rivals– albedo, alhaitham, heizou, ayato… they were countless, but being his seatmate, you watch his competitiveness, his need to win.

he takes your note and entertains your request. you thought he'd crumple it up, but you realized that he already knew what the teacher was discussing and didn't care.

you play a few games– 0-10.

you mutter under your breath, "damn it." scaramouche chuckles and returns the scratch paper to you, "y/n. let's not play anymore. you're too bad at this game, it's not fun."

your mouth is agape, offended by his words. you knew he always spoke the truth, and you hated how blunt he was but he was always right.

"alright class, i'll be handing out these papers. answer them in 15 minutes or less." your math teacher raises their voice, not shouting, but only to wake up those who have dozed off.

shit.

your classmates complain about the given time, it's too short, they tell your teacher. "it would be easy if you paid any attention."

shit (the sequel)

you recieve your paper, and in the past minutes all you've written down is your name. you take a glance at scaramouche, well his paper. you watch as he flicks his pen and makes clean, fast strokes. he solves the problems with ease, nearly done with the paper. the tip of his pen is thin and his answer sheet is neat and is organized, the rest of the solving is done mentally.

pretty handwriting.

you look at his hands,

pretty hands.

wait, what?

snap out of it! he’s your seatmate, and exams are up, so i really have to do well– no, scratch that, i have a surprise quiz right now! i know it’s wrong but… maybe i could just take a peek at his answers?

you lean closer to him to look at his paper, since his writing is incredibly thin and long, you can’t see it well, so you squint. it doesn’t help when his left hand covers the other half of his paper, hey– move, i can’t see it! you sigh. eventually, he retreats his left arm and his shoulders tense because of your stare. you were lost in your thoughts, happy now that his arm wasn’t blocking the way, until his left hand grabbed the edge of your chair and pulled you closer.

he turns to you, “can you see it better?” he furrows his brows and sighs. he stares at you, directly into your eyes. “yea- yeah.” you mutter. “good, now write quickly, would you? time’s almost up, and your paper is as blank as your mind.” he goes back to solving his paper.

you couldn’t even get mad at his comment, after all, he’s letting you copy his work. and, you were focused on his strength, how he was able to pull you by the chair with only one hand.

his hands are big, maybe that’s why. haha..

you watch as he passes you a piece of torn paper with a note– “exams are coming up, if you need help, just say so.”

“thanks, you’re pretty.”

he stops writing.

“i mean pretty nice–you’re pretty nice.” his ears turn bright red, you’re pretty… nice too, he thinks.

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kairiscorner · 7 months

Note

I am here to suggest the ultimate shy highschool Miguel concept:

Miguel trying to ask you, his not-so-secret crush to prom, with Gabriel's help of course 🧡 ~🍄

OH MY GOD, YES !!!

will you... — high school!miguel o'hara x gn!reader

only less than a week until prom, and miguel still hasn't built up the courage to hand his dream date the letter he had been working on for a long while now. this is probably the fifth letter he's written, and you can say he might be a bit of a control freak, but, he just wants to tell you exactly how he feels; he doesn't wanna beat around the bush or tell you in a wordy way something that can be said in three words–he wants to say seven words, but can't even handle the thought of speaking either one of them in one sentence to you without losing his composure and feeling weak in the knees. he's clutching the letter in his hands and sighs, he adjusts his glasses on his face again and practices going up to you as if you were the mirror right then and there, and tries to 'play it cool'. "would... you... go with me t-to..." miguel stuttered, and as thoughts of you and your beautiful self debilitated him; he bit his tongue and quit talking, and eventually, he had fumbled for the umpteenth time all over again. miguel clutched the letter in his hand and sighed, running his other hand through his curly dark locks, looking frustrated as ever. "miggy, are you being a dork about it all over this again?" asked his younger brother, gabriel, as the boy entered the room and raised an eyebrow at him.

miguel, in his flustered daze at the sudden arrival of his little brother, threw the letter for you in his drawer and shut it closed. "wh-what letter?" he blurted out hurriedly, making gabriel very suspicious of his older brother's actions. "...i didn't mention any letter, but okay." he said as he looked at miguel up and down and sighed, shaking his head. "ay, mi hermano, you can't ask them out like this." gabriel said in a disappointed tone, pointing at miguel's disheveled appearance, making him look down at himself and raise an eyebrow at his younger brother's comment. "not like you get any dates, either..." miguel murmured, making gabriel faked heartache and dramtically grabbed at his chest and cried out in fake pain. "at least i'm confirmed to be cuter than you, hermano..." the younger boy quipped as miguel rolled his eyes and looked back into the mirror, running his hand through his dark curls. miguel sighed as he took off his glasses and ran a comb through his hair.

"i don't even know why i bother, it's not like i'd be any choice of theirs; they just know me as... that one cranky kid that always gets the science tests perfectly, they don't even... know how i look at them." miguel muttered as gabriel walked over to miguel and got him some gel. "well, isn't you telling them how they'll be able to find out?" the younger boy asked as he styled his older brother's hair up with the gel. miguel shrugged. "...i mean, sure, but not like..." "not like what?" miguel sighed as gabriel opened up his brother's closet and whispered in spanish how 'crappy' miguel's fashion sense was, asking him if he had anything but graphic tees or plain white shirts. "it's not like they'll take it happily." "and why not, because you dress up like a shut-in? of course, nobody wants a nerd that wears three variants of the same shirt, i know i don't." "you know that's not what i mean, gabri." miguel said in a monotonous voice as he glared at his little brother, making the younger boy stick his tongue out at him.

gabriel chuckled and scraped together a decent-looking outfit for miguel to wear that didn't look tacky nor corny and was just the right color palette that suited him. "well, you don't know; you can solve literally every math problem out there and discover all kinds of scientific phenomena, but you'll never be able to predict love, hermano. si está destinado a suceder, así será. si no, entonces no lo será," gabriel explained as he smiled up at his brother and patted his shoulders comfortingly, extending his support to the hopelessly in love yet doubtful little idiot that miguel was at that moment. "they'll come around eventually, whatever they feel for you now is out of our control. but if you ask me... they'd definitely love you, i'm sure of it, even if you have no problem with mismatched socks with sandals, they'd like you still. but i probably wouldn't." gabri joked at the end of his comforting words, with miguel chuckling and jokingly punching his younger brother's arm, making the younger boy giggle and jokingly punch him back. "drama king. but anyway... thanks, gabri. i needed that." he thanked his younger brother with a head pat and shoulder pat, with gabri extending his arms to wrap his brother in a hug, whispering in his ear how they seriously have to turn to miguel's closet for the next charity drive because of how many variations of the same shirt he has.

with a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow, miguel hastily shuffled over to you by your locker, clutching the letter he made for you for the sixth time in his hands that began to sweat. he was thinking of too many things all at once, which troubled him deeply, but his younger brother was at the corner—cheering him on and reassuring him that he's got this. miguel takes in a deep breath and taps you by the shoulder. you turn to face him, and miguel's stupefied for a moment at how beautiful you looked right then and there. "oh, hey mig, what's u—" "wouldyouliketogowithmetotheprom?"

