#and i’m just so?? thrown for a loop?? bc if i’m not supposed to use the strategies i’d think to use then like what does she normally do??

[pinkfey]

messed up at work again bc no one left me instructions. feel like ending it all 😩

[sugarcherriess]

You won't be able to push off master, little bunny hehe.

Also since you said we can request anything can I request sadistic incel hyunjae meets anime girl hehe - 🥛

I’m going to ignore that this. Sentence. Has been festering in my askbox for three months.

And now that I got to it I kind of forgot whether the mc was supposed to be an anime enthusiast or an actual come-to-life anime person so I just went with the latter because that’s more interesting. But this is definitely not even close to what I had told you guys about my extreme Hyunjae anime fucker idea 🗿🗿

(Also it’s they/them bc milk later edited the request not me tampering with the request 😭)

Sadistic Incel!Hyunjae x Anime!They/Them:

cw - smut, mc has a pussy and tits, dubcon? I mean mc is from an anime drawn in a plot where they get fucked constantly so they don’t rlly know the difference of being used or otherwise, bimbo-ish behaviour, mentions of pet play, throat fucking, perverted behaviour from strangers, owner/pet relationship, dystopian au

Let’s talk about a dystopian society where technology has evolved so far that you can buy or rent anime people online

Of course, the program started for people to be able to hang out with there favourite characters or take help from them

But there are some sick headed people out there as well

People like Hyunjae who pick out the sluttiest anime characters to buy

So they can satisfy their sick brains by using them for sexual purposes

Because nobody seems to be willing to date him irl, Hyunjae’s constantly horny brain decides to invest in this program

He chooses the character with the most pornographic plot and dressing

And the bimbo-est personality

Just like the mc of this story

He’s not even ashamed when he makes y/n walk with him all the way back to his home from the delivery portal downtown

People ogle y/n’s huge breasts jiggling as they walk by

Some even trying to sneak in and fondle their ass as Hyunjae has to stop at different places

But then they finally come home! Inside the safety of Hyunjae’s room!

Not that y/n is safe there anyway

Hyunjae is a bigger monster than those strangers

As y/n will soon find out.

Hyunjae doesn’t wait for anything

He’s impatient and restless

Although he does have the decency to tell y/n a few important things:

“My name is Jaehyun but you can call me Hyunjae. I am your owner from now on and you will do as I ask. Got it?”

“Mhm!”

The answer is more cheerful than the occasion requires

Since y/n doesn’t yet realise they are a slaughter lamb that walked all the way to the lion’s cave

“Don’t mumble in front of me, I hate it,”

“Yes, Hyunjae!”

And just like that, y/n gets their first task

“I have a very important gaming session in a few minutes and I need you to sit between my legs and warm my cock with your mouth while I play,”

“Okay, Hyunjae,”

“You’re not supposed to make any sound or any protests. Don’t move until I tell you to move,”

“Yes, Hyunjae,”

He nods towards his desk, ushering y/n under there

Surprisingly, it’s not that cramped of a space but it still isn’t the most comfortable

Y/n does their best to not hurt themselves but how careful can they be on their knees with their mouth wide open for, essentially, a stranger?

Hyunjae, not giving a single fuck about them, slides his pants down and pulls y/n in by the hair to his cock

He uses the other hand to tap his tip on y/n’s mouth, making poor, dumb y/n smile

He fists their hair to slide them down their cock experimentally for a few moments, checking the temperature and whether y/n’s mouth can get him wet enough for an easy slide

Once he’s satisfied that their mouth has soaked him enough, he gives y/n no warning before pulling them all the way down

Hyunjae’s tip shoves uncomfortably at the back of y/n’s throat

For extra convenience, his motion has no specific pattern!

So yk, y/n is really thrown for a loop!!

Which is perfect because if not now then when?

(Sarcasm)

He’s unbothered by how harsh he’s holding y/n’s hair or jostling them around

All he knows is that he wants to cum and use y/n so they’re his money’s worth

Sometime amidst this, his game begins

And he ignores y/n for the most of it unless it’s to push them from the back of their head until their nose is pressed to his pelvis

He harshly shushes y/n when they gag a little too loud for his liking

Not that he cares if his friends hear

Which ofc they do

He definitely uses the opportunity to boast about how much pussy he’s about to get from now on

Since his dumb pet is gonna be at his disposal constantly

Only good for being fucked and used as a cumdump

Y/n whines a little bit at the indirect degradation solely because they would like attention on themselves now!

The bad words don’t bother them

Because their owner thinks they’re useful <3

Y/n’s eyes might be tearing up and they might be struggling to breathe but that does not bother Hyunjae in the slightest!

With every short break in the game, his hand is back on y/n’s hair and pulling them down while simultaneously snapping his hips up

His desperately pussy-starving ass doesn’t even realise that he could be using, well, y/n’s pussy for the same reasons he is using their mouth

And he’s cum like. Four times in the small timeframe he’s had them on his cock

Somewhere amidst this mess he had hastily ordered y/n to pull down their top

He just wanted the tits to pop out but

The top was so snug that their tits squished together as well.

And lo and behold

His team finally won the game after two hours of stressful gameplay

And what did Hyunjae do?

He celebrated by pulling y/n up on his lap to use their pussy

Like he had initially planned

A plan he so gracefully forgot.

He nipped and bit at y/n’s tits as they bounced on top of him

Face smushed in their chest, Hyunjae grabbed their ass to force them down harshly on their cock

In true pussy-deprived-loser fashion, his thrusts were uncoordinated due to lack of proper practice

“Fuck! Tell me how good I’m fucking you, you slut”

God knows how his virgin ass was even able to say the entire sentence without his voice breaking is astonishing

But y/n, being the perfect little pet used to being talked down to, obliges

In true Hentai fashion, y/n whines and cries, narrating everything they’re feeling inside them

All the ways Hyunjae’s cock has them fucked up

Their mouth is drooling exactly like their pussy

Face dripping with all sorts of fluids

Hyunjae can’t resist but to fuck them harder

In pursuit of a ahegao face from y/n

Which he gets

Drooly tongue out, teary eyes crossed, blushed cheeks heating up more by the second– the nines

He cums for the last time for the night, hopefully, Hyunjae shushes his moans by fixing his teeth around y/n’s neck

And biting hard

Trying to engrave his mark on them Like a rabid dog

Y/n screams loudly– Well. As loud as their hoarse and overused throat could let them

Eyes twitching, y/n squirts all over Hyunjae

Because they were encoded to be an anime character and what kind of anime character would they be if they didn’t squirt easily hello?

Not that Hyunjae minds it

But he still reprimands them for it

And makes them lick it off him because “a good pet cleans up their mess otherwise they are useless. Do you wanna be useless? Do you want me to throw you on the streets for anyone to use?”

“No, Hyunjae!”

(Said with wet puppy eyes and a pout deeper than the pacific ocean)

[parkersbliss]

HEY!! can i request five with an s/o that speaks spanish like it integrates into their speech AND THEY TALK TO DIEGO IN SPANISH SOMETIMES TOO i can’t stop thinking abt this lmao

Qué? | F. Hargreeves

pairing: five hargreeves x reader

warnings: uh me writing in Spanish… yeah I apologize if it’s wrong I’m still learning but I provided what it’s supposed to say / translate too

requests: CLOSED

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt list 

—

five is between this is the hottest shit ever and I don’t understand

bc yeah he knows ancient greek but no he doesn’t know spanish

so he’s always thrown for a bit of a loop bc you’ll be talking about your day

“I was all like, oh no you don’t… y esta puta dijo ‘come mi polvo!’ puedes creer eso?”

( and this bitch said: ‘eat my dust.’ can you believe that? )

and five’s just… “what”

and you give him this look of like were you not listening to me??

and he has to gently tell you that you were speaking spanish for the last half

you don’t even notice tbh

sometimes it’s just words too

It’s not fully spanish, it’s like half the words in the sentence become spanish and he’s more confused

“I need a… camiseta in pink pero a skirt es bien too. yo no sé. what do you think?”

( I need a shirt in pink, but a skirt is good too. I don’t know )

five actively tries to carry around a spanish dictionary now and he’s picked up some phrases

he even downloaded a live translation app on his phone

but that’s bc he used diego for a while but then you had FULL conversation with him

and he can briefly hear “cinco” involved in them

now five might not know that much spanish but he knows his name

and he needs to know what you’re talking about

what if you’re talking shit about him to his brother?

what if his brother is talking shit about him to you?

It’s all very stressful, really

“cinco? cinco es muy guapo, diego”

( five? five is very handsome, diego )

“no, estas loca! es mi hermano”

( no, you’re crazy! he’s my brother )

“muy atractivo hermano”

( very hot brother )

“(Y/N)!”

he’s honestly a little jealous of diego

bc diego understands you and he knows how much nicer it is to speak a native language

and five hates not understanding you

which is why he’s forcing diego to teach him

also bc you yelling in spanish is way scarier than him yelling back in english

like he just looks stupid especially cause he doesn’t know what you’re saying

“tú estas ridiculeces! estas loco! por qué no tu podes escuchas a mi?!”

( you are ridiculous! you’re crazy! why can’t you listen to me?! )

“oh yeah? well listen here, I’m the winner”

“qué?”

( what? )

“never mind”

he loses every fight to you

but that’s also bc diego always takes your side

diego butts in on everything

and five’s learning spanish out of spite tbh

and for you ofc <3

he wants you to know how much he loves and cares about you

and to yell back at you

but mostly to say, “te amo.”

( I love you )

— END —

[shorkbrian]

Fuck the context and the way you portrayed shinso in your brother fic of him was so hot. Can’t wait for him to become unhinged and not even care what his parents would think/if they’re home and just defile you whenever he wants bc he’s just that desperate

Prelude -  gonna call this mess “FaMiLy BoNdInG” and bruh trust me it’s a mess but I tried so enjoy k gbye

Pairing - Aizawa X Reader X Shinsou

Prompt - at the top and combined with these two!

Warnings - psuedo-incest, NSFW, non con, dubcon, all the cons. Step dad Aizawa and step bro Shinsou are a force to be reckoned with. Mentions of DP at the end.

Music - I listened to https://open.spotify.com/track/1xFfbxmfenEpn4WawGWXiA?si=OUFp4ANsSR-6V_H187Eblw while writing even though it has NO relation to the fic spsosfnjsdhgsslfdn dead

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You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking soda and scrolling mindlessly on your phone when your stepbrother had come up behind you, looping his arms over your shoulders as he leaned down.

“Hey girlie, what’re you doing?”

“Nothin’.” You shifted, moving so his mouth was away from your ear, squirming uncomfortably. 

There was a beat of silence, before Shinsou stood, his presence looming behind you like a harbinger of evil. “Come up to my room? I’m tired, wanna hold you.” You sighed, hunching your shoulders and curling in upon yourself. You knew it wasn’t a question, wasn’t a request that you could ignore or refuse. He was just giving you the illusion of having a choice. Well,  you did have a choice;  go with your brother willingly, or get dragged, risk him getting angry if you said you were feeling sick, get into a fight with the man that could pin you to the ground without breaking a sweat.

“Shinsou…. “

“C’mon.” He didn’t wait for you to figure out how to beg for him to leave you be, grabbing your arm and hauling you to your feet with ease. You went limp, what else could you do?

The purple-haired man reached under your skirt, a modest, knee-length thing, wrenching your panties down with one hand.  You squeezed your eyes shut when his hand brushed against your hip, when he eyed the panties clutched in his fist.

“Cute.”

Gross. 

Then he was tugging you along, headed towards his room. 

You were so tired.

Mind almost shutting down, you stumbled when the audible clanking of the garage door beginning to open could be heard.

Dad was home.

Wide eyed, you caught Shinsou’s equally-surprised gaze, the man in front of you tightening his grip on your arm. Without another word, his pace was quickened.  Aizawa wasn’t supposed to get home until midnight, was supposed to be working late at the office. 

Shinsou tugged you into his room, slammed the door shut,  pushed you onto the bed. He had a sense of urgency; he was stressed, thrown off by the sudden and unexpected arrival of your father. “Gotta be quiet now, don’t want dad to hear us, right?”

You nodded, dazed, exhausted. Nothing had happened yet and you were already retreating inside your mind, resigning yourself to whatever your older brother was going to do today. He had said he wanted to cuddle, but that usually meant lazy sex while he hugged you, kissing your neck and falling asleep after making the both of you cum.

Without any preamble, the man climbed onto the bed, putting a hand on your shoulder to gently guide you to lay back. Then he was scrabbling at your shirt, pulling it over your head and leaving you in nothing but your bralette and skirt. He kneeled between your legs, pulling your skirt up to mid thigh to give him more room to maneuver.

“Shinsou please don’t, dad’s-“

“Shhhh, just do what I say and you’ll be fine.”

Shinsou spat into his palm, the sound making you cringe as you thumbed at the soft blankets underneath you. He was unbuttoning his pants, shoving at his underwear until he could get his cock free. The man went quicker than usual as he slicked up his length with his spit, very much aware of the presence of someone else in the house. 

At this point, Shinsou really didn’t care.

He had been fucking you for so long, pulling you aside for a quickie when your parents ran to the store, taking his time when they went away for a weekend,  fucked you on the couch when they went out for date-night. Feeling particularly bold today, he barely thought to pause when your father had gotten home. Right now, he wanted to lay down with his little sister, fuck you until you fell asleep, and then cuddle with your pliant body. Dad home or not, he was determined.

Your skirt was pushed even further up your body, the material bunching at your waist so your stepbrother had unfettered access to your bare pussy. Clenching your eyes shut, you turned your head away as you felt Shinsou pull your hips into his lap so he could rub his cock against your folds. He hissed at the sensation, spitting into his hand again before reaching around his cock to smear his saliva onto your puffy slit, too impatient and hurried to properly prep you.

It was odd to see the purple haired man like this; usually he was very laid-back, slow and gathered in his movements. Right now he was rushing, pushing the tip of his cock slowly into your entrance when usually he would still be making you cry on his fingers. The stretch was immediate, almost burning, and your lungs tightened.

A hand reached up to cover your mouth, Shinsou’s thumb massaging your cheek as he hushed you. You grabbed onto his arm, not to pull him away (it would be useless, he was so much stronger than you), but to ground yourself,  able to do nothing but hold onto the man causing you pain.

The sound of dishes clattering down in the kitchen had Shinsou’s hips bucking forward suddenly, filling you up, pressing too far, too soon. He swore lowly, hand tightening around your mouth as you let out a pained noise.

His hips stilled, the hand not at your mouth petting soothingly at your hip in an imitation of comfort. Funny, you thought - you wouldn’t need comfort if your stupid step brother could manage to keep his dick in his pants.

As the seconds passed, both of you aware of Aizawa down in the kitchen, your muscles slowly relaxed. The stretch burned less, felt more manageable. Still, you were entirely unprepared when Shinsou drew his hips back before rutting into you.

You screeched, the sound muffled by his hand but undeniably loud.  Shinsou leaned over you, unwittingly pushing himself deeper as he tried to soothe you with his quiet “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

If you were able, you would scream that you weren’t. You weren’t okay, nothing was okay. Everything about this was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. The way his hips were twitching into you, the way he kissed your cheeks and thumbed away your tears. The pleasure that was sparking in your core, the fact that it was your stepbrother getting ready to pound you into the mattress.

He was thrusting smoothly now, cock drilling into you a a steady pace. You were getting wet, the slide easier and less painful, pleasure slowly filtering in. When Shinsou plucked at your clit, you squirmed, hips shamefully moving to meet his own. He started increasing the pace, breathing heavily as the two of you rocked together on the bed. Occasionally his bed creaked, the wood rubbing at the joints and squeaking. 

On one hand, you hoped dad didn’t hear. On the other, you wished he would -  that he’d come save you from his son.

You got a mockery of your wish.

“Kids?”  Aizawa was walking up the stairs, the third step that always creaked whenever someone tread on it announcing his ascent.

“Shit.” Shinsou breathed, pulling out of you, manhandling you quickly. He threw back the covers of his bed, shoved you down, settled behind you. He didn’t have to tell you to be good - the taboo, disgustingly wrong nature of what he had been doing was too embarrassing for you to reveal to your stepfather. Accusing his biological son of assaulting you? Raping you? Would dad even believe you? You didn’t want him to see you like this, you couldn’t.

Dad knocked as Shinsou pulled the covers up, covering your state of undress. You knew your bralette straps were still visible, and Shinsou still had his shirt on. It would probably just look like the two of you had been napping, but then again, it would still seem odd. Whenever your parents were home you stayed as far away from your brother as possible - you weren’t one to just go cuddle with him.

The door creaked open, and your dad peered in. You were so embarrassed, half-naked and utterly humiliated underneath the covers. You didn’t know what to feel or what to do, frozen in fear and indecision. 

“Hey dad, need something?” Shinsou rumbled from behind you, voice steady and monotoned.

Light eyes scanned the room, before settling on you and your brother. Aizawa gave you a confused glance, obviously not expecting you to be in here, before his eyes shifted to the man behind you. “Wanted to let you know I’m home. Mom won’t be back until late, do you two have any specific requests for dinner?”

Shinsou shifted closer to you, so close that you could feel his rapidly beating heart through the warm flesh of his chest.

“Nah, we’re fine with whatever.”

Aizawa nodded, giving you one more confused glance. Maybe he could tell something was up? You felt like you couldn’t breathe. As the dark-haired man turned, obviously moving to shut the door and head back down to the kitchen, Shinsou was pushing his cock into you, his heart trying to beat out of his chest against your back.

Before you could stop yourself, you were whimpering.

“Dad….”

Shinsou froze as Aizawa turned back, stepping further into the room. You were quiet, tears budding at the corners of your eyes.  You couldn’t make yourself utter another word, completely unsettled at the situation. What were you supposed to do? You wanted him to save you, but you didn’t know how to ask. Your stepfather was studying you, was waiting for you to say something more. His gaze was flickering between you tearful eyes, your bralette straps visible above the blanket, the position you and Shinsou were in. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

All three of you were silent, the moment seeming to stretch on forever. 

You were so tired.

Breaking the stillness, Aizawa took another step into the room, brows slowly drawing down as the realization dawned upon him.

“Shinsou.” HIs voice was low, he rolled his son’s name in his mouth quietly, almost hesitantly. “What the fuck is going on.”

Your brother’s cock was still inside you.

“I was tired. (Y/N)’s cuddling with me, she was telling me about a dog she saw-“ Aizawa snorted, arms crossing as he took another step towards the bed. “Nice try. Don’t lie to me. Tell me what the fuck you’re doing.”

Shinsou was silent behind you, his heart beating loud and fast against your back.  

“(Y/N), what’s going on?” His voice was softer as he asked you, throaty still - but softer.  The tears clouding your vision finally flooded, streaming down your cheeks as you looked up at him. 

“Please… I....” You couldn’t formulate the words, mortification surrounding your body, Shinsou’s hand squeezing bruises into your hip. It was too much. You wished you had never existed,  that none of this had happened.

Unable to get an answer out of either of you, Aizawa strode forward, grabbed the covers, ripped them off the bed and dumped them in a heap.

You sobbed.

Both men were silent as you cried fat tears, embarrassed at being revealed, gratification at dad finally discovering the awfulness you had been subjected to these past few months.

Shinsou thrust his hips further into your warmth.

You choked, eyes snapping up to Aizawa. Shinsou was supposed to stop the second the two of were caught. He wasn’t supposed to keep going. Why wasn’t dad saying anything? Telling Shinsou to get off of you, get out of the house? Why wasn’t he calling the police? Why wasn’t he pulling your skirt down, trying to preserve your modesty?

The man was staring at the mess between your legs, Shinsou’s cock sliding in and out of you as you sobbed. Aizawa was breathing a bit heavier, his face, stance, demeanor no longer angry.

Dread filled your bones, settled like hot glue.

“Can you see how wet she is? She’s dripping.” Shinsou prodded, Aizawa frozen in place, mouth dry as he watched. “She’s always so warm inside, feels so nice.“

He was egging Aizawa on, seizing the moment and capturing his dad’s hesitance, manipulating it. You let out a whine as Shinsou’s pace picked up, cock beginning to hammer into your pussy. The purple haired man looped an arm underneath your thigh, hefting it into the air to allow Aizawa a better view.

“Doesn’t she sound so sweet? She tastes just as good, feels even better.” He was breathing heavily now, as he rutted into your warmth. Dropping your thigh, Shinsou reached for your clit, trapping the nub between his fingers and flicking at it. You cried out, your own hips squirming in indecisiveness , unable to choose between puling away or pushing back into the delicious sensation. It didn’t take much more to have you cumming.

Shinsou grunted as your walls squeezed around his cock, giving a few more frantic thrusts before he shot his load deep within your cunt, hips twitching as he worked through his own orgasm

You watched Aizawa sit down on the bed, close to your knees.

“How long?” He sounded strained. Shinsou shrugged, still panting.

Aizawa’s rough hand rested on your knee, his flat eyes closing as he paused. “Get up.”

