#Maximum love from it's intended reader

[phneltwrites]

I just looked at the number of fandoms you've written for...🤯

😅✌️ yeah.

I really like writing presents? If you break it down its overwhelmingly gift fic. Like more than 100 of the 140 I've written are for other people.

(for the curious it's like ~64 fandoms)

[rieamena]

totally (not) beating the allegations

best friend!takuma ino headcanons

contains... best friends to lovers, mutual pining, casual confession of love, kisses (platonic), kisses (romantic), modern au, high school to university au, living together-ish, fem intended reader, pet names (baby, babe, love, sexy, handsome, beautiful, sweetie, the list goes on and on), lots of physical touch, nicknames (you call takuma, kuma.), reader has a mother and a father, y'all are basically dating just without the label...

word count: 2.3k (this wasn't supposed to be long. i told myself 0.8k maximum...)

riea's comments: all sixteen people living in takuma city RISE UP! i miss my husband of 35 years so much, come back to me loml :(( something to munch on while y'all wait for the next full throttle chapter. also not too much on me if this is a drabble and not hcs idk the difference :))

first off... i just wanna say that i KNOW I KNOW that ino is one of the funniest people in the jjk cast idc idc!!! if he had more screentime (and if the situation wasnt dire) my boy would be crackin some jokes!!!!

you've been friends with takuma for around 7 years, your first meeting happening in tenth grade, when your teacher paired you two up for an interview project. when time came to actually record the interviews, it was hard to edit out you two laughing uncontrollably every fifteen seconds or so

i mean, you two just had so much in common!!! same favorite color, same favorite franchise, same favorite tv show, same favorite video game; it was like yall were the same person. there was just one thing you both disagreed on: whether hex code #286061 was blue or green

your argument ended up being the last ten minutes of the final video you submitted...

without a doubt, after that, you two became inseparable. in school, people would take notice of your closeness. when one of you were absent, teachers would jokingly ask "where's the other one?"

there was not a single thing you didn't do together, homework, go to the gym, gossip, eavesdrop, etc etc. so of course, you ended up applying to the same universities and when it came time for college acceptance season...

takuma invited you over, forcing you to bring your mailed letters from the eight universities. sprawling out over his lap, you took in the all too familiar sight of his room. you've been in his room more times than you've been in your own (and vice versa!)

i mean ino's been over to your place so many times that he calls your parents mom and dad. and you've been over to his house so much that takuma's mom practically jumped for joy every time you burst through the front doors with a "guess who's home!!!" so it was completely normal that you guys knew the ins and outs of each other's rooms, right?

"kuma, baby," you started with a sigh, reveling in your best friend's repetitive motions. running his hand through your hair, ino looked down at you, eyes showing that he was listening. "i'm scared, what if we don't–"

"ah-ah-ah! no negativity here!" he cut you off, pushing you off his lap and grabbing the letters you left on his desk. "listen here beautiful," takuma says, bringing a hand to your cheek, his heart swelling when you subconsciously leaned into it, "we're gonna take each other's letters, and open them," he handed you a white envelope, the logo of both of yours dream university on it, "starting with, kyōmei."

taking a well needed deep breath, you nodded. "okay," you and ino began to open the envelopes at the same time, only looking at each other when you saw the status. "accepted or rejected in 3...2...1..."

"ACCEPTED"

"ACCEPTED"

cue the mandatory silence before the screaming. "holy shit. you got in." "you got in." "WE GOT IN!!! WE'RE GOING TO KYŌMEI!!!!" you two practically flew off the bed, jumping up and down in celebration. peppering his face in kisses, you nuzzled your face into takuma's neck. "i'm so proud of us! i mean, kyōmei," you pulled away from his neck, shaking his shoulders harshly, "the kyōmei?!!!"

anyways, soon enough, you both realized that you'd have to move away, resulting in a seven hour search for apartments near the university's campus. and just as takuma was about to give up, you found a listing for units 19A and 19B, right in the heart of the city and just a five minute walk from kyōmei

and with that, it was moving day, well, days is more like it considering that the whole process took like ten days... finding cute furniture is really hard! and moving all of it is even harder!! and don't even get me started on the appliances! although, you and takuma found a way around it

like what do both of you need a microwave for? and there isn't a reason to have two dishwashers, there wasn't even a reason to have one! y'all kept your fridges though... who was gonna be banging on the other's door in the middle of the night for some cold water??

with time, it came for the highly anticipated freshman formal, an welcome event hosted by kyōmei itself, and of course, you had to go. so here you were, staring at your figure in the mirror as your best friend's large hand rubbed your shoulder, the other zipping up your black dress. "all done!" he breathed, taking a step away so that you could see for yourself. "i look so cute~" you giggled, hearing the clack of your heels as you twirled. "you do!" he paused, looking you up and down, "when did you get that dress?"

"your mom gave it to me a couple days ago! where'd you get that tux? i don't think i've seen it before," you walked over and straightened takuma's suit, as he laughed in response, "your mom gave it to me..."

"this was planned."

"this was definitely planned."

"we should send a picture in the family group chat!"

"we should!!! but, hair first!"

notice how i said family group chat, singular, not plural. and that's because there's a gc for both of your families! it's name was a mix between "ino" and your last name, since, in all seriousness, your families were close

so here you were, sitting pretty on takuma's lap as you focused on straightening the front pieces of his hair, because that's what best friends do!

"okayyyy sexyyyy," you squealed, moving out of the way so that takuma could see himself in your vanity mirror, "damnn, i look hot!" he smiled as he checked himself out, his hand firmly on your waist (to make sure that you wouldn't fall, of course!). "i knew i was fine but, did i always look this fine?" he asked, looking up at you with his big dark brown eyes, a playful smirk evident on his face. "yes, takuma. you're the sexiest man ever. just a bit of eyeliner on you and we'll be on our way, okay?"

turning back to your station, you grabbed some brown and black pencils before starting to lightly draw over ino's outer eye corner, "do men as sexy as me really need eyeliner?" a look from you was all he needed to know to shut up and close his eyes

and oh, how he loved being so close to you. not just emotionally but physically as well. like, not every duo can say that they barge into the other's apartment to steal snacks! and speaking of snacks... let me just say, there's a whole cabinet in his kitchen reserved for your favorite foods and! he keeps your favorite ice cream flavor stocked in his freezer

you, on the other hand, have a little space where you hide takuma's favorite anything. chips, gummies, takeout menus, you name it, you have it. because your best friend is oh-so-optimistic, it can be harder for him when he's just not having the best of days. which is why when you go your (not so) separate ways at the end of the day, you pack up a basket for him. ribbons in his favorite color, his top 15 favorite snacks from that one time y'all bought one of everything in a nearby convenience store and ranked them, takeout on the way, horror flicks he's been wanting on dvd because he said "its cooler that way", and a handwritten letter from you, for my kuma, scribbled on the envelope

dropping off the basket at his door and retreating back to your place, you'd press your ear against the wall separating your units, physically feeling your heart break when you heard sniffles. that was all you needed to practically fly over to his, a few boxes of tissues in hand. because that's what best friends do!

and don't even get me started on how many belongings y'all have at the other's place... like that one time takuma walked into your apartment announcing his presence, only to be met with silence. let me set up the scene for you. you are taking a relaxing shower when you hear a knock on the door followed by four more and then three more. "come in!" you called out, unbeknownst to you, ino's voice was closer than you thought

"already in here..., anyways. is my shampoo in there?"

"the one with the purple cap?"

"yeah, thanks babe!"

"wait, can you get me my towel?"

or that time when you causally opened the door to his unit (because it was basically yours too) and greeted him with a simple pat on his head before skipping off to find those jeans you thrifted

slight cohabitation aside, the university life was definitely... something. it was clear and obvious that you two were close, a blind man could see it. but close is a really really really vague word, and it's surely not the word that describes the way the two of you act. in this friendship, terms of endearment drop like rain from clouds. every. other. sentence. contains a "babe" or "baby" or "sweetheart" or "darling" WE GET IT OKAY...

and it seems like if y'all go a single day without touching each other, a bomb will fall from the sky and earth would blow up. his hands are constantly on you, his favorite places (when in public) being your shoulders and arms, and when at home it was without a doubt your waist and thighs. just imagine how difficult it must be for people speak to you both on campus when his arm is slung around you and your hand is holding onto his side. the rumors practically created themselves....

and when i say people were shocked, i mean they were SHOCKED when y'all were like "haha, no, we're not dating!!! we're best friends!" everyone was thinking: yeah best friends who FUCK. best friends who are IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER. y'all became the campus' it couple without being a couple. how does that happen??!??

however... there were a couple of people who were particularly excited to hear that you both were single. a few girls approached you one day while in the general area, asking if it was true that you and ino weren't dating. "we aren't... why?" one of the girls shifted on her feet, clearly nervous. "well... could you um... give this to him for me?!" she bowed, presenting a pretty pink envelope. you froze, staring at the item before giggling. "i see what this is about! don't worry! i'll make sure this gets to him safely!" long story short, that letter was never delivered

and on ino's side, he had some classmates pestering him about you. asking for your favorite show, candy, date style, everything under the sun. "guys, guys! she doesn't even want a boyfriend right now!" takuma shouted, even though two days prior you were complaining about how spending too much time with him was scaring all the hotties away

but let's get into the real stuff... the realization of love

for takuma, there wasn't a "wow, i'm in love with her" moment. what he does know though is that he started feeling something different for you a few months before college admission season. to him, the world was always bright with you by his side but now... it was so much brighter. it was like looking directly into the sun; it hurt but he couldn't look away, he doesn't want to look away. you're the best thing to ever happen to him, and the mere thought of ruining what you have just for some feeling—no matter how intense—isn't... right to him

and you figured it out after a dream you had one night back in high school. you dreamt of being in takuma's arms, the ones you snuck glances at when he wasn't paying attention to you. in not dream world, all you had to do was ask and he'd gladly envelop you but the vibes in this dream were different. there was tension. and it was thick. his beanie was off and thrown somewhere on the bed, your bed. looking back at him, your breath caught in your throat, "hey pretty," he slurred, drunk off tiredness. ino's called you beautiful more times than you can count; he made sure to do it at least once a week, so why... just why did this time make your stomach heat up and your heart race? you woke up with a flushed face, queasy feeling in your gut, and a deep understanding. it wasn't just platonic love anymore

"hey," you started, eyes trained on the movie in front of you, but your mind was focused on something else, "y'know how everyone thinks we're dating?" ino nodded as you reached over to grab the bowl of popcorn. "i've been thinking... maybe they're onto something..."

takuma's gulp could be heard from miles away, "wh-what are you trying to say?"

"what are we? seriously. because i can't sit here and pretend like i don't wish we were something more."

"something more like...?"

"now's not the time to be oblivious! don't you get it?! i'm—"

"i'm in love with you,"

it was like time stood still as you looked at your best friend. his face was lit by the tv screen a couple feet away, his hair was a mess, and slightly prominent dark circles were under his eyes, but... he's never looked more beautiful to you. "have been. for a long time. we've basically been dating for like four years already. four more and then we'll get married?" he flashed his signature smile

"oh, shut up," he brought your face millimeters away from his, whispering "make me." before kissing you deeply, not on your cheek, or your forehead, or your shoulders, but on your lips this time. and all the times after that too

because that's what best friends lovers do, right?

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @sugurusbaobei @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @laitifly @discipleofthem

@cheesecake95 @strawberry-cherrypie @makeshiftproject @magiamad0ka @ncitygreen

@stillnotherapy @oniondrip @cloudy-yyy @definitely-not-leena @kidd3ath

@atigerandabear @russianremy @ohnoitsamistakee18 @ivy-vivii @ourfinalisation

@1ndee @yourhornysister @ancientimes

[cheenapri]

Transactional [Yandere Illumi Zoldyck x Reader]

Day one

Summary: Illumi had decided to spoil you for once, little did you know how much it would cost you in the end.

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: yandere, kidnapping, gender neutral reader, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics, mentions of past abuse, Illumi is kind of an asshole but when is he not, reader is not having a good time

Day two + three Day four + five

Shit.

Why didn’t you figure this out sooner?

You had deluded yourself into believing that maybe he felt bad, that he had actually changed for the better, for your wellbeing, that he actually wanted to treat you for once just to make you happy.

Of course not.

There’s always a catch. It was chiefly for his benefit under the guise of strengthening the involuntary relationship you had with him.

“Fate brought you to me. And thus, it is my duty to protect you.” he explained over and over during his many lectures, trying to drill it into you. 

He had only given the illusion of change.

You held your breath, his body looming over you with one hand interlaced with your own and the other straddling your hip to keep you still. He left bite marks on your neck, too rough and inexperienced to be interpreted as anything affectionate, though what he intended, blood quick to seep out of the wounds. He had slowly lapped it up, taking far too long for it to be seen as any sort of foreplay. A part of you wondered if he changed his mind and decided to cannibalize you instead. 

He didn’t really care how strange his actions were, though. He had you right where he wanted you — where you should’ve been long ago. He moved like he was following a script; his long, black hair draped down as he went in for more “love bites”. His face was expressionless as always, cementing just how empty this relationship was. How did he develop such a twisted sense of love?

You question why he even bothered preparing you for this, though you appreciated it for once, as he took the time to organize a five day vacation with you – or rather order the butlers to organize it. What was the point? Everything was lifeless and awkward, just like back at the estate. Was this the only sense of normality he was willing to give you? 

Your mind recalls when it was first announced to you, it was through your appointed butler, Shiori. Shiori was around the same age as you, chosen deliberately to increase your chances of opening up to her. He gave her the task, having her inquire about your likes and dislikes, favorite hobbies, movies, fashion taste and more just so he could surprise you with it later. You assumed he’s either too awkward or doesn’t care enough to learn about your interests directly from your own mouth.

Sitting at a white desk in your prison of a master bedroom, you assembled a DIY house kit. It was a little greenhouse, the tediousness of it giving you something to do while you tried to maintain your sanity. The room was windowless, the walls soundproof, and there was only one door, a titanium maximum security door that could only be opened with his permission. A security camera with a speaker loomed above you, seemingly always pointing directly at you.

You try not to think about how many times he’s watched you through that camera.

The distant sound of one of the security gates opening catches your ears. Someone’s coming. 

You set the tweezers down, heart quickening as you continue listening. It doesn’t take long for the door to be unlocked, the multiple clicks ringing throughout the silent room. Audible footsteps could be heard, causing you to relax a little as that was your indication it wasn’t him. You turn as Shiori emerges, swiftly locking the door behind her and standing with her white gloved fingers interlaced neatly in front of her. She smiles at you and you return a half hearted one. 

“Good evening, Master (Name).” she bows her head with formality, her short brown and blonde hair briefly falling over her face. She straightens up again and quickly fixes her hair. “The Master has a message for you. You are to freshen up and dress yourself, you will be escorted outside shortly.”

Your interest immediately piqued. You had only been outside of this room once since you got here – when you attempted your first escape. It was during a time when you had a different assigned butler named Junpei. Junpei had fallen for you in their short time taking care of you, bonding with you in ways no other butler would ever be able to. They were genuine, they actually cared about you and your well-being rather than what their employer had tasked them with. There were no cameras in the room at the time so the two of you made plans to escape whenever they visited under the guise of wanting to keep you company. Unfortunately for you, your captor had already planned for something like this, though he didn’t think anyone had the gall to actually up and do it. Both your and Junpei’s heart dropped to your feet when you saw him standing menacingly outside the first security gate. He was silent, but his bloodthirsty aura spoke for him. You soon found out what it sounds like to physically rip someone apart with bare hands. You actually thought you'd die that night as you found yourself unable to breathe or even think amidst his extreme, malicious aura, eyes widening further when he questions if you truly loved Junpei. You never want to see him like that ever again. 

You were let off with a broken ankle and no one spoke of the incident again. 

Shiori could see your confusion mixed with awe. “That is all I can tell you, Master (Name). It would be best for you to begin preparing yourself now.”

You slowly stood up, looking at your project for a moment as you pondered what he may have been planning. This was strange. He definitely wasn’t rewarding you for good behavior. You’ve already tried that route of buttering him up in hopes he’d let his guard down; he, in fact, did not and you were punished for dishonesty. How would he know what true love was anyway?

You make your way to the large, luxury bathroom, turning on the warm water and letting the shower run for a bit. You hear Shiori’s footsteps through the door, assuming she’s going through your wardrobe and picking your outfit at his request. You hate him. 

You slowly stepped into the tub, the warm water embracing you like a comforting hug. Hot showers restored a bit of your sanity. You liked to stand there and allow the water to splash onto you, imagining you were anywhere but in this hellhole. Shiori, however, encourages you to pick up your speed, well aware of your tendency to reminisce in the shower for far too long. You sigh, stepping out of the tub and finishing your routine. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror, not wanting to see what months of stress had done to your features. You threw on a fluffy robe before leaving the bathroom. There was an outfit sprawled out on the bed, one you knew he really liked on you though he’s never admitted it, only staring longer than he should.

“Is this some kind of special event?” You ask sarcastically.

It’s a rhetorical question, but Shiori humors you regardless.

“The Master is in a good mood today.” she smiles gently, her voice somewhat monotone. 

She reminded you of him in a way. Why did she even choose to work here? You stare at the outfit for a moment, reluctant to even touch it. Shiori notices your uneasiness, fully understanding your anxiety but feigning ignorance nonetheless. “Is something the matter, Master (Name)?”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

Your anxiety continues to build. Everything in your strange, unstable relationship with him has been purely transactional. Want dessert? Speak kindly to him. Want a new video game to play? Butter him up but be careful not to overdo it, there’s only so much dishonesty he could allow. Want the privilege of having a full belly for the next three days? Behave. Do everything he says without question, regardless if you have to swallow your pride. So despite all of this, why was he suddenly treating you so graciously? Allowing you to leave your prison cell masterfully decorated to resemble a bedroom belonging to a ten million dollar mansion?

Shiori chuckles a bit. You’re aware of how disingenuous it sounds, but you don’t comment on it. “You shouldn’t worry yourself, Master (Name). The Master has been planning this for a while now, I’m sure you will enjoy yourself.”

Great, now you’re worried Shiori has said too much. You’re no stranger to how strict the Zoldyck family is with their servants, how strict he must be with Shiori. You think of what happened to Junpei again, of the desperate pleas that fell upon deaf ears as he continued to mutilate them, how his expression seemed more uncanny than usual.

Shivering at the thought of it, you drop the topic, not wanting to continue to allow her to dig her own grave but grateful for the hints. You remove your robe, ignoring Shiori’s presence as you’ve changed in front of her countless times, and put on the outfit along with your assigned shoes. 

Shiori confirms that you’re ready before the two of you move to stand in front of the large security door. To say you were apprehensive was an understatement. Perhaps this was your chance to finally escape? No, that would be stupid. Obviously he’d already accounted for that, most likely had medical professionals on standby in case he needed to break your ankle again. Maybe he’d break both of them this time or even saw your legs off. You wouldn’t put it past him.

The multiple clicks of the locks could be heard again before the door was pulled open, multiple butlers on the other side. Shiori steps out and you’re hesitant to follow, not wanting to give away how eager and ready to bolt you were. Not like you could anyway, not with five highly skilled butlers watching your every move. 

Not a word was spoken as they escorted you through the two security gates, your eyes stinging when sunlight poured over you. 

You’re outside. 

You’re actually outside.

You would scream and cry if the situation was different, falling to your knees and feeling the grass on your hands in your frenzied state. 

You look around, taking a mental note of every little thing. You could see the Zoldyck’s mansion in the distance, far away from your separate living structure. Good. 

“Eyes forward, (Name).”

The sudden order breaks you out of your thoughts, your head whips forward while your eyes move to look at the source of the voice. It was a taller, older lady with pink, pigtail type hair. She must’ve been serving the Zoldycks for a long time. She’s silent, giving you a stern look before turning forward again. You fight the urge to look around, to run even, as you’re led through the forest that surrounds the estate.

“Where are we going?” you couldn’t help but ask. Your voice is somewhat soft and timid, but it’s clear they all heard you. 

“It’s just up ahead, Master (Name).” Shiori answers, her hands now folded behind her.

You’re taking in as much information as you can without actually looking around, taking note of the distance between the Butler’s Quarters and your prison cell. Approximately one hundred fifty seven steps, you’ve been counting. An additional two hundred seventy four steps from the Butler’s Quarters to the front gate. Would you even remember this information?

One of the butlers effortlessly pushes open the giant front gate, the feat reminding you just how weak you truly are. Those gates weigh four tons and the bigger gates above it are many times heavier. 

You can’t even begin to describe what you were feeling. A part of you fully believed he had come to his senses and was releasing you like some wild animal, throwing you off of the property and leaving you to fend for yourself. Surely it would be better than going back to that room. 

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case. Instead of throwing you out and shutting the gate behind them, the butlers led you to a black Mercedes truck sitting in wait.

Your head hurts. You feel like you’re going to throw up. Typical reaction when you know he’s near. You could just die right now. You knew you were bound to see him again, but that doesn’t repress the dread it fills you with.

He’s staring at you through the tinted windows, you can’t see him — you just know it. You don’t want to see him, you haven't had enough time to mentally prepare; you’ll never have enough time to mentally prepare. Shiori steps ahead of you, opening the passage to hell as the Devil himself sits patiently, his black, empty eyes gazing upon you.

You nearly vomit.

You swallow hard, holding your breath in an attempt to mellow out your facial features as you climb into the backseat. You didn’t acknowledge him yet, slowly buckling your seatbelt and staring at Shiori with widened eyes as she shuts the door, sealing you inside with that monster.

It’s suffocating.

Overwhelming.

You forgot to breathe.

Sucking in sharp breaths, you shut your eyes tightly. The silence is deafening. He’s waiting on you. For once.

“H-hello… Illumi.” saying his name was the equivalent of swallowing a cup of hydrochloric acid. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, pains your throat, your stomach, everything. 

Illumi hums in approval. “Hm. I’m thankful you hadn’t forgotten your manners, (Name). I thought I’d have to discipline you sooner than I anticipated.” you hear him shift, surely turning to fully face you. “I won’t need to, right?” his monotone voice does your ears a disservice despite its smoothness.

“No.” you quickly wipe your eyes, knowing how much he hates seeing your tears. 

You finally force yourself to look up at him, his piercing, cat-like eyes filling you with the unwavering desire to do something drastic. Maybe throw yourself out of the car when it’s moving and hope it runs you over, killing you in the process. 

You look away just as quickly, tightly gripping your pants to quell the need to gouge your eyes out. At least you wouldn’t have to look at him then. He shifts again, facing forward but not looking away from you. “I’ll assume you’re overwhelmed. You’ve missed me so much you don’t know how to convey it.”