...

"uh, hah, what was that? sorry, you spoke too fast..." you told him with a shy grin, feeling a bit flustered at the only words you picked up from his hurried breath of a question. miguel apologized and fidgeted with the letter's ends for a bit. he stammered and blanked out for a few moments, but finally, he was able to ask you clearly while handing the letter, "would you... like to go with me... to the prom?" he asked you all softly, staring at your hand that was going to take the letter from his own; your fingers brushing over his, which made him whimper a little. you smiled and chuckled, gently holding on to his hand over the letter for a lingering while. "i thought you'd never ask, of course i do, mig."

"...really?" he asked you in a hushed voice, his face too flustered to not smile. you chuckled again and pushed his glasses back up on his face and nodded with a smile. "really." "yes!" exclaimed a high-pitched voice from the corner, it was gabriel rejoicing as he paused the recording on his camera, exclaiming happily in spanish how the nerd brother he has finally has a date for the prom! miguel groaned as you laughed, still holding his hand, you took the letter with your other hand and pulled away from him. "so... i'll be seeing you next week?" you asked him awkwardly as miguel stammered and nodded. "ah, y-yeah, i'll... i'll see you." "better wear one of your graphic tees then, dork." you teased him as you kissed his cheek and sent him to overdrive, short-circuiting his brain and keeping him frozen in place in front of the lockers as you bid him goodbye and headed off to class.

"and here is the nerd of the century, getting kissed by his date on the cheek?! wait 'till i tell mamá that he's hitting first base—" gabriel exclaimed into the camera, but miguel was quick and dashed on his heels, running after his little brother to stop him from utter embarrassment. "gabri, quit filming, you little gremlin!" the older boy exclaimed as gabriel screamed and ran off with the camera in his hand, calling miguel names and teasing him about him and his date... how you two were just the perfect little nerds together.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

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skyeslittlecorner · 2 months

Text

Reminiscent of old times | Young Kings, Gusion

I should write some introduction, but I don't have much to add. Just little children who deserve the world, but the world already chose to give them pain.

~1200 words

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

The room was small, cameral, more like an office. The fate of nations is most often played out in such rooms. Subjects reporting, kings giving orders. Choices and decisions. Reports, laws, official letters. Power, the shackles of power, when you have to send your loved ones to death and watch them suffer because you are the most important pawn in this game.

The four boys sit on the floor. Leviathan moved away disapprovingly, and Mammon watched with interest as Beelzebub tried to command the cockroach to enter Satan's nose as he fell asleep. They had no idea what dark thoughts were going through their teacher's head.

Gusion looked at their homework and sighed. Those math problems weren't difficult. At least the initial were not, because it was exactly what they were learning now. It is true that when he prepared homework in the middle of the night, Guison was so tired that he added the last two tasks from a topic they had not studied. They didn't know how to solve it... but what he got back was at least interesting.

“Oh, Gusion is alive. Get up." Beel elbowed Satan in the chest.

The boy shuddered and looked around unconsciously. He squinted to see what was crawling on his nose, and screamed when it turned out to be a cockroach. Beel cackled loudly, and Mammon gently removed the bug and placed it on his shoulder.

“Now you will be mine.”

“You're acting like brats.” Leviathan separated Beel from Satan, who tried to jump at his throat. “Calm down, I want to get this over with.”

“Leeeviii, he's an idiot!”

“You fit together.”

At that moment, they looked like ordinary children. They had fun, argued and laughed, unaware of what fate would bring them. If it weren't for the powerful aura that emanated from each of them, with their fluffy cheeks and undergrown horns, they could have been running around the streets of the capital with sticks, having fun with other kids.

Gusion finally woke up and spoke in a calm voice.

“I checked your homework.”

Of course, it didn't help. This time the focus was again on the cockroach and the deep discussion of how to dip its little legs into the golden river. Only when Gusion slammed his fist on the desk did four pairs of eyes turn to him.

“Leviathan. You did great, everything was resolved perfectly. I didn't expect any of you would do so well.”

Gusion handed him a paper with the only red color marking a perfect score. There was not a single pencil smudge or additional calculations. Only correct results. The boy smiled to himself, as he was sure that it couldn't be otherwise.

“I didn't teach you this, how did you know how to solve it?”

“There was a textbook in the library. Unlike them, I know what books are for.”

In fact, Gusion recently couldn't find his textbook from which he took the assignments. But how did it appear in the library? Gusion hadn't visited this place for several weeks. Without much thought, he pulled out another piece of paper, maybe not as elegantly written as the previous one, but still in good condition.

“Mammon. All the problems are fine up to the point where there was subtraction or division... I understand that you may have read it incorrectly. In one. But everywhere?”

The boy looked at it with interest, but without much concern.

“I read it well.”

“So what's the problem?”

“Why should I reduce numbers when I can accumulate them?”

Inhale. Exhale. That's not what math is about. Still patiently, Gusion rubbed his forehead.

“Sometimes you have to subtract something to gain more... A bit like a loan. You give something to someone for safekeeping so you can pick up more later.”

“But it's still mine?”

"Yes. It's yours. Someone else is just taking care of it for the time being.”

It's true that Gusion didn't know who would take care of delta for him, but what mattered was that Mammon understood. Gusion had long since stopped explaining equations to Mammon in anything other than money terms. Not because he was stupid. He understood very quickly. If he wanted to. And usually he only wanted something when it belonged to him. Him and Beel were the only ones who didn't question the fact that a certain devil bought thirty watermelons.

“Beelzebub…”

The boy returned the paper a day ago, which was so scribbled that you could barely see the whiteness of the page, let alone the answer. When he get it back, this time marked red by Gusion, there was no trace of the white at all.

“Do I even have to comment on this? Once you get something right, it is related to subtraction, just unlike Mammon. Why?"

“Because if I eat something, it won't be there.”

This time Gusion didn't even try to comment. Beel pursed his lips and decided to defend himself.

“I even borrowed a textbook to learn! But it was terribly boring. I think I left it somewhere.”

So that's how it ended up in the library.