The command wasn’t directed at you, but at your brother. Somehow, you didn’t think it would end up with your stepdad kicking his son out of the house.

Shinsou seemed to think the same as he pulled out, uncaring to the way you flinched as his cock dragged against your sensitive walls. He was silent as he shuffled to the end of the bed, tucking his dick back into his pants. 

Aizawa grabbed your ankle and in one smooth move, dragged you to him. You squeaked at the sudden movement, eyes wide as you watched Aizawa look you up and down. The front of his slacks were tented.

He pulled you into his lap, your back to his chest, turning so the both of you faced Shinsou who still stood at the foot of the bed.

“Does he make you feel good?” The older man’s stubble was scratchy against your cheek. You didn’t know where this was going, felt so lost and bad and sick.

  “Sometimes…”

It was impossible to lie. You knew if you did, Shinsou would cut in, tell his father how he made you cum everytime. How most of the time, you were screaming in pleasure before he would even take his pants off. 

Looking at the floor, you missed the look between father and son.

“He touch you here?” You gasped as a large hand grasped at your chest through your bralette. Aizawa’s hands were bigger than his son’s, rougher and more confident in their touch.

“Yes.”

“What about-“ tears streamed down your face as the hand slid further, over your tummy, over the fabric of your skit, down to your abused, sensitive cunt. “-Here?”

“Please stop, please.”

Aizawa didn’t answer, let his hand rest over the top of your pussy, feel his son’s cum slowly leaking out. “Shinsou, come here.”

The purple-haired man obeyed, stepping closer, falling to his knees at the edge of the bed when Aizawa motioned for him to do so.

“Clean up your sister.”

You weren’t too surprised. It shouldn’t have been hard to see where Shinsou had learned his nasty little tricks from. Still, it hurt your heart, struggling in your step-dad’s lap as he held you in place. 

Shinsou was smiling, leaning forward to shove his face in-between your thighs, chuckling when you yelped as he tongued over your hole. You used your hands to shove at his head, pull at his hair, but he caught them in his grip. They were pulled down by your sides, where Shinsou held them still.

“No, no! Stop! You can’t, no—dad!!” You were sobbing, pleading as Shinsou continued his assault on your cunt, licking out his own cum from your insides. Aizawa was holding your legs, keeping you spread-eagled and open.

“I’m not a good guy (Y/N), neither of us are.” His hardness was rubbing up against your back as you squirmed. “And from now on, you call me daddy.” “No! I won’t, let me go!” You thrashed, putting all your energy into loosing the iron grip holding your legs. Shinsou pulled back, licking his lips as he glanced up at his father.

“She was like this when I first had her. Mouthy little thing, still hasn’t learned proper manners.” He didn’t wait for Aizawa to respond, leaning back forward to continue slurping at your swollen lips.

“That’s alright, she’ll learn… I am a teacher after all.”

You wanted to vomit. You went limp, sobbing raggedly in Aizawa’s arms - completely demoralized and humiliated. There was no use fighting when Shinsou had been hurting you.  Now with two fully grown men focused on you? Forget about it.

Aizawa was quiet as Shinsou worked you up to an orgasm, the only sound besides your crying the wet, squishy lapping of Shinsou’s tongue suckling at your pussy. When he switched his focus to your clit, you wheezed, jolting in place as his tongue started laving over the little bud rapidly, quickly throwing you higher and higher and-

You wailed through your second orgasm, almost unable to breathe. 

Moments passed before you were able to calm yourself, ugly-crying and begging the two men to please, please leave you alone. Please leave, don’t touch you.

If you weren’t numb from your orgasm, you would feel sick.

“Shinsou, where’s your lube?”

Purple hair bounced as your brother cocked his head, still kneeling between your legs. “She doesn’t need lube, she’s soaking wet.”

“She’s gonna need it if we’re both going to fit.”

Neither man seemed to be able to hear your panicked pleas, too excited about prepping you to take both of them together.

What an awful attempt at family bonding.

[flooffybits]

What About Us?

Idol: Jennie Kim (Blackpink)

Anon: hii! can i request a jennie scenario wherein she read a lot of comments/tweets about her fem s/o about how her s/o is only using her for her money/fame and bc of that she kind of believed it and grew distant and her s/o overhears her calling her a gold digger in front of the other members while they were hanging out and s/o gets hurt and just leaves and try to give back all jennie's gifts or something like that? angst with fluffy ending pls!! i love your scenarios always!!

Author’s note: I went too angsty with this and I had no idea how to make it fluffy, but it doesn’t end too sadly hopefully

pretty sure she doesnt even care about jennie

shes obviously dating jennie because shes in blackpink

such a fake

Jennie’s frown deepened when she saw the many malicious comments online. Of course, she’s used to people sending her hate and having rumors spread about her. But this time around, the hate was not directed at her, but rather her girlfriend.

It’s been half a year since she’s come out to the public and introduced you to the world, and even with the various support she’s gotten for having the courage of coming out, the backlash of it was the people attacking you with so many hurtful words.

Jennie knows you’re aware of them, but you’ve never spoken up about it that she wonders if you find them bothersome or not. It’s made her think.

Were you only with her because of her fame? Did you really love her?

Lately, she couldn’t help reading such comments. When she first introduced you to the public as her girlfriend, she kept watching, wanting her fans to be accepting towards you and having the same respect that they had for her. But the longer time passed, the more assumptions were thrown at you.

And your dismissive behavior did not help in easing her worries.

As a result, she’s been pulling herself back whenever the two of you were together, always eyeing you when you spent time with her and trying to notice the way you would react to her every time. Were you being sincere to her or not?

She hadn’t even realized how much she let the comments get to her head.

“I just don’t know.” She sighed once when she was with her members, eating breakfast. You were sound asleep in her bed when she left you, so she decided it was the best time she could talk to her friends about the mess that was going through her head.

She didn’t think talking to you about it would help her because obviously, she think, you’ll defend yourself.

Jisoo pursed her lips at her friend when she lowered her fork. “I don’t really think Y/n is like that.” She stated. “I mean, she’s been with you longer than the public knows. You haven’t had these thoughts before.” She added and Chaeyoung nodded. “She’s right. Y/n is a sweet girl.”

“Maybe when in public? You know that gold diggers pretend to be nice to get what they want.” Jennie reasoned and this time, Lisa cut in, a deep frown on her face. “Hey, that’s not fair. You’re not sure if she’s being genuine, but that doesn’t mean you should be calling Y/n unnie a gold digger.” She retorted, making Jennie sigh as she rubbed her temple.

“Then how am I going to tell? I can’t flat out ask her because that’s obviously too forward.” She huffs, unknowing of your presence lingering by the door.

You had woken up a little after Jennie left the bed. And in your tired state, you didn’t get up right away, only when your stomach grumbled. But as you neared the kitchen and heard more of the girls’ voices, your sleepiness began to evaporate and your heart started to crack when you heard the things your supposed girlfriend was saying about you.

The moment she had called you a gold digger, tears had already fallen from your eyes and you quickly but quietly left for her bedroom to collect your things. You switched out of the clothes Jennie had lent you the night prior, tossing them in the basket, and then slipping on your hoodie and jeans. When you had everything, you hurriedly left her a note on her nightstand, making up the excuse that something came up before silently leaving the dorm after making sure that all of the girls were still in the kitchen.

"Unnie, if you can't trust Y/n, then what's the point of being in a relationship with her?" Chaeyoung couldn't help but ask and Jennie quickly quieted down, staring at her plate. "If you're having thoughts like these, I don't think it's fair for you to be doubting her like this when she could possibly be with you without the thought of money or fame."

"Chaeyoung is right. Personally, I doubt she's ever really thought of doing that to you. She's been sweet and loving to you, we can see that when you're together." Jisoo frowned. "It's just sad that you're letting other people's opinions cloud your view of your own girlfriend."

That made Jennie wince as she dropped her head and just stare at her plate, no longer hungry when she realizes that her friends were right. You’ve been together for years, and yet she only began to doubt you because her fans refused to trust you.

She just couldn't seem to shake off the doubt that was implanted into her brain after all the things she's read for the past few weeks.

"In my opinion, break up." Lisa says sternly, pushing her chair back as she brought her empty plate to the sink. "If you don't trust her, there's no point in staying."

Chaeyoung sighed as she looked to her best friend. Of course, the younger girl was right and she understands why she's upset, but they had no right interfering with Jennie's relationship because it simply wasn't their business. The best they could do was listen and give her advice, the rest was for Jennie to deal with.

"I'll go talk to her." The blonde murmured, quietly exiting the kitchen and leaving the two older girls alone.

Jisoo eyed Jennie from across the table and kept her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to help her friend. But she also wasn't very happy with the way she had quickly discarded all the struggles you went through together before this moment.

She was your friend, too, and it would be a lie if she said she didn't care for you as much as she did for her members.

"Why don't you get ready? We have a shoot in a few hours." She tells the younger girl and Jennie sits there for a few more minutes, contemplating if she was capable of looking at you after everything she's just said about you.

Eventually, she does go. Quietly, she heads to her room, wondering if you were still asleep since you haven't come out yet. But when she peeks inside, she's surprised to see no one there.

The bed is made, the clothes you used were put properly away and then everything else was as she left it except for the piece of paper that was left on her desk.

Upon further inspection, she recognizes your handwriting and furrows her brows at the message. It makes her suspicions grow, but at the same time, her stomach churns. She was unaware of you hearing her conversation with them, girls so she doesn’t give it too much thought, simply sending you a text to say you should text or call her when you were free before she proceeded to her closet and pick out her outfit for the day.

..

Jennie doesn't hear from you for the rest of the day, which confuses her.

You've always texted her throughout the day to see how she was doing, always asking her if she's eaten or drank enough water. So, now that you weren't checking up on her has thrown her off the loop.

It was already evening and she was checking her phone in case she missed a text or call, but found none.

Instead, when she arrives back with the girls, she's surprised to see you leaving her room, hands tucked in the pockets of your jacket with your head down.

Something about it sets her off, and without thinking, she scoffs at you while crossing her arms. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She asks you, and you're surprised to see that she's already home.

"So, you ignored me for the whole day because you had something "important" to do. And when I come, I find you trying to, what, steal from me?"

"Jennie." Jisoo calls warningly while Chaeyoung and Lisa looked worried when you refuse to look at them.

But Jennie didn't mean to say those things. In her fear of finding out that you were using her, her emotions blinded her and had forced the words out, her heart pounding against her rib cage before she's watching you finally bring your hand out of your pocket and show her the spare key she had given you for the dorms.

"I came to drop this off." You try to keep your tone even, but it's so soft and fragile that the worry in the girls worsened. Jennie's expression even softened, but the confusion set in at your words. "What?"

You lift your head and Lisa gasps when she sees the tear tracks and red eyes, a clear indication that you've been crying. But before any of them could say anything, you were already dropping the key on the table.

"I'm leaving. Don't worry, I didn't touch anything."

"Y/n-" Chaeyoung tried calling for you, but you only shook your head and walked to the door, but Jennie tailed after you, latching onto your hand right before you could leave.

But before she could say a word, you yanked your hand away, whirling around to glare at her despite the hot tears that were already cascading down your face. "Don't fucking touch me." You gritted out, pain laced in your voice as Jennie stared at you in disbelief.

"Y/n, what is your problem?" She snapped back, your attitude setting her off from being ignored the whole day, but instead of backing out like usual, you glared back at her. "You left without even a proper goodbye, ignored me the whole day, and suddenly you're in the dorm without telling anyone, then you have the audacity to be angry?"

At that, you scoff before stepping closer to her. "I have no reason to explain myself to you." You say while stubbornly wiping your face. "The only reason I wasn't replying to you was because I was looking and packing everything you own and then dropped them off here."

At your words, Jennie's anger vanished and she looked at a loss. Her things?

You stared at her for a while before shaking your head, defeat on your features as you step away once more. "I'm not gonna stick around with someone who'd rather believe what everyone says instead of trusting me and calling me a gold digger, where her friends were the ones who defended me behind my back. I'm done."

Her heart jumped to her throat when she realized that you'd heard what she said to the girls. With the sudden revelation, she isn't quite sure what she could tell you.

"I just... I thought-"

"That the people who don't know a damn thing about me were right? That the person who stuck up for you every single time would actually treat you like a fucking toy?" You guessed for her. "They're my fans!" She defends and you frown at her, seeing clearly just where she held you.

"Yeah. And what did that make us?"

You knew that some fans wouldn't accept the fact that Jennie was dating, much more a girl, but you didn't really think that she would choose them over you, especially like this.

"Forget it, Jennie. All of your things are in your room. Goodbye."

But Jennie wouldn't let you leave when she moved to shut the door just as you opened it. "Can we talk about this?" She pleaded, panic running through her veins despite her earlier anger.

"Talk about what? Jennie, you called me a fucking gold digger because your fans said so?" You shot at her. "Do you realize how that makes our relationship?"

“I’m sorry!” She yelled back, refusing to budge as she blocked your only exit. “I know that it was dumb of me, but please, let’s talk about it.” She tries again and you try so hard to fight your tears back with the inner turmoil that was inside of you.

You wanted her to be sorry, you wanted her to take back everything she’s said behind your back, but you know that once words were let go, there was no turning back. The damage was permanent and there was no changing that no matter how many times she apologized.

Yet your heart was so damn stubborn that you couldn’t outright deny her request. So, she saw that and used it to her advantage, no matter how wrong she knows it is.

Leading you back to her room, she had noticed that her members all disappeared to their own quarters and she just hopes that they can leave things to her. That is, if she can handle what’s about to happen.

Entering her room, she spots the two boxes at the foot of her bed and she inhales sharply, seeing the necklace she had given you for your first anniversary sitting at the top of them. Only now did she notice that you weren’t wearing it, knowing fully well that you never took it off once she gave it to you.

“Y/n, I know that this is messed up, but please just... we can work this out, I swear.” She starts and you stare at her in disbelief. “What can you do to make this work? What did I do to make you even think of me like that, Jennie?” You ask in a broken voice that makes her heart crack.

“You know me. I have not once asked you to spend a single dime on me or this relationship. I have never demanded that you get me gifts or to pay for me when we go out. You know that I argue with you on who pays the bill. So, why?”

For the first time in her life, Jennie didn’t know what to say. She was always so sure of herself and the things she wanted, but now, staring at you while you desperately tried to understand where things have gone wrong has rendered her speechless.

You stand, staring at each other, and your tears refuse to stop as you covered your face with your hands and let out a shaky breath. Jennie withers at the sight of you looking so weak, so vulnerable, because of her. So, she doesn’t hesitate as she steps forward to wrap her arms tightly around you.

“I know that I was wrong to believe them.” She mutters when she feels you weakly pushing against her, but she holds on tight, refusing to let you go. “I was  just so clouded with what everyone was saying and I was scared of talking to you about this.” She closed her eyes when your pushing started to weaken. “You’re right. I made our relationship look like an absolute joke for trusting someone who isn’t you and you have every right to be pissed at me. But please, I’ll do my best to be better at this. I should have known better, and you deserve so much more than what I put you through.” She could feel her own tears start to fall, but she doesn’t bother them.

You’ve stopped resisting her and just let your hands grab a fistful of her shirt, sobbing into her chest. “Please, just give me one last chance. I promise, this won’t ever happen again.” She whispers and the room is only filled with your sobs.

You’re both on the floor when Jennie feels your legs giving out. She holds you because she knows that you’re in pieces.

“Why did you have to say it?” You cried into her chest and she kisses your head while frowning to herself. She shouldn’t have done it, but all she could do now was make up for it.

She’s ruined three years in a single moment. But she swears that she’ll spend the rest of her life making up for it, even when you move past this and maybe forget about it happening.

“I’m so sorry.”

[danggerine]

fe3H characters who have strong nonbinary vibes

according to me and my gender vibe check abilites

(i’m gonna be super loose with pronouns here just as a heads up, expect a mix of they/them and canon)

Yuri Leclerc: yeah this should be obvious idk how much i need to explain here. purple grown-out mullet with matching eyeshadow. pointy boots. magic AND swords. their unique ability to make those fucking finger gun animations for the trickster class actually look cool. yuri is so nonbinary i get thrown for a loop whenever someone DOESN’T use they/them in game

Bernadetta von Varley: she/they bernadetta is the hill i will DIE on i stg!!! the hoodie variation of the academy uniform, the purple and gold, the absolute nonbinary audacity of BOTH haircuts? bernie (her nickname is BERNIE for fuck’s sake) has Totally Believably Cis hobbies such as writing original stories that they can easily project onto, embroidering/sewing trinkets to give as presents to her friends, and studying carnivorous plants. they are obsessed with carnivorous plants what more do i need to say

Hapi: hapi to me seems like the enby who wakes up every morning, looks gender in the eyes, and chooses sexy violence. like an any pronoun, any clothing, who gives a shit gender is my bitch kinda vibe. something about her voice just radiates a lack of gender to me, that plus the crop top and astronomy and dark magic. like lowkey all the ashen wolves are nonbinary but hapi and yuri get to be on this list bc they’re easier for me to “explain” why

Leonie Pinelli: look at the pre-ts haircut. i rest my case. ok but also leonie has the peak “pedestalizing and projecting onto a person i look up to who has a presentation i align with” nonbinary experience, and she needs another personality trait besides jeralt. tbh my concept of nonbinary leonie is less based in the actual character and more in that i feel like she COULD be nonbinary if you sprinkled in some more flavor

Jeritza: full honesty i didn’t do most of jeritza’s supports and i couldnt be bothered to look up their full name (Emile von Hrym right??) but regardless, the drama and elegance that jeritza has is so enby. the silky ponytail and the matching mask and cape and the overwhelming air of mystery, like, im pretty sure jeritza gave every other bitch on this list extreme gender envy until he kidnapped flayn and all. and the death knight? absolute goth icon, nothing is more nonbinary than an outfit that covers your entire face and modifies your voice while STILL being all black, spiked and skulled, and sexy as hell

honorouble mentions to: balthus, constance, ingrid, lindhardt, claude, lorenz, and shamir, all of whom i either can see as a possibility but don’t feel strongly enough about to explain, or were supposed to be here but i got tired in the middle of making this post and left it at 5

[yaku-soba]

you (all that will be lost)

༶•┈┈ kita shinsuke x gn!reader | angst

༶•┈┈ general m.list

tags/warnings: angst. don’t say i didn’t warn you :”)

word count: 0.4k

a/n: i found this is in my google docs and i’m about 90% sure this was supposed to be a drabble for kita + evermore for meggu :”) i’m rlly sorry @star-puff that this is so late 😭😭

indulged a lot in this in terms of language and imagery bc looping evermore inspired me :””) i hope it turned out okay </3

“kita,” you say, “shinsuke.” your hands flinch (aborted motion, torn sail) in the distance you can no longer cross (there didn’t used to be lines in the sand), “won’t you look at me?” pleading, pleading. 

“i am,” kita says calmly, cold as the knife-edge of a lighthouse’s beam on a clear night (see the rocks - see how their rugged, granite faces gleam, eager for wreckage). some vindictive, hurting part of you (all of you - you hurt where his breath no longer reaches, you hurt where his words do) wishes his voice would shake the way your fingers are trembling. “i’m looking right at you.”

brown eyes like the cookies you used to bake with him, like the soil in the fields he says he will someday own, like the mud that coats bedrock. you see your glassy reflection in them, warped by distance. 

that’s not what i mean, you ache desperately (sailor thrown from ship), you’re not seeing me at all. (captain with a foot on the plank, the other in the shark’s jaw.)

“you’re not,” you say, childlike and childish under his indifferent gaze, “you’re looking. it’s different.”

kita sighs, loud and heavy (branch beneath snow). it expands in the space between you, it presses you against the walls and shrinks you like light beneath the crack of a door. 

“we could try again,” your voice cracks (wood in the fire, collapsing under its own weight), “i’ll be better - whatever it is that i did wrong, just tell me and i- i’ll fix it.” (penmanship homework: rewriting the same letters over and over again, even if the spelling is wrong - all that matters is making it pretty.)

“some things can’t be fixed,” kita reminds you gently, admonishing in the way of teachers to misguided children. 

“yes they can,” you say (your tongue trips over the words; foot on an uneven step), “i’ll-”

“some things aren’t worth fixing,” kita continues calmly (the quiet before the tsunami), “and some things shouldn’t be fixed.” (the tsunami.)

the wave and the rowboat. the whale and the krill, the lighthouse and the shipwreck. shinsuke slips away like sand between your fingers, water cupped in your palms, snowflakes melting into tears on your cheeks. 