“I didn’t miss you. I actually had hoped you died and I’d never have to see you again.” is what you would say if you were fond of getting the life strangled out of you. Instead, you stay silent, staring at your hands intertwined on your lap. 

“What have you been getting up to?”

Shouldn’t he already know? Shiori is his human security camera plus the actual security camera he has in your enclosure. What are you even supposed to say to this? You’ve been rotting in bed and crying your eyes out because you can’t leave? You had thought of creative ways to end your own life? He’d have you restrained to your bed for all eternity if you mentioned that last one. 

“Nothing of interest.” is all you say.

“Tell me. I want to hear it.”

Bastard’s trying to force conversation. 

“I’m working on that greenhouse project Shiori had given me-”

“I had given you.” he corrects. Silence falls over the two of you as the car finally begins to drive off. 

Illumi was always out on missions or some other job, how were you supposed to know it was a gift from him? You wouldn’t have touched it otherwise, preferring to rot in bed than encourage him in the slightest. You’re actually thankful for his extended time spent away doing fuck all, not seeing yourself surviving if you had to physically endure him day and night constantly. Hell, you were barely keeping your composure just sitting next to him and you’d only seen him for two minutes. 

“Thank you.” not knowing what else to say, you simply thank him, hoping he’d be satisfied with just that and leave you alone. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’ve been doing?”

Of course he doesn’t.

“Killing people?” you state the obvious, hoping he wouldn’t interpret that as you trying to be smart. Assassinating people is his job, it only makes sense to assume that’s what he’s been doing. You wish he’d kill you and get it over with. 

“Naturally. Take a better guess.” what the hell does he want from you? You don’t know anything significant about him to be able to give a good guess. You’re clearly stunted, your lack of a response giving it away. He narrows his eyes slightly, reaching out which causes you to flinch. He retracts his hand momentarily upon seeing your reaction before going in again slowly, softly cupping your chin and guiding your head to look at him. “Do you assume I don’t think about you?”

What? He must be fucking with you.

Illumi brings forth his other hand just as slowly, now gently cupping your face with both. You were always shocked by how smooth and soft his hands were. They’re cold though.

“Answer me.”

His owlish eyes were staring directly into your soul, almost hypnotizing you. You shift your head and look away. If you were as bold as you used to be, you would’ve swung on him by now, turning his gentle hands cupping your face into violent claws gripping your throat. It took many lessons for you to learn that you simply could not fight him.

He backs down and lets go of you when you fail to answer, pulling his hands into his lap again. He was aware of your fear, he found twisted comfort in it, believing it would keep you glued to his side. You glance in his general direction but not at his face. He was wearing that purple outfit again and his long, black hair was as silky as ever.

“Aren’t you curious as to where we’re going?” 

He sure was talkative today; Shiori did mention he was in a good mood. He’s usually very blank, even around you, his supposed partner. It forced you to learn to read his emotions using his micro expressions, tone, silent indicators, and of course aura. Aura was mainly reserved for more intense emotions, ones you should avoid inducing at all costs.

You were always on edge whenever you were around him, and this unusual shift in attitude didn’t help. 

“So where are we going?” you finally ask.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

Motherfucker. 

You don’t respond, looking away from him in favor of staring out of the window. You were seated awkwardly, not fully allowing yourself to relax, not that you could in the presence of Illumi. You could almost drown him out completely if it weren’t for his uncanny staring, something you still couldn’t get used to. He barely blinks; it reminds you of some sort of Creepypasta.

“Talk to me.”

It was an order.

“I don’t know what to say to you.” your voice was quiet. You’re really not in the mood to speak right now, especially not to him. This wouldn’t do, however, as Illumi was determined — something that proves to never end well for you. 

“You can talk about anything you want.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“(Name),” it was a warning, a hint of irritation laced his otherwise monotone voice. “Do you really not have anything to talk about… or do you just not want to?”

You didn’t want to clearly, but you also didn’t want to taste his wrath. 

“Could you tell me about your day?” you chose to interview him instead, hoping that if you got him to talk in length, you wouldn’t have to. He brings his hand up to his chin as if he was thinking, his eyes never leaving you. You felt like he was robbing you of your life energy just by looking at you. 

“My day?” he repeated the question, falling silent for a few moments before speaking once more. “If I told you, that would ruin the surprise.”

You reply with a mere “oh” before looking out of the window once again. 

“(Name).”

He’s never been this persistent for your attention before. All the times he’s returned home and “spent time” with you mainly consisted of the two of you sitting in silence while he watched you do nothing; an occasional short and awkward conversation. It felt more like he was being forced to interact with you rather than wanting to on his own volition, despite him being the one keeping you there. 

“I’m sorry, Illumi.” 

You only said his name when you were trying to soothe him, hoping to avoid consequence. He knew that, but he wouldn’t admit that it indeed worked. The slight drooping of his shoulders betrayed him every time, however. 

He doesn’t accept nor reject your insincere apology, choosing to silently savor your calling of his name. You will never understand him.

“I answered you, now it’s your turn to talk. Tell me about your home life.”

This question immediately raised flags. He’s never asked you something like this, let alone allow you to cry about it. You look at him, eyes slightly widen for a brief moment. Was he only bringing this up to bait you into talking? “Don’t you already know everything about me?” 

He indeed did. He made it known to you that he’d stalked you for five months before making his move, talking about it as if he was stating what he had for lunch. He had no sense of morality, no awareness as to how his extreme actions affected others. He’s insane.

You’ve noticed a slight change in his stare. You’re pissing him off.

“I want you to tell me.”

“Uh,” you quickly scrambled for things to say, “I had my own house and car as well as a really good high paying job.” you used “had” for a reason. You were positive that all your assets were repossessed when search parties couldn’t find you and weeks were flying by without a single clue regarding your whereabouts. Illumi keeps staring, quietly pressing you to continue. 

“I had a really sweet dog.” you used “had” again. You don’t recall all the details of that night, only that you had gotten a rude shock when you woke up to a strange man in your bedroom. Surely you would have woken up sooner if you heard something happen, but you didn’t. You decided to ask what you were always afraid to ask before, taking advantage of this moment to finally get closure. “Are… are they okay? My dog?”

Your hesitation was obvious. Nothing good ever happened whenever you brought up members of what he refers to as “your past life.” you were positive he intended for you to talk about things you did alone rather than actual people or living beings you connected with. They didn’t exist anymore, according to him. They don’t matter. Don’t talk about them. 

“Your dog is dead.” 

You’d been preparing for this moment for months now, but the bluntness of his answer still hit you like a truck. “H-huh?”

“Your dog is dead.” he repeated again with no sense of remorse. ”I didn’t want to risk it alerting you to my presence, so I killed it.”

Something felt off that night, your dog was more anxious than usual, pacing back and forth and staring out certain windows. They even refused to go outside when you tried to let them out, their tail tucked between their legs and fur standing on edge. You should’ve known. You should’ve taken them and ran.

It was even worse that you also ignored all those strange people you had met that week. They all had a gold piercing sticking out of some part of their head, almost like a needle. Their words were slurred and their movements puppet-like as they asked you unsettling questions. “Do you have a romantic interest?” as well as  “Do you have any exes?” and “Do you live alone?”

That should’ve been your sign to get the hell out of there. 

Illumi tilts his head and watches you attempt to bottle your emotions. Your hands gripping the fabric of your pants tightly as you bit your lip, your heart was hurting. You’d already mourned for your dear pet, assuming that killer had taken their life when he broke into your house, but still having slight hope that he had spared them. 

Why had he even bothered to answer your question let alone allow you to ask it?

He doesn’t initiate anymore conversation for the rest of the car ride, thankfully, allowing you to simmer in your emotions. That doesn’t mean he averts his attention from you, though. 

The car finally pulls into a parking lot belonging to a grand, luxurious hotel. You’re as confused as you are shocked. The parking lot is empty aside from several black Mercedes trucks holding Zoldyck butlers and presumably cars belonging to the hotel’s employees. It’s a normal working day and this is a well known, upscale hotel, so why was it so empty? 

Illumi looks away from you for the first time since you’ve entered the car, pulling the door’s handle and exiting the vehicle. You didn’t move, you’re too afraid to, you didn’t want to make the wrong move. 

Shiori approaches your side of the truck, but Illumi steps in front of her, opening the door for you and holding out his hand. You slowly unbuckled your seatbelt and attempted to slide past him, he only grabbed you and placed you back into the car before extending his hand again, silently commanding you to take it. He took note of your blatant disobedience, but said nothing, deciding against giving you a much desired punishment. He took what he considered to be a softer approach, giving you a chance to correct your mistakes. 

Feeling as though he’s one inconvenience away from breaking you, you hesitantly take his hand. His grip was firm, his assistance useless. He ignored your attempt at pulling your hand free the second your foot touched the ground, choosing to let go only after both feet were firmly planted. 

Illumi doesn’t explain the situation as he begins walking with you in tow, Shiori and some other butlers trailing behind the both of you. Butlers were all over the place actually, standing guard as if this was a maximum security prison rather than a hotel. You feel like they’re all watching you, fully expecting you to try something in vain. You don’t blame them, if you had super speed, you would’ve run off by now. 

The hotel was completely vacant of people, aside from more butlers and concerned hotel employees. As you enter the lobby, your eyes lingered on the receptionist, praying they had seen your missing person’s report months earlier; if it had even been reported as such. They only look down, guilt seemingly spread across their face. Were they threatened or perhaps even paid off to stay silent? 

Who knows.

The silence was louder than the shuffling of the butlers’ footsteps or the tune of the faint jazz music coming from the ballroom. A butler approaches Illumi and informs him that all preparations were ready, earning them a nod in response. You silently follow as the both of you are led away, the uneasiness on your face evident to anyone who dared to look at it. 

The butler soon stops in front of a particular door far at the end of a long hallway. The space felt liminal, you’d almost think you’d gotten sucked into a different reality if the two people next to you weren’t present. The butler bows slightly before leaving you and Illumi alone. He looked at you, like he was trying to read your expression, before twisting the door’s handle and revealing the room’s interior. 

He must’ve paid a fortune. The room was large, decorated with luscious furniture you couldn’t even begin to think about affording. There was a king size bed in the middle of the room, a flatscreen TV almost as wide as the bed propped on the wall in front of it, a glass sliding door leading to a balcony on the far right, and a lounge chair in the corner to say the least. 

You awkwardly step into the room, hugging yourself as you attempt to make sense of the situation; taking note of the clicking of the door’s lock. 

“Well, here we are.”

His lack of enthusiasm spoiled the mood. Not that the mood was bright anyway.

“So… what’s the point of this?” your voice was a bit low and shy. He didn’t like it, he’d have to chip away at that. He had bigger things to be upset over, however, as you appear, or choose to pretend, to not understand what’s going on. His intentions should’ve been obvious by now. He doesn’t respond right away, causing you to ask yet another ignorant question. “Are we attending some kind of special event?”

“No.” his answer was short, intentionally vague to encourage you to figure it out yourself. Illumi casually moves about the room while you continue to stand in the same spot, presumably checking for himself to make sure that everything was in place. You were on edge, that much was apparent as he stopped a few feet in front of you. “Do you like the room?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I will be back.”

You feel a slight wind as he walks past you, a little too close considering the amount of space around you. You immediately relax once he’s gone, taking a few deep breaths as you cautiously inspect the room. The thought of trying the handle to see if he’d locked it behind him doesn’t even cross your mind, the odds were against you and you knew that. Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try the balcony door, however.

It was locked, just as you’d guessed. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed and resting your head in your hands, you think in vain of a possible escape. Maybe when he leaves you alone again, you could use something to break the glass then use the bed sheets to craft a makeshift rope? The problem with that is the bedsheets wouldn’t serve you as you were several stories off the ground. Your plan didn’t even account for what you’d do if you even reached the ground as you were sure Zoldyck butlers surrounded the premises.

You decided it was best to just roll with it, see where this was going. Maybe you could exploit him as he does seem to be more lenient with you. 

The door clicks and it opens, Illumi standing in the doorway looking in at you, noticing how much more relaxed you appeared to be in his absence. He motions for you to follow and you do so without fuss. 

Following him down the long hallway felt surreal, you couldn’t hear anything aside from your own footsteps as his were completely silent; traits of an elite assassin. You watch as his long, black hair swayed behind him, almost glaring as you study his robotic movements. He doesn’t feel real.

The two of you entered the hotel’s restaurant, it was just as desolate of other patrons as the rest of the place. You were led to a lone, two person table placed next to the glass wall, the table’s decorations stood out amongst the others as its setting included rose petals and candles. 

Corny. You don’t like this.

You take your seat, now being forced to fully face him for who knows how long. You turn your head to the right, looking out of the window. Your breath hitches as you notice people in the far distance. People. Actual people clueless as to what’s happening to you right now. You give Illumi a side stare, his blank yet judgemental one challenging yours.

“Where is everyone?” you couldn’t help but ask despite knowing it was a question he did not want to hear. 

“They aren’t important.”

Why should they matter? They’d only interfere and distract you from what’s important: him. You should only be focused on him and his efforts to please you. 

“So what exactly is this?”

Your inability, or unwillingness, to comprehend the situation was beginning to annoy him. Wasn’t it clear? Did the dim lighting and candles not give it away? The rose petals on the table? The romantic — or what he deemed to be romantic — atmosphere? 

“It’s a romantic dinner.”

He didn’t offer any further details, upset he had to state that it was a date rather than let his efforts speak for him. You were sitting across from him, the two of you were almost completely alone. This was a date.

“All of a sudden, though? You never let me leave that room before.”

“Why does it matter?” his tone was still flat. 

Illumi couldn’t believe you’d question his acts of kindness. He was doing it because he wanted to treat you for once, deciding to take you somewhere appropriate and fitting to your taste. 

“I’m just trying to understand you.” you state, holding your hands together on the table as a self soothing mechanism. 

“You don’t need to understand me.” his voice hinted at the tiniest bit of annoyance. He had no need to explain his actions, he had his reasons and that’s all you needed to know. “Just enjoy the dinner.”

You say nothing as you turn your attention to the only other people present in the room: the butlers standing at the exits and the chefs working in the kitchen. None of them looked at you, their attention focused on anything but. 

“Don’t stare at them. The butlers are simply here to protect you.” his monotone voice made his last sentence sound oddly intimidating. 

You fight the urge to question if it was him they would be protecting you from in the case that you anger him. 

“It feels like the rapture has happened and we’re the only ones left.” you pick up one of the rose petals, inspecting it as an excuse to avoid his gaze. 

“That would be ideal.” 

“Is something bad going to happen to me?” your forward question caused his thin eyebrows to raise slightly.

“Not if you behave. I just want you to enjoy this date.” his tone was a bit softer now, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t, or forced to be, close to him. He didn’t like your anxiousness, worried it would ruin his meticulous yet futile plans to make amends with you. 

You were still on edge as the butlers served a lavish meal to the both of you, your facial features failing to soften as you inspected the food. He was fully aware of just how much damage he’d done to you and he wasn’t going to justify his behavior, only wanting to make you feel better. 

It was hard for him to stay silent, however, as you were continuing to look around and stare at the butlers.

“Is the sight of them bothering you?” the sound of his voice catching your attention. “I could have them move out of view if that would ease your nerves.”

He doesn’t get it. Maybe he pretends not to, choosing to ignore your uncomfortableness with him in favor of deluding himself.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” 

Your words couldn’t come out, you didn’t know what to say. Ask him to get rid of all the unnecessary escorts and open the hotel to the public again as this felt more like a standoff than a romantic dinner? You hated the silence between you, not that you wanted to speak to Illumi, you wanted to hear the chatter of other diners over the classy jazz music, the clinking of utensils as they enjoyed their meal.

“Oh?” he slowly tilted his head, his uncanny expression observing your every move and sound. It’s as if he was daring you to ruin it all with some sort of stupid comment; it’d give him a reason to drag you back to the estate and lock you away for good. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” you manage to finally say. It just wasn’t worth it.

He continues staring, features unmoving as you assume he’s thinking of various ways to brutally murder you. He only straightens himself.

“I see.” 

You’re internally thankful he dropped it, your shoulders drooping in relief as you watch him continue to eat unnaturally fast, a strange habit of his. When was the last time he’s blinked? You can’t stand him. 

Illumi obviously didn’t believe that you had nothing to share. He knew you well enough to guess that whatever you were about to say would’ve angered him, so you kept quiet in order to avoid problems. Good, you were learning. 

Silence fell over the two of you, increasing the tension in the air. He’d already finished eating, choosing to gaze at you rather than anything else. He was making you lose your appetite, but you somehow managed to finish your meal.

“Would you like dessert?” Illumi inquired, barely giving you enough time to chew and swallow your last bite before asking.

“No thanks.” you don’t explain why. The truth was that you didn’t want to sit in front of him any longer, you were tired of his eyes boring into you. 

“Are you sure?” he tilted his head again, pressuring you for a different answer.

“I’m sure.” 

You wouldn’t budge, much to his dismay. You had unknowingly foiled his plans to spoon feed you a strawberry sundae. 

“Very well.” he doesn’t push any further, only slowly nodding. “Did you enjoy the food?”

“Yummy.” 

Illumi didn’t immediately react to your childish response, only straightening himself after a few moments. He had made sure this dinner would be perfect, planning everything to the last detail, and you’ve shown your gratitude by looking at everything other than him and rating his endeavor with a one word answer. 

He remained still for a few more moments before deciding to ignore your strange behavior once again. He stood up from his seat, looking away from you for the first time since he’s sat down. 

“Let’s go.”

You follow him as commanded, taking clear note of his slight annoyance. He led you to the hotel’s theater, the sound of your footsteps slightly echoing in the large, spacious room. He picks two spots in the center and takes a seat, you follow suit. 

Choosing to stay silent, you don’t ask any questions about what movie the two of you were seeing, only staring forward as the lights turn off and the showing begins. Illumi had carefully selected this movie for you. It was lighthearted and fun, chosen specifically to improve your mood. The date wasn’t meeting his expectations, as you weren’t quite throwing yourself at him, but he was determined to change that. 

You tried your best to ignore his constant glancing in your direction for the entirety of the film. It was as if he was looking for something, for reassurance to soothe his ever growing concerns. He didn’t like your indifference, he didn’t like that he couldn’t tell how you were feeling in detail about his attempts at courtship.

The movie was good, you liked it. Illumi was already staring at you by the time you faced him, the credits rolling on the screen. It was subtle but he still looked upset, the image of you leaning away from him as if you were trying to put as much space as possible between the two of you was still fresh in his mind. 

He would break that physical barrier, desensitize you to his presence.

As you silently walk back to the suite, Illumi suddenly grabs your hand. Your heart jumps into your throat, fully expecting him to crush it as punishment for upsetting him. He stops walking and stares at you when you impulsively try to pull away, not saying a word as he gives you a second to collect yourself. 

You were ruining his passionate act of love. He knew he wasn’t the most expressive, as he was raised to mask his emotions, but his straightforwardness made up for that. You should be happy. This is an act of love. He had done his research — asking his father — and knew what he needed to do in order to please you. He won’t let you spoil it. 

Eventually you somewhat simmer down, still tense in his firm hold. He continues walking, slower this time. He wasn’t even holding your hand correctly as yours was balled into a fist. He didn’t care though, as long as he was holding it.

The night hadn’t gone his way but he had plenty more tricks up his sleeve, optimistic that tomorrow would be better. Illumi would not put up with failure. 

You were in for a ride.

You reach and enter the suite once again, Illumi locking the door behind him. He lets out a sigh and begins to settle down, having no issue kicking his shoes off and changing clothes right in front of you. You, however, move to sit stationary on the lounge chair, staring at the ground to avoid any awkward interactions with your naked “husband”. 

You had no desirable reaction to anything he did, which he found disheartening. You finally look up when he’s fully clothed, watching as he sits on the edge of the bed. He decided to risk it, to ask about your experience. He figured a blunt and bold answer would be significantly better than overthinking and assuming the worst. “Did you enjoy anything I did today?”

Truth be told, you did. You just didn’t like him. Had anyone more deserving taken the time to do this for you, you’d throw yourself all over them. 

“It was the typical Illumi experience.” 

You regretted saying that before it even left your mouth. “The typical Illumi experience” was not a compliment, it was a brutal insult disguised with subtlety. You had just compared his month’s worth of intensive planning and preparing to a regular day being around him back at Kukuroo Mountain. 

Something you didn’t like flashed in his eyes, your fingers nervously grip your pants yet again. What you’d just said was so dismissive, condescending, everything he didn’t want to hear. He turns away from you, looking out of the glass balcony door as he takes several slow and deep breaths. He was collecting himself.

He reasoned in his mind, internally arguing that this was his chance to dissect your feelings and see how he could improve. He turns toward you, expression unreadable. “Elaborate.”

“Am I allowed to express myself?” you ask, your question was legitimately innocent. However, you were saying all the wrong things at the wrong time. 

“You were always allowed to express yourself, you just seem to have a habit of doing it disrespectfully.”

“I’m sorry.” you lower your gaze, apology insincere. 

You don’t know why he’s changed. You can tell that he’s being softer with you. If you said something like that a few months ago, you’d be unable to speak for the next two weeks. 

“Do you harbor resentment towards me?”

That was a rhetorical question. He didn’t want an answer; an answer other than a loud, confident “no” anyways. 

You stay silent, continuing to stare at the ground. He didn’t acknowledge that your silence was your way of saying yes. 

“Are we going back tomorrow?” you ask, changing the subject in order to lessen the heavy atmosphere. 

“Back to Kukuroo Mountain?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Illumi doesn’t provide further details. This trip won’t end unless it’s on a good note. “You should get changed.”

He stands up and rummages through the wardrobe, pulling out a silk pajama set. You slowly stand and retrieve it, making your way to the bathroom to change. He assumes you’re just being shy. You eventually come out, having put your dirty clothes into the hamper, before making your way to the lounge chair once again. The lights have been dimmed in your absence.

He was sitting up in bed, halfway under the blankets, staring at you expectantly. You didn’t want to come to terms with the reality that you had to sleep in the same bed as him; that fact wasn’t lost on him. It was obvious you were avoiding having to deal with the inevitable conclusion of the night by seeking comfort on the lounge chair. He wouldn’t allow you that comfort. “Come to bed.” his tone was flat, it was an order. 

“I’m not tired yet-”

“Come to bed.” he wasn’t hearing your excuses, only repeating himself while patting the empty space next to him. You look at him with a saddened expression, silently pleading to be let off the hook; the issue is that he’s let you off the hook multiple times today already and he wasn’t planning on letting you rob him of this. “Do as I say.”