“Okay… Sit down. Satan. You're the last one left.”

The first problems looked good. In fact, the beginning looked the most normal compared to the rest of the boys, the further and more difficult the tasks, the more small mistakes. It only got weird towards the end. The paper was concave from the force of what the boy was writing, and instead of an answer there was a puncture with a pen. Satan was the avatar of wrath. Gusion understood this, the boy got irritated when he failed. And then it got weird, because the last two problems were solved so perfectly and cleanly, as if Leviahan had solved them.

“Will you explain to me what happened?”

“Oh.” Satan smiled broadly and turned to Leviathan. "You were right!"

“Of course I was.”

Gusion felt a twinge of pride. Were they studying together? That's better than he expected.

“Right about what?”

“That there are correct answers at the back of the textbook.”

…and whatever hope there was in Gusion just died.

“Hey! There were answers there and you didn't tell me?”

“No, and I will never tell you because you tried to put a cockroach up my nose!”

Mammon, on the other hand, was nodding in admiration.

“Very efficient use of resources.”

“Everyone get out of my sight.”

They didn't need to be told twice. When the group had already flown out of his office, Gusion went to the window, where he soon saw all four of them in the palace courtyard. Whatever mischief they had planned, they looked carefree. Happily. Young kings who will soon carry the weight of the entire Hell on their shoulders. With power comes responsibilities, and with responsibilities comes suffering. They were young, but each of them had already experienced loss. Learning, fun, friendship. An overlay to the painful everyday life that will soon await them. He might be annoyed that they didn't always take their lessons seriously, but he couldn't stay mad at them for long. In a few years, along with the crowns will come responsibilities. He could only let them taste the remnants of childhood they had left.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb mammon #whb leviathan #whb gusion

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hanibalistic · 2 years

Text

#01004A | MARK LEE.

genre | romance, fluff

word count | 1880

warning | none

note | mark lee being in love !!! is a concept !!! i like to think about !!!

"how does it feel to let people down all the time?"

mark paused with an uncontrolled chuckle. he debated his response as he pressed the tip of his lead pencil against the class record book repeatedly, his mind blanking out the middle of the sentence he was writing, thus leaving dots of lead on the paper instead.

"well–um, haha!" he cleared his throat after a gentle voice crack, then he let out an uncontrolled chuckle again. it sounded almost identical to the last one he let out. mark shook his head at this ridiculousness before he spoke, "when you phrase it that way, it makes it sound like i disappoint people all the time."

"you do," you said without a beat's passing, your eyes still focused on the window of your classroom where a sullen girl had gone by. "don't you?"

mark blinked with a dejected yet amused smile. he had no idea why he was trying to defend himself when what you said was technically true. he does, in fact, have to let people down a lot.

it was only the start of the year, and he had already gotten plenty of love confessions from people from all corners of this town.

from the girl in cram school, the junior he was tutoring for an extra credit program, the senior from music club, and the boy he meets every morning at the bus stop. And, just then, a girl next class. he let all of them down by giving out countless rejections, and he has seen numerous disappointed smiles. he assumed things would get more hectic as valentine's week rolled to its red carpet entrance.

"it's not like i want to reject them," mark said, scribbling on the record book. "you can't fault me for who i didn't fall in love with."

you hummed thoughtfully and audibly; the tone he has long learned to recognize to mean that you have something insightful to say. he waited in silence for you to speak, his concentration hanging on his written words and his patience. he didn't notice it, but the class was unsatisfactory today, according to the teachers' remarks.

"move your hand, mark," you muttered suddenly as you reached over and tapped at his hand with the eraser tip of your pencil. he complied easily, glancing from your end of the table to the record book before him, then he heard you sigh. you asked, "did you not get the teacher's signature after school?"

"huh? uh, i didn't, i guess..." he replied with a drop of his voice. his attention was elsewhere.

mark suppressed a smile when he saw you glare at him with faint annoyance. your lips muttered your distaste for his careless mistake, complaining about the uselessness of your nagging for him to do tasks according to instructions.

you always tried to keep those words to yourself, perhaps as a caution to not hurt his feelings. but some part of your mind also desperately needed your frustration to be heard, so you always ended up giving him a scolding gaze that displayed a warm defeat he has grown to love so much. it was when he would talk too much in class, or when he would stray off-topic in discussions, or when he wasn't paying attention to your explanation of a math problem.

sometimes he does those things on purpose just to get a scrap of your endearment—something he found in the gaps of your every action toward him—despite having additional consequences. he has gone to detention just to hear you ask him to stop talking.

"it's okay! i'll make sure to get the signature tomorrow morning," he said optimistically.

you huffed with furrowed brows, then you relaxed. it wasn't really that big of a deal. "you better."

you returned to the class budget book. you were chosen to mind the budget for the upcoming school valentine's fair, where each class would be in charge of a station of their choice. it could be about food, music, or fashion as long as the theme is school-appropriate. it is also a good day to sell the school to prospective students as parents would likely come along with the middle school children.

mark stared at you expectedly for a moment before he cleared his throat. you had clearly forgotten about the previous conversation you started, and he still wanted to hear what you had to say about his love life. was he trying to gauge your interest in him? a little. has he ever been good at checking for people's romantic interests in him? absolutely not, but he suspected he would be hyper-aware of yours because he has feelings for you.

he just needed something, however trivial and however minor. it could even be a delusional assumption! he just needed to experience a leap of joy from believing that you may also be in love with him.

"so, you were saying?" he asked casually.

you looked at him then, confused. "saying what?"

"after i told you not to fault me for who i didn't fall in love with," he said as he returned your gaze.

you raised your brows, and your shoulders slumped in relaxation once your mind bounced back into deep thoughts. looking to the side where the corner of your desk was, you saw a glimpse of mark's hand that tended to rest there, and you looked away to the window, where you watched as mark rejected the pretty girl's confession. you frowned, causing his heart rate to pick up.

"i don't think falling in love is out of our control," you said. "i think we choose to love who we do."

"you're saying love is a choice," he asked rhetorically, the corner of his lips quirking in question.

you were about to push your stance until you saw the amused expression on his face. you squinted at him, knowing very well he disagreed with you just from the glint of his eyes, and you gave up on explaining your philosophy further. tapping your pencil's end against the desk mindlessly, you chuckled in surrender. he mirrored your laughter immediately just to hear how the air would sound with your voices woven together.

"each to their own," you said.

"alright," mark nodded, "but one of my friends said once that love is nothing but a promise."

you tilted your head with a faint, humming laugh. "which is a choice."

"i just thought it was romantic," he said with a shrug.