“i wish you well, l/n-san,” kita smiles like he doesn’t have his boot to your back, a silver hook on your shirt the only thing between you, many teeth, and the belly of a shark. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

likes and reblogs are appreciated!! o(^o^)o

[hookingminor]

close quarters (4) - andre burakovsky

a/n: y’all I'm so fucking sorry this took so long to update school started and has really thrown me for a loop and I had some bad writer’s block and shit so I'm not super proud of this chapter but oh well the next chapter will be the final one! this isn’t proofread bc I couldn’t be bothered and I know that the hockey season doesn’t coincide with warm weather but be quiet and imagine

word count: 2,767

one / two / three / four / five

-

True to his word, Andre got smashed. It didn’t help that Mikko had asked him if you were seeing Tyson after the two of you had left together. So, Andre threw back another whiskey in record time, and everyone got the hint to not bring you up.

And what made it worse was that he knew he didn’t have any right to be upset about the situation. He chickened out and scared you off because he was stupid and didn’t know how to communicate his feelings. And it’s not like Tyson was a bad guy, but Andre didn’t think he was the right guy for you. Andre was the right guy for you.

Not that he had any justifiable reasons for thinking that.

Gabe and Mel had to give Andre a ride home after the charity dinner. It was nearly eleven in the evening and everyone had left the event, but he was still drinking. He knew it was unprofessional. All his teammates knew it was unprofessional. Odds are he’d probably get yelled at for it come Monday, but he had bigger problems to worry about right now.

“You know you did this to yourself, right?” Gabe asked after he’d safely gotten Andre into the backseat. Gabe was the only one who he’d told about this whole predicament. Andre didn’t have a lot of friends in Colorado outside of his team, and he couldn’t help but spill his guts to his captain.

Mel slapped her husband on the arm, signaling for him to shut up or at least show some sympathy, but Gabe shrugged his shoulders in defense as if to say ‘What? It’s true.’

“I know,” Andre slurred sadly, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Mel consoled with a comforting tone, “You just made a mistake and need to fix it.”

“How can I when she’s with Josty now?” Andre asked.

“Dumbass, she’s not with Josty. He’s just trying to help you out,” Gabe explained as he pulled out of the parking lot and in the direction of Andre’s apartment.

“Helping me how? By asking her on dates and sneaking out early with her?” Andre scoffed in disbelief. He saw the way his hands lingered on your back and the sly glances he thought no one saw.

“Helping you so you can finally apologize and win her over,” Gabe said, but Andre was too focused on imagining you and Tyson back at his place to really register Gabe’s words.

The rest of the ride continued with Andre ranting about you. Honestly, he didn’t remember what he said but it was probably along the lines of how beautiful you were and how he wished he would’ve kissed you. Gabe and Mel exchanged about a million looks between each other, but Andre didn’t notice. The one night they were supposed to not worry about a child, they still ended up babysitting anyway.

When Monday came, his hungover had passed, but he still felt like shit.

“Someone have a rough night?” EJ teased when Andre dropped his bag on the floor in the locker room. Andre flattened him with a glare to tell him he wasn’t in the mood. Everyone had to have known what was going on by now.

Tyson entered the locker room about five minutes after he got there, and everyone went silent. Andre didn’t look at him while he put on his gear, but he could feel the eyes of Tyson and the rest of the team burning a hole into the back of his head. When he finished lacing up his skates, he marched out of the room without another glance back.

“You dumbass,” JT said, breaking the tension that clouded the locker room. All eyes flickered over to Tyson who didn’t look like he was looking forward to getting on the ice.

“You better fix this shit, Jost,” Nate piped up from behind him, and there was a chorus of grunts of agreement in response.

“Fine, I’ll handle it!” Tyson groaned exasperatedly, “God forbid I be the only one with a romantic bone in my body.”

Once again, Tyson had to do everything himself, it seemed.

-

“I just don’t know what to do, Taylor,” you said over the phone.

“Are you still going on about this?” She whined.

“He’s so cute!” You exclaimed, “If you didn’t want me to fall for him, you shouldn’t have introduced us.”

“I didn’t think dumb hockey players were your thing,” she scoffed, “You were never interested when I offered to set you up with one back in D.C.”

“I wasn’t interested,” you emphasized, “but times have changed.”

“And you’re choosing Burky of all guys?” She asked.

“I just don’t know why he’d be so concerned about me living with him for a short period of time. I mean, I literally threw myself at him for nothing,” you replied, “Do you know if Tom said anything to him about me?”

You were met with silence as Taylor didn’t answer your question.

“So you do know something,” you accused as you moved into a sitting position, “What did he say?”

“Uh,” she started, “It wasn’t Tom, exactly, who said something.”

“Wait, what? Did you say something?” You asked.

“In my defense, I was looking out for you! I didn’t think he was your type, and I knew he’d try and make a move,” she answered defensively.

“What the hell did you tell him?”

“I may have told him to keep his hands off, and Tom may have relayed the message,” she said quietly.

“Why would you do that?” You sighed in defeat, “Do you really think I can’t look after myself?”

“No, it’s not that. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed with the move and have Andre hitting on you and then get ghosted or led on…,” Taylor explained. You let out another sigh because you couldn’t really fault her for that. She knew hockey players better than you, so who were you to argue with that logic. And the fact was Andre could still ghost you or lead you on, you still weren’t sure, but you figured his unwarranted jealousy had to be a good sign, right?

“Well, can you back off now?” You asked finally.

“I didn’t think he’d actually follow through with this. All my threats were pretty meaningless; it’s not like I could do something about it if he did try something,” Taylor said, “but I guess if he took it seriously he must not be that bad of a guy.”

“So I have your permission?” You questioned hopefully.

“You never needed my permission in the first place,” she answered, and you could see her rolling her eyes back in D.C.

“Clearly I did if Andre wouldn’t kiss me,” you muttered, and Taylor chuckled in response.

“Oh, hold on, Taylor, I’m getting another call. I’ll talk to you later,” you said suddenly, noticing the incoming call that was interrupting your conversation. You waited for her acknowledgement before you ended the call and answered the other one.

“What do you want, Tyson?”

“You’re both idiots, and it’s time I took things into my own hands. Be ready at nine in the morning on Saturday. No, I will not be answering any questions. Dress cute but comfortable.”

And with that, he hung up the phone before you could even begin to question what the hell he meant.

-

You tried texting and calling Tyson, but he never answered your messages.

He told Andre the same thing. Well, he did get a little more information but not much. Tyson had pulled Andre off to the side on Monday after a practice of angry glares and not passing him the puck though he was instructed to.

“Listen, man, I’m gonna explain this to you once. Me and Y/N? Not a thing. She wore that dress to make you jealous because she knows you like her and that you’re a dumbass,” Tyson said quickly, and Andre had to take a few extra seconds to process what he was saying, “So what you’re going to do is pick her up on Saturday morning and take her to the farmer’s market. Get her some fucking flowers or something and buy her shit, okay? If you screw this up again, I can’t help you bounce back from that.”

Every day after practice Andre tried to ask Tyson more questions about how you were doing and if you knew about this, but Tyson reiterated the same thing he told Andre the first day: that he needed to pick you up at nine and to not dodge you if you tried to kiss him again.

So, Andre did just that. He arrived at your apartment at 8:55 on Saturday morning dressed in a casual pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. You, however, outshone him by a mile with your flowy skirt and loose sweater.

“Oh, Andre, hello,” you greeted him curiously, “Are you here because of Tyson?” Over the past few days, you had time to process Tyson’s confusing phone call. After running over his hurried sentences in your head, you came to the conclusion that it was some kind of set-up. His use of ‘you’re both idiots’ could only be about you and Andre, and it wasn’t unlike Tyson to insert himself in other people’s business. You only hoped Andre had more choice in this than you did, otherwise you were in for an awkward morning.

“Hi, yeah, hey,” Andre stuttered out, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you blushed as he complimented you. You opened your door wider for him to enter as you retreated back into your kitchen. “What are we doing? Tyson didn’t really tell me anything except to be ready by nine.”

“Yeah, he kind of pulled me after practice and told me about this plan,” Andre explained, and you felt your shoulders sag while your smile dropped. So he didn’t get a say in this, he was here as a favor.

“I see,” you said quietly.

“But I also wanted to apologize,” he said, noticing the way you suddenly got shy, “about the whole… you know.” You did know. You had been trying to talk to him about it for weeks now to no avail.

“Listen, about that… I didn’t mean to make things weird. I misread the situation, and I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable,” you apologized after he trailed off, but Andre was shaking his head before you could finish.

“No, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Andre said, interrupting you, “You did nothing wrong. I was in my head and panicked and then it was too late…” he took a breath, “I’m sorry about that. I wanted to kiss you, and I screwed it up.” Your heart sped up a little at the last part.

“Taylor told me about how Tom said to not mess with me,” you continued.

“I was just trying to be a good friend,” he insisted, and you nodded your head.

“I know,” you replied, “I told her to back off when she told me.”

“And then the whole Tyson thing happened…” he started.

“I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t fair to make you think we were together,” you said sheepishly,  but you only felt partly sorry for doing that.

“Honestly, I needed that,” he chuckled, “He knocked some sense into me, and that’s why I’m here. To make it up to you.” Well, if Andre had finally come to his senses and wanted to make it up to you, you weren’t going to object.

“So what are we doing?” You asked, and Andre answered your question with a wide smile.

-

You spent the whole morning walking through the downtown farmer’s market with Andre. You threaded your way through the many vendors and tents that were set up in the street, stopping occasionally to buy some produce or because Andre wanted to try some local foods. He treated you to an iced coffee the minute upon entering the market, and you spent most of your time catching him up with work while he updated you with hockey.

Work was going fairly well considering you were new to the company and area, and the team was doing pretty well at the moment considering it was the beginning of the season and they had yet to be really challenged. Not that you understood much of what he was saying regarding stats, but you listened with interest anyway.

You don’t remember when it happened, but at some point you had started holding onto his arm as you worked your way through the market.

You introduced Andre to your favorite stand of any farmer’s market ever: the chili-lime mango tent. Andre didn’t care much for the spice, but you had a fun time watching him chug down the rest of his coffee while he choked on the chili.

Around eleven thirty and on your way out of the market, Andre bought you a large bouquet of sunflowers. You had left him alone for three minutes to buy some tomatoes, and when you turned around to find him, you could barely see him behind the sunflowers.

“You didn’t have to buy me this many flowers,” you chuckled when Andre returned you to your apartment. He had insisted on carrying whatever groceries you had bought there as you carried the flowers.

“Well, I never got to buy you actual flowers for our first date, so I figured I had a bit to make up for,” he smiled as you set down the bouquet on your kitchen counter.

“I didn’t know you counted that dinner as a date,” you joked, unpacking the produce you’d bought from the bags.

“It would’ve been a perfect one had I ended it properly, but I’m an idiot,” he said, “So I’m officially counting this as our first date.”

“Well, as far as first dates go, this is definitely one of the better ones I’ve been on,” you agreed. You hadn’t noticed it until then, but Andre had taken a few steps closer to you until you were nearly chest to chest. As if mirroring the same position you were in that fateful night, you couldn’t help the feeling of deja vu wash over you in waves.

Except this time you were sure he wasn’t going to run away.

“Can I kiss you?” Andre asked, reaching his hands out to pull you in by your hips.

“That depends,” you replied, “Are you going to follow through with it?” He rolled his eyes at your snarky comment and squeezed your side in response.

“I’m never going to live this down, huh?” He asked, tugging your hips flush against his as his hands moved to your lower back.

“No,” you agreed cheerily, “but to answer your question: yes you can kiss me. I’ve only been waiting three weeks now.” Connecting your hands behind his neck, you gave him the same wanton look you gave him that night.

Andre took that as his cue to lean forward, and you pushed yourself up on your toes to meet him halfway. Your lips met in a soft kiss, Andre’s lips light against yours as he tested the waters. You made the first move by gripping the back of his neck a little tighter as you pressed yourself more forcefully against him.

Andre’s hands slid up slightly over your back as you moved your mouth against his. You didn’t know if it was fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes that had passed by the time you pulled apart.

“And to think you had kept that from me for so long,” you teased almost immediately after the kiss broke.

“And you’ve ruined it,” Andre laughed as he tried to push you away in protest, but your hands were stuck behind his neck.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you whined, pressing a kiss to his cheek that was turned away from you, “I won’t bring it up again, I promise.”

“I don’t believe that,” Andre said, but he didn’t say anything as you continued to shower him with affection.

“I promise I won’t, but I can’t make any guarantees about Josty,” you repeated.

“Damn, he’s never going to let this go, is he?” Andre groaned loudly, as if he just remembered who Tyson was.

“Definitely not,” you agreed, “And you know he’s going to take credit for this.”

“He can have it,” Andre said wistfully, “As long as I can have you.”

“You have a bit of slack to pick up for making me wait forever, but I’m willing to give you a chance.”

[hanndotcom]

62. pack your shit and go. get the fuck out of my sight! ty bby

A/N: I hope you like this bb💜💜 also,,,,, since I didn’t get to do this during blurb week bc college is kicking ya girl’s ASS I made this what I consider a “full length fic”. Should I make a part two??? Or a mini series out of this??

WARNINGS: cussing, angst, possible love triangle???

WC: 1,062

62. Pack your shit and go. Get the fuck out of my sight.

-

I finally finished my shift at The Wreck and decided to go to the chateau to hang with everyone else. The drive there felt like it took forever, after what felt like hours I pulled into the gravel driveway of the chateau. I pulled my keys out of the ignition and grabbed my purse. I walked up to the door but stopped in my tracks when I heard the guys talking.

“Dude, I can’t believe it’s been 5 months. We owe you $50 bucks.” John B said, making me furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“Yeah bro, I’ll get you my half tomorrow. What surprises me the most is you managed to make Y/N fall in love with you.” I heard pope say, causing tears to fill my eyes.

“JJ?” I asked quietly, tears freely falling down my face.

“Shit.” He said quietly, standing up and quickly walking towards me. “Y/n I’m, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe you. I-I gotta go.” I mumbled, avoiding all possible eye contact with JJ.

As I turned around I felt a tug on the belt loop of my jeans. I turned to see JJ with a broken look on his face, and behind him Pope and John B sat wide eyed and jaws hitting the floor.

“Please, let us explain.” John b started.

His plea only fueled my anger and sadness, “no!” I shouted, taking them by surprise.

“But y/n we-“ Pope intervened, I immediately cut him off.

“No pope. I could have expected bullshit like this from John B or JJ, but you’re my BEST FRIEND POPE, MY BEST FRIEND YOU WERE THE LAST PERSON I EXPECTED THIS FROM.” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. “I’m disappointed and disgusted with all of you. But I don’t know who I’m more upset with. I can’t believe I allowed myself to trust ANY of you.” I continued, knocking JJ’s hand away from my waist. “Get the fuck out of my sight. I can’t believe you JJ.” I cried, pushing through the door.

As I walked out of the door I bumped into Kiara, “hey y/n how- what did the boys do now? Are you okay?” She asked, holding my shoulders.

“Why don’t you go ask them how they spent $50 tonight?” I said, pushing past her and getting into my car.

// kiaras POV //

“Are you guys a whole new breed of dumbasses?” I screeched, looking at three of my four best friends. “JJ, you are supposed to be her boyfriend, Pope she is closest with you out of everyone, John B I honestly can’t even believe you. Do you even understand how hurt she is right now? I wouldn’t blame her if she ditched us.” I finished, leaving the Chateau.

// Y/N POV //

It’s been 3 days and I have basically thrown myself into my shifts at the wreck, and avoiding everyone besides Ki. I heard the bell ring, when I looked up I saw Rafe walk in.

“Welcome to the wreck, take a seat where you want and I’ll get your order in just a second.” I smiled at the kook, who to my surprise smiled back at me and took a seat near the window. I wiped my hands on my apron and grabbed my notepad.

“Hey y/n.” Rafe said, glancing up from the menu “I’ll take the special and a water.”

“Alrighty, that should be out in a few minutes. Call me over if you need anything else.” I smiled walking away to put the order in.

“Y/n!” I heard Rafe yell across the restaurant. I looked up shocked from restocking the cups to see Rafe waving me down. I quickly walked over there to see what he wanted.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, fixing my apron and furrowing my eyebrows.

“Yeah, surprisingly good for being on this side of the island. But it’s be better if I had something else.” He said, looking up at me.

“Okay, um let me go grab my notepad real fast and I’ll get it into the chef.” As I turned around I felt him lightly grab my wrist.

“I don’t need to put an order in, I need something else to make this better.” He said, smiling at me.

“What is it?” I asked, completely oblivious.

“For you to join me.” He replied letting my wrist go.

“What? Do you, topper, Kelce have some sort of game going on? Because if so I’m not playing it. I don’t have time to deal with th-“

“No, I genuinely want you to join me. Topper nor Kelce had anything to do with this.” He said, raising his arms up.

“Well, I don’t get a lunch break for another 30 minutes so,,, I-“ I was cut off.

“I’ll wait, and then after your shift we’re going to the carnival near the pier.” He smirked.

“What’s the catch, Rafe? Last week you hated all pogues, including me. And now suddenly you want to take me on a date?” I asked, confused.

“I’ve liked you for a while. And now that you and JJ are no longer together. I can ask you out.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

I smirked, beginning to walk back to the counter. “It better be worth it Cameron.” I shouted behind me.

// time jump to before y/n shift ends //

I had 20 minutes before my shift ended so I began wiping off tables and putting the chairs on top of them. I heard the bell above the door ding so I looked up, catching JJ’s eyes.

“I was hoping you’d still be here.” He mumbled, grabbing some chairs and putting them up on tables.

“Yep, I’m here until 8. You know that.” I said sharply, tossing the tag into the bucket beside the counter.

“Can we talk?” He asked, behind me I could hear the sad tone in his voice.

“I don’t know, if you make me listen to you are JB and Pope gonna give you another 50 bucks or-“

“Y/N please.” He cut me off, making me sharply turn around. “I love you. I really love you. With everything in me. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Before he could continue talking the bell above the door rang once more, when I looked up I saw Rafe standing there with (your fav flowers). “Rafe.” I breathed out.

-

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!) 💜💜💜

@fttayla @prejudic3 @tomhardybby @ilovejjmaybank @canibeoneofthepogues @xealia

[0veil-ablaze0]

Boboiboy AU time, crossposted from my now inactive Wattpad.

Okay, so, Boboiboy and the elementals are siblings, okay? Got it?

Boboiboy is older by a year and the elementals are septuplets. Because I said so.

But plot twist, when the septuplets were born, they were deemed too weak to survive and Amato, who was excited to be a father of eight, is having none of that shit.

And yada yada, plot point, found ochobot, elemental powers and shit, y'know, the fun stuff.

So the elements acts like a life support, how? Idk either man.

One night, uhhhh, the septuplets got kidnapped and Amato angst ensue.

So, Boboiboy, our beloved powerless babey, is our protagonist, if it weren't obvious enough.

Amato in this AU could be a king/hero like in the original series and that makes Boboiboy the prince/son of the hero no one knows about because of the tragedy that struck boy.

Okay, yeah, Boboiboy, never found out about his missing brothers until like, ten. Of course, being a little ten year old and really wanted to be like his father, he wanted to search for them, but Amato's like, "no son, maybe when you're older."

And he did.

At four fucking teen.

He was sent to visit his grandfather, Tok Aba for one, to check on the old man, and two, protection. Boboiboy found Ochobot one fateful night and ye, insert Boboiboy and Gopal adventure music.

So, other main cast introduction:

• Gopal.

Friend of Boboiboy since he was ten, because fuck you, that's why. The only person who knows that Boboiboy is Amato's son, but ends up almost forgetting that.

Powers: Molecular Altercation

We all know how this powers works, and yes, first one to get their power from Ochobot is this guy bc we met the rest mid story.

•'Lightning Thief' or later known as Ada Da

A kid who kept on stealing from the neighborhood, including Tok Aba bc cocoa? Idk.

Powers: Elektrokinesis

Uh, since he never had proper guidance like Gopal, his powers only appears under distress. The only thing he can do at will is shock people. That is, until the duo met again and well, looks like the lighting thief got a new name and a better control over his powers and such.

•Yaya

A lovely girl next door, or town, I guess.

Powers: Barokinesis

After finding out that her powers are barokinesis rather than just, superhuman strength and flight, she could just force you to bow down to her if she wanted to. She might as well revoke your gravity privileges and float you off to space.

•Affan

Yaya's neighbor next door. A cheerful boy, but sometimes ends up being insensitive sometimes.

Powers: Aerokinesis

Lmao he's literally Aang but waking up and choosing violence first thing in the morning. In all seriousness, keep the boy in control.

•Ying

Some sweet, shy girl that the gang collectively decides to adopt. Ends up being the baddest bitch in town, girlboss moment.

Powers: Chronokinesis

We all know how this works, originally mistaken as super speed, she can alter time at will at a fair range, but since it's literally time powers, it takes a lot of energy. Puts you in a mini time loop bc you were talking shit about her friends.

•Fuchsite

Adopted grandson of one of the seven elemental heroes who decided to join Boboiboy's little found family while searching for his bio family gang

Powers: Geokinesis

Power is the most stable and controlled out of everyone because he was trained under his grandfather, when not relying on his powers, he could stand on his own using hand to hand combat.