Sensing the impatience in his tone, you reluctantly head over to your side of the bed and slide under the blanket, making sure to curl up as close to the edge and as far from Illumi as possible. You face away from him, silently making it clear you weren’t interested in anything other than sleep. He doesn’t comment on this, choosing to stay silent as he thinks to himself. He wanted to hold you, but he knew not to push too far. At least not so soon.

He sighs, continuing to sit up in bed as he watches your sleeping figure. Tomorrow will be a better day, he’ll make sure of it. 

[cvnt4him]

izuku or reader walking in on the other masturbating 🙀

guys i love him so much i’m gonna explode

It's late and I've been feeling very bad, I've been trying to animate for this man I'm in love w to get his attention but it's drawing as hell. So take some wack ass shit of my pookie sweetie honey bunches cutie patootie girly pop schnookums sweetie pie.

You were just making it home from work, tired and craving to lie in your husband's warm welcoming arms. Today was a long day and you had stayed a little later than expected, you texted izuku at the time you normally got off telling him you'd be home late and that he shouldn't wait up.

With a sigh and a low hang of your shoulders you unlocked your front door and walked inside, the smell of food barely present he had cooked despite having worked himself. It was sweet that he did little things like this to show you he cared and appreciated you.

You set the keys down on the key ring and took your shoes off, hanging your bag up as well. You were ready to jump in your bed next to your husband and call it a night, the thought of that sounded so good and had clouded your thoughts completely before you were snapped out..

You walked to your door and heard noises coming from behind it, your heart sank. What the fuck.... The sounds were lewd, moans and whines being heard. Your first thought was what any normal person would think. He was cheating on you, but just as you were about to slam open that door and beat someone's ass, you heard a pathetic high pitched whine of your name.

“ y/n~ please... ”

Everything started making much more sense now, izuku was masturbating! The thought made you chuckle, you wanted to see the sight of it. The sight of your precious husband lusting after himself, chasing his orgasm yearning to cum. For you at that, he kept moaning your name like a girl.

His moans were so high in octave and almost similar to a porn stars, hell they'd be envious. His sounds were so precious and alluring you wanted to see him terribly so. You slowly and quietly cracked open the door, just enough for you to see your husband.

To no one's surprise, he was touching himself. But it was the most delicious sight in the world, his head was thrown back in pure ecstasy his mouth wide open and such lewd moans were leaving like melted butter, they just fell from his lips so naturally all the slutty things he was murmuring to himself. Something about it hurting and how he wanted to feel his cock deep inside of you

None of those wonderful things could compare to how he was pleasure himself, it was the most pathetic and desperate shit you'd ever seen from him. And it's like hes just so accident prone to doing pathetic things, like whining and he doesn't get his way, or burying his face in your ass with a stupid whimper when you're lying on your tummy. He was just a pathetic guy sometimes.

Izuku had his thighs wide open, his cock twitching and leaking so much cum there was so much coating his hands his thighs and his tummy, from what little you could see it looked like some had even gotten on his face. His hand was hurriedly stroking his fat milk crying cock, his thumb occasionally grazed over his tip and smeared every little ounce of cum that prickled at his engorged and furiously red tip.

His cock was throbbing and aching you could tell, but that wasn't stopping him. He was desperate and he knew what he wanted, but that wasn't all, oh no. He was using his other hand to shove a dildo inside of his ass, he wasn't moving that hand ad fast as he was his dominant hand [his right hand, the hand hes jacking off w] but he was still shoving it inside of himself.

It was so cute you wanted to cry, he was so horny he couldn't help himself he wanted to feel maximum pleasure, as much as his body would let him. Who knows how long he's been going at it, who knows when he intended on stopping, if he even did! All you knew was this was far too delicious to let end so quickly.

You crept in the room closing the door behind you, you walked towards him silently your socks quieting your steps. You say at the foot of the bed right in front of him, he didn't even notice. You were fighting the urge to burst out laughing, he was being so sneaky lusting after himself like this.

With a small sigh you trail your hands up his cum covered thigh making him pull his head towards you with a wide eyed expression, he let out a small scream and jumped stopping both of his hand movements. He was so embarrassed he face had gotten even more red, you could fully see his fucked out face. The sweat on his forehead shining under the moonlights glow sticking some of his now dampened hair to it. His tear stained cheeks, all red and covered in tears and some of his cum that you could see. His lips that had clearly been chewed on plump and a deep shade of pink. His eyes were glossy and still leaking some kind of tears.

You giggled at the shocked expression on his face and the fact his cock was still twitching. You looked him deep into his sweet blown wide eyes, he bit his lip started shaking he whined loudly his eyes fluttering shut. You were confused, what could've caused this sudden reaction? You looked down to see his cock spurting out a fuck ton of cum.

“ fuck.. I'm c- cumming...”

He said defeatedly, not even going to hide it. You'd walked in at the right time, he was just so pent up and so close he couldn't help but to cum under your intense gaze. His poor cock just leaking out cum, it was basically crying.

He was so needy that he had completely ruined himself at the sheer thought of you. What a fucking whore. His hands were up and he stuttered on his words trying to find an excuse to explain what else was doing, touching himself in your shared bed his cum not only on the covers but literally all over himself too, not just that but a dildo still in his fucking ass. There was no explanation and you both knew that. There was no point in trying to explain something that didn't need to be explained.

“ m’sorry baby.. couldn't help myself... felt too good..”

“ shh baby, it's okay. I understand. you were needy and were all alone... what else were you to do, huh baby boy?”

Izuku whimpered and his lidded expression came back, his breaths were shaky and he was still just so hard. His cock looked so red and messy it was almost such a good look on him.

“ it's okay baby, I'll take good care of you hm? how does that sound?”

He whined in response a wobbly smile forming on his pink tinted lips, he was in for one hell of a ride and he couldn't wait. So eager to please and so ready to cum buckets more for you. After all it was your fault he was like this, you'd let him please you, right?

AN: yummers bro he is just so urghehab. I need him I just NEED to have him a withering mess for me bruv.

[judeslove]

as sweet as you

pairing - jude bellingham x gn!reader genre - fluff warnings - none summary - this req

jude knew that one of the things you loved was anything sweet. ranging from cakes, to candy, to ice cream, anything that made you squeal from happiness as a sweet taste took over you tongue.

today was a rough day. even the smallest details annoying you to the maximum. jude noticed. the way your brows were knitted together, the way your hands were in fists most of the time. everything went the bad route.

“you alright m’love?” jude smiled, looking at your frustrated figure.

“well obviously not” you said, rolling your eyes and letting out a groan. you didn’t intend to snap at him, it just happened. continuing with your work, you brushed off his face that looked sad.

eventually jude left. he said he want for a walk, needing some fresh air. you thought it was weird, since he almost never went out alone, always having someone with him. but you decided not to make a problem out of it and continued typing even though your fingers were hurting. well actually, everywhere in your body hurt. you muscles were tense and you ached as you started at the computer in front of you for multiple hours.

you wanted to take a break, but your thoughts told you otherwise. this essay was due tomorrow, and you had to submit it in the next 30 minutes. sighing in defeat, you started tapping again.

you weren’t sure how long ago jude left, but you were craving his touch. just only now you had realised you snapping at him, and wanted to apologise, but due to his absence, that wasn’t possible. the room felt empty, almost cold, like jude was warming the room when he was present.

suddenly, the craving of something sweet took over you. you started thinking about a fluffy, creamy cake you once saw in a mukbang video. sadly, that wasn’t on your kitchen’s menu, so you opted to watch mukbang videos.

then, the familiar sound of the door’s lock being opened echoed around the house.

“babe, i’m home” jude yelled, this time sounding more cheerful than earlier. closing your laptop, you ran the stairs down and ran into jude’s touch. he let out a light groan, feeling weight over him.

“wooaah, i missed you too” jude said. “bought you something sweet aswell” he giggled, while carrying a cake that you had daydreamed of earlier. you mouth was watering, as you grabbed the cake from his hands. the cake was full with whipped cream. it was like a cloud. when you took a bite of it, it felt like you were floating.

“mmm” you hummed while closing your eyes. this made jude chuckle, as he tasted some of it aswell.

“am i forgiven?” you asked jude while staring at him with your cheeks full of cake.

“huh? for what?” he looked confused, brows furrowing.

“for snapping at you” you admitted. jude’s frown turned into a smile as he forgave you. well, the exam is a problem tomorrow, you thought.

💌 judeslove on tumblr.

[downmainstreet]

fly me to the moon ⋆ k. leehan. part i.

⤷ film major!leehan x gn!reader. college au, sort of one-sided academic rivals to lovers, non!idol bnd. possible warnings. cussing, use of leehan’s government name for fic purposes, oops. lowercase intended. there’ll probably be another part to this, since it got to be longer than i expected it to! wc. 1.6k words.

synopsis ⋆ kim donghyun, or leehan to his friends, was hybe u’s golden boy. honors student, dashing smile, charming personality. it drove people mad, but specially you, moon y/n, and definitely not for the same reason. ever since you could remember, leehan had been better. more popular, more memorable, more knowledgeable. it made you sick. so, what happens when you get assigned to a project together and there’s no way out?

⤷ author's note ✩ hello! very excited for this little au. there'll definitely be another part to this because i love a cliffhanger. also, a quick thank u to moni @gluion for beta-reading this for me! the story is even better thanks to their suggestions. i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. do leave your feedback in comments or asks if you can, they're very much appreciated!

if anybody were to ask you how you were doing today, you’d say you were fantastic. you’d woken up earlier than usual, worked out, and even had time to get a lavender latte from that new café close to campus. one would say you were almost skipping giddily into class—which sungho, your best friend, didn’t fail to point out—because of your good mood.

“can’t one be happy without a reason?” you throw the question at your best friend in a teasing manner, the corners of your lips rising ever so slightly as you take your seat inside the auditorium.

according to ms. kim, today’s supposed to be a big day for hybe u. the joint project between the arts and humanities department is around the corner. with the assignments counting as extra credit for english majors, you weren’t taking any chances. 

once you sat down, your best friend playfully rolling his eyes at you, your mood turned sour completely—not from the sight but from the familiar sound of his voice.

the leehan effect—some freshman went as far as calling it—but he couldn’t move you to the slightest bit.

you never quite understood his appeal. people went on and on about how his hair flowed whenever his fingers ran through it, how he walked with grace and confidence no matter where he went, or the gentle smile that he’d sport. 

you scoff as you take your laptop out of your bag. so much for a good mood, you thought.

sungho looks at you with a smirk, fully expecting your reaction, before nudging your shoulder slightly, “now, yn, be nice.” 

sungho had been friends with leehan for a while now. you couldn’t say you loved it, but at least he knew not to mention the boy’s name around you. (though at the start of their friendship, you told sungho to call him voldemort, to which he replied, “that defeats the whole purpose of the no-name-saying agenda.”) 

when sungho told you to be nice to his friend, you didn’t think it was literal, but you should’ve known better than to take your best friend’s words with a grain of salt. because there he was, leehan in the flesh, walking up to the seat beside you. there were dozens of empty seats in the auditorium, but of course leehan, the leehan, chose to sit beside you. what a ride.

the first thing you notice as he sits down is the smell of citrus that lingers around him. it’s weird. you never pay attention to these types of things, especially not about leehan. 

you see, leehan is a double major student—theatre and film, to be precise. you’d been classmates since freshman year of high school, and somehow he was always… better. it didn’t matter if you got an A on an exam, because surely leehan got an A+. you had a perfect score? he went over the maximum score with some extra credit he did. it was as if the universe was keen on making you his runner up, but your pride never really allowed it.

the worst part? this competition of yours isn’t even a competition. a competition needs two or more people to function. this thing between the two of you was only something you knew about; he didn’t even bother. you had come to the conclusion that you weren’t good enough to even be in his radar. 

you swore that would change during college, but it was no different. when you found out leehan was also going to hybe u, you were somehow ecstatic. now, you could show people who the best was. but leehan gained his reputation in the new landscape with a rather high score, starting with beating you in the entrance exams. since then, you haven’t really built your momentum back. at all.

your self-wallowing moment ends quick enough when a significantly familiar voice whispers next to you, “is it okay with you if i sit here?”

with furrowed eyebrows, you lock eyes with him only to be greeted with that annoying trademark smile of his.  you aren’t sure why he’s whispering until you notice that the auditorium had gone quiet as ms. kim and mr. hyun go through some papers by the podium. you shift uncomfortably in your seat. leehan had never spoken to you—at least not directly—but you had spoken to him back in senior year only once. you’re sure he probably doesn’t even remember. 

all you do is nod, not wanting to interact too much. plus, the professors were starting to speak, and you didn’t want to miss a word. 

“good morning to you all. this with me is mr. hyun, who will be helping me make the assignment announcement! as you all know, this year there’ll be a joint assignment between majors. each of you will be divided in pairs based on your majors to compete in this year’s hybe u artistique festival.”

“following up with what ms. kim said, you will have this entire term to make the exhibition of your choice. whether it is a film, a short story, an art gallery with pieces of your own making. the top three winners will be shown at the festival.”

“we have just posted your partners in your hybe u student pages. make sure to find them before you leave the auditorium!”

you’re quick to open up the website as you anticipate your partner.  you really hope it’s someone on film. you’d been polishing your script-writing skills and hoped to put them to good use. excitement bubbles up inside you as you press open.

yet, the name on the screen has your smile faltering. 

pair #12 — film and theatre major kim donghyun & english major moon yn. 

your breath hitches in your throat. as you meet his gaze once more, there’s a lingering smirk on his features as he says, “hello, partner.” 

you were fucked, weren’t you?

⋆

today’s the first day you and leehan agreed to work together on the project. you told yourself you would enjoy this, that not even voldemort could ruin it for you. (sungho couldn’t help but laugh at your words.) 

you both texted each other the day before to arrange where you’d meet, deciding on the campus’ park. it isn’t too crowded at this time of the day, thank god. as you two had morning classes, you agreed to meet after 5pm. you got there before him, though, so you found a nice place to sit in. 

it feels like being in another world, this whole working with leehan thing, but you are willing to compromise. it’s a huge opportunity. plus, you heard leehan is one of the best filmmakers in his year. you don’t doubt it but you still have your thoughts about working with him. although, sungho said something that made lots of sense earlier in class that day.

“just give yourself the chance to get to know him, yn. you never know, he could surprise you,” he said while you sighed for the nth time that day, sulking and whining on and on about your unlucky streak. 

and so that’s what you decided to do—get to know him from scratch, even though it felt extremely disloyal to the freshman year of high school yn who vowed to be better than kim donghyun by any means possible. it’s for the extra credit, you told that version of yourself. a compromise. nothing more.

“hey,” leehan interrupts your train of thought, seemingly materializing out of thin air. he looks different today. his long hair is pulled back into a man-bun and he’s wearing a checkered flannel. he always looks put together, and today was no exception, but he looked relaxed. comfortable. it made something inside you churn. in a bad way, though, right?

you nod as a way to greet him as he sat down beside you. 

“sorry, i’m late. today’s been a bit crazy,” he apologizes, almost to himself. it’s unlike him. everything about him right now is not the leehan you know—the bags under his eyes are a little too prominent and his hair is a bit too disheveled. you thought you’d enjoy seeing him like this, all weak. but all it does is make your chest ache, for some reason you weren’t ready to even fathom yet. 

“you okay?” you ask rather awkwardly, deciding that would be the adequate thing to say. and it seemed it was, because he looks at you, really looks at you, and smiles. you swear you saw his eyes sparkle for a moment. you almost laugh but you hold back. you weren’t going to give into the leehan effect. you weren’t.

and yet... 

“didn’t know you cared,” he glances at you with curiosity as a ghost of a smile still wanders on his lips. he relaxes into his seat, a soft sigh leaving him. “but yes, i am okay, yn.”

your name on his lips made time stop for you. he never said it before. (and if he did, you would have remembered, surely.)

you pursed your lips as best as you could to hide the fluttering feelings that were invading you in the moment and scoffed. “i don’t care, just being polite.” leehan raises an eyebrow at your reaction, expectant. “but i’m glad you’re okay.” 

“mh, that’s more like you.” you can hear the smile on him now, it drives you mad.

“excuse me?”

“well, you’ve never really liked me, have you, yn?” you’d think he’d look sad over this, but that stupid smile of his is still plastered on his lips as he looks at you, his arm resting on the back of the bench.

and, well, it was very easy to tell you weren’t fucked.

you were extremely, irrevocably fucked.

@onedoornet ➳ all credits go to ©downmainstreet on tumblr, 2024.

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Long Way Down: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (3) Following Loki's indecent proposal, you get yourself into a treacherous situation. Or maybe two. Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut references. Ex-Loki. Mild peril. Mild angst. Pining. Oh god, the pining. (w/c 4.6k) Recommended Folklore Track: This Is Me Trying

At around five AM, you had accepted that two hours was the maximum amount of sleep that fate had intended for you that night.

The sight of Loki draped across your doorway greeted you every time you closed your eyes.

The moon-slicked skin which begged to be grasped so tightly it bruised, if only for a short time. Those sharp angles in his jawline which fitted so perfectly between your legs. No.

Slipping out of bed, you manoeuvred on your clothes. Natasha would be proud, you thought, grabbing your gloves. Sufficiently bundled, you began the descent down the murky darkness. Of ten stairs, miraculously only four creaked. You paused after every one, listening for a stir from one of the bedrooms. But none came. Since you had slammed the door on Loki, your mind had been a beehive. You had lain there, trying not to move, trying to sleep, trying to think about anything but him. But his velvet voiced temptations and audacity wound around your thoughts like the cottage’s ivy. Wilting like a woman ravaged by thirst with a river rushing on the other side of that traitorous wall.

You hastily scribbled a note in the kitchen, grabbed the spare key and a small rucksack from the hallway hooks. Crisp cold hit like a slap as you opened the door and slipped through. The latch clicked closed.

It sounded like freedom.

A wide circle from the flashlight led your way, noting familiar moss-covered fenceposts and scattered stone path. You took a right at the boundary, seeing the milky promise of a red sunrise ghosting over the mountain. It would be a three hour round-trip to the top of Blencathra, you reckoned. Back in time for breakfast. As you walked, weak sunlight began to crawl the hedgerows. Frosted orange leaves underfoot became wetter. Like cornflakes, you mused, left too long in milk.

You’d had the same observation last autumn when Loki had walked beside you through Central Park, his gloved hand in yours. He’d interrupted with a familiar elaborate description of the palatial breakfasts he’d been served on Asgard. One you’d heard a hundred times before. ��Every day, mountains of succulent fruit from the god-tree; warm date loaves and bread so glossy it reflected the very sun-” ‘-with the almond glaze.’ you’d muttered knowingly, the implication clear. His grin had widened obliviously.

‘With the almond glaze. Much superior to the cereals so favoured in this realm. I don’t know why humanity puts up with such trash, no wonder you’re all so...someone should do something.’

Loki was a lot of things. He was wild, and powerful; passionate and imposing. He was fiercely loving with kindness that ran as a hot spring runs beneath unforgiving glaciers. When he wanted it to.

His adoration was intoxicating, addicting in a way you had never experienced. When he saw you, he saw only you. Like no other creature existed. The haze had filled you like opium, drunk to all the condescending commentary that chipped at the exterior until it cracked.

And when it cracked, it shattered.

Memories of his dark curls sprawled across your pillow haunted you, the feel of silken strands cutting into your fingertip as you twirled it. He had never been good at keeping to his side of the bed. The words that he whispered when the world wasn’t watching, meant only for you. It seemed like a dream now. And maybe it was.

Perhaps it always had been.

The warmth in his eyes as his thumb caressed your jawline still smouldered as hopeful embers in the depths of your heart. They longed for him, biding their time like jackals in shadows to drag you back to his arms.

And wanting him, that hadn’t left. You doubted it ever would. Loving Loki was a high. And it was a long way down.

If only he could just act like a normal human being, you thought as you drew the wind-breaker further up your throat. And there, you laughed bitterly to yourself in the eerie quiet, is the problem.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. Or was it? You could never tell. And that doubt ate away at you like mice at the skirting boards.

The cold distance between you had been necessary. Self-preservation. And besides occasionally missing the mischief you created together, you doubted he thought of you much at all. The world was full of fawning mortals, after all. He never tired of pointing that out. You certainly doubted he lacked for company.

The thought made you feel queasy. ‘Love’, he’d once mused, ‘is different for a god. We don’t love as you humans do.’

He had paused, snapping his book closed as you lay in his lap before planting a placatory kiss on your nose.

‘You wouldn’t understand’, he’d murmured. And despite your coaxing, that had been the end of it.

It was for the best. That’s what you told yourself when that twisting heartache reared in the dead of night.

But still, you wished you’d had one last kiss, even if you’d known that’s what it was. You looked up at the moon, peeling from the sky and disappearing beneath early-morning mist as you walked briskly towards the mountain’s craggy steep. One last kiss before the lights went out.

As soon as the regrettable words had left Loki’s lips, he knew he’d fucked up. The door-slam was loud. Very loud. And he couldn’t go back to his room, not in his condition. Especially under the circumstances. In the darkness he had picked his way downstairs, cat-like, and had an angry wank in the bathroom. It was perfunctory and mostly silent. And Loki cursed his blasted impatience with every rough tug of his hand. Feeling raw, but more clear-headed, he sat in the living room a while. Moonlight threw a milky hue against the furniture. The carpet almost looked clean under its forgiving sheen. It may have been mice, but he was sure that he could hear the hushed, girlish chatter of his brother and Rogers upstairs, their theories abounding. With growing horror, Loki realised that his brother had been right about not one, but two things that night.

First, that the demise of you and he’s relationship was indeed his doing. The look in your eyes as he presented himself like a charmless commoner had made that abundantly clear. And secondly, the repugnant reclining chair on which he sat was indeed, very comfortable. Thankful at least for the latter, Loki fished down the side for a blanket he’d seen earlier. He sniffed it suspiciously, before throwing it to drape down over his feet. Something about the ragged, scratchy edging made him feel closer to you. Penitent, almost.

Shall I wear sackcloth and ashes, would that suffice?

The thought came intrusively, but behind his subconscious theatrics, there was a morsel of truth. There was something about this place. And there was something about you in it. Perhaps there was something about him too. Something new being birthed, clawing for freedom against scar tissue of old wounds. His brother’s voice played in his mind. ‘Well that could mean all manner of things, brother.’ he’d said. ‘You are insufferable.’ The god closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Perhaps, he thought, I should be thankful for that too. It meant he may be able to fix it. Loki slept soundly in the ugly chair. So soundly, that he didn’t hear the creak of footsteps that came before the first shards of daybreak, nor the soft close of a drawer, nor the click of the latch as you slipped outside into the dark morning alone.

