#beyond evil replies

[frances-and-the-moon]

Why "Beyond Evil" is an enemies-to-partners-to-lovers story❤️, a (very) brief timeline (for those who haven't watched the show):

In the first episode, Han Joo-Won (our main lead + sweetest flower in the entire Korean police force + son prince of Deputy Commissioner to-be) goes to the little merry town of Manyang, hellbent on arresting Lee Dong-Sik (our other Main Lead), local dilf and renowned lunatic, whom he believes to be the serial killer from a string of murders that started 20 years prior;

Our Joo-Won (who also coincidentally happens to be a collector of stylish coats and has hair softer🌷than any woman in the show) is obsessed with said dilf already before the start of the series but we don't get to see that (but the obsession was definitely there much earlier than when he moved to Manyang);

Once he is in the merry town of Manyang (where everyone seems kinda sus and in need of therapy tbh) he breaks inside Dong-Sik's house multiple times, uninvited and casually making himself at home. DS is often annoyed at him but never throws him out, which says a lot about DS's already compromised + whipped state of mind™️;

In the course of the first episodes, Han Joo-Won (our boytoy) keeps accusing Dong-Sik (our crazy dilf) of having murdered his own sister (ffs Joo-Won) and other various women (without any evidence whatsoever). As he repeatedly accuses DS without rhyme nor reason he ofc thinks he's being such a clever officer - because telling the person you believe to be a serial killer he's a psycho the first time you meet him and repeatedly grabbing him by the colllar and shaking him is how investigating murders works in his seasoned police officer mind;

As JW fulfills his need for approval (stemming from Daddy Issues™️) and sense of justice, Dong-Sik taunts, manipulates and messes w/ his head and has him wrapped around his little finger, making Joo-Won think he's the killer;

Joo-Won ofc falls for that bc he has tunnel vision and can't connect shit.

BONUS:

Romantic drama tropes (x 2): (1) Han Joo-Won staring at DS under the rain (1st appearance of the Rain Trope™️) as the man whom he believes to be the serial killer smiles sweetly and shields a boy who has lost his way with his umbrella - cue longing, lustful stare from JW and the moment he falls in love w/ his partner (which he doesn't realize yet bc he's clueless); (2) Han Joo-Won disobeying DS's orders not to get involved and protecting him from a local band of thugs, potentially sabotaging his career and his relationship w/ his father - start of Protective Boyfriend Arc™️.

SECOND PART OF THE SERIES:

At some point Han Joo-Won (our clueless flower inspector who's oblivious to his feelings for DS) slowly slowly starts connecting the dots (finally) and realizes that the dilf he's been repeatedly accusing of murder is - in fact - not a serial killer (in spite of his dubious morals, his tendency to tamper w/ evidence and move amputated fingers & cellphones around town), and learns to slowly slowly trust him;

JW & DS finally pair up and arrest the killer together - beginning of Partner Arc™️.

Han Joo-Won goes berserk when Jin-Mook (local full-time supermarket guy, part-time serial killer) tries to strangle Dong-Sik in the interrogation room bc he's the only one who is allowed to manhandle his sugar daddy and wrinkle his coats;

He then decides to take a vacation (as he often does bc he's a delicate flower 🌸 who needs lots of time off) and comes back with stylish clothes and a newfound bratty attitude, flirts with Dong-Sik more than once and uses Dong-Sik's methods to manipulate him back because he has learnt from the best teacher and he is such a good student;

THIRD PART OF THE SERIES:

Joo-Won (who has now officially been adopted by the local, dysfunctional Manyang family) discovers that his bad abooji is the one who killed his boyfriend's sister 20 yrs prior; he then proceeds to drop on his knees in front of said boyfriend, whispering: "I will go to hell for you" (cue 2nd instance of Proverbial Rain Trope™️ + tears + sad puppy eyes);

He and his soon-to-be husband make a plan to ruin Han Gi-Hwan's (JW's bad abooji) career and they end up exchanging wedding vows on national television at his father's hearing to spite him (and also to take the spotlight bc they are such a power couple);

JW willingly goes into the trap his dad later sets for Dong-Sik in order to protect him and to take the blame in his stead (cue boyfriend's angry reaction "How dare you put yourself in danger for me" etc.) - continuation of Protective Boyfriend Arc™️;

In the final episode - after Joo-Won has arrested his father and Dong-Sik asks him to arrest him too (which is the main reason why JW went to Manyang in the first place, as he's been continuously reminding Dong-Sik since the start of the series) - he starts stuttering and saying "H-how could I??", all while crying like a little baby.