•Fang

A mysterious boy once rival, now ally, adopted noble/child of hero Maskmana (s-shut)

Powers: Shadow Manipulation

Obviously not as strong as Molecular Altercations, Gravity, or Time. But he makes up for it with being a master shadow puppeteer, from tiny rats to dragons, the shadows of the galaxy is his personal kingdom.

•Brazen

A foreign boy known for his recklessness and rude tongue.

Powers: Pyrokinesis

We all know this, fire powers, one of the classic powers anyone has think of, though the same case as Ada Da, his powers only respond to emotions, this time: stress and pure jealousy. Jealousy to whom? You'll see.

•Geary

Brazen's younger, more 'perfect' twin. Not much to say other than the constant targeting of his dearest brother left him, kinda hurt, but easily brushed off.

Powers: Hydro/Cyrokinesis

Water and Ice, two sides of the same coin, just, depending on which surfaces first. His powers are a lot more stable considering, liquid and stuff like that is very flexible on surroundings, yeah, nothing else to add.

•Ochobot

Their robot friend from the beginning to the end.

Powers: Power Storage and Transfer, Teleportation

Nuff said

•Acacius

A pirates apprentice of the Sparo crew, naive and cute, but with the ability to kill you.

Powers: Agrokinesis

Unfortunately, not being able to harness it properly with the lack of plant life in the ship. Of course, he adapted by stealing some plants and practices with them, only for the plants to be thrown away by Captain Separo directly, his supposed father.

•???

A wise, quite egotistical, socially awkward young boy, being the book keeper of the ancient library of the past months after the library was left, abandoned

Powers: Photokinesis

Never finding out about it until the library, he trains until he reached perfection. The light shines through him like he was a prism, living life with fractured hues to fill his monochrome life.

I'll write extra stuff about this AU later, I'm lazy or asked.

[curiosity-killed]

sunbeam flaring

hair...healing...thoughts...?? They’re Dumbasses, Ur Honor

(title stolen from Love Sonnet XI by Neruda bc I had litcherally no idea what to call it)

word count: 2354

He notices it on a perfectly ordinary afternoon two weeks before Callebero’s twenty-second birthday. Inasmuch as the captain of the imperial cavalry has such a thing, it’s Sirion’s day off; he sleeps in, waking only briefly when Callebero extricates himself and presses a kiss to his cheek and then dozing until the sun is two fingers above the horizon. His morning is slow and indulgent; breakfast with Regent Aquios, who insists he call her by her first name despite the way he shies from such familiarity, followed by a few hours catching up on the paperwork and correspondence that has piled up in his office lately. Now, he pauses in the middle of running forms with Mikolan as Callebero crosses the gardens. He’s dressed formally today, in those heavy layers he hates and which always draw Sirion’s eyes to his narrow waist and the broad strength of his shoulders. An older retainer walks at his side, mirroring his frown, but it’s not their conversation that catches Sirion’s attention.

Callebero’s hair has been pulled back from the front, the long tail tucked into a neat bun that’s secured by a gold band. A spider’s-silk thread of jewels drips in a loop below it. Beneath it, the rest of his hair forms a short curtain falling just below his ear. The end of a staff taps him on the top of his head. “Stop gawking. We already know you and the imperator have turned the palace to your love nest, but you don’t have to be so obvious,” Mikolan scolds. “That is not—” Sirion starts to sign before huffing out a breath and giving up. Once she recovered from the initial shock of Valyn’s treachery and Callebero’s return, Mikolan had thrown herself gleefully into teasing him about their relationship. So far, she is still too mindful of place to say anything to Callebero, but she has taken full credit for them meeting and has not missed a single opportunity to remind Sirion of his early impressions of Callebero. There’s no point fighting such a losing battle, so he turns back to their practice and stows that startled notice away for later contemplation. It’s not like he’s unaware of it. He’d noticed Callebero scratching the back of his head with the end of a reed pen when his hair was little more than rabbit-fur fuzz, and Sirion has combed his fingers through both the long tail of his crown and the shorter locks just growing out. It’s just—he hasn’t thought about it. That night, curled close around each other with their legs tangled, Sirion skates his fingers through Callebero’s hair and tries to order his own thoughts. There’s a sharp division between the thick, downy underlayer and the longer half, sleek and silken. A fiercely selfish part of Sirion is grateful he never saw Callebero’s hair hacked short. He thinks he might have killed whoever held the blade. “I know, it’s ridiculous,” Callebero mumbles from where his face is smashed partially into the pillow and partially into Sirion’s left arm. Canting his head, Sirion shakes his fingers gently out of his hair and taps Callebero’s shoulder twice in the negative. Callebero shifts so that half his face is unburied and squints blearily up at Sirion. He’s not sure what all happened today, but Jisel had been clearly nursing a headache throughout dinner and Callebero had collapsed face first onto their bed before removing his crown or hairpieces. He’d muttered something about doing away with all laws and ceding absolute power to Jisel, to which Sirion had reasonably pointed out that she would kill him herself if he did such a thing. Groaning, Callebero had smashed his face into the pillow and muttered a string of curses that made even Sirion’s brows lift. “It is nice,” Sirion signs now. “I liked how you had it today.” Callebero squints at him, brow wrinkling as if in complete bafflement. “You may be a once-in-a-generation commander,” he says finally, “but your taste in men remains questionable.” Rolling his eyes, Sirion flicks his shoulder. “Say it again, and I’ll bite you,” he warns. For a moment, Callebero stares at him in open confusion, his lips parted around words that don’t escape beyond a faint squeak. Then, he breaks into laughter and reaches up to drag Sirion down and kiss him. “So much for my protector,” he teases. Sirion arches his eyebrows. “Jisel would say the same,” he retorts. “I can assure you Jisel would never bite me,” Callebero rejoins with a laugh. Rolling them over so that he can drape himself across Callebero’s chest and free his left arm, Sirion shakes his head. Callebero allows the shift comfortably, curling his arm around Sirion’s side to trace slow strokes up and down his back. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he’s bright-eyed now and smiles up at Sirion. “Only because she would be better prepared,” Sirion replies. At that, Callebero only breathes out a soft laugh and tilts his head to one side in apparent concession. “Very well, Commander,” he teases. “I solemnly swear not to doubt your taste in romantic partners ever again.” He leans in when Sirion presses a kiss to his lips and hums in pleasure when Sirion nips his bottom lip. “I don’t know how anyone thinks you’re such a solemn and decorous leader,” Sirion gripes. Callebero yawns and wiggles his shoulders in a mix of a shrug and an effort to nestle down into the mattress. Easing off him, Sirion settles back at his side with his arm draped over Callebero’s waist. His sleeping robes are warm and creased from being pressed so close between them, and Sirion can feel his own body slipping closer to sleep. “Mm,” Callebero hums. “It helps that I mostly keep my mouth shut.” Sirion can’t help breathing out a laugh at that, shaking his head. Like many, his first impression of Callebero had been a silent one—and at the time, Sirion had read that as cool haughtiness much as many visitors did. Laying such an image over the Callebero he now knows seems laughable, but he knows he’s one of only a few who can claim such familiarity. Under his arm, Callebero’s belly tenses with a quiet laugh. He prods Sirion in the ribs. “It worked on you, after all,” he teases. Mikolan’s incessant teasing rises to Sirion’s mind, and he shakes his head. Callebero grins. “You thought I was a brat,” he says, unreasonably gleeful. “I”—Sirion starts and then stops short, because that is true—“changed my mind.” Callebero snorts, graceless, and wriggles out from Sirion just enough to smother the candle on the side table. With only the moonlight left spilling blue through the cracks in the shutters, the room is ink-dark and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust. “It took me kicking your ass to change your mind,” Callebero retorts. “It was a draw,” Sirion signs. “I laid you out, love.” There’s laughter in Callebero’s voice as he speaks, and Sirion finds amusement battling down the old wound to his pride. He can still picture the staff end hovering right before his nose, Callebero’s careless, bright grin on the other end. He hadn’t fallen in love in that moment, but it had been a shift—a sudden, bracing change like dunking into cold water on a summer day. “You had the element of surprise,” he still insists. “Mm,” Callebero hums doubtfully. “I could still take you.” Narrowing his eyes, Sirion squints at him in the darkness. It’s absurd. They’re both grown men with more accolades than most families have in three generations. They’ve each emerged from three wars and a coup with honors and scars to prove their valor. There is no reason to quibble over an old sparring match. “Could not,” he signs anyway. Callebero’s laughter is more of a hot brush of air against Sirion’s skin than a sound, and he squeezes him once. “I suppose we’re due for a rematch then,” he says, the words briefly warped around a yawn. “Ah maybe next week?” Sirion hums and drops his head to Callebero’s shoulder, hooking his ankle around his calf. “For your birthday,” he signs, and Callebero laughs. Jisel catches on quickly, of course. On the third day of Regent Batu’s visit, they duck away with a pot of tea in the far corner of the library where only Callebero ever thinks to look. If anyone asks, they aren’t hiding. It’s simply a convenient location to get some work done while the visiting gentry fill the palace with gossip and traveling parties and more gifts than any single person has ever needed. For the most part, Sirion looks on all the pomp and frivolity with amusement. All these rich nobles falling over themselves to litter Callebero with gilt and gems as if they could win his favor with enough gold. And, selfishly, part of Sirion likes that none of their piled gifts will never match what Callebero actually wants. A toothed satisfaction runs through him at the futility of their sycophancy. “If Jemma catches you gawking at his hair one more time, I think she might combust,” Jisel remarks. Rolling his eyes, Sirion glances up from the report he’s been reading to shoot her a glare. Over the last year and a half, it has become apparent that Jemma doesn’t quite know how to handle he and Callebero being partners and seems stuck vacillating between threatening Sirion should he ever hurt Callebero and lecturing Callebero on valuing Sirion enough. Hayalen has spent most of it laughing at both her wife and the two of them. “I do not gawk,” Sirion retorts now. Jisel raises her eyebrows, hiding her smile behind her teacup, and he can feel heat suffusing his cheeks. Huffing out a breath, he leans back in his chair. “It’s not”—he stops, pressing his lips into a seam in frustration before sighing—“I’m just not used to it.” Humming faintly, Jisel lowers her cup to cradle between her hands and runs a fingertip back and forth over the lip. “I did the same when Kieran came back from Jimar,” she admits. “It took a while, and I hardly noticed at first but then…” She pauses, looking away. A pang squeezes Sirion’s heart. He doesn’t know exactly how she and the younger Aquios’ relationship fell apart, and they’ve seemed to be on polite enough terms now—but it still feels shocking and somehow wrong that they should have ended at all. “It’s comforting,” she says finally, turning back to him with a little smile, “to know that he’s not planning to rush headlong into danger again.” Oh. Sirion blinks, startled by that analysis. He’s hardly thought of it in such serious terms; when he’s pondered his sudden fixation on Callebero’s hair it’s been more in curiosity and bafflement. Footsteps sound behind them, and Sirion twists around. Callebero’s eyebrows arch up as he nears, unimpressed, and Sirion grins back at him. “Traitors,” Callebero announces. “We only wanted to give our imperator princep space to celebrate with his courtiers,” Jisel replies, sweet as honey. Huffing out a breath, Callebero drops down into the chair beside Sirion. “Your imperator princep would rather shovel out all the horse stalls in the capital,” he retorts. He kicks lightly at Sirion’s ankle, glancing over to grin at Sirion as if Sirion weren’t already looking at him. Shaking his head, Sirion reaches over to pull him in for a brief kiss. He comes willingly, smiling against his lips, and across the table, Jisel snorts. “Shameless,” she singsongs. Callebero laughs, a warm breath of air against Sirion’s lips, and then he pulls back to grin at her. He’s still leaned close enough that Sirion could run a hand through his hair if it weren’t so neatly pinned up. “I remember someone telling me that Aeridians are all too repressed and that’s why we spend so much time polishing our swords,” he says. Pausing, Jisel narrows her eyes and searches his face like she can’t tell if he’s joking or not. After a moment, she scowls and leans back. “You can’t use the things I’ve said while drunk against me,” she says. “And I stand by it anyway.” Shaking his head, Callebero snorts out a laugh. The motion makes his earrings jingle, ringing together like little chimes. When they turn in for the evening, he’ll grumble about all the layers and seriously contemplate going to bed with each of the dangling piercings still in, and Sirion will nudge him into sitting still long enough to let him take them out and loosen his hair from its severe styling. He can nearly feel the memory of it, the body-warm metal and the cool brush of hair, already lingering in his fingertips. “Since neither of you drink properly, it’s only fair,” Jisel says with a careless shrug. “That is for the sake of the nation’s dignity,” Callebero rejoins. Sirion snorts. “Where would we be if everyone knew the fearsome Black Prince fell asleep after one cup?” he teases. That earns him a short glare and a flick in his shoulder, but he captures Callebero’s hand to tangle their fingers together, which earns him a smile and a net win. Sitting back in his chair, Callebero rolls his shoulders and finally starts to relax. “Jar,” Callebero corrects loftily, and Jisel snorts. “Half,” Jisel rejoins. Stifling a grin, Sirion settles in to let them bicker it out. He’s never seen Callebero drunk, only warm and loose with wine and contentment. His only part in the quibbling is to tease both of them wherever possible. A few strands of Callebero’s hair have slipped loose from the braids and bun, sliding down in a loose loop. Humming softly, Sirion reaches out to tuck them behind his ear. His hand lingers, brushing gently through his hair. Callebero turns slightly, just enough for Sirion to catch the smile on his lips. It softens, warms, and Sirion finds himself mirroring him, helpless. Across the table, Jisel snorts at both of them, and Sirion’s smile broadens into a grin.

[order-of-river-phoenix]

...For Someone Like Me; Lew “Chuckler” Juergens

Fandom: HBO War; The Pacific

A/N: this is a long one guys. Also, this is a part 2 to this imagine, so it might be helpful to read that one first. This was actually requested by @alienoresimagines so thank you bc I rlly liked writing this one, and I wouldn’t have written it if you hadn’t said anything. (Honestly, I just rlly love Chuckler)

Warnings: some language; also a crude joke is thrown in bc it felt in character, but just know I cringed as I typed it out

Taglist: @liebegott @stressedinadress @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @floydtab @hbohmygodx @meteora-fc @punkgeekchic @vintagelavenderskies @hoosiers-hoe @mavysnavy @alienoresimagines

__________

"Hey, Marshall, right?" Chuckler wore an unnervingly cool grin as he gripped into the other guy's shoulder.

The guy frowned up at him, seeming to immediately take the defensive. "Yeah. What's it to you?"

His answer came as a literal punch to the face.

Marshall, now clutching his bleeding nose, backed away from the larger man. "What the fuck was that for?"

"That," Chuckler loosened his fist and shook it, "was for a friend." Ignoring the many eyes on him, he turned on his heel and walked away.

__________

"Knock knock," a cheery voice announced.

You looked up from the wound you were rebandaging to see the bright smile you had come to look forward to. "Hey, Chuckler." You quickly tied off the bandage and patted the Marine. "You're good to go, Nealy. I'll check it again tomorrow, alright?"

"Alright. Thanks, Y/N," he said before leaving the medical tent.

You turned your attention back to Chuckler. "Are you here to bother me again today?"

"I don't bother you," he scoffed. His smile dropped for a split second. "I don't bother you, do I?"

"No," you laughed, "you don't. I'm just surprised you have as much time to hang around as you do. I don't know what you're going to do when we're all actually doing our jobs."

"I'll be running around hoping to get hurt so you can fix me up."

"That's not funny." You looked up at him, trying your best to convey a serious tone, though his grin made it so hard to be stern. "The last thing I want to see is you with a gaping hole in your side."

"What about a small injury?"

"Like a bruised hand?" You carefully grabbed his hand and held it out to check. "What'd you do to get this?"

Still smiling like an idiot, he lowered his head. "If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just asked."

You blinked. "What did you do to your hand?"

"It's really nothing." He tried to slip his hand out of yours, but you gripped his wrist. "It's fine."

You let him take his hand back, which he quickly shoved into a pocket, but you didn't miss his slight wince at doing so. "Are you and the boys wrestling for fun? Or did you just deck a coconut tree because it looked at you funny?"

"I guess you could say it was a coconut tree," he mumbled. "Has about as much brains."

You frowned a little, thinking back to the other night. He had never really come off as a fighter—current situation withholding—so the idea that he had been in a fight with someone that wasn't an enemy Japanese soldier was difficult to believe. You remembered the way he had reacted when he found you crying, and you couldn't help but wonder...

"Lew..." your voice trailed off as you decided on what to say and how to say it.

His eyebrows furrowed a bit at this—you hardly called him by his given name anymore. "Yes, Y/N?"

"Who was it?"

"I don't think I understand."

"Yes, you do."

"Who did what?"

"Who did you punch?"

He had yet to master the art of the poker face. "You know what, I think I'm going to leave you alone now. Enjoy some peace and quiet."

Before you could protest, he was walking away.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn't care. You rationalized everything about your reaction. Why were you so upset about his bruises? Chuckler was your friend, and you were never fond of your friends getting into fights. Why did you want to know who he fought with? Despite taking his role in this war seriously, he wasn't exactly the easiest person to upset; you wanted to know who surpassed the threshold. Why did you want it to be Marshall? Let's face it, you'd want anyone to punch him right about now. Your heartache was still a little fresh, and it wasn't like you had much alone time to work through it all.

But no matter what answer you gave yourself, there was still something gnawing at you. You needed to talk to him.

It never occurred to you that it may be difficult to find him among the many other men, but you were at a loss as you wandered around the allotted area of the island. Instead of finding him, you found some of his friends.

“You guys seen Chuckler?”

Hoosier blew a cloud of smoke out before looking over at Runner, who appeared uneasy.

Leckie, glancing between the other two, groaned a little as he sat up, and a tight smile stretched across his face. “You looking to thank him for his chivalrous act?”

You frowned slightly, watching as Runner smacked Leckie’s arm and Hoosier held back a laugh. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know,” Hoosier replied, seemingly amused by the topic—hardly a great sign, as you had learned. “Are you gonna sleep with him since he defended your honor?”

Appalled, you quickly responded with, “What the hell are you talking about? Just tell me where he is.”

Runner, who had given up being the good guy, controlled his giggling. “We haven’t seen him for a while. I figured he was with you.”

“Thank you,” you grumbled. Just as you were about to continue your search, you stopped yourself. “What did you mean when you said he ‘defended my honor’?”

Sid, having politely kept himself out of the conversation, now took the liberty of answering. “You mean you didn’t hear about him knocking out that guy in I Company? Chuckler told us that guy hurt you or something.”

That little inkling in the back of your head was right. “Oh.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry, laugh, or scream. You did absolutely none of those, standing there with a blank expression.

“You know what, Y/N,” Runner announced when they were starting to get concerned, “How about you stay here, and we’ll go look for him?”

You absently nodded while Sid helped you sit down.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hoosier offered, flicking his cigarette butt away.

The other three took off to find Chuckler, and you tried to wrap your mind around it. You kind of had an idea that he liked you, but did you like him back? Lord, it was difficult not to like him. Even when you were still holding out for Marshall, Chuckler had been the face you looked for everyday you weren’t running around trying to tend to wounds and illnesses.

“He didn’t knock him out,” Hoosier spoke up. “That old boyfriend of yours. Chuckler threw one punch.” As if to punctuate his statement, he held up one finger as he said it. “Bloodied the poor bastard’s nose, but he never hit to ground. Never hit back either.”

“I don’t really know how I’m supposed to respond to that... but thank you, I suppose.” You watched him pick at his dirty nails, making you suddenly aware of your own rust-colored nails—months of blood and dirt packed in. “Why’d you offer to stay with me?”

“You want the honest answer?”

“Sure.”

“Didn’t feel like getting up,” he shrugged.

You nodded in acknowledgement. “Right.” Before you could think of some other way to awkwardly make conversation, Chuckler was standing above you. Quickly springing to your feet, you stared up at him.

“You wanted me?” he mumbled, trying to sound aloof.

“You tell me about the weather, even when I’m experiencing the same thing. You go on and on about how you saw coconuts falling. You even tell me about the shells you find littered on the beach.” You exhaled. “But you can’t tell me that you punched Marshall? Doesn’t that seem like the kind of thing I’d want to know?”

His mouth opened and closed as he struggled for words, and as if on cue, the other men slipped away, looking for somewhere else to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was gentler now, but there was still an edge to it.

“I like seeing you smile, and that didn’t seem like something that would make you smile,” he answered quietly. “My mom used to tell me that jealousy wouldn’t get me anywhere, but I couldn’t help it.”

Your heart twinged, and your stomach did cartwheels. “Chuckler, you cheeseball.” Grinning, you playfully shoved him in the chest. “Could you stop being so cute for even a minute?”

That smirk you loved so much grew on his face. “Aww, you think I’m cute?” He took a step closer, and his hands found their way to your waist.

“Shut up. You know you’re cute.” You looped your arms around him. “Next time you decide to beat up someone for me, let me know. I want to see your technique.”