You felt upwards, pads of your fingertips scratching against rough, uneven stone. Searching. The ridge was steeper than you’d anticipated. And you’d been so distracted by winning the imaginary shouting-match going on in your brain, that you had made the most basic error a climber could make. And the most serious.

Your fingers grasped around a jut of rock, feet slipping. Pressing your back against the opposite rockface, you glanced upwards to a large overhang on the ridge that somehow you hadn’t spotted. A chill sliced through your belly as you realised there was no way up. And there was no way down. Your boot slipped against the ledge, making you brace. Fuck fuck fuck. Even Steve wouldn’t make that drop without a couple of broken legs. Or worse. You were stuck. No, not stuck. Fucking crag-fast.

Tears welled in your eyes, a giggle of panicked disbelief threatening low in your middle as you tilted your chin to the sky. The ridge was cut into the mountain, and beyond the overhang, heavy dark clouds were gathering at alarming speed. No one knew you were here. You were fucked.

Closing your eyes, you focused on steadying your heart-rate. ‘Breathe, love’ Loki used to whisper as he stroked your hair. The beat of your heart slowed to a faint thump. The distress widget. Your eyes flew open. Steve had insisted that everyone have an alarm built into their belt, to be worn at all times. It didn’t seem so silly now.

Tentatively, you removed one hand from the rough ridge-face, the crumbling stones beneath your feet making it fly back immediately. You could feel the alarm at the base of your spine, no bigger than a jeans button. If you could just...press it.

Slowly, you began to wiggle your hips back and forth; trying to catch it on something. It caught, a low beep making your heart soar. “ACTIVATE,” you yelled. More stone pellets fell like dried rice. You could only pray Steve had the receiver nearby.

Time passed as a crawl. The sun had risen but somehow, it was still dark. Everything ached. Had it be three minutes or three hours? You were sure the pain in your limbs would be the same either way. How could I be so fucking stupid, you raged silently. At some point, you’d begun to cry.

Had you actually pressed the distress button? Fear fluttered in your stomach. Despite the chill and growing winds, you could feel a uncomfortable damp gathering beneath your clothes. Steve was going to be so pissed when he turned up. If he turned up. More crumbles of rock scattered around your forehead from above. It was followed by a low chuckle. “I can think of easier ways to get me alone, Agent.” Your neck snapped up, not believing your eyes.

Loki sat casually on his haunches atop the overhang, wrists falling between his knees. His thighs were spread, emerald leather looking viscerally luscious against the darkening sky. Dark hair whipped around his brow, his eyes flashing downward as a smile twisted one side of his mouth. “I’m stuck,” you whimpered.

Loki’s smile grew. He tutted. “Not just stuck, Agent. Crag-fast, I believe is the term.” You released an exasperated sigh. “Does it matter?” “Well it was right in Rogers briefing pamphlet. In the hazards section, nestled between blue-green algae and wayward tourists.”

You stared at him, thinking violent thoughts.

“Are you wearing your armour?” you spat. “Your not supposed to be...Loki, just-” Your feet slipped again.

“-for your rescue Madam? Only full regalia will do.” The dazzling smile which accompanied his words made you want to punch him in the face.

“Just fucking get me out of here!”

Loki’s face changed, the mirth in his eyes melting to something akin to concern. “Alright, alright…I am simply attempting to lighten the mood-” he muttered, reaching down. His arm glinted gold, its normal brilliance dulled by the shrouded sun. With all the strength you had, you reached up. You could feel your feet give out below you just as Loki’s hand wrapped around your bicep. With one fell swoop he heaved you upwards, suspended in the air before you fell upon him.

Loki rolled back, gathering you close to his chest. His palm cupped the back of your skull, the other hand safely pressed to the base of your back. You were vaguely aware of the scrape of his boots against the rock as he drew up his legs, the perfect cage of your protection.

“You’re safe now,” he breathed quietly to the sky. His heart was thundering, thuds pulsing through his breastplate. You nodded, silent sobs thrumming your body just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Thirty minutes later, you and Loki had finally descended the ridge. He had managed to source an easier path with only the most necessary of communication. It had been slow, an ever-present pang in your ankle making you wince when the god’s back was turned. Confident that all your concentration was no longer needed, you decided to ask the question. “Why did you come?” As soon as the words left your mouth, you grimaced. How could you think about them for so long, yet still find the wrong ones? Loki glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m grateful you did-” you grovelled. “I mean, Steve made such a big deal about the whole belt button thing I just wondered why he sent you? Didn’t think he’d miss the chance to give me a lecture the whole way home.” You stared at the back of Loki’s head, swallowing. Rain was falling harder now, rustling patter crinkling against your jacket. “Rogers didn’t send me,” the god said coldly, still walking forwards. “I suspect he’s still tucked up under those abysmally threaded bedsheets.”

You hobbled faster, catching up to him. “What do you mean?” “I was downstairs. The receiver was in the kitchen.” You let your eyes wander over the sprawling landscape. Thirlmere lake lay flat in the distance, a grey mirror to the sky. “Why was it in the kitchen?” you mused absent-mindedly. “Well I don’t know, Agent” Loki spat. “Perhaps Rogers wasn’t anticipating a member of our party sneaking out before dawn on a misguided attempt at independence.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, stare burning into Loki’s profile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Nothing. It means nothing.” he muttered. His eyes scanned the horizon. It was a long way down. “Don’t be like that-” “Like what, Agent?” Loki fumed, spinning with a flourish which made the cut of his leathers swirl around his ankles.

The clouds crushing the sky were matched only by the ones gathering in his eyes, both menacingly beautiful in the rawness of their power.

“Rush to your side at the break of day, in an unknown land to a hastily deduced location only to be met with suspicion and incredulity that I would ever think to aid your distress unless under duress? Am I truly so irredeemable?” You felt the hair on your arms stand up, hackles raised. “Well I wouldn’t have needed to get away for a while if you hadn’t been such a presumptive arsehole last night,” “Oh – I see,” Loki said, nodding sarcastically as his hands flew up. “Of course. My fault, as usual.”

He spun away, walking ahead. “Keep up” he bristled loudly. You muttered curses under your breath. The pain was getting worse. Looking up, you were met with Loki’s icy glare over his shoulder. “What is it?” he snapped, trying to remain indifferent. But his eyebrows always gave him away. “I twisted my ankle or something on the ridge,” you sighed.

Loki rolled his eyes. “See – there!” you whined, gesturing. “Right there. Why do you need to roll your eyes at that?”

He stiffened, hands moving to his hips. “Will you allow me to carry you?” he drawled, evading the question. “No I can make it, it’s not that far” you lied. Loki nodded, circling back towards you. “At least take my arm,” he sniffed, offering it forth. And with a reluctant sigh, you took it.

“You need to change your clothes, Loki.” You looked up, meeting the indignant glare you knew would be waiting. “You said it yourself. Hazards: wayward tourists. When Steve finds out about me, he’ll be pissed. If he finds out about you rumbling us, he’ll be catatonic.” Loki released a ragged exhale. “Fine,” he griped. In a blinding flash, luxe emerald battle leathers transformed to the thoroughly beige ensemble from yesterday. “Better?” he smarmed, the sarcasm palpable. “Meh,” you replied. A knowing smirk was exchanged. It warmed the air between you.

“So listen,” you said tentatively, hobbling at his side. “Earlier, you said something about being irredeemable-” “-yes,” Loki cut. You felt his shoulders roll, his demeanour hardening again. “I’m trying to be...trying to, adapt myself. It’s a work in progress. So far it is proving...arduous. Last night was evidence of that.” “Oh. Well...I just meant that you're not irredeemable. We weren’t right together, I know that. You can’t help being a god and a prince and all the eh...attributes, that come from that, and it was wrong of me to...expect you to change? I don’t know.” The two of you picked your way over the uneven track in silence, heart sinking into your stomach before Loki cleared his throat.

“As I understand it, the habits of a lifetime are hard to break even for mortals,” he said, swirling his wrist with a flourish. “Imagine then, what it is like for me.” You threw him an incredulous stare. He frowned. “I understand that my explanation lends weight to your inaugural grievance but you cannot deny the logic” he muttered bitterly.

You licked your bottom lip, heart thumping as you eased the can of worms open. “So what you’re saying is that you agree with...the things I said you were?”

Your heart ached at the memory of the indifference in his eyes as you left him that day. ‘Haughty. Condescending. Unwaveringly arrogant.’

You had been so angry. So angry at his unwillingness to change. To be open to the possibility of change, after everything you had been through together. All the love, so-called, that you had shared. It wasn’t enough – how could you have thought it would be? And he had just sat, crossed-legged on the sofa as you bubbled over the brim. ‘Are we done here?’ he’d said coldly, like concluding a business transaction. In the end, you’d conceded, that the person you were most enraged at was yourself. Loki frowned deeper, staring ahead. You wondered if he was revisiting the same memory. Like loitering at the crevice of a haunted cellar, peering in. His fingers wrapped around yours, still gripping his forearm.

“Well, yes” he replied cautiously. “But I was never expected to be anything else. There was no need – I thought it was just...me. That it was inevitable. It’s all I’ve known.” You opened your mouth and closed it again. “Consider the leaves,” Loki said with a wave of his hand to the multi-coloured foliage littering the skyline. “Those over there...retain their summer green.” He pointed further down the ridge.

“And those, have turned to that rusted maroon you like so much.” He looked to you, features softening. “Does the green leaf know that it is to turn? To change and ebb? Does it have expectation of rebirth?” “It is pretty humble for you to compare yourself to a leaf, I’ll give you that” you mumbled, limping over a pile of scattered cow shit. Loki stopped abruptly, sliding his arm from yours and cupping your shoulders in his hands. His eyes were wide, running over your face as his brows slanted. “Darling, please let me carry you” he whispered earnestly. “Let me help you.” You considered telling him to fuck off, but one brief glance at the endless uneven path stretching down to the forest made you pause. “Fine,” you sighed. “But don’t call me darling. We don’t do that anymore.” A small smile pressed against Loki’s cheeks, making his dimples flash. Immediately he crouched, extending his arms with palms facing up. You shuffled between them, adopting the position.

The beige fleece Loki was wearing did nothing to stop the warmth of his hard chest seeping through your clothes, a thick waft of his natural musk filling your nostrils. With one hand looped behind his neck, clasping the other, you tried to imagine a world where this sweetness wasn’t everything you desperately wanted.

“See?” he postured absent-mindedly as he picked his way down the path with ease. “I can be charming.” Glad of the change of topic, you kept your tone to one of mild interest. “Who says you aren’t charming?” “My brother,” he growled quietly. A snort of unexpected laughter erupted from your throat. You looked to him, faces inches apart. The crawl of Loki’s bemused gaze from your lips to your eyes made your heart skip.

“It’s just…” you started guiltily, searching the depths of his brilliantly blue irises. Even in the gathering gloom of the storm, they sparked. “I-” “I understand,” he said abruptly, looking forward again. His lips formed a hard line, the blade of his cheekbone deepening as his face set. Whatever Loki thought you had meant to say, it was not the truth. But somehow, the truth was harder to muster now than the fiction where you couldn’t stand him. You felt him readjust his grip on your waist, fingers sinking into the soft fleece beneath your rainjacket.

“You are charming,” you whispered against the wind. It was supposed to sound comforting. Platonic. But a part of you hoped that it wouldn’t. Against your better judgement, you curled the hair on his furthest shoulder behind his ear before knitting your fingers again. “Thor isn’t one to talk, anyway.” “Rogers confirmed it,” Loki rebutted harshly, the words catching in his throat. He was very pointedly not looking at you, you noticed. “Steve isn’t one to talk either,” you chuckled, before sighing. Rain fell heavier now, thick droplets landing on your forehead and following the tracks of forgotten tears.

You watched it fall against Loki’s brow, a silken sheen of moisture coating the milk-wild perfection you’d kissed every inch of in your time together. A lone droplet rolled down his temple, following the gutter of his cheekbone before dripping languidly down his chin. It lingered on his jawline, taking the long way down before falling. “Are you alright, Agent?” Loki murmured.

He’d been watching.

Thunder rolled overhead as you nodded slowly, rain clinging to your lashes. Hair was plastered to his cheeks now, inky tendrils winding across alabaster skin like oil on snow. His grip around your body tightened, looking upwards. “Hold on tight,” he growled.

You barely had time to process his words before a torrent unleashed overhead, battering against the ground as Loki began a run down the hill. “M-magic t-to dry-?” you gasped as every stride of his strong legs knocked the breath from your lungs.

“It is fruitless against the English onslaught,” Loki yelled over the storm’s sudden din. “Believe me.” You buried your face in his neck, the heat of your breath against his wet skin conjuring images of lazy mornings spent fucking in his shower. How steam filled the room like Vatican smoke, heralding the joyus arrival of your climax over and over.

Loki would hold you safe against the wall, his large palms cupping your ass and guiding you towards pleasure you had never experienced before. And never would again. The sweet pants of praise he released wetly against your skin, the splatter from his sodden hair as he snapped his neck back in ecstasy. The squeak of his enormous hand running down the glass shield as he came undone inside you. It would haunt your mind forever. The ghost in the cellar.

And now, just like then, there was nothing to do but hold on. Your grip tightened around his neck, the flat of his thigh hitting your ass every so often when, presumably, he cleared a tree trunk.

Every nerve beneath your skin was on fire, each movement jolting life into feelings you had tried to smother. You were acutely aware of your lips parting against the curve of his neck, delicate skin hovering above his own.

Taunting yourself, you brushed against him; sucking your own breath back from the rebound. The fine hairs on his skin tingled your lips, sending twisting aches of desire between your thighs. Loki veered to the left, thrusting your face against his neck. Involuntarily the grip around him tightened, clasping his skin to your lips in a desperate, if accidental, embrace.

And suddenly, it was gone. Loki had lowered you to the ground, standing back abruptly. He stood triangular, legs apart like a soldier.

The fabric of his clothes was dark, saturated with water and clinging to his lithe body like a second skin. It hung against the marbled muscle, tracking every deep line carved into his thighs and plastering the bulge of his crotch in a way that could only be described as obscene.

The stare he held was formidable, two distantly smouldering eyes set with purpose which observed from beneath heavily knitted brows. Hands clasped ceremonially behind his back, he lowered his chin and nodded to the side. With disappointment, you realised you were back at the cottage. Loki had stopped in a small clearing, and the dismal looking residence couldn’t be more than fifty meters away. “I thought you could go ahead” he said, raking his fingers through sodden hair. It slathered back from his face, the sharp lines glinting. “That way, Rogers will never need to know there was an...incident. I will follow after an appropriate interval with an appropriate excuse.”

“Come with me,” you said incredulously, wiping a swathe of water from your cheek. As Loki shook his head, you found you couldn’t stop yourself. “I want them to know you helped, it was my fault I was stupid, I got myself fucking crag-fast like an idiot...and hurt and you-” “No.” was Loki’s staunch response.

The lonely sound of rain on the tree canopy rustled.

Brow furrowing, you stepped closer and brushed down his arm, drawing one hand out from behind his back. It sat limply in yours. “Come with me,” you pleaded.

Loki frowned, staring at your hand holding his own. As if it was not his own. And with aching clarity, you realised this was him trying. “I fear, under the circumstances, I would not be able to contain myself from being…” he swallowed thickly, cricking his neck to the side before continuing, “-myself.” You stared at him, and he at you.

There was a flutter of wet leaves beneath his feet as he shuffled. “Really, you should go you’ll catch your dea-” And just like that, without thinking, you had crossed the space between you.

Like an out of body experience, hands slid over his sodden shoulders, pulling his parted lips to yours mid-words. Warmth flooded your body as his frozen arms slowly made a cage around your waist, sliding down your back like you would shatter beneath his touch.

His tongue slipped cautiously between your lips. It grew with each passing second to a raging hunger in every all-consuming jut muscle against your own. It felt like home. Your fingers tangled in clumped strands of hair against his scalp, teeth clashing while fears were forgotten. If only for now. For now, you wanted to love him. “Loki,” you moaned into his mouth.

His name held weight when you said it like that.

His hands searched your body, never settling in one place, grasping at the jacket which crackled and slid beneath his fingers. Loki panted, cupping your chin before delving deeper.

Every unspoken word, every abandoned touch, each lingering glance that ate away at you in the dead of night flooding from your body to his in that kiss.

“Darling,” he breathed as he held you still. His wet forehead pressed against yours. Your eyes were still closed, waiting for his return. Nerves fluttered in your chest, your stomach; happiness that you daren’t have hoped for sloshing at the edges of your sanity. You couldn’t think.

“Darling,” he repeated stiffly, a gentle shake of his grip urging your eyes open. “I can’t-” he said solemnly, as you opened your eyes. You felt words forming – ‘Don’t call me darling’ - or maybe it was a scream. But a single finger to your lips silenced it, whatever it would have been. “Go.” he said. And he meant it. And as you felt the scream rise again in your throat, you did.

Loki’s watch followed you all the way to the door as he lingered on the edge of the forest. You could feel his gaze as keenly as though it were his hands. How you wished that memory was as hard to conjure as it had been before daybreak. Through the window, you could see Thor buttering crumpets.

One last kiss, you thought; hoping the rain would mask your tears from the others inside.

One last kiss before the lights went out.

>>>> Chapter Four: Home Truths Tags

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog @literatureatthebowofnails

[chrissdollie]

eclipse part one˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

♡ series playlist

♡ a/n: so i decided to post the chapters after i write them. this does mean that they'll posted far apart and not every other day like i originally intended. for those of you who don't already know, this series is pretty much the first three twilight books with my own twists hehe. it's going to be separated into three Acts. Act 1: Twilight, Act 2: New Moon, Act 3: Eclipse. i can't wait for this journey and hope u guys enjoy it ! :)

♡ summary: you moved from the sizzling hot arizona to the depressive rainy washington in a small town called forks. it was terribly boring.. until you meet a gorgeous townie and fall in love. but what do you do when your childhood friend interferes with your feelings? ♡ warnings/notes: a matt sturniolo and chris sturniolo love triangle series, cursing, lowercase intended, use of "yn", cry!baby reader n/n = nickname ♡ wc: 3.5k

♡ masterlist

ACT 1: TWILIGHT

you miss arizona terribly. moving to the small town of forks in washington was something you never would have dreamed of. your wacko mom sent you to stay with your father for a while and start a new life while she went away with phil, her new husband. it had rained every single day since the moment your plane landed-- it was summer when you moved. you despise it here. summer was supposed to be hot, and you should have been going to the pool! you were going to get a lovely tan to show off for the new school year, but instead, you were stuck inside your girly room reading for the entire break.

though you must admit, when you first entered the shabby house filled with dingy furniture--(you could practically hear your mother's voice complaining), you hadn't expected to get so comfortable so quick. charlie, your dad, wasn't half bad. he's a cool and laid-back guy who didn't prod into your life and bug you as much as you thought he would. unexpectantly, your small black kitten lilith took a liking to him too. lilith is your little companion who you bring along anywhere. her fur's always decorated in cute pink bows so the two of you could match. in a way, she's your best (and now only) friend.

as you sit in a rusty old truck gifted to you by charlie, you bite the inside of your cheek, looking around the tarnished vehicle with a distasted frown on your gloss-covered pouty lips. you couldn't complain, of course, you really appreciated it. you've been wanting a car for forever... but it was so slow!

groaning at the speedometer, you realize that the maximum speed is 55. you sigh, deciding to stop nitpicking the truck considering it's the only one you've got. the rain pitter-patters on your windows along with your squeaky windshield wipers swiping the water off. you pull into your new school's parking lot where students were just beginning to arrive. you put the vehicle into park, but you don't get out right away.

you exhale as your manicured nails anxiously tap against the steering wheel. you miss your friends back home. you don't want to go here! everybody looks so dreadful. besides, you'd already spent the last two years sucking up to your teachers. all of that was down the drain now. and to make matters even worse, forks high school has an underwhelming amount of students: 357 kids-- well, 358 now. in this small town, everybody knows everybody, which means that everyone is going to know that you're an arizonian freak... maybe you're overreacting.

you bite your glossy lip hesitantly before grabbing your pink puffer tote and umbrella. you quickly jump out and slam the truck door shut. you hurriedly rush to the main building where you're greeted by a woman in a purple t-shirt, automatically making you feel overdressed in your denim skirt and pretty brandy melville shirt with a brown zippered jacket over it-- not to mention the sum of all your accessories. you close your umbrella and greet the woman back with a soft smile. she kindly hands you a map of the school and your assigned schedule. "your first class is in building three, room 3-104, dearie."

you nod and thank the lady for her help before opening your umbrella again to head to the building with a black "3" sloppily painted on the side. you open the door, stepping inside and shutting your umbrella once more before walking down the hall to your classroom, checking the number on your paper schedule to be sure. you arrive, your hand reaching for the doorhandle, taking a quick breath. you'd already gotten a few double takes in response to your girly appearance when you were strolling down the hallway. you hope no one bothers you about it.

the door opens creakily. the classroom is small and tight, almost suffocating. you hang up your coat on one of the hooks lined up against the wall. walking up to the teacher's desk, you hand him a late pass with your basic information. you prepare the words you're going to say when you're asked to introduce yourself. you aren't a social person, so maybe this'll be good for you! but the scruffy man grunts and points to an empty desk at the back of the room. oh. well, it'd be hard for people to judge your appearance in the back, so you can't say you're disappointed.

you kept your eyes down for most of the class, not bothering to scan the room and learn people's faces along with their names. the teacher had given you a reading list, but you'd already read everything before. shakespeare, bronte, faulker.. how boring! though it was also a comfort that you already knew everything and had nothing to worry about. suddenly, the bell rings-- not a satisfying chime like the one back home, more nasally and uncomforting. a short but brawny boy sitting in front of you turns around and brushes back his fluffy brown hair. "you're yn swan, aren't you?"

"uh-huh." you nod, looking up in small surprise. some people turned their heads to see why their friend was speaking to the weird girl from out of town. he hums contently. "where's your next class?" he asks, not even bothering to tell you his name. "oh, uhh.." you check your schedule before looking back up. "...government with jefferson. building six." his curious eyes brighten. "i'm headed to building four.. i could show you the way? i'm nate." the corner of your lips turn up. "that'd be really helpful, thank you." you smile in a friendly manner, nate smiling with you.

the two of you picked up your jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up heavily. as you walked, you noticed a few people lurking behind you-- almost as if they were eavesdropping nosily. nate clears his throat. "soo, this is pretty different from pheonix, huh?" he shoves his hands into his pockets as his head cocks towards you who's still looking down. "oh yeah, very."