He finally arrests his boyfriend on charges of obstruction of justice, cries with his handcuffed hands in his hands, and they meet a year later and smile at each other and DS says goodbye with the words: "eat well, sleep well, poop well" (which is, as it is widely known, the Korean version of "I love you").

[yohanmoon]

Hello friends! The Beyond Evil Discord has been created! Looks like we have 20(?) people interested! If you would like to join, send us a message!

The link will not be posted. However, if you would like to coadmin, let us know!!! We’re excited to meet people that love this show and possibly watch some episodes with you all! Some rules:

1. Only those 18 years old and over can join (a good amount of the people I’ve met are adults anyway). If your age is not stated on your page, you will be asked.

2. No bigots, terfs, uncool people.

Hope to see you there!☺️

[amethystina]

Hii!

Do U perhaps plan on watching beyond evil? If so, would U write fanfics based on it? Love your writing so would Def like to read it if U ever do plan on watching and perhaps write it some day.

Hi!

I do plan to watch it some day, yes. It's been on my list of things to watch since it came out but, by chance, I ended up watching The Devil Judge first and then just got derailed for literally four years I guess? xD But I still plan to watch it eventually!

As for whether or not I will write for it, that depends entirely on the drama and what I'm feeling once I've watched it. And that has nothing to do with the quality of the drama or how much I enjoyed it. It's just that sometimes I have something to add, sometimes I don't. And I can't predict what it'll be until I've finished.

Sometimes I don't want to write or read fanfics because I'm perfectly satisfied with what I got (like The Untamed), and sometimes I only want to read fanfics because I have nothing to add myself but really enjoy seeing what other people come up with (like Guardian), and sometimes I only want to write and focus on my own impressions and thoughts (like The Devil Judge). And, sometimes, I come up with one batshit idea that I just have to write because how can I not, but it might also end up being the only thing I write for that fandom (like Strangers From Hell). And, sometimes, I just want a little more time to wrap up the story and perhaps fix one or two things I noticed in canon that I didn't like or wanted to see explored (like Black Knight and Mad Dog).

It's all a gamble, really, and depends entirely on my emotions and impressions once I've watched the drama in question. I can't predict it.

Also, from what I've heard, Beyond Evil already has a bunch of super good fanfics so I'm not sure if I need to get involved, you know? xD Especially since that means I'd have to postpone some other project that I'm trying to work on.

But we'll see! I will watch it at some point and, once I have, I guess we'll find out if I'll want to write for it or not :D

[foolishmortal]

Hii!

I stumbled on Ur fanfic based on beyond evil and I'd like to know if U plan on completing it? It seems really cool so I'm looking forward for it if u do plan on finishing it.

I have a lot of unfinished works in progress and of course I plan on finishing all of them but planning on finishing them and actually doing so is that one weird trick that I have yet to learn. 😅

Life is weird right now. I work in tech and the rolling layoffs and increasingly hostile working environment to make us quit, means a pretty hefty workload for the remaining engineers who are left. anytime I don't absolutely have to be in front of a computer right now is time I am spending being outside touching grass lmao.

I love being in fandom and I love writing fic! I think about this particular story a lot and I'm looking forward to working on it when I have the leisure and brain space to do so.

[randomnameless]

It's kinda funny how consistent it is that every time Rhea brings up Willy during an argument with Edelgard the latter just pretends she didn't hear that part of the speech and focuses entirely on some minor throwaway comment instead for her response lol

Remember how her lines, when you use her in NG+ against Supreme Leader are basically "Willy :'(" over and over?