"i mean–when i say by choice, i just meant... " you sighed in frustration as you put down your pencil. mark looked up at you, and you pouted in dismay. you thought you weren't going to say more about this, but you always end up talking. you chuckled lowly to yourself. "goodness, and i tried to say each to their own opinion."

"it's okay," he reassured, his fingers playing with each other on the table. "what do you want to say?"

"nothing groundbreaking," you whispered with rejection, poor eyes staring at him to let it be known that your self-consciousness dampened your mood, then you looked away.

mark softened upon your sullen expression, much more than he had felt when he rejected the girl next class.

your misconception that you must only speak if you have new things to contribute to the conversation was, as he believed, nothing but a misconception. as he could hear you talk about anything. dull things, obvious things, unnecessary things. maybe that he was holding a pencil, or the sun was setting outside the school, or that you two were sitting across each other and you found him looking at you a lot. anything.

you turned to look out the window when you caught a glimpse of a figure. the girl from the next class walked past slowly, her eyes a faraway gaze you cannot reach. you watched her move, taking in the elegant beauty of only half of her features being visible. you found yourself drawn to her in a way that mark unbelievably was not; not in a romantic sense, only that you wondered why he didn’t at least try.

"i just don't understand. i don't understand why you rejected her," you said, brows furrowed in thoughts. "she's so pretty."

mark blinked in disbelief. he spared a glance out the window and quickly back at you, whose eyes remained focused on the past silhouette of the girl who admired him. he cursed inwardly at himself because he couldn't tell what you were thinking or what you were implying. there was no way for him to let it be known that the matter lay not in how beautiful someone else was but that his heart belonged to you.

and that fact had not been a choice. to make a choice, one has to be in the know of it being made.

but he never knew.

he knew nothing about how he captured the current youth on your face and yearned to watch the creases grow old so he could be able to tell the stories of them as he aged. he knew nothing about being above common sense as a boy who fell in love because all he did were stupid things just to hear you laugh at him, to hear you nag him. he knew nothing about worrying and overthinking, analyzing and longing, thinking about what you were doing and thinking even though you sat next to him.

mark didn't know he was in love with you until he did. until the realization hit him like vines tightening around his lungs, and he had to choke out his affection in a splatter of blood. and he couldn't trace back to where it all began.

even if you noticed the way he looked at you now, hazy eyes swarmed with an unknown substance that bubbled and foamed like soft clouds that were forbidden to leave the sky where they belonged, he doubted you would understand what his heart meant.

his body contorted upside down, his heart raced the speed of light, his dreams a vivid reaction to his desires to be with you.

his heart was yours, and you thought she was pretty.

"i'm sorry," mark muttered with a sorrowful chuckle. this was a new type of pain he had never experienced before; his lover being oblivious and directing him to another. "you can't fault me for who i fall in love with."

"i don't," you responded. "you be in love with whoever you want, as will i."

his heart paused, and he looked up through his lashes. for a moment, panic surged through his veins, the vines around his ribs suffocating him with the possible assumption that you would fall in love with another. his hand shook with uncertainty. the thought was haunting.

"woah," you expressed as you placed a hand over his, tightening your grip to stop his tremors. "are you okay, mark?"

your concerned eyes drew him in; he wondered if he drowned himself in your senses enough, you might get a whiff of his affectionate scent. he looked at you, his bones softening and melting upon the tender graze of your touch, and he wished you were right about love.

let love be a choice, and please, let him be yours.

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kess-in-the-perthchimzone · 8 months

Text

Sailom and the equal footing in Kang’s vulnerability

In a second installment of having a lot of feelings about Sailom, I want to talk about how Kang’s willingness to be vulnerable with him puts Sailom in a position where he feels he has something meaningful to offer in their burgeoning relationship.

Sailom is a very transactional person - (see his refusal to take Kang's grandmother's money if he doesn't tutor Kang). You can see this back to episode one — Auto and his mom know they can get him to agree to extra food by empathizing that he does something for Auto in return (also tutoring).

We’ve also seen that he’s not willing to be made to be made to feel lesser because of his circumstances. He works multiple part time jobs, carefully keeping a budget, always focused on the future. Whenever Kang tried to bully him, Sailom looked him dead in the eye as if daring him to do worse and then found a way to one up him. He refused to lie solely to keep his scholarship.

But the two of them were poised to enter their friendship / eventual romantic relationship on wildly unequal footing. The events of episode two forced Sailom into the role of the victim. The attack of those men left him helpless, cowering on the ground and ended in him crying in Kang’s arms.

And that was before he started to appreciate exactly how well off Kang is — he’s now seen how big Kang’s house is, how comfortably he can spend thousands of baht on food, the kinds of gifts Kang gets for his birthday. On paper, Kang has it all: he’s wealthy, good looking, popular, and lives with family who look after him.

But episode 3 flips their dynamic in a really important way.

First, Sailom starts genuinely helping Kang by tutoring him. He witnesses first hand the difference his teachings can make. However this is still a business transaction — this is something he receives money for.

Then, at the night market, Kang starts to opens up to him emotionally. He bares something about himself that it’s clear he’s never expressed out loud before. He put himself in a position where HE’S the one who is vulnerable. At this point, Sailom is no longer the only one who’s shown a weak spot.

Only thanks to Kang’s earlier confession does Sailom understand exactly how gutting this gift of a motorcycle is for Kang. He’s suddenly able to see past the fancy presents and veneer of a loving family — two things that might have further divided them. And this touches me so much — he emphasizes deeply. Sailom is not saying “oh, poor rich boy who doesn’t have real problems”. He looks genuinely heartbroken for Kang.

This all culminates in the pool scene, where (from Sailom’s perspective) they become true equals.

They wrestle, and Sailom wins by stopping Kang from throwing the key. However cliche pool scenes are in BL, the symbolism of water is powerful — they both get completely soaked, showing that this is the point where the events of the past are wiped clean. This is when they truly start over.

When Kang finally lets the full, raw force of his grief show through, Sailom realizes he has something important he can provide that has nothing to do with money or status — his belief in Kang. Because he does believe in Kang -- Kang has already surprised him four times that we've seen: coming to tutoring to begin with, solving the math equation, in his written english, and at the bar.

It is Sailom’s idea for Kang to look to him as a source of inspiration. And he’s instantly validated. After, Kang looks at him like he’s this most important person in the entire world.

Sailom’s transactional personality really shows here because he confirms this new understanding — he asks Kang a second time.

Not until Kang agrees - via the most pathetic sad wet boy nod I’ve ever seen on my TV - does Sailom hug him, sealing their deal.