"how often does it rain?"

"mm, three or four times a year."

"shit, what's that like?" he chuckles.

you shrug awkwardly. "sunny."

once you two reach your class, nate opens the door for you, a little over-helpfully. "well, good luck. maybe we'll see each other again in some other class." he said almost hopefully. you nod vaguely and head inside. the rest of the morning passed by in fast forward. your trig teacher was the only one who made you stand in front of your classmates to introduce yourself-- you stammered and tripped over your shoes on the way back to your seat.

in every subject, there was always at least one person who decided to be bold and chatty, asking you questions about living here in forks compared to pheonix. in all honesty, you just lied a lot. you didn't want to be that loser who hated something without really giving it a chance, so you repeated the same phrase every time someone asked how you were liking forks so far. "it's cool! this is what i needed, a change of atmosphere." one girl sat next to you in trig and french, a pale girl with a ginger ponytail. she was the chattiest of chatterboxes.

in trig, she turned to you abruptly, grabbing your hand. your eyes widened unexpectantly, but she spoke before you could. "hi! are you new here? i've never seen you before. wow, you're SO pretty!! i love your outfit, it's so cute. everyone normally dresses like they're homeless, but not you-- oh! my name is jessica, sorry, that was SO rude.."

she thoughtfully demanded she walk you to lunch, prattling about teachers and students as you walked to the cafeteria, but you didn't try too hard to keep up. she leads you towards a long table, full of her friends. she introduces you to every single one and you annoyingly forget all of their names as soon as she says them. you sit squished between all seven students, trying to keep up with the conversation when a certain group captures your attention.

they're sat in the corner of the cafeteria away from everyone else. there's four, but none of them spoke. they didn't bother to look anywhere else besides their table, so your eyes were free to roam. they all grabbed curiosity without even trying-- they're angelic. two boys and two girls. the girls look like polar opposites. one is tall with luscious golden hair, the type that'd make any girl furious with envy. the smaller one is chubby with long silky black hair. her eyes are big and doe-like. the boys seem to be twins, but you can easily tell the difference. the bigger one is wearing a blue zip-up sweater but still manages to look majestic. you notice he often messes with his red-dyed hair or nose ring. and then you shift your gaze to the other twin. he was the most beautiful out of them all. his small silver earrings shook as he moves his head to the side, clearly thinking about something. he has tattoos littering his arms, giving him a tough image.

at the same time, they're all very similar. every one of them is chalky pale, very pale. they all have dark eyes despite the difference in hair coloring. they also have dark shadows under their eyes, like they were suffering from many sleepless nights. you can't look away. they look perfect. inhumanly beautiful. the students at your table were still talking to you though they weren't exactly aware that you hadn't been listening for at least five minutes. "erm- jessica. who are they?" your words stop the conversation as the students' eyes follow your pointed finger. their eyes flicker over to the table before back to you within a second. jessica giggles almost nervously. "well, that's rosalie and madison filipowicz, and nicolas and matthew sturniolo. they all live with jimmy sturniolo and his wife." she lowered her tone so only people close by can hear.

you don't mind keeping your eyes on them, they're mesmerizing. "so, which are the sturniolos? the girls don't look related.."

jessica glances towards them again. "they're not. they were both adopted by dr. jimmy and his wife, marylou. nick and matt are twins obviously and they're the doctor's actual kids." you nod along and find your focus staying mostly on matthew. his long pale fingers slowly peel an orange, his eyes filled with boredom. you don't move your glance when you talk again. "have they always lived here?"

jessica replies in a voice implying that it should be obvious, "no, they moved here two years ago from alaska or some shit, i dunno.."

you're still examining them when matthew looks up directly at you. your eyes widen and turn away immediately filled with embarrassment. jessica noticed you eyeing him and grins. "matt doesn't date. bummer, 'cus he's totally gorgeous.. guess none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him. self-absorbed rich boy..." she mutters the last part under her breath and you wonder if he's turned her down before. you bite your lip to cover up your smile, then you look at him again. his face is turned away, but it looks like his cheek's lifted as if he were smiling too.

lunch went by fast and your next class is biology two. when you get to the room, you notice that all the black-topped lab tables are taken with partners-- except for one. right in the center, matthew from lunch sits by himself. you huff quietly and walk down the aisle to your teacher's desk to introduce yourself. and of course, he assigns you to the only free seat next to matt. when you're walking back to the table, you notice how he's become stiff and rigid in his chair. he looks at you with a strange expression, a furious expression.

you avoid eye contact, sitting down and dropping your bag on the floor next to you. matt readjusts himself so that he's leaning away from you, as far away as possible. you scoff silently, wondering what his problem is. maybe it was what happened at lunch? oh shit, he probably thinks you're a creep. your teacher begins a lecture on cellular anatomy, something you already did back home. you decide to take notes anyway, pulling out gel pens and highlighters.

you feel his eyes on you again. staring. criticizing. you don't care though. you perkily take your pretty notes and he'll just have to deal with the noises of uncapping and recapping highlighters. you glance down at his arm laying on the table close to you. it's pale and muscular. his hand's clenched into a tight fist and you can't help but wonder if it's because of you. nono, it is because of you. it's almost ten minutes later and he still hasn't relaxed his tense figure, so the annoyed clench must be your fault.

the class ends after what felt like forever. as the loud bell rings, matt abruptly sprints out of his seat with his belongings and rushes out the door. you exhale with a pout. why is he so mean? maybe you should've apologized for admiring him during the earlier period. you start piling your stuff into your pink bag, ignoring the hot tears rising and blurring your vision. infuriatingly, you cry for everything like a little baby. you pull your schedule out of your pocket, unfolding it to see your next class. last period is p.e? that sucks. not only are you terrible at anything physical, you're gonna go home a sweaty mess.

you make it to the girls' locker room and see jessica tying her bright red hair up into a tight ponytail. she notices you walking in and smiles brightly. "oh my gosh, hi yn!! what a coincidence you're here! i haven't seen you since lunch, feels like it's been hours-" as she begins to ramble, you choose a locker and load your jacket and purse inside. while she's talking, another girl comes up behind her, tapping her shoulder fast. "jess! chris is coming to pick up nate after school." she shrieks, clapping her hands together excitedly. jessica's eyes widen and her smile somehow grows wider.

you watch the both of them squeal, and wonder if they're talking about your chris, your best friend when you were younger and visited forks on holiday breaks. jessica catches your eye and calms down to explain. "christopher owen is the hottest guy you'll ever see! probably even better looking than matt- you remember, right? the guy i was showing you- yeah anyway, he lives in la push which totally sucks but his best friend goes here so sometimes he comes on his motorcycle to pick him up."

you nod along. "christopher owen? like.. brown hair blue eyes?" you realize how his face kind of reminds you of matthew and nicolas. but maybe your memory's just hazy. jessica's eyes widen like a cartoon. her friend grabs her hand, "holy shit, you know him?! you have to introduce us, pleaseee!!"

you shrug awkwardly. "oh, i dunno. i haven't seen him in a couple of years-" you're thankfully cut off when the coach walks in and blows his whistle to signal that class is starting. the two girls badger you as you walk out into the gym where a volleyball net is set up. ah great. you cringe just thinking about the so many ways you could get hurt.

forty-five minutes later, you only got hit on your head by the ball two times! that's a win. jessica and her friend make it to the locker room before anyone else, collecting their stuff and yours to then run back to where you're still not even out of the gymnasium yet. they grab both of your arms and drag you out of the building. jessica's friend lets go of your arm, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "can i see your schedule?" she asks, holding her hand out. you hum, "sure, one sec.." you check your jacket pockets just to find them empty. "uh.." you mutter, looking through your bag.

"maybe you dropped it somewhere?" she suggests, peeking into your bag. you sigh and stop walking. "i have to get another one. when does the front office close?" you question hurriedly. "umm in a bit! go!! but be back quick, chris is gonna leave soon.." jessica whines at the last part. you hold onto your bag tightly and run to building one, the wind strongly blowing in your face along with little drops of rain. you swing the door open and see matthew standing in front of the receptionist's desk. you bite the inside of your cheek unpleasantly. he's arguing with the woman in a low attractive voice. it sounds like he's trying to trade sixth period biology to any other class... wait a damn minute.

your mouth opens into an 'o' with pinched eyebrows. he has biology with you. what a dick! he turns around annoyed and gives you a cold glare. he exhales and turns back to the receptionist. "nevermind. it's alright, thanks anyway." he waves his hand and storms out the door like earlier. your lip quivers but you blink back tiny tears, walking up to the desk. you explain the stupid situation, already beginning to show your irresponsibility. she prints a second schedule and hands it to you without a problem. "how was your first day?" she toothily smiles.

you purse your lips. "not bad" is all you say before you're waving to the sweet lady and walking out the door. you see a small crowd formed in the parking lot and catch sight of jessica and her friend with hands on their mouths. you curiously walk faster to where they stand. you see a big intimidating motorcycle revving up to which the students cheer. wow. you weren't wrong, chris looks identical to nick and matt. however, you fold your arms with a big grin spreading on your face. your childhood friend sits on the bike, his fluffy hair blowing in the wind. jessica latches onto your arm, "talk to himm!" she urges. you suck your teeth.

"why aren't you wearing a helmet??" you call out maternally. some people turn around, but you keep looking at chris' reaction when his eyes go big. "IS THAT MY- holdon man." he starts but slaps nate's shoulder as he gets off his bike. chris chuckles, observing your face. he's big, much bigger than you expected. his arms are large and lean in his black tank top-- gosh, he must be cold. he comes up to you, ruffling your hair with his big hand. "i'm not wearing a helmet 'cus it'll fuck up my hair. what the fuck are ya doin' here? it's been so long!"

you giggle, giving him a hug. he pats your back somewhat awkwardly as the small crowd begins to decrease as people get into their cars. jessica and her friend hang around and squeal girlishly at the physical contact, but you ignore them. "i moved here over the summer!- wow, you're tall." you look up at him, cheeks starting to hurt from all the smiling. he kisses your head in a friendly manner and pulls away from the hug. "yeah, justin says i'm gettin' too big to live with." he grins playfully. you like how his face didn't change that much compared to the rest of his body. he still has the same cheesy smile that was always plastered on his face.

"well, how d'ya feel bein' here? actually, my bad n/n-" you let out a small giggle at the familiar nickname that only he was allowed to call you. "-i gotta take this punk home. but i'll stop by your place soon, promise." he gives you another quick hug before patting your head jokingly. you laugh, waving his hand off. "okay, bye!!" you wave as he gets onto his motorcycle, nate clinging onto his back. he gives you a small wink and drives off.

"i didn't know chris was a triplet.." you mutter. jessica happens to pick it up. "oh yeah, but i guess they're not really close. they never talk to each other when chris comes here. actually.. i don't think i've ever seen them all together." she quickly shrugs it off, changing the subject. interesting, chris doesn't even have the same last name as matt and nick. you shake away these thoughts, who cares? not any of your business anyway. you catch matthew getting into the driver's seat of a white volvo a few cars down from yours. he eyes you for a quick second before pulling out and driving away. you chuckle in disbelief. dick.

♡ tags ♡

@leah-loves-lilies @imtalkinnonsense @star-sturn @junnniiieee07 @mattsneezing @freshloveee @freshsturns @emma4eva @r6diosturns @matthasmywholeheart @donthugmeimhot @blahbel668 @chrissturnsss @joanofarcily @mattscoquette @slutsturn @imsosillygoofylol @joanofarcily @slutsturn @imsosillygoofylol @sturnioloremarker @ashley9282828 @jnkvivi @sturncakez

[defectivevillain]

this broken design

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary:

“Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

word count: 2.3k [ao3 version here]

Reader’s pronouns are unspecified but masc-intended. You take the place of Will Graham, essentially. [Will is the mf blueprint and I love him,, I just wasn’t creative enough to think of a way to fit the reader into the story without replacing him ;( ]

Since Hannibal is your therapist, the relationship [although ambiguous] is ethically questionable. That’s par for the course to many Fannibals, but I’ll put this here in case you’re new to the fandom.

warnings: canon-typical violence, dissociation, breach of doctor/patient boundaries, insomnia, sleepwalking, cannibalism, spoilers for episode 1.

Jack Crawford can’t take no for an answer. That’s nothing new, of course. However, it’s frustrating to constantly be on the receiving end of that disappointed glare of his. You can’t take it much longer. He seems to recognize that you’re beginning to break, because he calls in a doctor for your psychiatric evaluation: Doctor Hannibal Lecter. There’s one unspoken statement lingering in the air when you walk into the room: “You will pass this exam and return to the field.”

Against all odds, Dr. Lecter seems to be one of the more competent medical professionals you’ve worked with. He doesn’t poke or prod at things that make you uncomfortable, testing your limits to the maximum. He doesn’t look at you with the patronizing gaze you’re so used to receiving from your peers. Lecter looks at you and, sometimes, it feels as if he’s looking straight through you.

After passing the psychological evaluation—you have a strong suspicion that Dr. Lecter lied on those forms—you’re back on the field. Before long, Jack Crawford is ordering you to look at mangled bodies once more. You notice that it takes more out of you each time you look. Looking is exhausting and the longer you look, the more time it takes to return to your own body.

You’re able to cope until your encounter with the Minnesota Shrike. You feel your composure beginning to slip as you frantically look through files in the office of his construction site. Thankfully, you can finally put a name to the killer: Garret Jacob Hobbs. He’s a construction worker, a husband, and a father. The guy is entirely ordinary, almost scarily so.

When you arrive at the Hobbs’ residence minutes later, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s expecting you. The house is eerily silent and when you walk in, his wife is already dead. Dread churning in your stomach, you turn the corner, only to find Hobbs holding his daughter Abigail captive. There’s a knife pressed to her neck. The betrayed yet horrified expression on her face cements itself in your mind. You point your gun at him, but he slices her neck before you can shoot him. After firing one, two, three, nine shots, you kneel down and try to stifle Abigail’s bleeding. Your heart races in your chest and there’s a roaring noise in your ears. Amidst all the chaos, however, you can still sense Garret Jacob Hobbs staring at you with a sickening smirk on his face.

“See?” The man had asked, as the light faded from his eyes and his body slumped against the cabinets. You turn your attention back to Abigail, who is now gasping and panting heavily. Your hands shake as you desperately try to stop the bleeding. You’re too rattled to notice the sound of footsteps getting closer until there’s a hand on your shoulder. Dr. Lecter and you lock eyes and, even in the swirling mess of emotions running through your mind, there is overwhelming clarity. Dr. Lecter’s expression is far too calm. Just before you can contemplate that further, he’s gently pushing you to the side and tending to Abigail.

Everything after that passes in a blur. Abigail is taken to the hospital and Dr. Lecter accompanies her in the ambulance. Jack seems satisfied and disconcerted all at once. He pulls you aside and starts talking your ear off, but you admittedly can’t process anything of what he’s saying. Eventually, the agent gives up and leaves you to drive home. Even when you go to work the next morning, you can’t shake the grey haze that clings to your very being. “See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs’ voice rings in your ears. You did see; you only wish you hadn’t.

You begin to have weekly sessions with Dr. Lecter. Jack all but forces you to attend, but the sessions actually prove to be helpful. Dr. Lecter is certainly an eccentric character, that’s for sure. You’ve never quite met someone like him before, and you can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. The therapist is certainly mysterious. You want to figure him out, but, at the same time, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that is still wary around him. You haven’t necessarily forgotten the strangely calm look on his face in the Hobbs house, the mechanical way with which he accepted the pervasive aura of death all around him.

As great as Dr. Lecter is, he can’t fix everything. Your sleep, for example, is continuing to tank by the day. Since your return to the field, it’s difficult to fall asleep and even more difficult to stay asleep. After the Hobbs incident, you’re plagued with nightmares of dark crimson rivers. A few times, you’re even forced to relive the encounter: the moment Abigail slumps to the ground, the moment you shoot Hobbs again and again and again-

The moral of the story is that you’re not sleeping well. Your sleep has never been great, but it’s also never been this bad. You muse on that thought as you lie reclined on your mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Exhaustion tugs at your very core, but your mind refuses to slow down for even a moment. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that you shouldn’t even try to go to sleep, unless you want to slip into a killer’s skin once more. After staring up at the ceiling for an immeasurable amount of time, your eyes finally begin to fall shut.

Shadows seep into your eyes, coloring your vision dark. For a moment, there’s nothing but darkness. Garret Jacob Hobbs greets you like an old friend, his whispers ripping through your skin and into your very core. You claw at your head and close your eyes, desperate to rid yourself of his haunting voice. Somehow, your effort seems to work and you can’t hear his murmurs anymore. You want to drown in the shadowed void that stretches around you but, suddenly, there are two lights ripping through the blackness. You put a hand over your eyes as the brightness burns holes in your vision. Your eyes water and it takes several seconds for the graininess around you to disappear. To your surprise, there’s a car parked just to your left. You take a step forward and squint at the driver. The window rolls down slowly and your breath catches. A shiver rolls down your spine, and it’s not just the cold air that causes it. 

“Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried, and you quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

“I-” You try to say, but the words are stuck in your throat. His statement prompts you to look around and find out where exactly here is. Ultimately, you realize that you’re standing in the center of a road. It’s pretty dark outside. You look down and find that you’re still wearing your pajamas—a ragged shirt and sweatpants. Furthermore, there are scrapes lining your arms. You inhale sharply, beginning to feel panic seep into your bones.

Hannibal’s car door swings open and he moves to stand next to you. The therapist is dressed nicely, as always. You’d be more self conscious about your own attire if you didn’t feel so discombobulated. “What is the last thing you remember?” The man asks. You pause to ponder the question.

“Falling asleep,” you answer, after thinking about the past few hours. You were staring up at your bedroom ceiling. You must’ve fallen asleep at some point. There’s an infuriating lack of information- a gap from when you fell asleep to when you found yourself staring at the headlights of Hannibal’s car.

Silence settles in the air, thick and uncomfortable. You don’t know what to do or say, that could possibly justify this. Truly, one moment you were in bed and the next, you were standing in the middle of the road. You don’t exactly want to tell Hannibal that, but he seems to recognize the sentiment anyway. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed as he stares at you. His gaze is insistent and heated, so much so that you have to look away—lest you get burned.

“Come on,” Hannibal says. There’s an authoritative tone to his voice and you follow along instinctually. He helps you to his car with a hand on your shoulder. For a moment, you shiver in the passenger seat as he stares at you. Hannibal then shakes his head and takes off his jacket, putting it around your shoulders. You vaguely recognize that you must look truly pathetic, but you’re too cold not to burrow into the smooth fabric.

The moment he starts driving, you begin to remember your exhaustion. In actuality, you never got that much sleep. Judging from the radio in Hannibal’s car, it’s only two in the morning. You were only asleep for two hours and, yet, you walked all the way outside to the road. Gritting your teeth, you decide to look out the window. Despite your fatigue, your body doesn’t want to succumb to slumber. You have to settle for staring bleakly out the window.

“We’ve arrived,” Hannibal later announces. You blink dazedly, looking out the window to find a beautiful gothic home looming over you. Just before you can grab the door and get out, Hannibal is on the other side opening it for you. You fall in step beside him and allow him to lead you down the walk towards his home. He opens the door and allows you to enter first.

You feel extraordinary out of place here, as you usually do in Hannibal’s presence. The foyer has an elegant fireplace and deep blue accents. Paintings decorate the walls and there’s a vase of freshly trimmed flowers on one of the tables. You can see Hannibal having an internal debate with himself about giving you a formal tour or telling you about the pieces. He turns back to you expectantly and you follow him into the living room. You freeze in the doorway, upon realizing that you’re still wearing your shoes (which you don’t remember putting on in the first place). You quickly bend down and try to untie them, but your hands are trembling too much to do it.  

“Allow me,” Hannibal says, getting down on one knee. To your horror and humiliation, he proceeds to help you untie your shoes. You avert your eyes, feeling as if your skin is on fire. He must sense your discomfort, because he arches an eyebrow at you before untying them a little faster. Thankfully, Hannibal doesn’t offer to fetch you clean socks- you’re certain you’d die of embarrassment. Instead, the moment your shoes are off, he guides you to sit on the finely trimmed settee.

For a fraction of a second, when you look up at Hannibal, you see the cold, calculated gaze of a practiced killer. “You’re freezing,” Hannibal remarks. You swallow hard and watch with bated breath as he leaves the room. Perhaps you just imagined that. You look around the room, unsurprised to see hints of animals everywhere—what with the mounted antelope head and various skulls resting on the table behind you.

The Chesapeake Ripper sees his victims as animals, as pigs. You’re not quite sure why the killer comes to mind now of all times. Even so, you try to think about what you’ve gathered about him so far. He’s a middle-aged man with no current family. His tastes are eccentric and his murders are artistic performances. Furthermore, the killer is slippery. You’ve only found clues because, you suspect, he wanted you to find them. The killer is narcissistic; he knows he won’t be caught and prides himself on that fact.

Your head aches with the sleep you haven’t gotten. You rub at your eyes roughly, unable to shake the feeling that you’re on the crux of a realization. The Chesapeake Ripper… The killer refuses to leave your mind. Why is that thought plaguing you here, of all places? You’re in Hannibal’s residence, staring at the rather macabre animal imagery around the space, when it hits you. Everything clicks into place: the conveniently timed dinner parties, the luxurious lifestyle, the entire lack of shock on his face at the Hobbs’ house.

It appears you’ve found the Chesapeake Ripper.

Hannibal chooses that exact moment to reappear. There’s a blanket folded over his arm and a mug in his hands. He seamlessly weaves through the room, coming to a stop over you. You look up at him from your position on the couch. “Are you alright?” You nod mutely, not trusting yourself to speak. The clock on the wall ticks ominously. Your hands are still trembling at your sides, so badly that Hannibal reaches out and cups them in his with a worried expression. You’re certain your teeth are chattering in your mouth. You’re going to die. You’ll be the next Chesapeake Ripper victim. When you close your eyes, you see your colleagues from the Behavioral Analysis Unit staring down at your corpse on the investigation table. You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. Your heart is thundering away in your chest and you know you must look suitably harrowed.

Hannibal extends a hand and you realize that the Chesapeake Ripper is giving you a cup of tea. You watch mutedly as an organ harvester gently cleans the scrapes on your skin. A coldhearted cannibal is placing a hand on your cheek and looking into your eyes, searching for something. A murderer is placing a blanket over your shoulders.