I mean (and big thanks to @deathbirby for the lines!) :

Rhea engaging against Supreme Leader :"You bear such a resemblance to him.. It breaks my heart that I must defeat you."

Rhea rekting Supreme Leader : "Wilhelm. If only you were alive today."

I remember a blogger made a meme about Supreme Leader being pissed that Rhea always talks about Willy when she talks to her, and well, that's not completely wrong? lol

But yeah, more seriously, if Supreme Leader really thinks Rhea doesn't value human life at all - because she is a Nabatean (note how she adds "Child of the Goddess "女神の眷属" at the end of this sentence in the jp text, that Treehouse obliterated for ~reasons~) - it is actually very telling : the very same Supreme Leader, faced with Rhea expressing grief/ or thinking fondly about Willy, thus, valuing at least Willy's life (even if he is long dead), aka a human life, doesn't react at all.

But that's a very Supreme Leader thing, she will bulldoze through her path, even if you dangle evidence in front of her eyes that she operates on wrong/faulty premises, and never reconsiders or self-reflects. Rhea very obviously still cares about Willy? Well, Supreme Leader dgaf, Rhea is a Nabatean, and Nabateans don't value human life.

[mythvoiced]

@theimpalpable | the GBEP

Another glance at his front. He can't help it. They hadn't exactly signed up as extra aid to keep watch to this area with the idea they'd be getting fashion tips from random strangers he'd almost threatened to apprehend. To stutter a little through their thought process and reactions seems sensible enough.

Also because he's somewhat starting to doubt he's talking to an actual person. Or... a living one, at least. Which opens the door to a completely different set of problems, which he'd truly rather not step through today.

Or tonight, rather.

Or at any point in time, actually.

Calloused hand flattens the front of his clothes until his fingers curl around the hem of the bland shirt he's wearing under his jacket, lifting it up to stare down at it as though the fabric could materialise a visual representation of the colours just described.

They look up.

What an odd fella. Stiff, somewhat, but not really. Stiff in a way gentlemen are in Western shows, controlled like people of the elite, intellectuals, and superior to the smaller ones who don't have fine shoes, nor can they afford them. At the same time, though, he doesn't... seem... particulary arrogant? That small extra weight to self-importance that would have made assessing him easier.

His tone of voice, too, conversational, if, again, a little... stiff.

Though Seok-ju feels that's not quite the right word.

He blinks, tilts their head. "I'm... I'll be honest, I'm not quite sure what 'burgundy' and 'hazelwood' look like," a smile breaks out on their lips, like the sun through hazy, stern clouds. Not quite sheepish. Humorous, almost. "I like my fashion and my style, but... not an expert on the finer details like the actual proper names of colours."

"So," Seok-ju clears their throat, a casual little human error, tick, more than the actual need for it, "when you say replicate... You're a tailor? Or someone from that industry?"

Well, that would explain... wait, that would explain a lot actually. Fine suit, fine demeanour, fine everything. Seok-ju shoves his hands into his back pockets and relaxes with his elbows jutted out, like moments from replicating a mother scolding a silly child.

Although, the naturalism makes him wonder if 'industry' is the right word to apply here.

"Some sort of patrol, yeah," they concede, shifting their weight to rotate the stiffening joints of one of their ankle. Fine manner of speech and apparently very dedicated to his craft, which could both make him terribly innocent or... well... be a very good cover.

"It's nothing too serious, though, you don't have to worry. Nothing dangerous at least," a shrug. A kid missing is always a serious thing, even though too many in the precinct would argue that 19 years don't make a guy a kid, and he's a guy anyway, whatever could possibly happen to him.

Maybe that's why they'd had to volunteer. South Korea and its oh so inclusive laws for missing people. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have seen a young male-presenting adult most likely wearing a Doosan Bears baseball shirt, beige school uniform trousers, white running shoes and a sports bag?" A tilt of his head to the side again and tragically for himself, the face he makes is doubtful enough that he can't help recognise that some of his fellow officer's thoughts might have begun slipping into their head. "About this height," lifts his hand to hover, flattened palm facing the ground, an arm width over his head. "Potentially in distress, appearing lost, or unapproachable. Maybe in the company of someone else?"