We’ve talked a lot as a fandom about Kang’s side of this — how important it is for him to finally have someone give him a purpose and take him off the dark path he was headed down. I’ve even seen some talk of how that’s manipulative; or how Kang is taking advantage of Sailom.

But Sailom is never willingly the passive victim. He recognized he had something tangible to give Kang; something that has nothing to do with money, and he asked for Kang to take it. Because in his mind, it allows him to spend time with Kang on on equal footing. And since Sailom is enjoying their time together — that's what he wants.

#dangerous romance #dangerous romance the series #kanghansailom #kanghan krittin #kanghan krittin sukprasert #sailom homchan #meta meta meta #sailom meta series #kess babbles about dangerous romance

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sinfulequity · 9 months

Text

Swing and...A miss!

Mikoto’s door is finally here!

Along with the announcement of his cover song and his voice drama name; how fun~

Now onto actually analyzing this thing lmao (Gunsli/Archivalofsins and I both worked really hard on structuring and formatting this thing)

TL;DR- Neoplasm is a fitting evolution from John Doe for both personalities within Mikoto. It is fitting for the one we’re familiar with due to the abrupt change in perception and the one we found out about afterwards because they are becoming more active/growing more defined as Milgram progresses. There are a lot of horror elements involved in Mikoto’s song and previous mv that both of us are excited to see elaborated on in Double. The door is likely based on some sort of operating room and the lettering of the song title in English is probably referring to division.

I. The Title

Firstly, I want to go over how the title is formatted in English! Initially I was thinking of it in writing terms (i.e. how parentheses are used to add clarifying information to a sentence).

A parenthesis is a word, phrase, or clause inserted into a sentence as an explanation or afterthought. When a parenthesis is removed, the surrounding text is still grammatically sound. A parenthesis is usually offset with parentheses (i.e., round brackets), commas, or dashes. These are called parenthetical punctuation marks. A parenthesis is sometimes called an "interrupter" as it interrupts the flow of text.

Examples of them are:

· Andrew Jacklin (last year's losing finalist) is expected to win this heat.

· The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary. (Journalist HL Mencken)

When parentheses (round brackets) are used to offset a parenthesis, the parenthesis is easily seen. However, some writers feel that parentheses can make formal texts look unorganized.

There are more links above, outside of the meaning, usage and formatting of parenthesis. If you’re interested, you can go through it all to see the way that grammar and formatting can help explain/emphasize a point! Being informed on this, at the very least, will be helpful for those that wish to more critically engage with and analyze written media.

Applying this logic to the English title of Mikoto’s second trial song, further emphasizes Mikoto being MeMe. As it can literally be read as Double I’m MeMe. Due to the lack of punctuation, this can be interpreted as both a statement and a question.

Something alluded to by Mikoto’s expression. However, this isn’t the only way it can be read!

We’ve had addition,

“Clothes Food Shelter + Love and Miss.”

We’ve had subtraction,

“Loving Affection (minus) Love, it’s tacky, this two-way deceit.” (Also, another effective use of parentheses.)

Now get ready for-

Division

Yep, the way I’m (MeMe) is written should be familiar to anyone who knows basic Algebra. Because this is exactly how basic division problems are shortened within that form of math and others.

Some examples,

This serves to follow up on what we were told within MeMe,

“Split in half, make that heart beat.”

Since that’s exactly what division is all about

“Division is a mathematical operation which involves the separating of an amount into equal-sized groups.”

Regardless of the outcome it will always be balanced and through recombining those groups will equal the whole. This is why any single number divided by itself equals one because it is equally distributed down. This is why uneven numbers when divided usually have solutions that are not integers as well. The exception being when they’re divided by themselves or by 1.

The point of division is breaking something down into equal parts that can be put back together to get the number you divided by.

For example,

7/2=3.5

89/2=44.5

In either scenario if one were to add this number to itself (essentially combining the two halves) it would make the number that was divided. Add forty-four point five to forty-four point five, to get eighty-nine and three point five to three point five to get seven.

Division is all about figuring out what number added to itself as many times as the number it is being divided by will equal out to the number that is being divided. So, in the case of our first two examples where we are dividing by two doubling the number we get will equal out to what we divided.

A more on topic example would be dividing Mikoto’s prisoner number by two.

9/2= 4.5

Ultimately, this would just be another way of stating something we know about Mikoto already. That he is the ninth prisoner within Milgram.

Let’s use Mikoto’s prisoner number in another division example,

9/3= 3

In multiplication three multiplied by itself equals nine, as many know. However, that doesn’t equate to three overall but three groups of three. Basically being,

3+3+3= 9

Only serving to further reiterate to us that Mikoto is the ninth prisoner overall. That’s just how math works. Now that we’ve gone over some rather basic math; what does the way they chose to organize the lettering on Mikoto’s second trial cd tell us?

Under this framing it could be read as Double I’m/(MeMe) or Double I’m divided by MeMe.

This could reflect that Mikoto’s current state of being is separated into these parts. Stating that these are the parts that make up I’m. Or to put it in math terms again I’m/(MeMe)= Y(X).

Get it because his first trial song quote is,

“Why?”

Also, because the solution, just like punctuation, isn’t here within the title. Something that further emphasizes this lyric in MeMe,

“Why, hey why, I’m nowhere to be found.”

In this case, the two me’s would be making up the I’m while being a source of division for it.

This way of reading it may allude to a disagreement between these two parts or just imply that both these parts are getting in the way of discovering “I’m” in some way breaking their overall sense of self down.

This is something, that has also been illustrated in Yamanaka’s tweet regarding the voice drama,

Which roughly translates to,

“I (ore) did it. I (boku) didn’t do it! You saw it through Milgram! What do you think?”

All this implies that we will more than likely be seeing Mikoto/and the other face this aspect of themselves along with the concept of identity in some way.

II. The Door & Speculations on the Voice Drama Snippet

When it comes to Mikoto’s door, Gunsli and I couldn’t really agree on what it was. At first glance I thought it was an elevator door and she thought it was a train door. However, the door opens outwards while noticeably not being broken in any way that would force it to do so, illustrating that this door has hinges.

Meaning that both beliefs are incorrect.

Train doors also don’t have this on top,

This digital prompter is why I initially believed it was an elevator before taking into consideration how it opens. These words have been put on all the prisoner’s doors. However, they have always been in some way apart of them. This implies that this digital prompter is a part of the door, proper.

Making it more unlikely that these are the doors to a train. I’ve also seen speculation of it being a swing door (opening both outwards and inwards, which would be cool), but… given how fortified the frame is and how thick the doors themselves are… I find that highly unlikely.