Hannibal sits down after his thorough investigation. Meanwhile, there’s one thought running through your mind: You can’t fall asleep here. You absolutely can’t let your guard down in front of the Chesapeake Ripper, the very cannibal you’ve been chasing for years. You sip the proffered tea and pretend that everything is alright. Hannibal seems content to sit with you in silence, although you can sense his gaze burning into the side of your face. Stay awake, you tell yourself. Stay alive.

Your eyes slip shut of their own accord

chapter two

Mwahahahah. AHAHHAHAHH…. Yes. I had to get that out, lol.

The untying of the shoes scene is a slight allusion to the Death Note scene in which L washes Light's feet. That's one of my favorite scenes in the series, as it hints at the parallels between L/Light and Jesus/Judas and the idea of recognizing betrayal before it comes. [Unfortunately, feet also gross me the hell out, so I settled for the untying of the shoes. Haha.]

This is entirely unrelated, but i got my dna results back and apparently i’m lithuanian 😏 [it’s not that significant or specific of a percentage, but just lemme have this 🙏]. hannibal, if ur reading this, i’m just like you frrrr 😮‍💨 except minus, yk, the cannibalism.

anyway, thanks for reading <3

[assortedvillainvault]

Hello! Can I request Starscream with a reader who loves video games, especially older "retro" ones please?

Anon you have waited so long, please accept this humble word train of inconveivale proportions, becuase this went from 'haha Screamy vs tetris' to 'holy shit I can't stop typing-'

Starscream x RetroGamer!Reader

HA!

Such primitive, meagre entertainment. How can you engage in something barely even fit for newsparks??

Yeah, Starscream is waving his ‘technological-race superiority’ around again. You’ve long since learned to roll your eyes, tune him out and turn the tinny volume on your console to maximum just to annoy him.

For all that he snorts and rolls his optics and waxes lyrical about how his games were played in high-speed roulette 5D stratospheric-chess - or whatever - you don’t fail to smugly notice how his wings twitch in time with the music. (Don’t bring it up or he’ll screech about how he can’t get the bouncy little tunes out of his head at 3am. It’s not worth your eardrums.)

And when he DOES pay attention, he’s the kind to aggressively backseat drive.

What’s worse, is that after breathing down your neck and screeching at you to “Jump HIGHER-” (Mario Bros is a relationship tester), he’ll cluck his tongue and smarmily coo at your game over screen until you finally snap and shove the comparatively tiny controller in his face.

The affronted shock lasts a millisecond before he huffs and says such childish little things are beneath him. Obviously.

Your petty revenge is to chat obnoxiously loud to Knockout and spread a rumour on the Nemesis that the Mighty Commander Starscream is too outdated to try anything new, clearly, I mean he’s just so old-

- much screeching shouting and scratched paintjobs later, you find out that he’s simply downloaded the games into his brain and fully intended to not breathe a word to you about it apparently until you died. Prideful bastard.

He HAD intended to tell you, but only after he had gotten an impossibly high score to beat so he could rub it in your cute squishy face.

In a beautifully ironic twist of fate, being as advanced as cybertronians are, the highly simple nature of most retro games actually renders them incompatible, like trying to run a floppy disk through a hadron collider. So while yes Star can play tetris on his break, he cannot simply blitz the levels as expected and call it a day, because the old games have such simple parameters in comparison to how he usually operates.

So he has to actually play.

With no instructions because of course this high strung high maintenance metal bird could not possibly deign to ask you how to play first. That would be demeaning. And he won’t google it either.

You can sit in smug, satisfied peace as you watch him slowly tick through several layers of frustration: wings twitching, claws tapping, optics whizzing to focus on platforms and little 8 bit enemies you can’t see.

But Starscream is still the Second in Command of the Decepticons. And the Decepticons have very stringent security measures.

Soundwave fucking manifesting outside your window one evening was enough to have you pray to every god you’ve ever heard of. Inscrutable, all knowing fucking Soundwave. You regret every conversation you’ve ever had on the Nemesis, oh god your house is probably bugged-

His face screen flickers to life. You blink, as a live stream of the Nemesis command deck appears.

You have, by dint of hanging around too much and a few close encounters with the Autobots, seen cybertronians on the battlefield before. It is nothing compared to the later levels of Pacman on the Nemesis bridge at 1 am.

Soundwaves inscrutable smiley face emoji pings your phone, almong with a simple, translated glyph.

“More? :)”

PS-

Soundwave is Pacman god. Knockout has a soft spot for the Mario games. Starscream fucking loves Galaxian and will die before he ever tells you this. Shockwave, logically, finds Tetris soothing.

Megatron plays pong on his throne sometimes when his usual brooding gives way to inevitable drug induced boredom. It spaces his eyes out to either side nearly completely. Starscream has screenshots of his gormless mug taped to his hab wall to shoot on occasion.

[apprenticestanheight]

THE FIVE DAYS OF SMUTMAS QUEUE: DAY ONE

Bad Decembers - Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

OKAY!! I would not be me if I did not find a way to worm my love for the holiday season into my love for writing, so that's what the fics coming out in this queue are going to be—not all of them will be the pinnacle of the christmas season but all of them will at least be set in december and mentions of the holidays will probably worm their way into several, but the guarantees I can make are that the fics will either be close to or more than 1k words, and that there will, at a minimum, be snowy weather in the fics because we have gotten snow maybe twice where I am and I can't resist.

This one stems from a thought that I had on the sixteenth where I was like "okay angry and aggressive sex with adam, talk it out, then make up sex for round two yay" but it did change a little bit as things do when they start as ideas but get turned into fics! It's not that different from the original concept—the idea is the same it's just that round two is a little different than how I'd originally intended because I believe in my heart of hearts that Adam would be a fiend for giving oral so this fits that headcanon.

lastly, this fic is meant for audiences of 18+! Minors, DO NOT INTERACT.

Fic type- this is smut!

Warnings- adam is a guy with anger issues and they get the best of him (it is mentioned a couple of times that he punches a coworker in the face after he was provoked, and the work environment Adam is in is implied to be shitty anyway, as someone slapping someone else is also mentioned) the reader is gn for all intents and purposes but as I know the anatomy best, they're AFAB but referenced with gn terms and petnames (aside from the word pussy, which only gets used once), Unprotected sex, rough sex, reader is a masochist and Adam is kind of sadistic, oral sex (m! giving) bruises do happen because adam gets a bit manhandl-y and bruises and rough biting ensue, as does rough groping. Pet play is also in this one a few times (in use of the nickname puppy only, gn terms when smut writing aren't my strongest suit so puppy is for some reason my go-to)

December, despite all of the cheer and festiveness it usually carried, was just not your month, so it seemed.

Work was very, very difficult for you, which really shouldn't've come as a surprise come the last month of the year, but somehow always did.

Crappy coworkers always became the crappiest versions of themselves with the onset of the holiday season, and by December, amidst having to listen to your coworkers complain about how difficult their relatives were to shop for, several HR-funded Christmas parties where you and Adam would drink some of the cheapest booze and listen to your crappiest coworkers complain, and a Secret Santa gift exchange with a minimum—yes, a minimum, which to you seemed kind of ludicrous, though a max amount was certainly something you understood—spending allowance of $150 and a maximum of $380, you were angry and exhausted and looked forward to the nine days off you took between the twenty third and the thirty first like nobodies fuckin' business.

The only bright side to working in that company was the fact that you'd gotten the opportunity to get your secret santa—and one of the few decent coworkers you had in your offices, one named Claire who was actually breeching close friend territory more and more by the day—a bundle of things she'd mentioned really needing in those past few weeks thanks to the budget imposed by your offices.

You'd had the chance to get her a couple of the books she liked in addition to a couple of gift cards to grocery stores and gas stations as she was in a very tight situation with her mooch husband who refused to work point blank period. You'd gone over budget with her gift, actually, and it was the first and last year you'd ever do that.

You were working in marketing and sales and you made $2000 biweekly, which covered your half of rent and utilities, groceries and other bills with something like six hundred to spare to use as fun money. When you'd brought it up with Adam, who'd met Claire a good couple times at those Christmas parties and thought she was great for your morale, he'd supported you, said to go all out because you'd have the money back in your account two weeks from your latest paycheck anyway.

So, grocery cards, gas cards, books and around $100 in stowaway cash later, you'd gone over budget by $80 but had zero regrets because of how happy it made Claire at the end of the gift exchange.

For what it was worth—you were gifted a Nespresso and five boxes of Nespresso pods from someone who practically loathed you and probably wanted you to refuse it, but by the 21st you were so sick of work and people and everything else that you just faked a smile, said your thanks in a way that seemed just a little too sweet and definitely a bit too happy, and knew that you and Adam would cherish that Nespresso for all of the glorious coffee it made on your latest nights until it broke in the years to follow.

Getting home from the gift exchange at six, you were tired and angry at the world, pretty much, and it seemed—based on vibes alone—that Adam was much the same.

For Adam, though, it had definitely been work. After the trap, he'd switched from working as a glorified snitch for far less money than all of it was worth to working closely with a gallery that liked the shots he took enough to commission him for collections of photos. The commission money was certainly more than enough—from commissions, he got $3000 a month for 300 photos, which were typically displayed for six, eight, or ten months before he had to pick a new theme and the cycle repeated—but the gallery people he was working with were much like your coworkers in that they became the worst versions of themselves in the holiday season.

The collection he'd been trying to get together had been one part of a four hundred photo collection that captured Jersey in the winter which was due to start displaying on the 23rd and would stay up until the second of January the following year. He was working with three other people and the gallery staff and all of them were too stuck up to actually cooperate with him.

To that point, it had been twenty-one days of screaming matches, crappy coffee made worse by the bitterness Adam felt, and fighting day in and day out to keep his anger internal while he was in the apartment you shared because yelling at you, when he'd worked so hard to keep his anger issues in check? That was, under no circumstances, an option.

The first four months of your relationship had been spent with fights once every two weeks because Adam was still trying to learn how to keep his anger in check after letting it go unchecked for so long, and you'd been dating for five years. In those five years, after that rocky four months, you'd both found a balance and you both loved that balance. Adam wasn't going to fuck it up because he was angry at people who existed in a realm completely othered from the one where you were.

Well—he was going to try to avoid fucking it up for himself.

He's sitting on the couch, stewing in his anger when you come home. You grin at him, exhausted, and Adam leaves to the kitchen before you can get a word in—he'd been warned to expect a joint call sometime before midnight in relation to the collection that he had to take 100 photos for and he was antsy as well as angry, and he doesn't want you to see him like that, spiteful and angry at anything that breathes the wrong way.

He tries to make coffee with the pot you'd taken when you'd moved out of your parents place eight years prior, though the coffee machine seems to have a disagreement with Adams idea as it refuses to work, which causes Adam to snap.

"Fuck!" He shouts, hitting the coffee machine and regretting it because damn, plastic meeting knuckles is a horrible feeling. "All I need is some goddamned coffee, but no! The fucking machine—"

You step into the kitchen. When Adam hears your footsteps, he turns on his heels to face you, sees your grin.

"The coworker who loathes me gave me something that will definitely make your night a bit better," you say. "He probably wanted me to refuse but I figured we would need a new one soon anyway. It's a Nespresso, there are five different coffee types to choose from, and all you need to do is set it up. Shitty month?"

"Shitty is a fucking understatement," Adam grits his teeth. "I'm just so pissed off at the world right now, Y/N. I wouldn't be around me if I were you—when I get like this I am a flight risk because I tend to want to break things. Punched a guy in the face today and was reprimanded for an hour or three, which just made my day a lot fucking longer than it needed to be, and everything is shitty all the goddamned time and I'm sick of it."

You nod, further enter the kitchen and set the Nespresso up while Adam stews in his anger, trying to calm himself down in the ways he normally does only to find that nothing is working. He's frustrated with everything that's happened in the past three weeks, and the more he reflects on that time the angrier he gets.

And then, something happens. You accidentally sidestep onto his foot and the floodgates open, and he snaps. He screams for a solid five minutes about shit that doesn't even relate to you and you just—you just let him. You do fight back but it's like part of you understands that not all of it relates to you anyway so you just let him say his peace, and when he storms off, you don't follow him.

He goes to your bedroom, angry now with the events of the past three weeks, and the fact that he punched someone in the face, and with himself for snapping at you instead of just communicating, and he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall and stewing within his anger until you're opening the door, poking your head in and meeting his gaze.

"You're still angry?" You ask, tone calm and even.

Adam nods, pursing his lips. He doesn't want to be angry anymore, doesn't want to do anything other than let everything go and apologize for all of the shit he berated you for, but he's still angry. Something within him isn't letting him let it go, even as much as he wants to.

"All right," you step into the room. "Would sex help? That way you can just get your frustrations out while also getting endorphins and all that other health shit."

Adam clenches his jaw. "No," he says. "We've never fucked while one of us has been angry, Y/N, and if I'm willing to punch someone in the face while I'm pissed off, I'm a little scared to find out how rough I would be willing to be with you if I did that while so mad I could smoke two joints and still feel it."

You shrug, leaning your back against the door to close it. "So be rough," you suggest. "I don't care, Adam—I think we've discussed it before, but I do like being manhandled. You can leave bruises, too. I don't care how rough you are with me, I just hate seeing you like this and if sex will take your mind off it and if it's something you're willing to do, I want to do it."

"I don't wanna leave you bruised," Adam says. He hates how obvious it is that he's half-lying. He doesn't hate the idea of you bruised—it's just how you end up as such—if someone else hurts you, he'll be ready to commit murder. But if he were ever to do that? He would feel immeasurably guilty.

"You're lying to me," you say, catching onto it immediately. "You don't want me bruised as in black eyes or punches or something else physical and abusive and you would never, ever do that to me so I'm not at all worried about that, but you would absolutely cherish the bruising on my hips and arms from holding onto me that tight during sex. I would cherish them, too, actually."

Adam tsks, "masochist," he says before biting on his bottom lip. He gets to standing, crosses the room and closes in on you, grinning as he feels your breath against his face.

"If I'm a masochist, you're a sadist," you whisper pointedly. Adams hands go to your hips, holding them tightly, thumbs pressing into your skin until he finds your hip bones and you moan just low enough for Adam not to hear it at the contact.

"Mhm," Adam whispers as he leans in so that his lips are millimeters away from your pulse point. "Gonna let me use you, puppy? Need an outlet for my anger, and you did offer."

"Yeah," Adam can't help but smile as he presses himself up against you and notices the way that your arms clench at your sides because you're physically trying to keep yourself from leaning into his touches, not wanting to give into it as quickly as you might've when he called you puppy. "All yours to use, Adam. Please. Don't want you to be angry anymore, and if using me is what it takes then go ahead."

Adams left hand moves from your hip to your face, thumb tilting your chin up and to the left so that he has better access to your neck.

"Good puppy," he whispers, this time close enough to hear the quiet moan that the praise pulls out of you. "That's all you are, isn't it? Just a good puppy, reliant on praise and my cock."

You haven't had sex since early November, so both of you are sexually frustrated, which is the icing on the fucking cake.

You moan in response, grinding your hips against him. He pushes his leg between your thighs as his tongue presses flat against your pulse point, the grip he holds on your hip remaining steady. The hand thats on your face moves down to your hip again, thumb pressing until it finds the bone.

"Mine to use," Adam says after a couple of seconds. The anger that's within him exists like a fire pit in his stomach, burning bright and burning hot and burning unrelentingly. "Right, Y/N?"

"However you want," You don't know how you're managing to speak. "As rough as you want, Adam—fucking hell. Please."

"You're perfect," he loosens his grip on your hips, kisses down your jawline until he's back at your lips again.

When he kisses his way up to your lips, the kisses he leaves in his path are rather sweet. His hands are groping aggressively at just about anywhere they can get to, and when his hands settle on your hips again, your lips are on his and the kiss he pulls you into, tongue sliding into your mouth as you open it in a quiet moan, is enough to leave your lips bruised.

Adam doesn't pull away until you're starting to and he's realizing that he can't really breathe. You press your forehead against his shoulder and take a deep inhale, arms settling around his waist.

Adam pulls away, cups your face in his hands. "Getting submissive on me already?" He asks teasingly, grinning at you a little. "Oh, Y/N. You're so easy."

You hum your agreement. "You always manage to make quick work," you murmur, moving to lay down on the bed that you share. Adam stops you, unbuttoning your work shirt and tossing it into the farthest corner of the room before you can go any further. You lay on the bed as Adam takes off the granddad sweater he'd chosen to wear after having absolutely nothing else in his closet during what would later turn into a laundry evening, happy to stare at the ceiling while you wait for your beloveds next move.

His lips are on yours again seconds later, one hand roving over your chest while the other is near your face after he'd bent his arm at the elbow to hold himself up.

After he's kissed you sufficiently, he moves his lips down your neck, kissing and biting and sucking at the skin mercilessly. You wonder, for a second, if he wants to draw blood and decide that if he does, you'll let him because the pain feels so good.

Adam laughs after he's bitten down on your collarbone particularly harshly and you've moaned lewdly, rolling your hips against his half hard length without thought.

"You're such a slut for pain," he nips at the skin again gently. "I really do think that I could cut you to pieces and you'd thank me for it, Y/N."

the thought of it makes your core wet, and so you give an embarrassed nod. Adam just laughs again, lifting your hips while still maintaining an aggressive hold on them and releasing that hold to take off your pants and underwear, leaving you completely open and bare in front of him.

You shiver as a gust of cold Jersey air gets through the room through the slightly opened window, nipples hard as pebbles from Adams ministrations, and watch him take his own pants and boxers off.

"Want me to wear a condom?" Adam asks.

You shake your head. "I can take a plan B pill," you respond. "Just--please. Please don't make me wait. Need you."

"Good puppy," Adam breathes. He goes back to kissing you before his lips move to your chest, biting and sucking at your nipples in the way he knows makes you melt the quickest. "Gonna let me do whatever I want, mm? Even if it means you're in pain?"

"Adam," you moan as he presses his cold tongue flat against your warm skin. "Fuck—mmm, whatever you want. Please, just—please don't stop. Please don't—"

"Pain slut," Adam laughs a little. "You love this, yeah? Love me using you, manhandling you, not giving a fuck if you get bruised up?"

You moan, pressing the back of your head into the pillow.

"Speak to me, baby," he murmurs, pressing kisses down your navel.

You whimper, bucking your hips against Adams shoulders and Adam repositions himself so that he's eye level with you again, holding your chin lightly.

"Use your words for me, baby," he says. "I know you love how this feels, yeah? I know you love it when I bite you because you like the pain that the biting draws out, but how am I supposed to know you want me to keep going if you don't tell me? How am I supposed to know you're not whimpering, not squirming, because the pain is too much?"

"Adam," you moan, rolling your hips against nothing. "Adam, it—you—oh my fucking—" you moan again, and Adam smiles.

He moves back to where he'd been before kissing down your navel to the place where you needed him most, kissing back up to your lips again and wetting his dick with the wetness from your folds before he thrusts into you in one fell swoop.

He gives you maybe three seconds to adjust to his length before he sets a quick, aggressive pace, one hand on your hips to keep you steady while the other sits on your breast, first finger and thumb pinching your nipple with as much force as he can muster. He needs the anger to be gone, needs it to be replaced by the comfortable, airy feelings that come with sex and post-sex glory, needs to get his anger out of his system before he's at risk of snapping at you again.

He thrusts with as much fervor as he can, trying to rid the anger from himself with each thrust. It works, for the most part, and when his hand finds your throat and presses on the sides but is careful to avoid the front, most of the anger goes out of his system completely.

You lean up into his touch, and Adam laughs at it.

"Pain slut," he whispers, leaning down to bite and suck at your nipples.

Adams release triggers yours, and Adam thrusts through the aftershocks before he pulls out, falling to your right and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you close.

A few minutes pass by. You get up to use the bathroom and return to Adams embrace, press a kiss to his lips and look at him like you want to talk.

"You've been angry for three weeks," you say. "If you're in a talking mood, let's talk, yeah?"

"I know that photography is what I'm good at, and normally I love it but I think I have something of an independence issue with regard to working there," Adam admits, moving the hand that's on your waist up to your face. He just wants to kiss you senseless, kiss you until he forgets his own name and how to speak words other than yours, but he knows he owes you a conversation—an explanation, mostly, and an apology. "I just can't do it. I can't work with other people. Three people on this project besides me and all of us are in conflict day in and day out because we're all apparently averse to compromise, and yeah, I punched Harry in the face but he smacked Kelce the other day because he didn't agree with one of Harrys ideas. It was payback, which I know doesn't excuse it for shit, but—I just—"

You press a kiss to Adams forehead. "I'm sorry that work has been so terrible," you murmur. "Soon as you get this installation done, though, you'll be able to work on your own again. Gotta practice a bit of optimism, baby. Gotta see the bright side and all that."

Adam laughs. "There is no light at the end of the work related tunnel," he says. "I'll be due in to work with the same group of people in the spring, and then in summer, and then in autumn. I've been told I'll have to do my own installations on top of that, which will mean picking more themes, dealing with more disagreements."

He props himself up on his elbows, presses a quick peck against your lips.

"I'm sorry," he says, green-blue eyes meeting yours. "About earlier—snapping at you like that? It was a dick move, and with the coffee—I flipped my lid in a way that was completely unfair. I'm sorry you had to get screamed at like that, everything just boiled over and taking it out on you is the last thing that I should've done."

You nod. "It was a dick move, and you do kind of need to work on talking it out with me before the shit hits the very angry fan, but you're forgiven," you grin at him. "If it helps, work hasn't been a picnic for me either. Never is during December."

Adam groans. "You work in an office," he notes. "How many of your coworkers complained about how difficult it is to buy gifts on their salary?"

"Everyone who had anyone willing to listen," you laugh. "Claire liked the gift I got her for the Secret Santa gift exchange, though. Glad I was hers—were it Leon, I fear she would've gotten a book on being a housewife or some shit like that. James was the guy who got stuck with me, which means we have a Nespresso. Bastard probably wanted me to reject the gift, too, because he scowled from the window at me while I loaded it into the back seat of my car."

Adam laughs. "Good thing the old coffee machine broke when it did, then," he pecks your forehead, feels the desire to kiss you senseless evade all of his senses. "A broken coffee machine turns into a Christmas miracle! Oh, glorious day."

You laugh, hand moving up Adams shoulders until your cupping Adams face, hand resting against his jawline.

"Was my apology good enough?" Adam asks, dipping his lips to your neck as your hands slide back down his and you let your arms drape over his shoulders.

"Why do you ask?" You know why he's asking, but you want to hear him say it. He had his angry fun, and now you get a shot to have a bit of fun of your own.

"There's something that I haven't tasted since early last month," he kisses until he's at the center of your collarbone. "Miss it, is all. Had a bit of a craving lately too, if I'm honest."