[casscainmainly]

The Batkids' deaths vary in severity/importance, but they all serve to shake some core part of their superhero identity. Sometimes it affirms their existing identity (Cass' first death), or it spurs them to discover more about what their current identity means (Damian, Tim); sometimes, however, it severs them from who they were. Dick's transition into Agent 37 and Cass' turn to evil both stem from very temporary deaths, where the death is not as important as what happens after. It's not the pill or Cass' dip into the Pit that actually changes them, but the boundary these events create between their old and new selves.

Which is why Jason's death is different from all of the above. Beyond being (at one point) permanent, his loss of self is irreversible. Dick and Cass claw their way back to their identities pre-death, Nightwing and Batgirl respectively; Jason does not. He cannot, because he doesn't fit Robin anymore, and Robin doesn't fit him. It's not only that his sense of self is shaped by his death, but that it was, in many ways, destroyed by it.

But it's ultimately Stephanie's death that links death so closely to the loss of a superhero identity. Her death, unlike the others, is instigated by loss - Batman fires her from Robin, which leads to the events of War Games. On her deathbed, Steph asks "was I ever really Robin?", and Bruce replies "of course you were." It's a sweet moment, but it's retroactive. He can only affirm her legacy as Robin in the past tense (it's over; it can't impact anyone anymore). Her non-existent memorial can be read not only as a lack of care for Stephanie Brown the person, but for Stephanie Brown the Robin - Jason's Robin is immortalised, Stephanie's Robin is erased. She dies because she was made Robin, and she was made Robin to die.

I guess my point is that everyone's deaths are linked to how much they are valued within their mantle, not just in a metatextual sense (as in, how much DC editorial liked them) but also in the text itself - deaths either instigate further ownership of their name, or dismantle their sense of self. This is why it's important to recognise Steph's tenure as Robin (both in comics and fandom). Recognising Steph-as-Robin is a direct refutation of her death, a long-delayed memorial.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Winter Gem

Thranduil x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: soft!Thranduil, widowed!Thranduil, fluff, peril & rescue, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.8k

Seeking something precious for Thranduil, you're caught in a storm. When you don't return, he goes searching for you.

A/N: For @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

“The first snows have arrived.”

“It has come early.”

Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”

You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.

“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.

“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”

His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”

You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.

“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.

“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.

Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.

Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.

In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.

“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”

You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.

It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.

Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.

While tracking, he lost something precious.

Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.

He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.

This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.

Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.

Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.

As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.

Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.

Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.

“Found you.”

The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.

The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.

Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.

Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.

Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.

The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.

You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.

You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.

And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.

As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.

You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.

A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.

There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.

“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“I found you, my star.”

There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.

You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.

Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.

“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.

Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.

“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.

“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.

You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”

Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”

The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”

Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”

“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.

“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.

Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.

He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”

“Thranduil—”

“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”

You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”

“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”

Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”

“Never.”

“Will you hold me?”

“For as long as you like.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @ninman82 @therealbloom

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 2: Free Use

Beefy!Mean!Gross!Pervert!Roommate!Bucky x Agent!Fem!Reader

Summary: Being used by your awful roommate because you owe it to him.

Warnings: 18+ smut, dirty talk, degradation kink, rough unprotected p in v, creampie, bucky puts his foot on reader’s head

You hate him. With every fiber of your being. In every sense, of meaning and of every syllable of the word—you hate James Buchanan Barnes.

You thought you’d done right by offering to take in the former winter soldier, wanting to apologize on behalf of your late great-grandfather for his involvement in the HYDRA experiments. Bucky was clearly down on his luck still searching for purpose and feeling undeserving of his peers assistance.

That’s when you’d came along. A friend of Steve Rogers who just so happened to be a direct descendant of a evil HYDRA scientist. You humbly confessed this tragic secret, suggesting to Steve that you’d gladly be the closure Bucky needed to feel okay again. Hell, you’d do anything to help him long as it meant saving your own morality and pushing away whatever labels the public has placed on you.

And you could tell yourself everyday that it’s for the greater good and that he’ll repay you someday when he amounts to the superhero he’s building himself to be.