The closest thing that we’ve come to a consensus on is actually…

Operating room doors (Operation Theatre Doors). Possibly, emergency operation ones? If this is it, I’m curious to what Mikoto’s MV is visually gonna be like. I think it would be hilarious if we didn’t get visceral imagery, but I don’t think that’s likely after taking into consideration the horror inspirations that can be noted within his previous trial (something we’ll go into later).

Those give his door a few more fun implications. Especially, if these are in fact operating room doors. This is because a lot of zombie/infection type horror movies take place in hospitals. If one were to look at his door through that sort of lens, wouldn’t it appear quite reminiscent to the doors seen at ground zero infection sites in virus or zombie genre horror flicks- The blood smeared on the door as people try to make their way in the glass smashed in hopes of reaching in and unlocking it or breaking a barricade. That airtight thick frame around the door. The likes of movies such as Contagion, 28 Days Later, or The Sadness. Warning for flashing lights on all these trailers by the way.

Outside of continuing these horror inspirations, operation room doors would be a good fit considering his voice dramas name as well. This time, the voice drama is called “Neoplasm”, which is not technically a word that exists, but does follow the format of a bunch of medical terms.

Now, I’m gonna rewind a little, because I haven’t given my opinion on the first trial voice drama name, “John Doe”, either (I promise this connects lol). John Doe applies to both personalities in Mikoto in different ways.

The Mikoto taken into Milgram (referred to within this section from now as Miko), is initially described as “mass goods”. In other words, an “everyman” or to quote Gunsli, “a dime a dozen”. Miko is an office worker, one of the most mundane jobs out there.

This touches on the fact that, like Gunsli has said previously, he could be replaced at any point without much trouble. As we know, John Doe is widely known to be used as a generic name/placeholder in order to withhold details from the larger public.

Either that, or the details don’t exist.

The Mikoto we find out about after Milgram has started, proper, (referred to in this section as Koto), is someone we don’t have an identifying “tag” for. The only (overt) way we know that Koto is out is that he has different behavioural mannerisms and vocabulary.

Even then, his use of personal pronouns seemed to be the same as Miko’s in MeMe, given the line:

“I” will save “me”.

This line uses boku in both instances of a personal pronoun.

In this way, John Doe could be meant in its more formal way; where a body is called this when the identity hasn’t been verified yet.

Incidentally, did you know that John Doe used to be a court term?

Specifically, to hide the identity of a plaintiff in an ongoing court case. There’s also a counterpart called Richard Roe, that hides the identity of the defendant.

There is a mild but real possibility that Miko could be trying to implicate Koto as the perpetrator within his second voice drama to skirt taking responsibility for his actions. It has been brought to the audience’s attention that the prisoners can hear what the audience has been saying about them since the beginning of trial two.

Though Yuno is the most candid about it,

Absolute Zero Yuno Trial 2 Interrogation

“It’s fucking bothersome- I told you this from the start; didn’t I. There’s no end to how much people will punish each other outside of the law. Due to that I really had no interest in Milgram.”

Yes, I remember that. You told me that you wouldn’t pay my judgements any mind and just continue as you have been.

“Oh, that’s right; I’m happy you remembered! Yet, at that time, I didn’t exactly hate it…Milgram. Sure, this place is full of nothing but weirdos but it was much warmer than my day-to-day life at least.”

It did appear like you were having fun the last time we spoke.

“Yes, it was fun! Sure, they’re all murderers but they’re interesting people. They put me at ease a bit, there was just something nice about being around others who also seemed to have something missing in one way or another.”

You’re saying that changed because of me?

“Yep! The situation has become more bothersome than fun. Now all the novelty of it that I found fun at first has been overshadowed- So, I’ve chilled out now that’s all.”

…

“And…Are you satisfied with this situation?”

Everyone within Milgram is a murderer, to the extent of clarifying the information I’ve been handed, to understand your sins… This job, my role, is necessary. Milgram will pull to the forefront not just your essences but the truths that lie within.

“Who are you trying to convince with that? Do those feelings and observations of yours not hold up unless you repeat them over and over again to yourself?”

…!

“You want to find the truth…huh? Pf…Haha!”

Yes, of course, as the guard of Milgram finding the truth of the matter is integral to correctly judging your sins-

“It’s the result of A LOOOOT OF sugar-babying: abortion.”

…!

“That’s probably my murder. Well have it, go and partake of the truth you were seeking so badly.”

…

“How is it, as good as you thought? Are you satisfied? If so, can we be done already?”

Yuno…you…

“You don’t surprise easily, do you? As I thought, you knew it from the song extraction.”

Well, yes, I considered it as one of many possibilities. However, that is the one I believed was most likely. Taking into account Milgram’s lack of specifications concerning the terms murderer and murder alongside it acting outside of common law I could not overlook the possibility it could interpret such a thing as murder.

“Yes, I’m sure. Well, more to say, I had this inkling that was your way of thinking. I could feel it.”

You could feel it…you say?

“Feel it, hear it, all throughout Milgram it’s probably the same with the others as well. Voices talking, observing, poking their noses into things that they ought not to and then discussing my sins.”

Something like that…

“Were those not the sort of thoughts you were having or something? It’s not as if I can really know for sure after all.”

…I don’t know. I wasn’t informed that Milgram could have that sort of impact. It is true I decided to forgive you with that thought in mind. However, that decision is only provisional.

“Haaa….”

…

“Well, then now I’ll tell you the second reason I’m so chilled out! Yaaay!!”

…

“You’re bad at going with the mood, huh.”

I’m starting to lose what little grasp I had on the type of person you are.

“You know it’s dull if you get too serious all the time.”

Noted. Continue.

“My second chillout reason simply put is the fact I was forgiven.”

What?

“Well, to get specific, it isn’t the fact I was forgiven itself but…”

I don’t understand. Just state it plainly.

“Hm…well then, should I just tell you what I heard in my head, what those incessant voices were saying. “Because she’s pitiful.”, “There’s no doubt, she definitely had some sort of reason for doing it.”, “She’s probably this way because there were problems in her home life.”, “She just doesn’t know love yet!” Ah…! “Because of that… I’ll forgive her!”.”

It's true that my decision was impacted by that sort of analogical reasoning and those are all things I considered.

“Ah, yes, yes… Well, and I have to stress this is going to purely and fully my own personal opinion but- I find making those sorts of assumptions preachy and unpleasant!”

…

“It’s all worthless. Deciding that I’m pitiful, making up a backstory for me, creating this personal idealized version of me- This acceptable version of me that you can feel good looking at. Aa..h- They exist you know the sort of people who do that. Those sorts of people have never will never do anything for me.”