His laugh rang out, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this.

[notgonnarememberthis]

Doesn’t This Have a Name

This one has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. For the longest time I couldn't work out an ending but finally, thanks to one of my favorite people in the world, I managed to loop together this whole thing. This fic was inspired by the song Take Me Back from Strakid's BIack Friday. Absolutely would suggest listening to the song if you like this pairing bc it fits so well. Hope y'all enjoy!! Retitled: Was previously “take it back”

Jessica rubs her eyes tiredly as she goes over the legal documents for the hundredth time today. Ainsley’s plea of self defense was rock solid but she refuses to leave an ounce of chance behind that her little girl gets imprisoned because of that monster. The trial crawls by slowly, now on the third month since the incident. The justice system shows no interest in rushing for anyone, god knows, much less another Whitly that has stabbed a person.

God her family is so fucked.

Shuffling draws her attention as the doors to the dining room slide open. She doesn’t even look up from the papers, her tone a tired deadpan. “Malcolm now is not a good time.” She tries not to sound as exhausted as she actually is, just for his sake.

“Jess,” Her breath catches in her throat, head snapping up to see Gil standing in the doorway. God help her, he looks good for a man still recovering from a stab wound.

“How did you…”

“Malcolm gave me a spare key after you got your locks changed.” She huffs pushing herself to stand. “You look tired.” She narrows her eyes at him but still doesn’t answer. Truth be told she doesn’t even know what to say to him. He shifts back and forth, as if trying to make a decision. She quietly wills him not to push, not tonight when she just feels so tired. “Jess, you’ve been avoiding me since I got out of the hospital. Talk to me.”

“I have not.” She scoffs indignantly. Except she definitely has. Every time she’d see him in the hospital bed, guilt would eat her alive. Every time she watched as he struggled to sit up or twist in bed with agony marring his features, it tore at her heart. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deal with the guilt anymore; she’s more than used to a heavy heart. No, it was the fear that held her in its grip. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” She gathers the papers back into their proper folders shutting them. “In fact I was just heading to bed, so if you don’t mind.”

“Jess, I don’t blame you for what happened.” She swallows heavily, stopping all movement in their tracks. Her fingers find the end of the table clutching the edge until her knuckles turn white.

“Well maybe you should.” The words come out more defeated than she intends, her voice almost caving with the weight. She shuts her eyes trying desperately to stop the tears building. She hears him moving until he’s behind her; he rocks almost hesitantly. Her head bows with shame as she tries to gather herself once again. She’s played this scenario in her head every day since they’d learned he’d pull through. She’s practiced what she would say to break his heart all over again. But none of that prepared her for how much it would hurt.

The movement is all at once, a decision made that can’t be taken back. His hand grips her elbow, spinning her around to face him. Those eyes are what nearly break her. They’re so full of compassion and care that she does not deserve. Not after what she’d brought him into. None of this would have happened if she’d just kept up her boundaries.

“If I hadn’t been there that night-”

“I’d be dead.” He interrupts her without hesitation. “I was investigating Endicott regardless. Maybe that night I wouldn’t have been stabbed but he was coming after me next. He’d already taken care of Malcolm. He knew who was looking into him and he knew I was close.”

“If I had listened-”

“Then we wouldn’t have recorded evidence that could help in Ainsley’s case.” She huffs rolling her eyes, she absolutely hates it but he’s right. The recorded voice message, her attempt to call 9-1-1 after Gil was stabbed. Her phone became key evidence as soon as her purse was retrieved. It does not alleviate the pressure in her chest. “You are not the reason I got stabbed, Jess. You’re the reason I’m alive.” His hand comes up to cup her cheek and, god help her, she leans into his touch. He wipes away the stray tear that had escaped despite her attempts. “You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

She scoffs bitterly, a crooked smile gracing her lips. “I don’t know if you’re talking about now or 20 years ago anymore.”

“Jess.” He sighs. “Everything that you have done has been to protect Malcolm and Ainsley.”

“And look where that’s gotten us.” She tries to pull from him, and he lets go. It’s only for a moment but it’s a vicious reminder. He’s not Martin, he’s not Nicholas. He will let her go if that’s truly what she wants. She places her hands on his chest, slowly. It’s not the soft, expensive sweaters Martin wore or the pressed suit of Nicholas. The turtleneck is rough to her standards. Everything opposite of what she’s known her whole life. Her hands continue to trail down his chest until it lands on the spot that’s haunted her nightmares. 

“Jessica.” Her eyes flash back to him. “You are doing your best. Hell, I don’t know how you handle half the shit you do.” She opens her mouth to respond but he cuts her off. “And don’t joke about benzos from the 80s.” He cups her face again and she doesn’t pull away. His thumb strokes her cheek gently. “Do they slip sometimes? Yeah.” He laughs, likely recalling the no doubt numerous times Malcolm has thrown himself head first into danger. “But what he’s done, what Ainsley did? That wasn’t Martin. That was all you.”

“I thought this was supposed to make me feel better.”

“You gonna let me finish?” She sighs but nods. “You know what they had in common?” She shakes her head, almost imperceivable. “They were protecting their family.”

“I can’t lose them.” Her eyes fall to the spot beneath his sweater where her hands still rests ever so gently. “I can’t-”

“Nobody’s losing anyone on my watch.” His hand covers hers, holding it to the place where he’d gotten stabbed. “And I’m not going anywhere.” His lips press against her forehead and she closes her eyes letting his words wash over her. Any desire to argue with him vanishes, an overwhelming sense of vulnerability floods her. It was something she hadn’t felt in 20 years and truthfully it nearly takes her breath away.

Oh. Oh god.

[ddaenggtan]

lay me gently | ksj

there is no time for loneliness among the fires of your forge, no room in your buzzing mind for thoughts of anything but your next invention and the pain in your leg. your life is tilted off its axis, though, when your parents arrange a marriage without your knowledge or consent, and your new husband begins to situate himself into your life despite protests from either of you. you don’t know what zeus and hera have planned, but a volcano is no place for a love god like seokjin. | monsters and gods pt 2 (masterlist)

pairing | seokjin x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, aphrodite!jin, hephaestus!reader, disabled!reader (kind of. more technically accurate would be chronic pain!reader. but thats a whole discussion that ur welcome to have with me), fluff, slight angst but not a ton, v brief allusions to violence but its purposefully vague, not so brief descriptions of physical injury, descriptions of chronic pain, cyclopes! everywhere! i use that word so many times!, smut, literally the most vanilla smut i’ve ever written there are only two warnings, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, there are mentions of a war god that is a dick but it is Not Ares i promise, everyone still hates zeus bc he sucks, this also features dionysus!jimin but only a little, 

word count | 12.9k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | this is the second installment of gods and monsters!! i was actually in the middle of writing from eden when i stumbled across a really fantastic blurb about retelling aphrodite’s story the way we’ve all collectively decided to retell persephone and hades, so that there are two decent fucking couples in greek mythology, and there were a lot of good comments on said blurb that made those last two braincells in my head run into each other and make an idea. and then i promptly opened a new doc and typed half of this and a vague summary before sleeping for longer than i should have! and i’m always weak for aphrodite jin bc i mean....look at him....man looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo like who am i to deny the gods, y’know? and i figured that since i had olympian!reader in the last one, i’d continue that and have olympian!reader in this one, also i wanted an excuse to write from a hephaestus pov since i’ve loved that dumbass blacksmith since i was ten and wrote a greek history article in school. so here, have this aphrodite retelling!! | title from work song by hozier

It's hot. It's always hot here, the consequences of living inside a volcano, you suppose, but the callouses on your skin have long since made you immune to the burns. You glide down through the halls, an old habit since the day you crafted the wheels you attached to your sandals. No longer did you need to carry the awkward and hefty cane everywhere you went, or struggle to make your leg move the way you wanted it to. The invention of the wheel was one you were forever proud of. 

The forge is already blazing when you arrive, each of the hundred levels full of cyclopes all hammering away. Steam hisses and rises through the air, and you chance a glance at the lava bubbling miles below you. 

"Careful today," You call to the cyclops closest to you. "It looks like she's feeling the burn again. Raise the guards soon, and keep them up until she blows. No sense letting good work go to waste." The cyclops nods and barks an order out at others across the levels. You wheel yourself further along, the sound of the celestial bronze shields being brought up serving as background noise. You probably could have waited another day or so to raise them, if you were honest; cyclopes are fireproof, which is useful in a forge, and you yourself aren't likely to be taken out by a mere volcanic eruption. The work, though...heat like that could affect even the strongest of your creations, and everyone works much too hard here to have to reform every bolt, repour every blade. 

You valued your time too much for that. 

"You have a guest, my lady," one of your workers called. You look up from the notebook in your hands - soot-covered, bound in leather, edges singed, with bits of paper sticking every which way from the many times you've jotted something down for later and stuffed it inside quickly before tying the leather cords that bind it - and frown. The cyclops grimaces slightly. "It...seems to be Lord Zeus."

You scoff and spin yourself around to follow him to the elevator reluctantly. "Probably wants to commission another throne, the bastard. Should've stuck him to the last one, maybe he'd get it through his head that not everyone wants to fuck him." You wave a hand and your guide gives you a curt nod before returning to work. You settle yourself in the lift and flip the lever. It's not a long journey, thanks to the many improvements you've made over the years, but it still seems that too soon the grate is sliding back into the wall to allow you exit. 

You tap your heels together twice as you glide off the lift, already reaching for the cane that you keep there for situations like this. The soft clicks and whirs are nearly imperceptible as the wheels break themselves apart and regress into the hidden compartments in your soles. Your leg becomes dead weight once more, and you wince at the way it drags behind you. You've half a mind to curse whoever came to call on you this time; you hate walking, even if the charade is a necessary one. You're still contemplating the idea when you hobble into your entry to see Zeus himself, stoic and cold as he ever is. 

"My lord," You call, barely keeping the venom out of your voice as you do. Many would say it's the heat of the mountain making your blood boil, but you know the truth. Very little in the world sets you off like the man in front of you. 

He turns and fixes a blinding grin on you. "My dear Hephaestus!" You scoff at the title; no one has called you by your name in centuries, lest they inherit your lameness. "Wonderful to see you, truly. It's been too long since my last visit."

"Yes, four hundred years does seem to crawl by without you to grace the halls of my forge," You drawl. His eyes steel for a moment, your sarcasm not as lost on him as you'd hope, but it quickly passes. "Why are you here, my lord?"

"Well, you remember how I said I would owe you a favor?" Your eyes narrow and you nod. In the handful of times Zeus has repaid the hundreds of favors he owes, it's hardly ever been something positive. "I'm here to pay it! I brought you a gift."

"A gift, what-?" You don't get the chance to finish. Zeus has already waved forward a steward he brought along. Your heart aches for the boy as sweat drips down his body and his tunic is already singed. Your own leathers are slightly oppressive in the heat, but at least they don't catch fire. Zeus takes a scroll from the boy, harsh and rough, and shoves it into your hands. You unravel it quickly, your eyes darting across the words on the paper.

"A marriage?!" Your screech echoes throughout the mountain and the clanging of metal on metal pauses for a moment. "What am I supposed to do with a marriage, much less one to a-" You scan the paper again. "A love goddess?"

"Not a love goddess," He tuts. "The love goddess. Well. Love deity. Aphrodite is a beauty, you're lucky I could arrange such a thing." Your eyes strain against your skull, threatening to pop out with every word Zeus says. 

"What in all of Tartarus is a ‘love deity’ supposed to do in my forge?" You ask him. He scoffs and waves the question off as if it doesn't matter. Your hand twitches with the urge to throw him into the lava, and the only thing keeping you from doing exactly that is the pain striking through your leg - a bitter reminder of just what Zeus is capable of - and the knowledge that it wouldn't even kill him. 

"Your mother was adamant about this, Hephaestus." You echo his scoff at this; you're sure she was. "Aphrodite will arrive within the week. See to it that everything is fit for a god." He chuckles at his own joke, and a vision of your cane shoved through his skull implants itself in your brain. You force yourself to take in deep breaths. The scent of hot metals, sparks, and sulfur calms you, as it always has. 

"Fine," You say, though Zeus is already on his way out. "I'm not keeping anyone here against their will, though!" Your shout goes ignored, as you knew it would. You grumble under your breath and hobble back to the elevator. Within moments you're shooting down to your bedroom, large and situated close to the heart of the volcano. You don't bother to activate the wheels of your shoes, instead leaning on your cane until you get to your bed. 

The plush mattress and blankets are a relief on your aching hip and leg and you let yourself lean back and just relax for a moment. The notice is still clutched in your hand and you find yourself staring at the looping curves of Hera's signature, wondering what she's up to this time. 

Memories flood you before you can stop them; being a young godling in Olympus, attached and in awe of your mother as she led you around the city, light gleaming off the golden columns. Seeing the fire in Zeus' eyes the first time he struck her in front of you, and the blaze that came when you stepped in front of her. Starlight glinting off her silver robes as she cried in her garden. The bruising vice he kept on your calf, the feel of the winds against your skin as you fell, the way Helios painted the sky as you kept falling. The feel of a hammer in your hand for the first time, juxtaposed to the throbbing pain in your crippled leg every time you so much as twitched. 

The notice is across the room before you realize you've thrown it. You want to believe she isn't playing games; Hera has always been somewhat conniving, but your mother has never been outright cruel to you, not since the night you tried to save her from her husband, and she always had her reasons. You may not always agree with her reasons, but that didn't change the fact that she had them. Still, condemning an innocent person to a life here...condemning you to live your days with a constant reminder of your plainness, your deformity, wasn't something you expected from her. Zeus, yes, but not her. 

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, only to adjust a few moments later when the pressure on your hip becomes too much. You're angled now, weight resting on your good side to alleviate even a bit of the pain from the other. It was the only way you could get a moment's peace since your fall, the only time the pain lessened. 

You allow yourself five breaths. Five breaths to let the tear slip down your cheek, drawing its path through the soot and the smoke. Four to let your breath shake in your chest and shudder in the air. Three for the ache in your hip to disappear completely, so you are blessedly free from your pain for once. Two for the thorns to tighten impossibly around your heart and let it bleed for you. One for the hole in your chest, shaped like a loving father and a true family that doesn't constantly commission weapons from you to throw at each other.

Pain arcs through your leg once more and you wince. Your hand massages the muscles there absentmindedly; it provides no relief to anything but your mind. You stand and click your heels together once more, glad when the wheels are stable once more. In seconds, you're off, flying through hallways to get to your workshop. 

You've got work to do. 

It's nearly the entire week later when one of the workers knocks on the door of your workshop. 

"Aphrodite has arrived, my lady." You wave at him and he disappears back into the mass of his brothers. It doesn't take you long to get to the entryway, rolling through the halls until you're just outside the large bronze doors. You retract your wheels and grasp your cane, reminding yourself that the more people thought Zeus had crippled you debilitatingly, the better. Your hip aches again and you tune it out in favor of tapping the end of your cane against a small hammer at the base of the doors. There's a quiet whir as they slide open, and you limp forward as best you can. 

The foyer is packed with people, cyclopes everywhere with bags slung over their shoulder, forest nymphs tapping at their smoking roots, naiads hissing with steam. In the midst of everything stands two still figures, one infinitely more familiar than the other. 

"I thought I told you that the next time you step foot in my forge, I'd stoke my fires with your bones." Your voice is loud as it reverberates across the walls. Both figures turn to look at you, but your glare doesn't falter. 

"Aw, are you still mad about that?" His smile is deceptively innocent. "You never would've gotten her off that throne otherwise." 

"It wasn't supposed to be her throne in the first place, was it?" You spit back as you make your way to him. It doesn't escape your notice that everyone but the cyclopes is staring at you, and you're glad the heat from the mountain keeps you flushed. You can't show weakness in front of this crowd, you can't let them know that you know they think you're below them. 

You can't let them know that in your worst moments, you agree. 

"Get the fuck out of my mountain, Dionysus, before I throw you out."

"Ooh, take after your old man a little too much there, don't you?" Jimin's smile never leaves his face and you resist the urge to smack it with your cane. Instead, you tighten your grip on it and take a breath. 

"What are you doing here?" You eventually ask through gritted teeth. 

"Just escorting a dear, dear friend." His grin has turned predatory as he rests a hand on his companion's shoulder. "My dear Hephaestus, I'd like to introduce you to Aphrodite." You glance over, looking the man up and down briefly. 

He's taller than you - though, with your pained hunch, many are. His shoulders are almost as wide as his eyes as he looks around the room, taking in the granite walls and bronze moldings. His clothes aren't practical in the least; soft and sweet and flowing linens in a pale lilac that complements the purple of his hair. It's a stark contrast to the harsh reds and greys of your soot-stained leathers. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are the same color as the grease you use to oil your inventions and give you no clue to his thoughts.

He's fucking beautiful and it brings a sob to your throat.

"It's...a pleasure." He looks you up and down, not unlike you did him, but whatever conclusions he makes, he says nothing. 

"Your quarters are on the fifth floor," You reply in lieu of an actual greeting. "Delius will show you the way. Be careful, or you're likely to lose your head. Keep a cyclops with you while you learn your way around, they can get anywhere." The god looks surprised, though you aren't sure why, and you turn. "They'll see to your meals and needs, as well, so if you find yourself wanting, just let one know. I'll have a key made soon, so you can come and go as you wish." 

Aphrodite starts to say something as you walk away, leg dragging slightly behind you as you go. Jimin seems to cut him off, though, already asking for wine. 

"And get that bastard out of my forge!" You yell over your shoulder. "If he's still here when I get to the lift, I'm throwing him to the pit." 

There's scrambling behind you as the doors close. You feel a twinge of regret; the love god has done nothing to you, you could have given him even the slightest chance. The memory of his eyes as he looked at you flashes in front of you and you lean against the wall for support. No love god would want to associate with someone like you. He is beauty and elegance, a practiced dance in a moonlit gazebo, and you…

You are a mistake, cast from your home and crippled for all to see exactly what happens when you get in Zeus' way. 

You take a breath and let the heat from the stone wall soothe the pain in your hip as much as it will before you set off for your workshop.

Seokjin isn't quite sure what to do with himself that night. His friends - suitors - have all gone, unable to bear the heat of the mountain for more than a brief goodbye, and Jimin was quick to go when the cyclopes started for him. What the story there is, he doesn't know. He doesn't know anything, as a matter of fact. 

He doesn't know why Hera pushed so hard to have him wed to Hephaestus. He doesn't know why the girl was so cold at their first meeting. He doesn't know why she seemed so normal. Most people he met fell to their knees within moments, desperate to please him and showering him with vain compliments that used to sound like music in his ears. Most were insistent in their offers to him, throwing out their bodies and souls and anything else they thought he might want, just for a single glance from him. He used to laugh as he blew them kisses, delighted by their mindless adoration. 

Used to. 

He doesn't delight in such things anymore. Centuries have passed, and still, not a single one of the people and creatures that fought to stand in his presence cared about him. All of them saw Aphrodite, god of love and fertility, beauty and passion. They vied for just one night with him, fighting wars to win his hand, throwing whole festivals across Greece for his blessing. It was and would always be an honor. He is beautiful and is thankful for it, but…

Just once, he would like to be beautiful as Seokjin instead of Aphrodite. Would like the people attempting to woo him to hear the words he speaks instead of merely listening to the musicality of his voice. Would like to be believed, trusted, valued for something other than his face. Seokjin has a mind, a creative, capable mind that has - more than once - developed solutions to issues plaguing the mortals, only for him to be brushed to the side while the smart ones figured things out. 

He hates it, just like he hates that Hera sprung this on him without so much as a warning. One day he'd been lounging in her garden, the one place he could find some reprieve from the hordes of suitors, and talking to Artemis about her life as a maiden, and the next, Zeus thrust a marriage certificate into his hands and told him to be packed by the end of the week. 

And now his wife doesn't even care to look at him. You're not entranced like everyone else. The stories have grossly exaggerated your looks; he was prepared to look upon a monster, not a woman, pained and covered in soot with a limp. Still, there had been no emotion in your gaze, not even an ounce of the hatred or disgust he may have dreaded in his journey to this volcano. 

Nor do you care to dine with him, clearly. He's been sat at a scorched rocky table longer than three of him, by himself, for nearly two hours. Olympus has spoiled him, clearly, or perhaps it's that your own manners are lacking. In the skies, everyone dines together, lounging on cushions and waiting until Zeus and Hera arrive before digging into the food presented to them. It's respectful, a way to honor the hosts of the home. Even there, however, he would not be kept waiting for more than ten minutes.

"You, there," He eventually calls to a cyclops in the corner, polishing goblets that likely haven't been touched in centuries. It turns to fix its eye on him, and Seokjin represses the instinctive shudder. "When does Hephaestus intend on dining tonight?"

"Apologies, my lord, but the lady has her dinner served in her workshop." Seokjin frowns at that and the cyclops continues. "She stays there most hours of the day, takes her meals there to ensure she makes the most of each day to create her inventions and improve upon her current ones."