You spread your legs on impulse, already weakened and ready to let Adam give in to his whims. It makes him laugh because of course the bastard notices the movement, and he nods.

"You're amazing," he presses kisses down your chest, careful to kiss lightly over the places where light bruising has started because of how aggressive he was with his groping, kissing delicately over the places where the bite marks remain. You hate how quickly he can get you hot and bothered but admire it all the same, hate how you thrive off the feeling of his wet kisses and his perfect tongue moving down and across your torso.

"You're depraved," you try to say it, but it comes out as a moan, and you feel Adams smile against your navel. "Absolutely fucking depraved, Adam."

"Well, if you weren't so fuckin' ethereal, I might be less depraved, but every time I look at you all I see is perfection. Can't help it, baby."

He kisses across your lightly bruised stomach to your hips, careful to kiss lightly over the already-forming bruises that match the shapes of his thumbs.

"'M sorry about these," he says. "Sorry about all of it—the bruises and the bite marks. I didn't mean to hurt you this bad."

"It doesn't hurt," you assure. "And even if it did—I like the pain, Adam. The pain is good, I promise."

He kisses the bruises on the sides of your hips, too, nods. "I momentarily forgot about the masochism," he admits. "They do look nice, but I just can't help feelin' bad about being that rough."

"Focus on how nice they look," you hope it comes out reassuring. "They don't hurt, Adam. I promise. If I tell you not to worry, will you listen?"

Adam hums, kisses along your stomach to your other hip and takes his time there as well.

By the time Adams gotten to your thighs, you're wet and aching and just about ready to start clenching around nothing. He's got you needy and wanting, which is what he wants, and he loves it.

He turns his gaze to yours as he presses his tongue flat against your clit, loving the way that you writhe, clenching around nothing in response.

"So wet for me," he says, kissing along the outside of your pussy. "Good God, you're perfect."

And then he's licking at your folds, eating you out like he's a man starved, and you're not even trying to be quiet because of how consumed you feel by his lips and his tongue.

He moans against you, clearly getting off from getting you off, and can't help but buck your hips against his face.

He laughs, pulling away for a second. "You're so fuckin' needy," he says, bringing one finger to your gaping hole and slowly pushing it inside you.

You clench around the digit, moaning. "You're the reason. You and your perfect tongue, your amazing lips," you moan, arching your back off the bed for a split second.

He brings his lips and tongue back to your clit, thrusting into you with one finger, doing as you wish when you start begging for a second and a third.

"Adam," you moan, "fucking hell—Adam,"

Your orgasm crests, and you feel Adam moan against you with his own release as you cum over his fingers.

Breathless, your gaze moves up to the ceiling as you feel Adam pull his hand away. You turn to him as you hear him get up, watch him make something of a show out of licking your cum from his fingers.

"Just as good as I remember it," he grins teasingly at you, leaves to go to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he's telling you that a bath is ready and you're leaning against him as you walk to your bathroom, sinking into the hot water and pressing your back against Adams front.

"I'll get better at communicating before it boils over," Adam murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your shoulder. "Promise, baby."

You hum, leaning against him. "We can work on it together, yeah?"

Adam nods. "That sounds like a nice idea," he says.

Silence lapses, though its comfortable. You get out of the bath tub and stumble back to bed because of how jello-y your legs feel, which Adam laughs at even though he knows he's to blame, and when you steal a pair of his boxers and one of his button up flannels, he doesn't object, merely pulls a pair of boxers and sweatpants on himself before joining you in bed and pulling you close.

The two of you fall asleep early that night, curled up together in the quiet of a Jersey evening in the tail end of December. Adam sleeps through the call from the gallery and you sleep through the call that Claire tries to get to you to talk about the aftermath of the Secret Santa gift exchange, but the sleep you get is so good that the missed calls feel entirely justified.

[byhees]

love confessions to you.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 900 genre fluff high school au love-struck warnings not proof-read mention of food — more

a/n. blank

heeseung

being straightforward and direct about his feelings, not wanting to beat around the bush for a second longer.

gently kissing you in the stairway, and smiling against it for a moment.

pulling away and looking at your pair of eyes, admiring the way at which they’ve widened, the way that particular shade of pink spreads across your cheeks, the way your lips part slightly.

the thumping of both your hearts filling your ears, a shared realisation of not wanting to be anywhere else.

“i love you.”

jongseong

simply staring at regular and common objects and being reminded of you— your smile, your presence, just you in general.

being unsure of how he should go about this whole confession situation, hence maintaining a safe distance, which in retrospect pains him because it takes everything within him to hold back the urge to engulf you in a tight hug.

being unable to sleep as soundly as before at night, mind whirling with the countless of possibilities that you might respond with, heart racing at the mere thought of you.

not being able to contain this bubbling feeling, and expressing his love at the remote lunch table, watching the way you blink your eyes and falter momentarily, before breaking into the biggest grin.

“you’re literally everything i’ve always wanted and more. so, please, will you be mine?"

jaeyun

him consulting in his friends for some words of advice, only to find their extremely logical responses confusing.

proclaiming that the strange tingles on the hairs of his skin only occur whenever he’s around your vicinity because he’s allergic to you.

his friends staring at him in expressions contorted to maximum disbelief, unsure if he’s being genuinely serious, or if he’s simply just fooling around.

figuratively banging their heads against the wall when they realise he’s going absolutely nowhere with that claim.

“no no, don’t be silly— how could i be falling in love with her? it’s just that when i go near her, i feel this weird feeling.. and it’s very warm. i don’t know how else to describe it.”

sunghoon

him accidentally watching you practice a whole orchestra on how you’d confess to him.

stifling a chuckle when he turns the corner into an empty hallway, body shielded by a concrete pillar.

stealing glances at your direction, ones that linger on your figure for a millisecond longer than intended, but he’s just so amused by your resolution that he can’t peel his gaze off of you.

you snapping your neck towards his way and locking eyes with him. him flashing a little smile in response to your panicked state— arms flinging up to cover your face, legs uncoordinatedly sprinting off.

“to reply to your speech earlier today, i like you too.”

seonwoo

him being far too nervous to confess his feelings secretly, and resorting to follow a piece of internet advice— to be a secret admirer.

leaving notes on your table in the early hours of the morning, hoping that you don’t coincidentally walk in at that moment.

you looking at the note, and instantly recognising his handwriting, fond laughter erupting from your lips.

you finding his failed attempt at being ‘secret’ adorable, and initiating an interesting conversation with him the following day.

“i like you as well. like a lot…”

jungwon

him also becoming a secret admirer, but he’s gotten it all figured, hiding amongst your schoolmates surprisingly well.

sitting under a tree by the garden, and pretending to be all shocked when you share the newest love letter with him, completely unaware that said writer would be beside you.

him decorating the envelope and letter earnestly, filling up the empty spaces with your favourite things and favourite colours, hoping that the little details would make your day.

him debating on whether he should continue this relatively old-fashioned approach, relishing in that oblivious elation you’d exude upon receiving a letter after a tough day, or if he should straight away just confess, unsure if it would be possible to suppress this feeling for any longer.

“i just really enjoy spending time with you, and you really have become someone special to me and— oh..!”

riki

not really saying anything, but merely just looking at one another from across the room, and just knowing.

you bumping into him more often— in the hallways, by the library, by the cafeteria— and wondering if it’s all irony, or even fate that’s playing it’s cards; no, he’d intentionally ask round the campus, eyes gleaming with exhilaration whenever he catches you walking past.

him hanging out with you during the after-school hours. it’s nowhere extravagant or anything, sometimes it’s just to grab a bite at the convenience store and to take a stroll down the streets.

him going out of his way to walk you back to your house, and your heart skipping a beat when he bids you goodbye.

“i think, you’re my favourite person. there is no one else i would rather be with right now or… ever, for that matter.”

taglist open! @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @syrxiee2 @g4m3girl @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah networks! @kflixnet

[ddarker-dreams]

chapter had me on the edge of my seat, frightened, and crying. i am tearing down my walls with the conflict of loving your writing but also wanting to bash my head in. i swearrrr i have so much to say but the ending lines made me collapse all over again.

"Pretending the red shade’s a brilliant blue instead comes easier. "

STOP STOP ITTT OH MY GOD THEYRE SO NOVEL WORTHY LOVE STORT PLEASE !!!!! YOU'VE GIVEN ME A GREAT PICTURE OF LEAR AND READER AS LOVERS AND SUCCESSFULLY GIVEN BLADE THE ROLE OF A TRUE VILLAIN!!!

i am so endeared with the relationship you've woven with reader and Lear because otherwise, the heartbreak wouldn't have impacted me so much. I've never wanted a self-insert to run away from the intended yan love interest the way I am wanting now. ITS ALL SO TRAGIC THANK YOU FOR WRITING NEXUS 😭😭 i wasn't going to read it initially bc my number is jing yuan BUT AS ALWAYS I SHOULDN'T HAVE DOUBTED YOUR WRITING. 💘💘

EEE i was happy with how that line turned out, even though it hurt to type it. n darling's lucky that blade isn't capable of reading minds because man............. if he heard that..................... 😦

originally, when i thought this would be a one-shot (rip), the ending had potential but i thought it could smack harder. if the reader doesn't care about eris or its inhabitants, they'd likely think "oh that sucks," but not much else. n darling's connection with lear felt important to inflicting maximum psychic damage. especially since it's hinted at that n darling loves lear, but has just been dancing around the fact, only to realize the truth too late. so i'm glad to know you feel the same way about their relationship's significance.

thank you so much for giving the story a chance and sharing your thoughts!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺💖

[magnorious]

A Lightning Thief Retrospective, 16 Years Later

Good grief, I am old. *Spoilers ahead*

In the spirit of the resurgence of appreciation for this series, I’m doing a retrospective on the books that single-handedly got me to love reading. No matter how old I get, Percy and co will always hold a special place on my bookshelf and in my soul. 16 years later and I have my own books to show for it.

*Disclaimer, I have read the books multiple times in the interim, but I first got my hands on it, and first fell in love with it, in 2008.

So: The Lightning Thief

The Greek-verse isn’t Riordan’s only series to open with a fourth-wall-breaking element, nor is it the only series to open with a “if you’re reading this, be warned” narrative (Maximum Ride comes to mind) but, at least in the paperback edition circa 2006, the last lines on the first page read:

Am I a troubled kid?Yeah, you could say that.

And I just… it’s so Percy. It’s perfect. You have no idea what it really means on your first read through but sixteen years later after growing up with these books, that line just makes me grin like the little kid that’s still inside.

As I kept reading, I tried my best to remove my “victim of the hellish IB Program, literary analyst” hat. This book spoon feeds you exposition in a really palatable way. We’ve seen the museum scene adapted twice now and while older me thinks that’s really convenient timing, it does a lot of legwork while also being short enough to keep the attention of its intended audience. It is also very, very good at foreshadowing, and setting up major payoffs, for events later in this book and beyond.

“Mr. Brunner” looking at the stele of the unnamed hero like he’d been to her funeral

Luke’s scar in the firelight making him look evil

Percy’s affinity for water and the sea, peeking into Cabin 3 before it’s his

The Fates’ electric-blue (remind you of anyone’s eyes?) string

“Someone summoned it,” Chiron said. “Someone inside the camp.”Luke came over….

Ares’ curse on Percy

Speaking of foreshadowing – prophecies. Since all five books have them, I’m dedicating a section in each review to each one.

You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned.You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.

The whole point of these things is to drive you crazy trying to figure out what they mean before they play out, making you rotten suspicious and paranoid. The book does go line by line in the end and explains how each element was resolved. It’s both very deceptive, on purpose, but easy to grasp for younger readers. I think the prophecies in Titans Curse and Battle of the Labyrinth are superior, but it does its job well.

—

The whole book, likely intentionally so, with an ADHD protagonist, isn’t filled with fluffy narrative. There’s a ton of one-sentence paragraphs and Percy’s personality always shines through, even from page one, a la Holden Caulfield. Even when it’s an exposition-heavy scene, or just traveling while on their quest, nothing ever *lingers*.

Percy is direct in his observations and his narration jumps about from thinking about some random comment another character made that’s poignant in the moment to funny descriptions of the mythic world, to pitching his two-cents on the matter, expressing his annoyances with Annabeth, etc, all in a snappy and easy to keep up with manner. He doesn’t wax poetic, that’s not who he is and that’s not the story this book is telling.

For anyone intimidated by chapter books (re: me at that age) this book is endlessly approachable. He doesn’t have *too much* personality to be distracting, but he has enough to be more than a reader-insert everyman.

I don’t necessarily believe he’s twelve, but he does have that childish immaturity with his narrating and I forget if it ages with him. Since I brought up Maximum Ride earlier, she’s a child protagonist who does not read like a 14 year old girl, she reads like a quirky caricature written by a middle-aged dude.

**Side note, upon my re-read, it came to my attention that the Disney show inexplicably skipped the cutting of the thread with the Fates scene that is like, foreshadowing for the entire series**

*Side side note, Percy isn’t the one who came up with Wise Girl, it was Clarisse. Chapter 6**

I also forgot just how big a temper Percy has. He contemplates kicking Smelly Gabe in the balls for being mean to Sally, with zero care for the consequences. Not to mention the whole “Gabe would love to give away free appliances” schtick. He’s such a little sh*t and we love him.

For a book that’s largely action adventure, it balances the slower moments with the fight scenes smoother than butter. Percy’s demigod-ness gives him quite a bit of plot armor and excuse to survive these fights as a mostly-untrained twelve-year old without making him unrealistically over-competent.

The world building, at least in my opinion, feels like it looked at Harry Potter and went “I can fix that”. There’s not one cabin of demigods rudely and unfairly and problematically labeled Wizard Nazis, (except Grover insinuating that Hades’ kids were actual Nazis in WWII…. Hmm). The Mist exists to hand-wave away everything mortals aren’t supposed to see. It gets really creative with modernizing these myths and making them more child-friendly, and does a good job at urbanizing it, for lack of a better term. The concept of mapping Ancient Greece onto the US is neat, for American readers, and the explanation of “traveling Western Civilization” makes sense. The Underworld having traffic and toll booths was funny.

It treads the razor-thin line of “paganism is real” as well as it can, I think. It focuses less on “creation of the universe was definitely this” and more “the forces of nature have names and faces,” and sidesteps the giant sinkhole of Christianity and Christian readers with “we shan’t deal with the metaphysical,” and says nothing more about it, or demigods who grew up religious, or the other pantheons (yet). Beyond a throwaway dead preacher who Grover argues likely sees the underworld through his Christian kaleidoscope.

The series also doesn’t suffer egregious plot holes, only some continuity errors (like Blackjack). One that comes to mind in TLT is that if Camp contacted Sally about watching over Percy, Sally knew his dad was Poseideon. So how did the whole “I want to watch over your son cause he’s interesting, hm, can’t put my finger on why. Say, who’s his dad?” never lead anywhere? But it doesn’t break the immersion, certainly not for young readers.

It’s interesting how, looking back after knowing the entire story, how the seeds of doubt are right there, in your face, from the moment Percy learns the gods are real. It’s almost a meta self-fulfilling prophecy how things go so wrong for these characters, it’s so obvious.

SInce it is an adventure, the places they go are all wildly and entertainingly different. The garden gnome emporium, St. Louis Arch, Waterland, the Lotus casino, Crusty’s waterbed store. Each provides their own challenges and take full advantage of “mythology is real”.

Let’s talk about the villains, and how Hades was not done dirty this time. I’m going to presume that it’s bias on part of the characters for the whole “Hades’ kids were Nazis” and it’s absolutely on Chiron for insisting that Hades is the culprit when he sends Percy on his quest. Nowadays, especially with the staggering popularity of Nico, Hades has been pretty well redeemed in the eyes of a casual reader. But I think, at the time it was written, making Hades not the villain here was fantastic. He’s still a god, still a jerk, still dangerous, but he’s not the Devil. He drew the short straw and is an introvert written by salty extroverts.

Luke, for a twist villain (read my post here for a deeper analysis) and Ares as a tool of Kronos worked really well. If anyone got the Slytherin treatment, I guess it would have been the Ares cabin, but… he’s a jerk. His kids got his temperament, thus they are jerks. But even then – Ares was just a tool, a crude hammer swung alarmingly well.

Setting up your series-defining villain as a disembodied voice pulling strings is nothing new, but it comes with the benefit of two thousand years of real-world mythology backing up this entity’s power. Kronos is basically a non-entity in this book, but what he does is effective, and kudos for making readers’ skin crawl with the near-tragedy at the edge of Tartarus (foreshadowing!!!!!).

Something else the book does well is having a very well-written and uniquely motivated reluctant chosen one. Yeah, we’d all rather be demigods than Tributes, but being a demigod has drawbacks that being a wizard doesn’t. They don’t shy away from the risk of kids getting skewered and mauled, even if you don’t actually see it happening. This is dangerous work.

And, Percy calls it out – he exists to be used. That’s all demigods are worth to the Olympians. So, he’s going to use this quest to rescue his mom. He doesn’t give a damn about his dad, he doesn’t care about the looming civil war, doesn’t think it’s even the right thing to do, except to prevent the nuclear fallout that said war would cause.

He’s not one of those whiny “I just want to be normal” protagonists like no child in the history of ever has dreamed of if they were in their hero’s shoes. He’s also not pumped and jazzed and excited about being a demigod. They’re the victims of abusive and absent parents and, for a kids series, I still think such a sobering subject was handled really, really well.

You want to be a hero like Percy. You’re rooting for him from the first page. Discovering all his new powers is fun, daydreaming getting claimed right along with him. It isn’t dated with pop culture references and most of the humor lands (a novel experience that does not last forever, unfortunately). He’s sassy and sarcastic and his in-character ignorance and naivety opens the door for plenty of smooth exposition and letting the reader discover the world through his eyes, without feeling lifeless.

Speaking of personality, his rapport with Annabeth grows pretty decently over the course of the book, from being super catty to getting embarrassed on the tunnel of love ride, as if anyone would really care. They have their spats, but the budding friendship is realistic and she doesn’t feel at all like the girl hastily written in because the author forgot to include one.

She has her faults, but that’s the point. She’s also a victim of godly propaganda, and twelve, and literally burdened with hubris. All three of them bounce off each other well, each bringing different strengths and weaknesses to the trio, building each other up and bickering to tear each other down because, you know – twelve.

—

I read somewhere that the first five books all pay homage to some of the most famous Greek myths. Lightning Thief’s myth is that of the original Perseus with these familiar beats shared by both:

Murdering Medusa via reflective surface

Wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit and punished by Zeus

Hermes’ winged shoes

Hades’ missing war helm

Obtaining a cool new sword

Rescuing his mom from the Bad Guy

Not dying tragically

Princess Andromeda (the more famous Perseus myth adapted by Wrath and Clash of the Titans) does make an appearance in Sea of Monsters.

The joke people used to make about the fans of the series is that reading PJO does not make a mythology expert, but that isn’t the point. The books opened the door to further research at your own pace and maybe fostered love of a subject and culture you’d go on to study later in life.

This review is about the book, not the show, but it is a disservice to the book to cram nearly ten entire chapters of content, out of twenty-two (156 pages in the ‘06 paperback) into two episodes both less than an hour long. No wonder the premier felt, night and day, far inferior to episode 3. Episode 3 wasn’t sprinting the entire time.

Overall, the missing-persons-turned-possible-child-terrorist subplot stayed its welcome exactly as long as it needed to and every time I think about this book I forget it’s even part of the story. The payoff is really at the end with the free appliances and, of course, Gabe’s just desserts.

The book is absolutely, transparently, the first leg of a relay race, not one of those “I wrote this and it was successful now I have to come up with a sequel” stories and all the seeds of development for the series at large were expertly scattered.

The worst I have to say about the book is this: The constant “Thalia, daughter of Zeus.” There’s at least seven of them across the book and the whole title almost every time she’s mentioned reads a bit strange.

It’s paced excellently, with a few slow beats for good character development in between locations. The foundations of our heroes are solid, all the twists and turns with the true villains and the real meaning of the prophecy was well done. For the book that began a multi-series world of interconnected pantheons with new publications still coming out today, it’s humble and smart and, for a “children's” book, anyone can enjoy it, no nostalgia required.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Dark!Pixar Villains x Reader || Drabbles

Plots / Includes: 

Charles Muntz x Assistant!Reader- Your punishment for letting the creature escape.

Yandere!Human!Hopper x Reader- He is the monster you caused. Basically he's quite aware that he's obsessed, and possessive to a massive fault- But according to him that's your fault; Not his.

Human!Chick Hicks x King’s(OfAge)Offspring!Reader- An old rival of your Dad’s turns up for your parents anniversary party and you end up fucking him... at your parents anniversary party. Oh no.

Human!Yandere!Lots-O-Huggin’ Bear x NewToy!Reader- Classic Yandere in position of Power sets his sights on you immediately and makes you uncomfortable with how close he wants you all the time, without actually making his obsession totally clear. Just enough to make it weird.

Randall Boggs x Sully’sRomanticInterest!Reader- Randall has a bit of an obsession with one upping Mike and Sully, and Celia doesn't like him much at all, so... He’s set his sights on you. Unfortunately, you're loyal to Sully-... so Randall has to get creative.

Warnings: (Starting with Muntz and working our way down. Also colour coded so you're able to be more aware:) Mental torture, monster-creature, Punishment, traumatising you as punishment, creepy boss to the MAXIMUM gage, non-con kiss, kiss while you're asleep, Major possessiveness, Hopper killing a man cuz you talked to him, murder, beating, Hopper trying to convince you his actions are your fault, VERY inappropriate relationship involving age difference and fucking fathers frenemy, scandal, references to semi-public sex, self disgust, dirty talk, mental+emotional manipulation, gaslighting, unwanted physical affection, unwanted closeness, intent to isolate, harassment, blackmail, references to sex work, forced relationship, etc.

Charles Muntz: 

You say i love you like its an APOLOGY. - Things My Ex Said Project

"Ah!" You throw yourself back against the far bars of the cage, eyes wide and mouth open in terror. This creature that's tearing and biting at the bars between you and it, that looks like it must have been an inspiration for the original Adam - the one Frankenstein made out of animal parts, - is so hungry. So ravenous. And its got fleshy, bloody, warm you in its sights.

Just as Charles intended when he locked you up in here.

A giant, scaly paw with 3 inch long claws manages to slip through the bars and swipe at you and you actually start to cry from fear; Cowering so tightly against the bars that it hurts, cold metal biting and burning itself into your skin.

Or is it from guilt? For letting the bird escape? Charles has been hunting that thing for years and you're at fault for it escaping this time! At the time, you thought it was right to let it run, but maybe this horrible feeling you have now is guilt!