Yuno..

“I’m not pitiful, my family gets along great, and I’m not particularly struggling financially. I decided to do what I did of my own free will because I felt it was necessary for me.”

-End of Transcript-

Tear Drop

“Just shut it, will you? You know it all.”

During her voice drama, Yuno explains and calls to attention this new phenomenon within Milgram. Both before and after her the other prisoners conveniently omit the specifics of the information they have heard. Kazui being the most egregious display of this, as he does not bring up hearing the voices at all and only responds to questions after gaining more clarity on the situation. His entire voice drama really comes off as though he’s just leading Es by the nose.

Taking into consideration what was established through her interrogation (the implication that all the prisoners have heard the prevailing theories about their cases) who’s to say Miko has not weaponized the information he’s heard? Omitting he heard it like the others and using it to push the blame more onto the other personality. Whom if we’re being frank would more than likely be willing to take the fall for him anyway.

However, the fact that this is said,

“I (ore) did it. I (boku) didn’t do it! You saw it through Milgram! What do you think?”

Very quickly showcases to me that the one speaking is Miko here not Koto. Koto in the snippet of Double we’ve been shown is questioning what’s wrong,

“Why are you crying?”

If Koto is not aware of what is negatively impacting Miko in the song proper, why would they know what Milgram saw or how Milgram reacted to it? A thing stated to be specific to prisoners beneath Milgram’s control.

This is something alluded to during the second trial commencement notice. At that time Jackalope tells us Koto has been free and unchained this entire time.

Exempt from the rules of Milgram and unable to have punishment administered to them. This means the voices all the prisoners have been hearing as part of their punishments or rewards would not impact him.

So, once again, I ask- How the fuck would he know that anyone saw anything through Milgram? Especially the specific implication and pervasive theory that it was them (Koto) who committed the murders.

Something that gives more credence to this idea is how Koto has even interpreted the song,

“I should have saved you but why are you crying? Rely on me, praise me with your song, I am your saviour.”

As a form of praise and a way in which Miko is relying on him. Simply as if Koto doesn’t see a thing wrong with what was displayed on top of not knowing what is upsetting Miko.

How much Koto knows about the song and Milgram’s response to it is rather questionable as we’ve been expressly told he is not a prisoner proper yet.

This possible way of handling the situation on Miko’s part is oddly reminiscent to how the Devil within Not A Devil attempts to convince the viewers they’re good through lines like,

“Another clandestine rendezvous with myself. Drained, oh so drained, introspection and in prayer.”

MeMe

“Snuggle together and say, “Good night” switch, shake up that brain.”

“The minus energy that I swallowed hugged me.”

Double (though official translation liable to change)

“I should have saved you but why are you crying? Rely on me, praise me with your song, I am your saviour.”

“No worries, no worries everything’s fine. This is just a silly joke.”

Trial 1 Voice Drama

“Of course, I want to think of all this as a joke…Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Calm down, that’s just a rumor.”

MeMe

“I won’t forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

“All those ridiculous accusations.”

“Now shut up and give me your signature. Not a devil, I’m not a devil. So, sayeth the devil.”

MeMe

“I’m probably not to blame, it’s probably nothing.” – “Why am I here? It must be a mistake, right?”

Taking the court terminology, Miko implicating Koto as the culprit with his denial firmly puts him in the role of John Doe (plaintiff) and Koto in the position of Richard Roe (defendant). Beginning a back and forth of finger pointing where Miko implicates the other and Koto can either deny the accusation or accept it.

This makes his second voice dramas title “Neoplasm” very apt naming. Because over the course of Milgram, the mold (interpretation) Mikoto was put under as this every man, silly little office worker caricature has been reshaped into to something new and abnormal.

Miko’s possible response to this new perception of his character being pretending to be Koto to fit this new shape he’s been given within the voice drama while attempting to save face isn’t surprising coming from him. He would know that Koto uses ore as well. Since, the audience has repeated it consistently over the course of the intermission. If Miko has been hearing the audience, as has been implied, it’d be very difficult for him to not be made aware of how Koto behaves.

Taking into consideration how much the other has been discussed, drawn, and written about. It has been more than shown that the prisoners know our speculations, in regard to their cases, and they’ve all been shown making attempts to confirm the validity of the statements they’ve heard over the course of their voice dramas. As such, there is a real possibility that Miko has heard the argument that the other committed the murders and he is in fact an innocent harmless individual.

Information that he’d rightfully take advantage of in this situation. Because it’d be a bit more difficult for people to condemn an innocent and harmless individual. Even if the other one did it and the only way to punish Koto was through punishing Miko a few people would be hesitant about doing such a thing. Simply put it would feel wrong to do as it’s dragging down a blameless individual just to get to someone who for all we know may not be at fault either.

We now find ourselves in a very classic dilemma-

MeMe

“The truth will come to reveal itself. I won’t forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

“The truth will come to reveal itself. I will NEVER forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

“So, I will NEVER forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

At this point, or maybe even from the beginning, they’ve just been in a finger pointing competition. And things are only about to get messier.

III. Voice Drama Title

Now back to the title of the voice drama “Neoplasm” (orz). Remember how I said Neoplasm isn’t technically a word? Well, it’s technically not and is.

As many were quick to point out, Neoplasm refers to a new and abnormal growth of tissue within the human body that could either be benign or malignant. It’s a term to describe the discovery of new tissue growth such as a tumour that was not previously present. However, when this occurrence is discussed, the individual neoplasm is rarely referred to by name instead the phenomenon is usually referred to and discussed as “Neoplasia”.

As you can see in these lists of Human Anatomy & Physiology: Latin and Greek Word-Parts plasm is not included as a suffix.

Now this may seem like semantics. However, it’s incredibly important to differentiate between these two terms. Neoplasms are the result of Neoplasia. Neoplasia is when neoplasms are formed. Through naming the voice drama Neoplasm Yamanaka plainly stated that a Neoplasm has formed but Neoplasia, the act of it forming, has not been observed.

Through using this term instead of the one usually used in cases of observing (discovering) this new tissue and the process of its formation this comes off as saying though an abnormality has been observed it was present when the patient arrived. Again, unlike in the case of observing Neoplasia when doctors usually go okay this was not here several months ago but it’s here now.

Meaning, the Neoplasm is more than likely not entirely new but it shouldn’t be there, and it wouldn’t normally be there.

Let’s move onto word roots and meanings.

Now we know that Neo has an etymology from Greek

"New, Young, Recent," from Greek neos and "new, young, youthful; fresh, strange; lately, just now," from PIE root *newo-. In the physical sciences, caeno-, ceno- is used in the same sense. Paleo- is an antonym of these terms.