Seokjin huffs and debates with himself for a moment. It would be rude to eat without his hostess present, but if you had your meals delivered elsewhere there was little chance you'd bother to come to the dining hall. He couldn't possibly go to your workshop to dine with you either; the cyclops could show him the way, yes, but he would no doubt be intruding on things he had no business being near, even as your husband. 

He spews out a slew of curses that make the cyclops in the corner blush and digs into a roll. He would simply have to eat alone tonight, and perhaps if he catches you tomorrow, he can request your presence at meals. 

You don't see Aphrodite again until the next evening. 

You've almost forgotten anyone else lives in the mountain you call home, still used to being on your own besides the cyclopes. Roniah had informed you that morning that the god inquired as to your whereabouts the previous night during his supper, and the slightest bit of guilt shoots through you. You should have joined him if only for a moment to be polite, but you'd gotten entranced in your latest designs. Your own food had been taken away in the wee hours of the morning, stale and unwanted. It was commonplace, but you need to at least be polite to your husband. 

You sink deeper into the steaming water around you, rubbing away the last bits of soot and grease as you ponder. The hot water is heaven on your aches, the warmth seeping through and relaxing them into painlessness. You don't allow yourself the luxury of bathing often, usually just wiping yourself clean every so often when the remnants of your work become too thick on your skin or the ache in your bones is too much to ignore. It's a nice reprieve, though, one you bask in each time. The water is close to boiling, comfortable and warm for a goddess such as yourself, and the steam makes it difficult to see much of anything. 

You've long since come to terms with your life; you aren't beautiful, you won't ever walk without pain again, you won't be the daughter your parents wanted. But it's moments like these that you let yourself pretend, if only for a moment. Pretend you weren't thrown from your home. Pretend your leg isn't covered in scars from where the rocks of Olympus sliced it open. Pretend you're the same woman you were all those years ago, clutching at your mother's skirts as Zeus thundered towards her. 

Your head starts to spin and you stand, clumsily making your way out of the pool and to the stone bench where your linen towel waits. You slip your robes over your shoulders and sigh at the softness of them. The black linen you keep here was woven by Ariadne herself, enchanted by Athena and dipped in the fires of your forge to withstand the heat. It allows for a slight breeze as you move into your bedroom, not bothering to tie the material closed completely so it hangs limp on your shoulders, torso exposed. Your skin is overheated from the water and you enjoy the way the air cools you just slightly as you sit on your bed.

You don't think anything of it until a throat clears behind you and you whip your head around to see Aphrodite standing just inside your door. 

"Apologies, my lady. Horedon did not mention you were indisposed when I asked him to show me to your quarters." His voice is pleasant, soft and gentle. It matches his image and makes you acutely aware of how loud you always are, always must be in order to be heard over the forges.

"It's an honest mistake," You say eventually, tugging your robes tighter around you. "What do you need? As I said, the cyclopes are more than capable-"

"I wanted to extend my gratitude, actually." You can't even be mad he cut you off, too surprised by his words. "You and your workers have been very kind in the day that I've been here, and I appreciate that. I know that this isn't exactly something we had planned."

You nod in understanding. Pain flares in your leg once more and you massage the muscle out of habit. "Are your quarters to your liking? I did my best to position you high enough that the heat from the magma wouldn't be too overbearing, but not high enough that the forge smoke would choke you. Ah, and your bed also has a screen function built in to help to filter the air, so it may be more like what you're used to."

"Thank you, it's lovely. Delius showed me yesterday, it felt very much like Hera's garden." If he notices your flinch at the words, he doesn't say anything. "Listen, Hephaestus, I know neither of us may have wanted this, but I think we should make the most of this. We can at least be civil. If you would, your company at dinner would be most welcome." You stare at him, a laugh bubbling up in your throat that you can't stop. He looks baffled upon hearing it and it takes you a full minute to calm down enough to speak. 

"Thank you for inviting me to dine at my own table, Aphrodite," you say with an amused smile. "I shall do my best to attend, should I find myself near the hall." His ears turn a lovely shade of pink as he inclines his head in a small bow and leaves. You laugh again once he's gone. The entire situation is too hysterical for you. 

You, a plain and hobbled smith, are married to a love god who is beauty personified, who has already taken it upon himself to invite you to dine at your dinner table with him. You really should have expected him to pull something like this; already comfortable enough to show up unannounced in your private chambers and issue invitations and probably demands of your workers. You're not sure why Hera has banished him here; he's so much like her, he should be a favorite, and yet she must hate him if she's sentenced him to live here for the rest of existence. 

With a sigh you settle back into your bed, pillows supporting the weight of your bad leg and sheets thrown haphazardly around you. 

You don't expect to sleep, so when you wake, you're disoriented. You're not sure how long you were out, but it seems to have been a while based on the hunger that gnaws at your stomach. You click your heels and wheel your way to the kitchens, rubbing at your eyes to clear the sleep from them. 

You're focused when you enter the kitchen and give a curt wave to the mass of cyclopes situated around the island. It isn't until you're done making your gyro that you turn, deliciousness only a bite away and lock eyes with Aphrodite.

He looks radiant, as always; the pale yellow cloth drapes along his form in a most appealing way, and there's an amused smirk playing over his lips. His hair is still that soft purple, but it's faded some. 

"It's nice to see you again, wife," He says with an incline of his head. "It's been a while since anyone's seen you roaming through the halls." You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you lean back against the counter, wheels dig into the stone underneath your feet. 

"Yes, well, I was resting. Nothing strange about that, is there?" His lips quirk in a knowing smile and he shares a glance with the cyclops to his right. You notice for the first time how soft his mouth looks, pillowy and full, and you absently wonder how many have felt those lips against their skin. 

"Eat up, my lady," Aphrodite says eventually. "After a week-long nap, I expect you need it. Zeus dropped by a few days ago to deliver his wedding gift, it's waiting in your workshop. I've already commissioned a new necklace for Hera as thanks."

You frown, stuffing the gyro in your mouth. It was one thing to learn that you've been asleep for a week - not uncommon, for a god, but useful knowledge - but to know that Zeus stopped by without waking you, and that Aphrodite has been running things in your stead… You glance quickly around, noting the way each cyclops in the room is turned toward the love god as if they had all been deep in conversation before you arrived, and the sprawling mass of gems and stones atop the island in front of them. 

"You're commissioning the cyclopes for jewelry now?" You eventually ask. He nods. 

"They truly have an eye for detail," He says, a cheeky grin growing on his face. The cyclopes look amused, a couple even laughing outright, and you stifle a sigh at the terrible joke. "And I had no idea that these gems are so common here. The quality is astounding, honestly, I only ever see it in the gems on Olympus."

"That's because the stones on Olympus are from here," you tell him. Your eyes rake over him and he seems...happier than last you saw him. The soft light from the magma tunnels highlights his features beautifully, only enhancing the natural beauty, and there are gems decorating his hands and wound tight around his throat in a choker. More than that, though, he looks peaceful, relaxed. His muscles are relaxed as he sits among the one-eyed giants, a smile never far from his face, and they make conversation with him easily, despite their usual hesitance to be around any of the other gods. It warms you to see them so at ease around someone other than yourself.

"Well, if it's for Hera, it must be the best. Get me the designs, Aphrodite, and if there's anything else-"

"Seokjin."

"Hm?" You turn, already halfway to the door. 

"Seokjin is my chosen name. Please, you don't need to keep using my title." 

"Oh." Your eyes must be as wide as saucers as you stare at him, but the soft grin on his face doesn't falter in the least. "Alright then, Seokjin."

"We'll get you the designs when we're done, then, Hephaestus." You nod a little at his words and roll yourself away from the kitchens. It isn't until you get to your workshop that you realize you never gave him your own name.

Seokjin is...confused, to say the least. 

The stories on Olympus about your mountain forge are varied and extravagant, but they all seem to agree on the basics. The mountain is a terrible place to live, always filled with soot and impossible to navigate and as hideous as its master. The cyclopes are unfriendly and outright rude to everyone, if not openly hostile, likely because they are forced into servitude. The forge goddess that rules over the volcano is as violent and temperamental as the mountain itself, liable to explode at any moment after being cast out of Olympus for her own hubris. You're said to be cold and unfeeling and cruel, whipping any cyclops that doesn't do what you say when you say and beating the others into submission as you forge more and more powerful weapons for Zeus, your punishment for daring to stand against him.

Seokjin was finding more and more that none of those things were true. 

Yes, there is soot everywhere, but a simple wash and blessing upon his clothes keep them clean and beautiful. The mountain itself is a bit harsher than what he usually would consider beautiful, but the crystal mines glow with the magma behind them, lighting the walls with a myriad of colors, and the soft light in the palace does wonders for his looks, not to mention the way the ash and charcoal have helped his complexion. The halls are winding and strange, but following the system of bells and strings that he's seen messages shooting along means that even when lost, he can easily find a cyclops to help him to where he's going. Said cyclopes were unfriendly that first day, but now? They were nice beings, each one enthusiastic about the things they create and excited to be there, especially now that there's another person to talk to. They warmed to Seokjin fairly quickly after he asked what they were making; some kind of automaton, apparently, and when he asked what it was supposed to do, how it works, each eye lit up with glee as they began to explain it to him.

And you.

You are not violent at all. Every time you look at one of your workers, it is with friendship and happiness, and while you are easily distracted and yes, a bit temperamental, you are ultimately kind. He wants for nothing, everything he could ask for is given almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he is free to come and go as he wishes, which is more than can be said for some of the other gods he's met. You have been unfailingly kind in the wake of your marriage to him. Everything he's witnessed, from the way you rushed to stamp out a flare at the bottom of his robes one day to the way you held a cyclops in your arms as he sobbed for a brother who had been lost to the sea, nothing has shown him that you are anything like what the Olympians say. You are frequently absent, locked away in your workshop for days at a time and leaving him to his own devices, but even that is a breath of fresh air. For so long, he's been surrounded by people - gods, nymphs, mortals, anyone and everyone all vying for his attention because he's beautiful and elegant, stealing precious moments of solitude where he can, and now he has as much as he desires. It makes him want to cry, he's so thankful for it. 

He's only left a few times, determined to visit Hera and see the few friends he keeps - Dionysus is always glad to see him, odd enough, and loves to hear his tales of life under the mountain. Each time he leaves, however, he's swarmed. Not always immediately, but it's as if the world can sense his return, and they come in droves, all to catch a glimpse of his beauty. It's exhausting and overwhelming now that he's had so much time on his own, which is the exact reason he doesn't leave very often. The worst of them is an especially willful war god, who Seokjin swears has been camping outside the volcano to know the second he leaves to visit a friend because the man is on him in a heartbeat and refuses to leave him alone. 

It's irritating and the way the man looks at him leaves him uncomfortable for days after he returns. He has half a mind to ask a cyclops to start accompanying him out, but even Seokjin knows better than to bring one of them to Olympus; Zeus would strike the gentle being down in a heartbeat just for daring to step where the gods live. 

He ponders what else he can do as he wanders the halls of the mountain, a habit at this point. He's been here weeks, each day better than the last, and still hasn't explored the entire place. He's on the lowest level now, heat scorching the hair on his arms and sandals blackened with ash. There's been quite a clamor down here somewhere for the past few days, and he's curious to see what project is being hammered out. 

He doesn't expect to turn a corner, walk past an open door, and see you, wheeling frantically around a large room, papers tucked in all sorts of pockets on your overalls, hair wild, face covered in soot. He watches, fascinated as you screech to a halt beside a large worktable, rifling through paper after paper before finally finding whatever it is you're looking for, only to push yourself to the other side of the room to pull a steaming piece of celestial bronze out of a pail. You look harried and distracted, not even having noticed him yet, and it…

It's honestly beautiful. 

He's always loved seeing beauty like this; the sheer, unfiltered rawness of creativity and passion. The way you and others lost themselves in their work, blind to everything but the vision in their heads, forgoing sleep and food and everything else in favor of making something out of nothing. It's beauty in its most naked form; the naked truth of being real, in the fleeting moments of existence, and Seokjin lives for it. It's his personal favorite of all the beauty in the world, and you encapsulate it better than anyone he's ever met. 

It's also beyond fascinating to watch you roll around on the wheels attached to your sandals. He can't help but wonder what it's like, to not have to take step after step and instead just roll through the slightly slanted halls of the mountain. 

"Did you make those?" He regrets the words almost immediately, reaching in futility to catch you as you turn and trip over a pail set just too far in your path for you to dodge. "I'm so sorry, I should have announced myself. I don't mean to keep startling you." 

"It's fine," you groan, though the hand on your hip is white-knuckled and your teeth are gritted. "I should have been paying more attention." He strides over and helps you to your feet, not missing the way you lean on him for support until you can sit on the now-overturned pail. "What did you need?"

"Oh, nothing, I was just exploring. Those, on your feet, though. You made them?" He smiles at your nod, however hesitant it is, and settles on the ground beside you to get a better look. "They're amazing. This compartment here, are they retractable?" You click your heels together in response, and Seokjin watches with wide eyes as the discs fold themselves up and slide into the soles of your sandals. "Amazing. Can you make me a pair?"

"You...you aren't going to tell Zeus, are you?" Your voice is the most unsure he's heard it, and he frowns.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, I just...he wouldn't really be happy if he knew I made these. Since I'm supposed to be suffering and everything, and they make it...not as terrible."

Seokjin scoffs. "No, I won't tell Zeus. You really do have to make me a pair, though, these are amazing. What else have you made?" Your eyes are wide when he looks back up at you, but you quickly pull papers out of your pockets to hand them over. 

"Well, this is my current schematic. I've just got to figure out how to get it to work."

"Is this...is this a person?"

"Kind of. The muses asked for some kind of...enhancement that would let them be heard in more places at once. So I've created this," You point to the left-most figure, which could only be Calliope. "Which is going to essentially absorb whatever the muse is doing, and then these," You run your finger along the other eight figures, each distinct but still matching overall, "Will distribute that to wherever they are. I've got a good basis for the visual representation, I think, and the audio system should be fine, but the issue I've been having is that I can't seem to get it to all...click."

"So you've got the transmitting figured out?"

"Yeah, that part was easy. And I built the miniatures, and they've been working fine, but I can't get the full sized ones to work correctly. I've smelted them down at least five times just to rebuild them." Seokjin stares at the papers in his hands, trying to make sense of the little scratches of handwriting that dart on and off the papers. He shakes his head, and pulls back, squinting.

"This may be a stupid question," He starts, looking at the front and side views you've drawn out, "But did you account for the weight?" You're silent for a long while, and when he looks up, you're gaping at him. "Sorry, of course you did, that was dumb."

"The fucking weight," You mutter. You're off in a flash, pulling the papers out of his hands to throw them down on a workbench and start scrawling again. "Because it wouldn't affect the smaller models since they use less material, but the full-size automatons would have the pressure which would affect the-" You start whispering to yourself, too rushed and quiet for him to make sense of, but he softens as he watches you go. He pulls the pail out of the way and sets it back against the wall before settling in on top of it.

He stays there for what feels like hours, watching as you pour adamantine into the molds and weld parts together and breathe that spark of life into the core of Calliope's automaton counterpart. He doesn't dare to breathe as you watch, hope clear in your eyes. Then the whirring starts and the automaton assumes a very Calliope-like pose, and you actually start to laugh and jump up and down. He can't keep the smile from his face, but he's satisfied now that he knows you're happy, so he moves to leave.

He's stopped by your voice, softer than he expected it over the hissing of the dying forge. He turns and you repeat your name. It sounds awkward on your lips, like you haven't said it in so long that your voice has forgotten what it sounds like, but you're smiling at him and you have soot on your face and he has to resist the urge to wipe it off. He echoes you quietly, and he thinks he's never heard a name more beautiful and fitting for someone like you.

Later, as he sinks into the steaming water of his rooms to wash the soot from his skin, he surprises himself. For the first time in his life, he wishes he wasn't a love god not for the unwanted attention, but because now he knows. He knows this feeling blossoming in his chest, and he knows how it mirrors that spark in your own heart. He can sense it, can feel it in the air as if it had actual weight to it, and he just...knows. He knows that you don't know what this is, that you probably will never realize what he feels, that you'll brush off your own feelings as some reluctant fondness while he can feel every step you take further into the magic of love.

And he won't be able to do anything to keep himself from falling in love with you and you won't ever be able to see that.

You've been locked in your workshop for days, putting the finishing touches on the Muses' automatons and adding the decorative bits you know they'll love. You haven't slept in twice as long, food even further from your mind, as it usually is when you get into one of your projects. It's a shock when Seokjin returns to your workshop balancing several trays of food and drink. You hold a strange fondness for him, unable to resist after he'd pointed out something so obvious in your designs. Anyone that could help you with your designs was worth at least knowing a little, you figure, but you never expected him to keep coming back.

And yet here is, directing three cyclopes to set cushions and blankets and all manner of soft, plush bedding on the ground just inside the door of your workshop. You gawk, wondering just how much nerve he has to be doing this and also what possible reason he thinks is good enough to disrupt you. 

"You need to eat," He says when he notices you staring at him. "Besides, you're basically finished with them, and you need sustenance and rest if I'm going to get my awesome wheel shoes." You refrain from mentioning that you've already got them made; you don't want to encourage him too much. Pelion gives you a look as he exits the room and you huff. Just because they spend centuries here, they think they can tell you when to take breaks and eat. Typical cyclops. 

You grumble as you wheel yourself to the mass of cushions Seokjin has created, but you quiet at the way it does ease the soreness in your leg. As good as you've become at drowning out the pain, the steady onslaught to your nerves has been fraying your attention more than you'll admit. 

Seokjin sits after you have and presents the food with a flourish. It all looks delicious, much better than the hasty gyros and wraps you put together, and your mouth waters. He very kindly does not mention how disgusting you must look as you begin to dig in, instead talking about a recent trip he'd taken to see Dionysus.

His tone eventually catches your attention more than his words. "Wait," You stop him, slurping down some ambrosia. "Back up. Someone's stalking you?"

"I...don't think I'd call it stalking, exactly. I don't think he's going to do anything, either, it's all just talk, but...well. It's still frustrating when I'm just trying to visit friends." 

"No, if it's bothering you, then it's an issue, then it needs to end. Tell me everything." And Seokjin does. From how the war god waits for him, either outside the mountain or outside Olympus, spends every moment Seokjin is gone following him around and saying some truly crude things. All of it makes your blood boil - Seokjin is kind, to the point that even the cyclopes love him, which is rare, and he gets harassed enough apparently without some god running around hitting on him constantly. 

The rumors, though. The rumors are what get you seeing red. It's no secret on Olympus that this was an arranged marriage; they aren't uncommon among gods, and they aren't usually a scandal, but yours apparently is. Seokjin hesitates when he tells you about them, and you nearly break your fork in your effort to keep your rage from him. All sorts of stories, from you abusing him, forcing things he isn't comfortable with, keeping him chained up, feeding him pieces of your cyclopes, that you had bought him from Zeus with promises of gifts from the forge. Each is as terrible as the last, and all of them have your stomach rolling, and Seokjin reluctantly explains that he believes the war god to be the source of most of them. 

"Well," You say, violently spearing a grape. "That must be stopped, immediately. I refuse to allow people to think of you like that, it's utterly disrespectful." You wobble to your feet and roll over to the wall of ideas you hadn't managed to get around to yet. "What do you think? Maiming? Or is that too quick? I've got a truly brilliant idea for a bull, it could eat him if I use the right materials. It'd take at least a hundred years for him to get out of that."

"Well," Seokjin eventually says. You turn to look at him, excitement bright in your eyes. The wheels in his brain are turning and he's got a fondness on his face as he lounges on pillows and cushions; it melts your heart. He looks every bit the love god he is, and something in you wants to sob at the thought. "I would say, personally, if he's going to embarrass us in such a public way, then it should only really be fair to embarrass him in such a way." He tosses the knife in his hand and it embeds itself in one of the papers on your wall. You ignore the throb of arousal that runs through you, looking instead at the design he's chosen. 

"Oh," You whisper. Ideas are already running rampant in your mind. "Yes, I think this could be a very good plan." 

Seokjin is in stitches when he next sees you, clutching at his sides as his laughter echoes through your workshop. The sight of his harasser in your net as he spouted off a variety of kinks that made even Zeus blush, in the middle of the golden city with all of the gods around him isn't one Seokjin is likely to forget. 

"I still don't understand how you did it," He says, calming slightly as he wipes tears from his eyes. "How did you weave such a net, and how did you enchant it to make him say such things?"

"It wasn't much," You say. Your smile is beautiful, a treasure rarer than all the gems that he wears and more valuable than anything he's come across. He wants to wear it, wants you to keep smiling like that, with such pride in your work and happiness radiating from you. "...and then Arachne wove it all together." He nods as if he'd heard the rest of what you said. Part of him feels guilty for not listening; it really is fascinating, how you craft such wonderful things out of such pedestrian supplies.