A bloodcurdling roar comes from the beast and it slams its forehead into the bars. The bars shiver and the gates shift, and your eyes widen; Beginning to hyperventilate as you look around in a panic at the ever-weakening restraints.

"Charles! Charles I'm- I'm so sorry! Fuck fuck fuck!- Fuck, Charles I'm so sorry!" Again the creature bashes the flat of its head into the bars, again- and again- and again- and you feel like your heart might just rip out of your chest at the sight. If it keeps doing that- "Charles its gonna get in!" You screech, fingernails digging into the stonewall behind your bars. "Please, Charles!- CHARLES-"

From somewhere else in the room, a speaker crackles loudly and your bosses voice floats through. You know he's watching through a camera, enjoying his dinner at the screen and reaching lazily over to press the intercom- and all you want is to be there with him. You would even go straight to bed without dinner- just anywhere but here. Anywhere but here!-

"My dear... I assure you, it wont. Calm down- there's no need to sob... You'll take the satisfaction right out of your punishment, for me." He almost sounds sincere, but then you hear the sound of him chewing- taking his time with a mouthful of steak, and your heart thuds. "And we wouldn't want that... "

No- then you would have to start again. Something new; A new creature and new rules.

And you're heart couldn't take that.

"Oh, looks like the creature is hungry... maybe that pigeon we fed it earlier wasn't quite enough. What do you think, Y/N?"

Another terrified scream is ripped out of you when the monster throws its teeth around one of the bars, horribly tilting its large head, and desperately tries to rip it out of place- a huge, grotesque, rough, cat-like tongue salivating over the metal and ginormous, thick, snake-like incisors scraping against it. No no NO!-

A soft chuckle comes from Charles over the speaker, as you slide down to the ground; Fear turning you cold now. You just watch the monstrous beast struggle and fight to tear you apart and enjoy you, heart beating your chest so hard that hurts.

"I sure hope you're thinking about what you did, Y/N my love. Otherwise this will all be for nothing."

~

You're fast asleep when Charles opens up your cage again, having lured the creature back into its cell- he'll deal with it later. You're always his first priority.

When he gently picks you up in his arms, you stir the slightest bit; An adorably weak little whimper escaping you as you willingly relax into his arms and the familiar scent of his old, leather jacket. "Uh uh uh... sleep, my dear. You did well... you've earned it."

"I'm so... so sorry Charles... forgive... me... " Charles smirks at that, you begging for his forgiveness even in your sleep. That method - that beast,- works, he sees. This reaction is quite perfect; Exactly what he's been wanting.

He'll keep it mind for next time- because, with a free spirit like you, there will no doubt be a next time unfortunately for you...

Charles walks you to your quarters and lowers you gently onto your bed- and presses a gentle kiss to your soft, sleeping lips. "Sweet dreams."

Human!Hopper:

I've been dancing with the devil; I love that he pretends to care. - Forget, Marina and the Diamonds

Your eyes are blown open wide, and glued to the bloodied corpse on the ground in front of you. You don't know what to think... much less what to say as Hopper wipes off his knuckles with a rag, before dropping it on the poor carcasses face; And turning to you, the blazé expression on his face never slipping- not even a little bit.

Parting your lips then is the easy part- talking, not so much. The words come out a whisper, and underwhelmingly lacking in emotion when compared to the horror brewing inside. They're just... quiet. "... I didn't mean for this... "

Hopper looks slowly, uncaringly, back to the man he just killed outside the bar and brought you out to see - you remember how he had joked that he had something cool to show you outside, flirted with you even, wrapping hi arm around you and making you think maybe he was going to kiss you... but then immediately he stepped away from you when you came up to the body. Leaving you cold and alone, and shell-shocked when your eyes fell on the poor, crumpled heap, - , then back to you; Shrugging. "Sure you did."

The words surprise you, and you quickly shake your head; Eyes still glued to the... to what was once... a man. "No, I... "

"Yes, you did." His voice gets that much tenser, almost angry. Your eyes snap up to his, round like a doe's. He sighs as if they affect him which you know they don't, because if they really did then he wouldn't say these things, and gives his head a shake. "You know how you make me feel... you've gotta know, that if I see you with another guy... Something bad's gonna happen." Raising his hands, Hopper shakes his head. "Its outta my hands, Y/N."

Tears fill your eyes. "No- "

Before you can really speak up, though, tell him how insane he is- Hopper's talking again; His voice getting louder in order to drown you out. He genuinely sound angry at you, and it shocks you, making you feel small as you fight to not back away from him. Theirs a fire in his dull eyes that only flickers to life when he's pissed. "Oh now don't you even think... about giving me that freedom of will bull." Blood from the corpse bleeds over the ground towards your feet, but you're too busy staring in horror, at your lover. "Do you know how hard it is for me to see you with others? To not lock you up all the time? You should be thanking me; I'm being nice to you."

"But Tarrant- he- " Hopper's eyes narrow at your use of the man's name, but you gather your courage and go on. "He didn't do anything! I love you, I want you- isn't that enough!?" God- damnit! Isn't that enough!?

Hopper shakes his head, eyes dull again. "Clearly... not." No.

Its not.

As you're thinking, wondering how you got to this point, how in the world you could have missed the signs with Hopper, he comes up to you and takes your jaw in one powerful... brutal, hand; Pulling you to look up at him. God... the smell of iron is still on his skin. "... I'm sorry... its not my fault you hooked me." He tells you quietly, the slightest - fakest, - bit of sympathy across his features.

You look back into his golden eyes in defiance with terrible glare in your gaze; Peaceful resolve snapping like a bone under intense pressure.

All the sympathy and then some disappears in an instant with the next words, causing your heart to thud. "But its going to keep happening. So watch yourself, Y/N."

Human!Chick Hicks: 

Forget Prince Charming- go for the Wolf. He can see you better, hear you better, and eat you better. - Pinterest

I shouldn't have done that. Is all you can think, slipping out of your old childhood bedroom and back out to the party. That was a stupid, stupid mistake. Fuck- you can still feel it. You can still feel it, and you want more of it! How can you be this way.

Kinky is one thing- but letting the disgusting man that almost killed your father take off your clothes in the bedroom you grew up in!?? With your parents, and everyone they've ever loved, just down stairs??? Celebrating their anniversary!?

That's entirely different, and its not something you're willing to 'own'. Not ever. Even if, now that you're down stairs again and you see Chick drinking a beer and loudly telling a joke to some other ex racers - racers from his time, - with the vitality of someone who's far too happy... you just want to drag him away again. Feel his stupid moustache between your legs, push him and see how many rounds he can really go for before you're just warming a soft cock... God!-

You wince and quickly turn away, joining a conversation with some of your mother's friends. They ask you how college is going, what classes you're taking- do you have a boyfriend???

You give them your answers easily, playing the sweet daughter card that you're so used to- your parents are some of the best people a lot of people know, and you're supposed to be no different. People think you're no different. You thought you were no different!!

... But now you're thinking maybe not. Not when you have to answer yes, you do have a boyfriend, whilst till thinking about Chick muffling your moans with his mouth 5 minutes ago. Sure, you and your boyfriend are taking a break currently due to school stress- but that doesn't really help your guilt.

"Hey, hey, ladies! What's this I hear about little Y/N havin' a boyfriend??" The sound of Chick's voice so close behind you makes your blood run ice cold suddenly, and you turn with eyes slightly-too-wide just in time to catch him throwing his arm over your shoulders; Face rearing in too close to yours. You can smell the beer on his breath, and your own perfume. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck- "You old enough for that, sweetheart?? Does your daddy know, huh?"

"Oh Chick, leave the girl alone." One of the women rolls her eyes, the others sighing and grimacing at the bastard touching you like that. Oh, you think, if only they knew how he touched you before. Vivid visions of your escapade, his pelvis grinding into yours, flash through your mind and you have to fight with yourself not to get lost.

Chick doesn't let you go because one of Linda Weathers friends told him to, predictably. So, you have to talk to him. "I'm 23 now, Chick, I can do whatever I want to, actually."

He just gives a smug smirk, thinking about how he managed to get you into bed probably despite your whole family hating him, and nods. "... Sure, sweetie. So! This boy toy of yours- do we like him? Do your parents approve, eh?"

"He- " He's perfectly nice. "They like him." They really, really do. You remember, the next time you saw them after you introduced him to them, your father hadn't been able to stop talking about him. He even gave you a DVD to hand on to him, something they'd bonded over.

"But you're bored out of your damn wits, right?" At this point Chick's grinning wolfishly at you in that gross leering way and he's not talking with the group anymore- just you. Its terrifying, its making your heartbeat go absolutely berserk in your chest as you look around for your parents. Where are they? Can they see you? Can anyone tell that you can still taste this despicable old man's cum on your tongue and in the back of your throat??

"No, he's sweet!"

Chick takes a swig of beer right in front of your face, finally looking away from you. You let out a relieved breath, one you had been holding to an extent. "... Right."

He doesn't sound convinced. He shouldn't. After all, you never would've fucked him if your boyfriend satisfied you. As you're feeling sick over that small fact, the fact that your lovely boyfriend couldnt ever make you cum as awfully hard as Chick did not 10 minutes ago, he rolls his arm off your shoulders- rubs your lower back, instead. Your eyes blow open wide.

Before you can decide on the best course of action, you shove his hand off of you. At this point, the other ladies had started a new conversation without you, stepping away and leaving you to fend Chick off yourself, so you're able to hiss at him- through your teeth. "Do not touch me like that."

"You know what, baby, you're sending me some mixed signals here. I mean," He lets out a terrible laugh, full of narcissism and cockiness. Its very familiar to you, you grew up with it practically, and now it reverberates through your eardrums like an annoying song you cant get out of your head. "I can still feel your little mouth around my fingers-- and now I hear you're hiding a little boyfriend back at school?? Wonder what he'd think if he found out about what we did."

"We're on a break," You defend, fighting not to cross your arms and show the whole party something unpleasant is going on here- more so then anything involving Chick Hicks already is.

"Oh, why? Pecker too puny for you?"

"No Chick, gross- "

"Alright, so he's not willing to shove his tongue down there." When you flinch, remembering the first time your boyfriend told you he would never put his mouth on you, how disgusted he had sounded- how disgusting he had made you feel for just expecting to receive after you had already given, Chick lets out an understanding hmmm sound. "Yep. I thought so. Don't worry," Here, he winks. And you feel that horrible, twisted lust fill you up again. "While your back home, I'll give you your fill- Promise."

... The thought has your heart dropping. He means that what you two did in your bedroom wasn't it; Wasn't the end. He wanted to do it again.

And you want him to do it again. You cant deny it. The slick between your thighs wont let you.

... Fuck how are you going to stop this.

Human!Lots-O-Huggin’ Bear:

Manipulate: Control or influence (a person or situation) cleverly or unscrupulously. - Oxford Languages, On Google

The way that Lotso touches you is not right. He's not your father, not your husband, not even really your friend- so why does he think its okay to put his hands on you? Every time that he wraps his arm around your waist and leans into the side of your face, practically your neck, to say something just between the two of you, like a secret, you just want to tell him that-

That this is inappropriate. That you're uncomfortable.

... But just as quickly as it happens, he lets you go again and he's laughing that good-natured, trustworthy, Lotso laugh and you second guess yourself. Maybe you're wrong. He's just a sweet old man, trying to make you feel included.

But then why is it just you. Why do you get all this attention from him? He doesn't touch anyone else like that-

You take a deep breath and move on every time, shutting out those thoughts, the ones that say something is off here, that say the way that man acts is not okay.

At times like these- you wish you hadn't done that.

~

"Y/N! We havent had a moment alone for a hot minute- why dontcha come with me?"

"Oh, that's okay sir. I was just going to go help Ken with- "

"Aw, don't worry about him." One warm brown eye gives you a wink, that should have been comforting but really just felt like like trap. "I'll vouch for ya- come on, now. We'll have tea."

That's how it started, with an attempted escape. You should have known the rest was going to be just as bad. But you followed him off... and he thanks you, for that.

Here you are, sitting across from Lotso all alone, a cup of tea in front of you and he cant help from reaching over and patting your hand with his, affectionately on top of the table. Your pretty eyes widen in surprise at the overly gesture, made intimate by the very isolated setting, and he knows you're uncomfortable... it just doenst matter. He's glad you have the sense to stay put.

He could make your life around here reaal difficult, if you didnt play along.

As he speaks, he catches your eyes flickering over to the door behind him, yearning to get out. That's alright, he thinks... as long as you don't get up. "Now that I've gotcha alone, darlin'- I wanted to ask ya something."

"Oh... what?" Your force your eyes back on him and he grins for a moment.

Then he slowly furrows his eyebrows, sets his jaw and tightens his hand around yours, setting it firmly over the top of your hand now- like a lifeline, almost. He wants this to work- and it will. He's good at this. "I want you to be honest with me- this is a safe place, and you trust me... right?"

You blink, and slowly nod. "Oh, uh... of course." As expected. He's y'all's papa bear, after all! Ha, ha.... Of course you trust him.

"Has Ken... been inappropriate, with you?" Lotso asks this in such a way- just so- so he looks like a concerned father-figure. Uncomfortable by the idea, like he's nervous to even be having this conversation but must for your good.

Which he does. he does need to have this conversation for your own good- after all, if you went off and started something with Ken... then Lotso would have to do something he might truly regret. Its better this way.

You eat it right up, jumping to shock immediately. Your adorable mouth falling open, and eyes going as big as anything. "What!?"

"Now, now, now, calm down darlin'... I'm just asking... It wouldn't be the first time he's made one of our sweet lil' young ones uncomfortable, and I just want you to know I'm happy to talk to 'im, if that's the case- "

"N-no!" Lotso watches you think, thoughts like where is this coming from?? What has Ken done? To who?? racing through your poor little head. "He hasn't- no! Ken's been... Ken's been nice!" You're quick to defend, but don't look so sure anymore. This is turning your world upside down. Since you got here, its hasn't been a secret at all that Ken's been your closest friend- He's helped you get used to the place when Lotso couldn't do so himself,, helped you settle in! Its only natural that news as... sensitive, as this, might startle you.

Lotso watches your eyes fall down to the tea in front of you, devastated at the possibility, and takes the moment you're not looking at him to congratulate himself. It worked perfectly- you'll be leaning on him in no time.

Lotso lifts his hands to other side of his head in surrender, then, a good natured chuckle slipping out. "Okay, okay, I believe ya... " When he lowers his hands again, he restrains himself from reaching out to hold any part of you again, forcing himself to play the well-meaning old fella. Not the dirty old man you've turned him into- not that you really notice his efforts, that is. With all those bad thoughts swarming around in your mind... "... just be careful, okay honey?"

"I just cant imagine... that Ken- "

"Well," Another chuckle. "He does have a history." A history!? Your eyes flick back up to Lotso's, and get swallowed up in the pools of chocolate... trusting him completely. "But its not really something for you to worry about," He gives a stern look, and pats your hand. You flinch. "I wont let aaanything bad happen to ya."

"... thank you... "

Lotso watches you think for a few moments, then, 'giving you time'... thinking, that was easier then he anticipated. You really are the sweetest thing, aren't you? Ken aint never hurt a fly- but he was getting a bit close to you for the old timer's comfort. That wouldn't do, so... all Lotso did was feed you a little white lie. Didn't hurt no one, just... reminded you who you could really rely on.

"... C'mon, now, sweetheart. You just need a biiig hug."

Randall Boggs: 

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife. - Take Me To Church, Hozier

You don't know how many times you've told Randall to fuck off at this point. It seems every time Sully leaves you alone in this damn factory, that slimy creep takes it as an opportunity to come onto you. How many times do you have to tell this asshole that you're in love with Sully, and that you have no interest in him!?

The count is in the double digits, its ridiculous.

Celia's the only other person who knows what Randall's like with you, and she's suggested plenty of times that you go tell Waternoose- or even Sully- but you haven't. You... cant.

... You're a grown up, and you can handle it on your own. Its not like Randall is dangerous- so there's no need to worry Sully, or make a big thing of it at all... You don't want the attention. It can only be bad.

Sully would be sweet, and want to make sure that you feel safe and comfortable, and he wouldn't tell anyone else, if you only asked him to, you know that... but he doesn't need this. He doesn't need the stress of a fiancé with a pervert stalker. You wouldn't do that to him.

So, you act normal. You push on. You can tell Randall to beat it a couple of times a week- no problem.

~

"... Y/N~ " Oh, fucking- As soon as that creepy voice settles in between your shoulder blades, you know you have to quicken up. Get in your paperwork, put the door back, and go home. "Is it a coincidence, you doing late-night paperwork tonight, when you know I'm doing mine??... Or more?"

"Its coincidence, Randall." You sigh, shaking your head without even looking up from the file you're scribbling in. Finish paperwork, send door back, return files to Rox, go home.

"Sure... " He doesn't sound convinced, more smug and it irks you, but you force yourself not to take the bait. Finish paperwork, send door back, return files to Rox, go home- "Y/N!" Suddenly Randall's hands slam into the table in front of you, making you jump and look up; Eyes wide and looking directly into his, as he's leaning in over you far too close. Oh, ugh- "We're all alone... " He takes a menacing peer around, a hair-raising smirk spreading across his face. "Don't tell me you're plannin' to ignore me... "

You nod. "Yah. That's the plan. I have to get home, Sully's making dinner for us- " As soon as you mention Sully, Randall's eyes roll- deeply, and a groan slips out of him.

"Alright... listen Y/N." How many times can this weasel say your name?? You hate the sound of your name on his tongue, he says it... he says it, like he has every right to. Like he's close to you. Like its his to say... like Sully does. You're barely even acquaintances. He's a freak and he shouldn't be allowed to utter your name; Not like that, not at all. Carefully he leans in closer to your face, and you know something bad is about to be said; The hairs on the back of your neck tingling. "... I have certain information about you... you might not want it out."

"... " For a moment, you freeze. He couldn't know... no. He couldn't know that. Its in the past, and its buried under college credits. So you force yourself to just roll your eyes, and sigh- though Randall doenst give up that smirk. That obnoxious, i know something smirk. In fact it only gets worse, more sinister. "What do you think know, Randall?"

"Oh, you cant riddle it out yourself?? Okay then- " He leans down another couple inches, his breath on your face now as you fight to just stay put. Guilty people flinch, guilty people flinch!- innocent people stay still. Calm- "... How you got through college."

Your eyes widen, your heart thuds. "N- "

"I mean, I don't have a problem with your red light past Y/N- but Sully, might." Randall goes on, standing up straighter again now just to let the whole thing sink in.

... Randall knows what you did for tuition...

He doesn't stop talking, though, which is all you want. Just for him to shut. up. You don't want to think about that time- "Golden boy would lose his mind... which brings me to my proposition."

Your stomach turns, glaring at Randall. "... what."

He's all-too-pleased to answer, giving a little hum. "Don't worry, you don't have to sleep with me... " The dig gets you just where he wanted wanted it to, it makes you flinch and feel nauseous. "But I will need you to date me. Drop your line backer boy toy and publicly announce you wanted me- maybe hold hands a bit like the cutest little couple, kiss me on the cheek... Whatever you think'd help people to see you actually into me."

"... why!?"

"Because Sully has too much." Randall snaps, one long fingered hand clenching tightly as a deep frown creases his features. "And I'd like nothing more than to take it all. Starting with you."

... Starting with me.... Because I'm easy.

"You're a freak, and insane. I'm not doing this- " Gathering your stuff against your chest, you get up from the table and attempt to get out of the situation, not be alone in this huge empty factory with Randall, but he's faster then you and cuts off your path. You're nose-to-nose.

"... If you don't, I'll tell Sully about everything. I have proof- a contact. One of your old benefactors actually, and trust me... they have some pretty convincing stories about you."

The fact that Randall has heard stories about that time... the things you did... makes you sick. You cant imagine Sully hearing them. You cant... he cant... He wouldn't look at you the same. It would break your heart.

"I... "

"So what'll it be, Y/N? Tear the dumb bear's heart to shreds or let me explain to him what a cheap whore you are. Clocks ticking."

[this-is-lit]

The Bridge Kingdom Series

by Danielle L. Jensen

The Bridge Kingdom: Raised as a warrior, Princess Lara knows two things: King Aren of the Bridge Kingdom is her enemy. And she must be the one to bring him to his knees. The Bridge Kingdom is the only route through a storm-ravaged world, and it uses its power to deprive Lara's homeland of vital resources. So when she's sent to be King Aren's bride, Lara will do whatever it takes to bring down the kingdom's defences. The Traitor Queen: Lara has watched Ithicana be conquered by her own father. But when she learns her husband, Aren, has been captured in battle, Lara knows her father is only keeping him alive to lure in his traitorous daughter. It is bait she fully intends to take. Risking her life, Lara returns to free the Bridge Kingdom and its king using her father's greatest weapons - her warrior sisters. But her greatest adversary of all might be the very man she's trying to free.

“The Bridge Kingdom” series by Danielle L. Jensen (specifically books 1-2) is the tale of the arranged marriage of Princess Lara of Maridrina and King Aren of Ithicana, a waterlocked territory impenetrable to outsiders. The contract, on its surface, seals the treaty of peace between the two kingdoms, but unbeknownst to Aren, Lara is a trained assassin sent by her father to kill him and expose Ithicana’s vulnerabilities to invasion. When the two fall in love, Lara’s betrayal rocks Aren’s spirit, and he must work to forgive her while fighting to restore his kingdom. Lara must redeem herself in not only Aren’s eyes but also his people’s if they are to work together to stop the war and live happily ever after.

Readers who have already plowed through the works of Sarah J. Maas and are enjoying Rebecca Yarros’ “The Empyrean Book” series, and are struggling to find a series that hits the same way, will find that “Bridge Kingdom” is everything Jennifer L. Armentrout’s “Flesh and Fire Series” wishes it were. Jensen’s prose is fluid and on point for romantasy (with mild spice), and her characters are well-rounded and robust. Lara is convincing as a killer with an unearthed heart of gold without being a weak self-insert, and Aren is believable as a spurned lover who must work at forgiveness. The side characters support the main characters effectively while being interesting enough with their own motivations that Jensen devotes books 3 and 4 to two of them (and a fifth on the way!).

The narrative of “The Bridge Kingdom” series successfully balances plot and character-driven elements, creating an engrossing page-turner. The story weaves romance, political intrigue, adventure, and believable worldbuilding into a captivating tale that keeps readers hooked from start to finish. This series is a solid adventure romance that lovers of SJM, Yarros, and JLA will eat up, but readers should keep in mind that it does not deliver maximum spice.