However, modern day definitions of the word (Yes, I said definitions!) are a bit different,

As it can mean “something new” or “new or recent, or in a modern form”.

For example, within Ace Attorney there’s a show called the “The Steel Samurai” the location of this show is stated to be Neo Olde-Tokyo. A new/revived version of old Tokyo. In this case the use of Neo and Olde together better highlight the intricacies of this word.

A more recent example of this would be NEOTWEWY. The title of the revival/follow-up game telling us out the gate this is something new built on the foundation of The World Ends With You (TWEWY). It is also, canonically, a remade form of Shibuya that Joshua made at the end of the original base game. Albeit, one made to be pretty much the same as the original.

So, while the immediate thought would be that it’s something new, it could also mean that it’s something that’s been reformed and shown as “new” that way. Something I’m sure that Miko is fully aware of. In fact, I’d say anything in reference to him would be more likely to use a pop culture meaning! Especially when you take into account his active attempts to keep up with the times and be seen as popular.

Plasm, however, has two roots in terms of etymology: Latin and Greek. In Latin, its root means “mold”. In Greek, it means “something formed”/“formation” or “to shape”.

The term also has modern-day definitions!

The first one is,

“formative or formed material (as of a cell or tissue)”

But there’s also

“Any of the components of protoplasm”

Protoplasm being the building blocks for all life on a cellular level.

In medical science it can also be used as a prefix and a suffix, but let’s focus on the suffix here.

Suffix meaning living substance, tissue.

These definitions of plasm may seem similar, but there is a difference in nuance. The first definition listed here refers to it as the material itself, specifying that it’s used in cells/tissues. The second one refers to the fact that they act as smaller parts to a whole (the whole in this case being the -cellular- foundation of life).

And the third one focuses on what the material makes as a whole. In other words, living substances and/or tissues.

Let’s move back to Koto. Well, we don’t know that much about him, right? Except, since the last trial ended, it’s been stated that he’s shown up more often. This includes in the trial two website voice lines, somewhere we’ve never seen him before! This, in addition to the usage of ore in the Double preview, seem to indicate that he’s solidifying more of an identity for himself.

Going back to the topic of the lettering choices on the CD cover real quick; specifically the division idea brought up earlier. Considering I’m as the whole and Miko and Koto as (MeMe) in this framework once again reiterates that Koto may possibly be growing a sense of identity outside of Miko and vice versa. Since Miko may be growing a more solid sense of identity as well after becoming aware of the other. You know, something you could also put as separating/dividing from Miko?

Neoplasms themselves aren’t really a big deal unless it turns out they are cancerous. In fact, benign ones are extremely common.

This is something that is once again rather fitting for Mikoto’s character and the implementation of it within Milgram. Allow me to elaborate, Mikoto as a character has subverted expectations from his first trial. There is a clear pattern with him of taking things that are usually considered normal and distorting them into something easily perceived as extreme, odd, or out of the norm.

Turning the mundane into the terrifying, a very common thing done within the horror genre.

This is one of the reasons Gunsli finds it very exciting that his second trial will be releasing in October. As it’s not just the month of his birthday but Halloween. So, she’s really hoping for some more horror inspired imagery with all those very common horror lighting tropes.

IV. Horror Influences

From static effects,

To flat lighting from a television,

Those fisheye lens sort of shot at the beginning,

Then there’s this shot,

and the usage of both anamorphic lenses and vignetting.

(Side note; if you want to look more into how lighting utilized in horror, check out this video- x)

The atmospheric lens allows the lighting to look more ethereal. This, on top of the colouring used for the lights, makes the overall shot feel cold and liminal. The usage of a wide shot also emphasises this feeling of isolation.

In addition, the pillar at the foreground on his right makes him look crowded in while the emptiness to his left highlights how alone he is. This is also where the victim comes in from. The framing and direction here make it look as though the victim is cornering Mikoto.

That combined with the vignetting, makes the shot the visual equivalent of being “between a rock and a hard place”. This is likely a representation of how Miko was feeling at the time of the crime; trapped and as if he had to do this to survive.

Leading into another point, the way that all of the shots in MeMe are set up. Is something I find interesting, because a lot of them are ones usually used for victims/horror protagonists. Something that contrasts wildly with both his crime and how callously it’s shown. This puts Mikoto in the interesting position of both predator and prey.

For Gunsli this is all the stuff that just makes a horror fan go, “Yeah, this guy... This guy fucking watches horror movies for fun doesn’t he.” while everyone else who’s normal and hasn’t watched almost every horror movie they had access to goes how do you know this- Just for her to respond with, “I’m not the one on trial here he’s the fucking murderer; this ain’t about me!”.

All while managing to draw attention to and show off Mikoto’s genuine love and eye for photography. Possibly even nodding towards a bit of an interest in cinematography.

Q.07 What are your hobbies?

Mikoto: shopping / darts / photography / cycling

Every shot in MeMe meticulously planned out and executed in a way startlingly similar to how his murders are alluded to have gone down.

All this makes it difficult for them to say the team doesn’t know what they’re doing when it comes to him. Mikoto’s character in general turns the benign into something cancerous or the mundane into something controversial. A skill that has made him the topic of many divisive conversations and instances in Milgram’s history.

The usage of neoplasm could also touch on how Koto was immediately stigmatized by most of the fandom. Just as everyone assumes the worst-case scenario from tumours showing up, they assumed the worst of Koto’s entire existence. From statements such as,

“Having a person with D.I.D being a murderer is bad rep” to “I can’t believe they gave someone with D.I.D a murderous personality again”.

All this, despite the fact we don’t know who committed the actual crime. Though we’re pretty sure it was Miko for multiple reasons Gunsli has covered elsewhere.

Closing remarks from Gunsli- It’s always fun to write with other people but it’s always the best when I get to write with Star. I initially came to her for help with this one because I was just in the worst of moods due to multiple circumstances. However, this wound up taking so long mostly because there was just so much to cover and talk about. Plus, we haven’t even went into his cover yet. I was rather excited about guessing Mikoto’s second trial cover song correctly~ However, in the excitement of that I made some rather hasty observations myself like guessing that the door was train doors. Luckily, I took a step back to observe it more and talked over a lot of things with Star. Hope people enjoy all of this and sorry for leaving the TL;DR to you Star.

Here’s my (Star’s) parting words. Or rather, image-

-We try and have fun here

#milgram #Mikoto Kayano #Kayano Mikoto #thoughts #this is like 20 pages long so heads up there

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