"You're amazing," He says. He doesn't mean to, but it's true. Even now, as you lean against your workbench, fingers digging into the skin of your hip without even realizing you're doing it, smile slowly fading into something else - something more - you are radiant. Soot across your face and wheels on your shoes and the kindest heart he's ever seen in a goddess, and he wants you like no one else. There has always been beauty in creation, always been love in inspiration, and you are the ultimate mix of the two, painted over with enough cunning and determination to keep at your work no matter what. 

He steps closer to you, slowly, and brings a hand up to wipe at the soot on your cheek. It smears under his thumb and your breath hitches in the most attractive way.

It's unbearably attractive, honestly, and it makes an ache swell within him that goes deeper than the physical. He wants to keep you smiling like that, wants to watch you work and bring you gyros and cart you to a hot bath on a bad day. He can see it, all of it, splayed in front of him as clear as if he were an Oracle. He'd waltz into your workshop and pepper you with kisses before pulling you out after him. Your wheels would squeak along the stone floor but you wouldn't complain even as he settles you in hot water and makes you forget your pain as he asks about your newest designs and creations. He can see it, and it's beautiful, and he wants it so bad that it hurts. 

Almost as much as it hurts when your face falls, expression closing off into the same passive coolness that greeted him when he first arrived. You slide your way around him and turn to face another worktable. It hurts, the way you won't look at him, and moves something deep and primal inside him. It urges him to go on, to trap you against that table and make you open up to him, make sure you know that you can trust him to satisfy you.

He stamps it down with a long breath. 

"Well," He says, pointedly ignoring your shaky breathing. "Thank you, again, for helping me. I suppose I'll see you around."

"You don't need to thank me, Seokjin," You say. Your voice is tight and your hands twitch and he wants to kiss you until the pain is gone forever. He doesn't. "You're my husband, I was only doing what was right."

"Still," He says, "It means more to me than you know."

You don't respond, and he leaves before you can. He doesn't want you to, doesn't want to hear the reluctant rejection spill from your lips when he knows. He's a love god, he knows when someone is in love, can feel in the air and taste it on his tongue. He knows that scent better than his own face and your workroom was suffocating with it. 

He has no doubt that some was his own; he knows this fluttering in his chest, the rolling of his stomach, the spark of lightning dancing along his skin. He knows. 

But he can smell the hesitation, too. Can see the way you fight the feeling, in every aborted reach for his hand and each averted gaze when he looks at you. You love him, he's so sure of it, but you don't want to be.

And he cannot force you to change your mind about that. He won't. He just isn't sure how long he can last without telling you that he loves you, too.

Curses spill from your lips as you glide cautiously through the hallways. You've grown too complacent, comfortable around your husband. You very nearly slipped the other day, were a hair's breadth from throwing caution to the wind and kissing him; it was a miracle you caught yourself. He'd just looked so happy. The smile, that laugh, everything about him was just glowing in the light of your workshop, and then he'd complimented you. 

It's been decades since someone complimented your work like that, and none of them had done so with that look in their eyes. The gentle warmth, the fondness, the glow.

The love.

That was what startled you out of your thoughts, the sheer love that radiated from him. That was what made you push him away. It's what has kept you from seeing him for nearly a week, turning on your heel and going the other direction when you spot him. You can't handle love.

Not just because you've never known such an emotion, not just because you've never had anyone look at you that way, but because...he's a love god. A man like Seokjin surely falls in love every day with each passing stranger that catches his eye, and you...don't. You've never felt this before, you've never had someone love you, you don't know how it works, and worse, you can't figure it out. 

You can't take love apart and look at each gear and cog and spring until you can piece it back together into a whole again. You can't observe and tinker and improve on something like love. Clouds and lightning? Simple mediums. Celestial bronze? Malleable as clay under your hands. But love? No, that was something utterly foreign to you. 

You drop to your bed and pull your leg up beside you to inspect the wheel. It's cracked, badly, and it's a shock that it survived long enough to get you to your room. You lean closer and flinch at the stabbing pain that rolls through you. It's a stark reminder of yet another reason you don't belong with Seokjin. A god like him has almost definitely lain with the most beautiful in all creation; he surrounds himself with only the finest gems, the softest cloth, the richest wine. He only accepts the best. 

You are far from being the best. Mutilated and scarred, left to limp around your mountain in solitude. You're past acceptance of your pain and the scars that mark your skin, you don't really care much that they exist anymore most days. Life could be easier without them, but would you have become the person you are today without them? You wouldn't have been so determined to find an easier way around, you wouldn't have worked for days on the wheeled sandals, you wouldn't have discovered your passion for creating. 

You wouldn't be in pain, though. And maybe, just...maybe, Seokjin would find you beautiful. As beautiful as the twinkling stones around his throat and the flowing silks across his chest. Beautiful enough to stay beneath this mountain in the smoke and heat, to press his pillow-soft lips against yours, to love without abandon. Now, though, with your scars and pain and awkward gait, you find yourself doubting what you saw. It could have been love, yes, but how likely is that? A love god forced to live in a suffocating cave, wed to the laughingstock of the pantheon. It's more likely that he's attached himself to the nearest person that shows him any affection, despite how desperately you want him to really feel something for you.

Three succinct knocks on the door of your room jar you away from the thought.

"Come in," You call. You wish you were more surprised to see Seokjin, purple hair prettily faded and matching the soft lavender cloth that drapes from his shoulders. 

"Can I have a few minutes of your time, Hephaestus?" He hasn't used your title since you told him your name, and it hurts to hear it now. Cements the fact that you are too different.

You nod, and the pain in your hip keeps you from moving away when he comes to kneel before you. 

"I love you," He says matter-of-factly. "I've let you avoid me this past week because it's not my place to force these feelings on you, but the stench of heartbreak is too much now. It just lingers in the halls and it's starting to seep into my clothes and if it keeps up, I might have to double my skincare routine because it soaks into my pores. So I love you. A lot more than I ever expected to, and probably more than I've ever loved anything in my life."

You gape at him. "What...why…what?"

"You are creative and cunning and petty and inventive and intelligent and determined and it's so beautiful," He says. There's not an ounce of hesitation in his face, and it steals the words from your throat. "I love you, and I need you to know that so you stop stinking up the forge with your angst and heartbreak. I understand if you don't want to be with me-"

"What heartbreak, what-"

"Well, I don't actually," Jin continues, ignoring your protests. "I'm really quite the catch and to deny yourself of me when you love me this much would be an entirely new and advanced form of masochism, but nevertheless, I will accept your rejection, however inane and ill-advised it may be, because it is, ultimately, your choice. You can tell me to go, and I will, and you won't ever know I'm here again. But, if you accept this, then…"

He trails off and his eyes soften impossibly as he wraps his hands around yours. You've never believed people could communicate so much with just a single look, but you're proven wrong by the sheer emotion in his gaze. Your name falls from his lips, and it's never sounded so nice to your ears.

"If you accept, then I swear to you, I will spend every hour of every day ensuring you feel loved. I will bring you food when you forget to eat, I will tidy your workshop when you can't find anything, I will carry you wherever you need to go when the pain is too much to bear." One hand moves to rest along your hip, warmth distracting you from the stab of pain that ghosts through it. "I will be everything and anything that you need, always and forever, and I won't let another moment pass with you thinking otherwise."

He looks at you with expectation in his eyes, and you...can't speak. There are no words for what you're feeling; the sureness of his love warring with the anxiety of not being worth it. You open your mouth several times to respond and find that you can't; of all the words flying around in your mind, none of them make it out. He waits, for longer than you would have, before he sighs and nods. 

"That's fine. Love is complicated even at the best of times." He stands, and the loss of his hands on you feels like part of you is being ripped away. "If you ever change your mind, let me know." 

His smile is sad as he leaves, and the clink of the door behind him is the last nail in the coffin. Something wet and warm hits your hand, and you realize you're crying. When did you start crying? You struggle to your feet, rolling wildly across the room before you gain your balance. 

The door swings open as you shove past it, the last bit of his purple robes turning the corner, and you shove off the wall to gain speed. You can't let him go. The knowledge surges through you with surety you've never felt, and it feels like there's a timer above your head, counting down to the moment you lose him forever. His name echoes through the halls, even though you don't remember calling it, and you speed around a corner to him. 

He's half turned to face you already, about to head down another hall since this one dead ends, and it's as you go to brake that you remember the cracked wheel. There is no braking, you're lucky you've made it so far, but you're at top speed right now and there's no time.

"Don't-" is all you can get out before you're crashing into him, wincing as he falls down to the hard ground and the wheel splits in half beneath you. The pain comes an instant later, too much weight too suddenly, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you didn't fight them down. 

"Wow," Jin says after a second. "You really did fall for me, didn't you?" His laughter drowns out your groan, but it's worth it for the way he's smiling at you. 

"I…" You hesitate, unsure of the words. He waits, patient and relaxed even as he adjusts you to sit on his lap instead of the rock. "I do. I want this."

"I know," He says with a grin. "It's nice to hear you say it, though." He doesn't flinch at the smack you give his shoulder, just presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"I swear to all the gods, Seokjin, if you don't stop, I'm going to put this discus through your skull."

"Ooh, please do. I hear that's how Athena was born."

"Seriously?"

"You're right, we don't need anyone else like that running around." 

You let your tools fall to the table in front of you and spin around to face your husband. He's exactly where he has been for hours, lounging among pillows and silks on the bed he's had installed in your workshop. A bowl of grapes sits nearby and he's been working his way through them for what feels like forever. If you weren't so irritated, you'd be struck dumb by the image he paints, half-naked and glowing as he pops a fruit between his lips. 

As it stands, you're just frustrated and horny now, which is never really a good thing, but especially not on bad days. The ache has made it hard to think, and you've been shuffling around all day trying to find a position that made it hurt just a little less but had no such luck. You've made no progress on the designs in front of you, either; between Seokjin's commentary and the fog of pain in your mind, you had no concentration. 

"I'm trying to work, Seokjin. We had an agreement, remember? You could have the bed installed, you can hang out here, I don't mind, but you have to let me work." 

"You've been trying for hours," Seokjin whines. "Take a break with me, please? You need to rest your hip anyway, or you won't be able to focus." You hate that he's right, and you hate that he knows he's right, and you really hate that he knows you know he's right. You grumble as you wheel over to him and as you slide your shoes off. It's his one rule about the bed, no shoes, and while you can't blame him since they were covered in ash and soot and rock, you still like to complain about it. 

His hands are on you in an instant, gliding under your shirt and massaging your hip. You sink into the touch, sighing as the pain lessens slightly.

"Let me help? We've still got some of the lotion that Apollo sent as a wedding favor. I brought it down, just in case." Lips press soft kisses to your shoulder, and you know it's only a matter of time before you give in. You should probably be a little ashamed of how little it takes for your husband to distract you, but you can't bother to care now. 

You nod, and you feel him smile against your skin. He's gone and back in a heartbeat and he lays you back against the pillows carefully. You wince when your hip rests flat, instantly adjusting to bear your weight elsewhere. 

"Is it bad today?" He mutters as he slides your usual leathers off. Any shyness and embarrassment you once had are long gone, softened by the passage of time and the sheer amount of times he's seen you naked. 

"No," You respond quietly. He shoots you a disbelieving look. "It's more annoying than usual, I suppose, but it's not any worse than usual."

"You shouldn't have irritated it by working," Seokjin says as he runs some of Apollo's lotion between his hands to warm it. "You could have stayed right here and gotten more done."

"I can't forge a throne from the bed, Seokjin."

"No, but you can draw designs for it. And for the jewelry I promised Dionysus."

"I still don't know how you talked me into making something for him that isn't a chastity belt or a guillotine." The heat in your words is dulled with every slide of your husband's hands over your hip. The lotion starts working almost immediately, sinking into your skin and dissipating any discomfort it reaches. Seokjin is smiling as he works and pats your thigh lightly. You twist more, laying on your side so he can reach the back of your thigh. 

"You can't be mad at him forever, can you?" He asks. You open your mouth to disagree - as a goddess, you quite literally can - but only a squawk comes out when he slaps your ass and watches it jiggle. He laughs as you slap at his shoulder, no real strength behind it. 

"That's it, give me my clothes, I have work to do." 

"Mm, I don't think so. Apollo said you have to rest for a while after applying, remember?" He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. 

"What do you expect me to do, just lay here and do nothing? I can't turn my brain off, Seokjin, I'll go mad if I have to lay here without being able to work."

"I actually had other ideas." The smile never leaves his face, and as he leans over you, you can feel the length of him pressing into your thigh. "Still just laying there, but much more enjoyable."

"Scandalous," You whisper, fighting a smile. "What would my husband think?"

"That you look sexier than anything he's ever seen like this and that he wants nothing more than to make you forget about anything but him." 

“That doesn’t sound very restful,” You tease as he kisses along your neck and down to your collarbone. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you can feel his familiar smile against your skin; he always does love it when you get flustered.  “I’m pretty sure Apollo specified ‘no sex’ in his definition of resting. He was pretty clear about it, actually, which makes me wonder what you’ve told him.”

Seokjin nips at your collarbone lightly. “Didn’t I say I want you to forget about anything but me?”

“Didn’t you say you were going to make me?” You retort. It’s a familiar argument, as comfortable and warm as Seokjin’s hands massaging your hip and thigh. His silk-soft hands dip downwards even as he rises, lifting your leg up and hooking your ankle around his neck. The discomfort that hits is overshadowed by the relieving stretch, and heat pools in your belly when you feel his length press against you once more, significantly closer to where you’d like it. He straddles your free leg, pressing against your naked core. 

“Seokjin, please,” You mutter. His touch is feather-light now, fingertips ghosting over your skin and marveling at the goosebumps they raise. You wiggle underneath him as he begins to trace your scars. The first time you’d done this, you didn’t let him linger; you were too embarrassed, too ashamed, too aware of the marks that start just above your hip and travel nearly to your knee. He’d insisted on it the next time, but you’d kept the room dark so you wouldn’t have to see his face. Months had passed before you could bear to watch him look at you, and when you did, it shocked you. It still does. It never seems to matter how many times he sees you like this, bare and vulnerable, scars on full display underneath his large hands. He always wears the same expression, the same awe reflecting in his eyes each time, his touch always gentle and careful, like he doesn’t want to make it worse than it already is. There’s no disgust, there’s no carefully crafted neutrality, nothing that you convinced yourself to expect. Just pure, unfiltered love.

It’s there still, radiant as he slides his hands along your skin. The sensation is dulled along the scar tissue, and yet you feel it in your very core. Wetness seeps into the fabric Seokjin is still wearing, and you whimper a little. He shushes you softly, grinding lightly to give you just a taste of the friction you so desire.

“Oh, my beautiful little blacksmith,” He coos. “You are absolutely soaked, did you know that? I haven’t even started yet, and you’re already so ready for me.” You whine as he slides a finger along your folds. You try to buck into his touch, but his other hand holds your hips firmly in place, though he never stops his massage. “Ah-ah, none of that. You’ll make the pain worse.”

You huff slightly under your breath, but you know he’s right. It’s a lesson you’ve learned several times over. 

“Seokjin, don’t tease,” You plead. You let your lip pout, knowing he can’t resist the very rare sight. “You said you would distract me. Or should I go back to my designs?”

“If you think you can,” He responds amicably. You turn slightly, your back resting flush against the bed while he moves your leg to wrap around his waist. It’s still twisted to the side, but the position helps with the pain leftover from the ointment. You open your mouth to snark at your husband, but all that comes out is a loud moan as he sinks two fingers deep inside you. His length, pressed into the meat of your ass, twitches at the sound. 

“Fuck, Seokjin,” You breathe. The way his fingers fit inside you is like no other feeling, and you could spend centuries trying to recreate it with no luck. 

"That's it, love," Seokjin purrs. His eyes are blown wide with desire and focused entirely on where his fingers disappear into you. "You take my fingers so good, sweetheart, like you were made just for me." A whimper escapes and you roll your hips slightly so he hits deeper inside. He grins and quickens his pace, knowing all too well what your body wants at this point. His thumb comes up to rub circles into your clit, gentle but firm; your back arches and your vision goes white with the force of the orgasm that's torn from you, and when you open your eyes, Seokjin is glowing. Literally, because you found out after the first time he made you come that that's a thing that happens to him.

"Please, love. I want you inside." Seokjin chuckles a little at your words, and if you had the energy, you'd kick him, but your legs don't work very well on a good day, so it's unlikely.

"Always so impatient," He tuts, though he does slide his fingers out of you and into his mouth. He moans at the taste of you, and your pussy clenches around nothing, because it's absolute sin to hear, and you wonder idly if maybe those Christians were on to something when they started talking about things being so good it's unholy.

Seokjin grabs your attention with a soft nip to your calf, accustomed to the way your mind wanders. He smiles at you, soft and private and beautiful, and lifts your hips with one hand. He slides a pillow underneath you and stifles a laugh at the way you wiggle into comfort as he settles your legs on either side of his hips. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” You huff. Seokjin doesn't respond, but you can see him trying not to smile as he pumps his cock lazily with one hand. "It's not very polite to laugh at your wife. In fact, it's considered fairly rude."

"Oh, is it?" He teases as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. The contact is brief but has your heart jumping in your throat nevertheless. 

"Yes," You reply, "It is. You should be nicer to m- fuck, Seokjin." He grins against your lips at your reaction, stilling as he bottoms out inside you. The stretch is perfect, would hurt if it didn't feel so good, and he knows it.

"What was that?" He asks. He nips at your lips when you whine. He drags his cock out, slow and delicious as you tighten around him, before sliding himself just as slowly back in. You'd be embarrassed about the moan that escapes you if you could focus on anything that isn't the way he feels inside you. 

From the first time he slid inside, there's always been something so right about the feeling. He fills every part of you, thick and long and harder than the bronze you work with every day. You've never been to the underworld, but you imagine this is what the Isles of the Blessed are like for the mortals, because it's rapturous. 

He thrusts gently in the beginning, always, careful to be sure he isn't too rough with your hip. He doesn't stop kissing you, plump lips moving sinuously against your own and breathing in every little moan and whine you make as he moves. He's so slow, so considerate, lets you set the pace each time, and right now? Right now, this is good. The slow, sensual strokes that you can feel against your walls, the steady press of him against your g-spot with every thrust, the warmth of his hand traveling from your thigh up your torso to tweak your nipple as he moves to glide a thumb over your jaw and then retrace his path back down. This is exactly what you want: the two of you moving together, slow and soft and perfect. 

You have plenty of time to try some wild new position later, after all. 

Your stomach lurches at the thought, heat pooling between your thighs as the band in your tummy steadily stretches. He doesn't change his pace at all, just adds a bit more force as he thrusts inside, and the added force against that spot inside has you seeing stars. Your moans are echoing and loud and with each one, Seokjin's glow just gets brighter and brighter. His hand wanders between your legs, rubbing small circles into your clit in time with his thrusts. 

"Show me, love," He mutters in your ear. "Love you so much, show me how it makes you feel. Let go for me." You whimper, blunt nails digging into the skin of his back. He doesn't stop, whispers exactly what he wants to see you do, but it's the way he says your name - quiet and reverent, like you may disappear if he's too loud - that finally has the cord snapping.

It must be too much, because you come to after a few minutes - maybe, time is so strange as a goddess - to find Seokjin rubbing soothing circles into your hips and pressing gentle kisses along the column of your throat. Your pussy contracts around him, and you whimper when you realize he's still hard inside you. 

"You didn't…?" You mutter, finding more words are too much work right now. 

"No, I don't need to," He assures you. He starts to pull out, but you manage to get a hand on his shoulder. 

"Want to," You mumble. Talking is hard, but you manage. "Want to feel you. Inside. Fuck. Please." He asks you if you're sure and you nod, and that's when he kisses you, soft and sweet and completely at odds with his next words.

"Gonna fuck you so good, my little blacksmith," He groans as he begins thrusting once more. He's faster now, hips snapping roughly against yours as he chases his high. "Can't wait to fill you up, wanna see you so full of my cum, want you to swell with it." He grins as you moan, tightening around him as another orgasm approaches. "You like that, love? You want me to fuck you full of my cum? Fill you up so good that it spills out of you for days?" He hisses a curse under his breath as you buck. Your free hand moves downward, rubbing at your clit gently. It's just the right edge of overstimulation, and it sends you off the edge once more, clenching around him. His hips stutter, and the feeling of you milking his cock sends him past the brink as well, and then he's painting your walls with cum. 

Later, after he's fucked his cum into you three more times and then eaten it out, he watches you draw a lazy sketch on the little bit of paper that you can reach. 

"It looks good," He says softly. You hum, wrinkling your nose. 

"I'm worried it's too...understated, I guess."

"No, I think it's perfect for her," Seokjin assures you. "Very Hera. Though, you should put in a secret compartment here, so she can stash her sex toys somewhere he won't look."

"What? No! I'm not building a secret sex toy stash in my mother's throne!"

"Fine." He's quiet for a few more minutes as you sketch. "I'll just get the cyclopes to do it."

[notmyrick]

Okay this is a theory not theory or a "hear me out" type of thing. This actually isnt a theory, just a cool what if. Something to be scrapped.

But if you're with me this far let's begin overanalyzing shit!!!!!!!

Argument: The entire show is evil Morty

*mic drops ready for the tomatoes to be thrown*

But guys let's take a step outside of Rick and morty for a second.

You want to talk about rick and morty without talking about rick and morty?

Yes! Second voice I'm using purely for a narrative aspect!

Remember some time ago that Rick and Morty was suppose to be or at least considered to be a procedural type show?

Procedural shows are shows like the Simpsons, Family Guy, American Dad, Tom and Jerry, Futurama, Phineas and Ferb, etc.

Typically a show that has a very obvious formula with characters that typically never change, don't age, and rarely grow. Typically you could tell a show is procedural of you can watch any random episode from any season and understand what's going on (given it is not the final episode of a completed series).

Objectively if you look at Rick and Morty, you can say it it still holds true to its procedural structure. I could start on any episode season 1-4p1 and understand the dynamics of the Smith family.

Okay now just keep in mind that procedural shows last longer than serialized shows.

You can give me shit, but who the fuck is still a fan of Degrassi. And I know that there are some hardcore fans of GoT or Twilight, but I havent seen anymore hype or recent buzz about either of them since it ended (or near ending I dont keep up with stuff). Yet i could go to a person and ask if they watched Friends and some third party will scream to us "PIVOT!" or "They were on a break".

But I'm getting a bit off topic. The thing is Rick and Morty are now going semi serialized, but (hopefully) still keeping it procedural.

The fact is you can start anywhere in the series given the few special episodes. Episodes that are a direct continuation like the ending of season 2 to the premiere of season 3. Those episodes MUST be played together. Ending season 1 to premiere of season 2 is kinda iffy bc they basically summarized/hinted what happened at the end of season 1 with a few sentences.

If you go to most procedural type shows, they tend to have a serialized component which to be honest can be summarized by certain episodes. The serialized component can be either, what I call a "time stamp" or a character change. For time stamp it's mostly used a certain time period the characters response (i.e. the relationship of Rachel and Ross). The other characters tend to reference their relationship in certain episodes.

Or the character change, can be also known as character development, can be the serialized component in which a drastic epiphany happens to the character that changes the relationships with the characters or changes to their environment.

With this as a foundation, let's talk evil morty.

We know that their are infinite versions of Mortys out there. One of them is evil Morty, but it has been shown, by not being shown, how or why this morty became evil. There are many theories out there, most of which I like, but they are just wild speculation. I am going to twist up my own version of it now lol.

What if we've been watching a possibility of a Morty becoming evil. With Rick and Morty being a Procedural type show, the episodes aired does not have to be "in order" with the exceptions of of the special episodes.

Rick, in Rick and Morty, rather not Fuck with time travel, but doesnt mean the audience won't.

Think of it like an archeological excavation. We keep uprooting or discovering more about ancient civilizations or what our past ancestors did, but we don't find them in order. One min. We are discovering something about King Tut, the next we discover something about the the first homosapien.

With this, besides the special episodes, nothing was in order.

This theory is making a huge assumption that we've been watching the same Rick and Morty pair throughout the seasons. Meaning we've been watching Rick C137 and this Morty. This could explain why we dont see alternate versions of our favorite side characters. Why we dont see alternate versions of BirdPerson, Squanchy, Crombobulus Michael, hell another version of Tammy. If we've been watching (at least) the same Rick this entire time, then besides the special episodes, we've been jumping to moments of Rick's life. Like with the recent episode of Never Ricking Morty, Morty was able to buy the toy train because this took place before Rick destroyed the Citadel, but after the introduction of the evil Morty.

With what I've stated previously, hear me out, we've been watching the evolution of evil morty, or at least another version of him. ALTHOUGH only granted that evil Morty is one, if not the biggest climax to Rick and Morty. Remember how procedural shows may have some serialization in their shows. This also means they are not confined to one story arc. Which means evil morty is one of many sotry arcs to be discovered. This "theory" only works if Evil morty is one of the bigger climaxes to the show.

Recall previous procedural shows:

Futurama has 140 episodes

Phineas and Ferb have 189 episodes

I primarily used these tv shows because I am biased and watched them.

I would argue both had procedural and serialized components

With Futurama they had a few story arcs in their show, the one I remember and personally favor is the Leela-Fry relationship.

Similar to Phineas and Ferb, they also had had a few story arcs, with again being bias my favorite being the Phineas and Isabella relationship.

Note: can you see I like relationship arcs

If Evil morty is the one of the biggest story arcs of the franchise they would need to make sure that the ending for evil morty was satisfyingly tied up in a bow similar to the phineas and ferb final episode. If Evil Morty was the Final climax/arc of the franchise, I would say the ending needs to loop back around to make it "open ended" to keep it procedural similar to Futurama for replayability.

Rick and morty was renewed 70 more episodes somewhere after the end of season 3 making the current total of Rick and Morty episodes to barely pass over the 100 episode threshold. Which is the benchmark for networks for a shows profitability or syndication(profit and syndication are completely different dont get that confused).

So with my, hear me out theory, Rick and Morty has a lot of time to explore the evil morty story arc and/ or make better arcs for the future. Expecting it to be explored now in SeASoN 4 feels a bit too soon. If they keep a 10 episode per season schedule we can expect 6 more seasons of Rick and Morty to explore it. If they decide a 12 episodes per season then at least 5 more seasons.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Only You (Sidney Crosby Imagine)

The text got deleted for some godforsaken reason, so I’m hoping this fixes it.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Fem!Reader

Words: 3462

Warnings: NSFW

Requested: yes / no

Summary/Request:  hi! are you still taking requests? bc i wanted to know if i could get some sidney smut but like with a girl that's like way shorter than him

(AKA established relationship Sid smut with a super short reader)

No one would say you’re particularly good at dancing, but damn if you didn’t love it. You were always dancing by the end of every party, to whatever was playing over the speakers, whether it was intended to be a soundtrack or not. Today is no exception. At clubs you tended to get lost in the crowd, but since it was only yourself and a few of the other WAGs, you’re still visible from the outside. Visible to Sidney from his seat on the patio, where he’s stopped bothering to pretend to be invested in the conversation taking place around him.

He loves to dance as well-- especially when he’s got a few drinks in him-- but he’s always loved your dancing. He can’t help but watch every time you take the floor, mesmerized by the way you move. By the way you sway just a tad awkwardly, the way you don’t even care. The freedom of it. But more than that, he’s captivated by how stunning you are. His favorite thing to do is remind you of how gorgeous he thinks you are, with quick comments and long nights, depending on how much he gets to see you.

Before you ever met him, you’d already felt short enough. Dating a professional hockey player and spending time with his friends only made you more acutely aware of your height. Considering the entire team is at least as tall as Sidney, who has more height on you than you’d like to acknowledge, you felt like you were Jack after climbing the beanstalk, surrounded by giants. That’s bad enough, though you’d expected the guys to make you feel small and were prepared for it; what you weren’t prepared for was the WAGs. They were all tall and long-legged and blonde and graceful and dazzling. You were the shortest by far, not even reaching Sidney’s chin, and most of them had half a foot or more on you. It rarely bothered you, but when you’re surrounded by literal models all the time, it’s difficult not to feel self-conscious on occasion.

The party is winding down alongside the sunset, and the small group of you retire from dancing to help Tanger and Catherine start cleaning up. You gather some used plates and cups that had been abandoned on tables around the yard, depositing them in the trash bag Kelsey is walking around with. The serving dishes for the food need to be brought inside, but you notice that-- aside from Tanger-- the guys are still sitting around shooting the shit while the girls do the work. On your way inside with a casserole dish, you smack Sidney on the arm and scold the lot of them. They hang their heads and stand to join in with the tidying-up effort, adequately chastised.

Sid keeps shooting you looks, the kind of looks that make your face heat and your heart skip beats. Anticipation coils in your gut. You’d been having a great time dancing and talking with everyone, but you’re suddenly eager for this to be over.

The downside of Sid being Captain is that he can’t beg off team events early unless it’s a legitimate emergency, so you’re stuck cleaning and talking for what feels like an eternity. The party was a “team bonding” event to welcome the newcomers to Pittsburgh, and Tanev, Galchenyuk, and Kahun seemed to appreciate it, at least. You would appreciate if everyone would leave, so you can go home and fully enjoy the promise of the heated once-overs Sidney has been so generously giving you all evening.

You try to appreciate the time with everyone and be present in the conversations going on, but Sid has taken every free moment to shoot you glance after glance, like he can’t keep his eyes off of you. It’s not as if you haven’t been zoning out of various discussions to look at him too, though, so glass houses and all that. The guys slowly trickle out with their better halves over time, until Geno and Anna are the only ones left. It takes you a moment to notice, since you’ve been a bit transfixed by Sidney’s hands for a few minutes, because he’s definitely showing them off, knowing your weakness for them.

Momentarily, you meet eyes with Geno, who looks knowing and smug, before he turns his gaze to Sid. That’s probably going to be embarrassing later, but right now you don’t really care if anyone knows your plans. Despite being an asshole, Geno is actually a good guy, so he excuses himself and Anna not long after. They say their goodbyes, giving out hugs and cheek-kisses and back-slaps before leaving, both giving you a wink on the way out. They really are perfect for each other, huh?

More importantly, you’re now free to go. You make some polite conversation with Catherine quickly, just thanking her for hosting and wishing her luck with the children, offering to babysit if she ever needs a break. Sid switches with you, giving Catherine a hug and thanking her succinctly. It takes a handful of minutes for you to say goodbye to Kris, and you swear you can feel Sid’s frustration at having to wait. Typically, he wouldn’t care about waiting for you, but he’s been clearly turned on for at least an hour and probably desperate to get you alone. You’re definitely on the same page. Unfortunately: societal niceties.

The instant you’ve finished with Kris, Sidney has a hand on your lower back, guiding you toward the door and out with a final farewell thrown over your shoulder. Kris and Catherine stand in the doorway to see you out, making sure you get into the car and start up safely. Luckily, you can justify Sid’s potentially-inappropriate handle on you as coincidence, considering the fact that his hand naturally rests at the same level as your lower back, more or less. It’s just incidental, or a happy accident, or whatever. When he has to remove his hand so you can both load into his car, you immediately miss the contact.

You return the Letangs’ friendly wave as Sid backs out of the driveway. Even if he didn’t have the C, you’d never be able to leave events early because he always parks in the driveway and gets blocked in. Or maybe he lets himself get blocked in because the C means he’s trapped anyway? Not important. What is important is the big hand he lays heavily on your thigh, too high up for polite company and so, so warm. He keeps his eyes solely on the road as he drives, despite clearly holding onto the last of his composure by threads.

“The worst part is that you don’t even mean to do it,” he says, voice far deeper than when he spoke to Tanger. It sends a shiver down your spine, your entire body tensing in a barely-visible wave at the familiar sound. You have no idea what he means, and your confusion definitely shows on your face. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to want a response, because he just takes a beat and continues.

“You just dance, like there’s no one watching, like you wouldn’t even care if there were,” he says, voice conveying a thousand things; arousal, possession, awe, “And everybody watches you, but you only look at me.” His hands squeeze the steering wheel and your thigh in equal measure. You’re not proud of the sharp inhale you take in response, but you’re also not really thinking of your pride right now, or anything other than the heat and pressure just close enough to tease. Your brain is stuck on a loop of only you only you only you, but you don’t say it, not willing to give him the satisfaction of your devotion yet. Also, if you did give in and say it now, the two of you would probably end up with a ticket for public indecency. You can talk your way out of it once, but twice would probably be pushing it.

You don’t say a word the entire ride home, and his grip on you and the wheel eventually loosens. Though he does periodically tighten his fingers back around you, just sporadically enough to keep you on edge, keep you wanting. And god, did you want. Sid was the most beautiful man in the world on a normal day, so when he’s all focused and deliberate, almost ready to succumb to lust? Truly Athena herself couldn’t keep chaste in his presence.

Pulling up the driveway with his hand tight on the skin bared by your now bunched up skirt-- easily pushed out of the way by Sid’s searching fingers-- has your heart rate skyrocketing. He doesn’t spare you a peep before he cuts the ignition and exits the car, not needing to say a word for you to scramble to follow him, grabbing your bag and climbing out of the car so quickly you almost end up tumbling face-first onto the concrete. By time you get to the mud room, he’s already removed one shoe and is working on the other. He hadn’t worn a jacket, since it’s one of those rare September days where the world forgets it’s supposed to be transitioning into fall, so it’s 91° and 8-fuck-thousand percent humidity, so he doesn’t have to bother taking it off. Good. Less time wasted. As for you, you kick off your shoes and place them in their usual place a little less carefully than usual. Sid definitely has some level of OCD, but that won’t bother him. Probably. Maybe.

Clearly it doesn’t bother him right now, because he walks through the second door into the living room, still without a word. You follow behind, but staunchly refuse to compare yourself to an eager puppy despite the similarity. He leads the way to the bedroom, which seems way too far right now, in your opinion, but that’s not your brain talking. At least you get a nice view of Sid’s ass in his black swim trunks, close-fitting enough to accentuate his figure rather than hide it.

What you expect to happen once you reach the bedroom, is for him to immediately push you up against the door and kiss you senseless. What you do not expect, is for him to slowly crowd into your space, cupping your jaw with one hand and stroking your cheek gently with his thumb. The other hand comes to rest on the side of your ribcage, squeezing gently once as he looks down into your eyes. There’s so much adoration in his gaze that you feel like the swelling affection inside you is going to make you burst.

“I love you,” he says. His expression turns a bit bittersweet, like he knows he doesn’t say it enough, but appreciates you understanding it anyway. You cradle his face in both hands and kiss him once, almost chaste. A far cry from what you anticipated.

“I love you too,” you reply. You know you maybe say it too much, often enough that he gets flustered sometimes, or thinks it’s said out of habit and not sincerity. But you mean it every time, with all your heart. Again his expression changes, this time from bittersweet certainty to overt devotion. He looks at you as if you’re the most extraordinary person in the world, like he can’t believe he gets to have you, like you’re the exceptional one in this relationship. All you can do is kiss him again, longer this time, harder.

This is where the passion you’d expected comes in, where he starts kissing you like he can’t bear to part from you even for the necessity of breath. Where his hands run down your sides to sneak under your shirt, so they can skim back up your stomach to cup your breasts. Your bathing suit suddenly feels like far too much material between his hands and your skin, and you itch to take it off. To take all of it off, to bare yourself to him in a way that never felt so right with anyone before.

With your diminutive stature, he has to bend at the waist to kiss you while standing, and you know it sometimes gives him a crick in his neck. Which is totally the reason you’re eager to get to the bed, obviously. Not because his hands are warm even through your top and his lips are soft and damp against yours and the small needy sounds he makes into your mouth drive you wild. You’re just being considerate. Yup.

Whatever ulterior motives you may or may not have, you nudge him backward, guiding him toward the bed even as he continues to dip down to kiss you between looking back to make sure he doesn’t trip. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he doesn’t fall, just stops. He strips off his shirt with an unrestricted urgency he never shows anyone but you, throwing it toward the hamper. You follow suit, shucking off both tops, and pushing down your coverup skirt for good measure. He pauses, brushing his big hands over your shoulders and down your chest, admiring your figure so brazenly you feel yourself blush.

“You just gonna look?” you ask rhetorically, still a tad breathless, but feeling a bit bold yourself. In return, you’re graced with that beautiful crooked smile and a look far too dark to match-- under normal circumstances, at least. He squats down to grab you around the waist, tossing you onto the bed in a feat of strength that’s more than a little sexy. The noise you make is decidedly less sexy, but he just smiles wider, shoving off his trunks like an afterthought before joining you on the bed. You wriggle out of your suit bottoms, not getting a chance to throw them off the bed before he’s on top of you.

Sid is so intense this way, laser focus directed solely on you, fixated on the best way to take you apart. For the most part, you go with the flow. You’re more than willing to follow his lead, knowing from experience that he’ll make this more than exceptional.

With your body bared to him, he looms over you, eyes roaming your upper body. His thick thighs are solid and warm against your own legs, closer to your knees than you might expect of a more proportional couple; though all you can think of is how the scratch of his wiry body hair drives you a bit crazy. He kisses you again, only momentarily, before moving to your jaw, your neck, your shoulders. There will definitely be some dark spots that Malin and Kelsey will tease you about next time they see you, but the pressure and tinge of pain feel so good that you don’t much care.

Before Sid, you had assumed that your breasts simply weren’t that sensitive. Since the first time you’d slept together, however, you’d learned that maybe you just hadn’t had competent partners before. He sucks more hickeys into the thin skin of your breasts, mouthing and teasing at your nipples until you’re arching into his lips as you make sounds a bit too desperate for your liking. It’s just so good.

Occasionally, he’ll ask you to sit on his face. He knows it’s not easy for you, because your height means you have to rest a bit higher on your knees, which stresses your thighs. But he loves it so dearly that you do it from time to time. This evening, however, he seems far too frantic to eat you out as per usual. Instead, he abandons your chest to recapture your mouth. After so long, he knows exactly how to move, to lick, to press, to drive you crazy. Crazy enough that his fingers dipping into your folds make you gasp into his mouth in surprise.

Your focus shuttles between his fingers stretching you meticulously and the way he’s kissing the soul out of you. Your brain simply refuses to focus on one thing, jumping from his lips to his fingers to his thighs on your knees to his dick occasionally brushing your thigh. It’s all so much, his body the perfect complement to yours, no matter how counterintuitive that may seem.. He’s so big and warm, enveloping you in smooth skin and pounding pulse, completely encompassing you.

Once he deems you adequately stretched, he kisses you once again, slow and wet and deep. He asks you for the umpeenth time if you’re ready, if you’re okay with this, and you’re too much of a goner for him to do much more than kiss him and shimmy your hips closer to his own.

You’ll never get used to the first push inward. Sid’s not particularly long, but he’s thick, stretching you wide and hitting all the right spots you never even knew existed before him. His back is curled in a deep arch so he can bury his face in your chest for the initial stretch, like if he looks at you, he’ll lose it. Not that you would know, really, with how you throw your head back into the bottom edge of the pillow. All you can do is make a small “ah” sound, rocking your hips back and forth in an attempt to adjust to his size. Once bottomed out, Sid stays still as long as you need, no matter how the involuntary rolling of your pelvis makes him dig blunt nails into your hips.

“Come on,” you say, finally, hips reduced to tiny twitches, “Fuck me, Sid.” The phrasing draws a broken moan from his throat. He doesn’t bother wasting time with slow, dragging thrusts; just goes straight to fucking you into the mattress with as much speed and force as he can manage. Your ankles barely meet behind his back with how broad his torso is, so you dig fingertips into his shoulders to avoid being driven up the mattress.

No matter how single-minded he may seem as he shoves in and drags out, he still kisses you so sweetly. Whispering endearments and reassurances against your lips (though he still has to crane his head to do so, so maybe avoiding neck pain wasn’t your only motive for getting him into bed), he steadily fucks you into oblivion. By time he sucks a mark just under your jaw that’s sure to last, you’re gone, floating somewhere above yourself. When he comes, he bites into your collar bone, groaning out his pleasure as he fills you. You reply with a groan of your own, acutely aware of the warmth filling you, his cock still spreading you wide.

“Maybe I should dance more often,” you quip, once your breathing settles to something manageable. Sid huffs a laugh into the pillow, rolling to the side to avoid crushing you any more than he already has.

“As long as you’re not looking at any other guys,” he replies, letting his head flop to the side to smile at you.

“You know it’s only ever you, Sid,” you can feel your smile grow into something halfway between giddy and sentimental, “Only you.” He groans dramatically and throws an arm over his face, in a gesture you know means that he wishes he was 18 again so he could go twice in a row. All you can do is laugh and turn toward him, peeling his arm away and giving him a soft, lingering kiss.

“Just make sure you stay on the edge of the crowd so I can actually see you,” he says against your lips, grinning even as you gasp and smack his shoulder.

Over time, you’ve learned that aftercare is important to Sid. He likes to pamper you, to guide you into the shower so he can soap you up and wash you down. He loves to carefully towel you off, pressing gentle kisses to the places he bruised with his mouth and fingers. To cover you with his clothing, a t-shirt that reaches past the mid-point of your thighs and shorts that may as well be capris. To settle you into the bed once the duvet has been tossed toward the hamper, wrapping you in the sheets and comforter, tight against himself. Taking care of you has always been his favorite thing, the way you look up at him with drooping eyes and sleepy voice to thank him for everything. For the reassurance, for helping clean you, for your vaguely sore lower body and the way it makes you feel such deep satisfaction, for loving you, for making you feel loved, for making you believe you are loved. Believe you are loved, are cared for, are worth his love and care. Only you.