BUT…

When you come to a home that is beyond a pig-sty after a long day’s work then having to clean up said mess and also cook DINNER…well that just about makes you want to plan a murder.

He knows what he’s doing. Clearly, he wants to get a rise at you either to make you pay for your great-grandfather’s crimes or to slowly break you until you become just as wicked. But you’ve yet to buckle under his pressure. Whenever he treats you like scum, you turn the other cheek.

So, of course, here you are cleaning yet another one of Bucky’s preventable messes. You’re on your hands and knees furiously scrubbing away at the linoleum tiles until you can see your own reflection. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting on the coach in nothing but white undershirt and boxers mindlessly flipping through the television.

You’re scrubbing near his feet and just when you think he’s being kind enough to raise them out of the way, he rests them on your ass.

You seethe, teeth grinding but continue with no protest. You desperately try to ignore him but his heated gaze on your ass is so distracting.

“Think you could make me a sandwich when you’re done with that, dollface?” He says, bored.

You feign a saccharinely sweet tone and smile. “Of, course, Bucky! Whatever you wish.”

“Whatever I wish.” He says, voice lowering a couple octaves.

“That’s what I said,” You said through gritted teeth, your innocent act weening. You bat your eyelashes dearly up at him from behind you. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“So if I said I want some pussy, you’d give it up to me willingly,” He rasps. “Whenever I want.”

That’s odd. Bucky has never made things sexual. Not that you haven’t thought of this yourself the first time you offered to help him. Sure, you always thought he was quite handsome and that hulking body of his pouncing you has been a thought more times than you can count. But steadily you’re fury for him began to develop once he’d made you out to be like his little servant rather than a friend.

And yet…why is it that you find yourself soaking wet whenever he treats you this way even though it’s absolutely repulsive?!

“Yes, Bucky, you can have me. Whenever you want.” You reply.

“And you mean it?” He says, lowering on his knees behind you and shoving his boxer down his thick thighs.

Your eyes bug out of your head in horror at the sheer size of him. The girth, the length—this was going to be brutal. He’s leaking from the ruddy tip and looks so angry with the throbbing veins branched out around it like a tree. You swallow the hard lump in your throat, wordlessly nodding before answering. “Yes, I mean it, sir.”

Bucky groans deeply, shoving your head down with his foot. He puts enough pressure against the side of your face to where the other side of it smushes up against the sparkling floor. Before you can even register it, he’s flipping your dress up, pulling your panties to the side, and sinking in with some resistance.

You release a choked sob. “F-uck.”

“You’re so tight, princess,” He moans, biting his lip as he continues to bully his way into you. After some back and forth, your walls latched around him like a vice, reaching all the way to hilt. The small pudge of his belly rests just above your ass as he awaits you to fully adjust.

Your still in the awkward position with you ass up, face down and his foot pressed against your head to keep you from squirming away. Like hell you would. Something must’ve finally snapped within you because even if it hurts, even if you were being used—you’ll happily take it. You fucking surrender and it only to some dick for Bucky to own you.

He starts hammering into you, the sound of this skin clapping together take over the room with your guttural moans soon to follow. Bucky’s quiet at first with his moans which quickly turns to whines when he feels you dripping down his heavy balls.

“So that was all it took? I just had to claim you and now you’ll stop that fake good girl shit. Huh, babygirl? Bet you don’t hate me as much now.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” You mewl. “Love being used by you. Just please don’t fucking stop, Buck!”

He’s hitting so deep inside you now that it’s as if he’s found a rebooting button within you. Your eyes roll back, drool streaming from your lips and your mind’s completely black. All you can do now is make throaty “uh, uh, uh” noises as you get pushed to the brink of bliss.

“When I ask you to do something, I won’t be seeing any of that negative attitude, will I?” He continues to taunt using a firm parental tone. His mechanical arm sneaks its way between your legs, skillful fingers toying with your puffy clit.

You yelp, tears mingling with the sudsy water beneath you. “No, sir. I’ll be good. Forreal this time. I’ll do whatever you want, for as long as you want. Let me cum. Pretty please, sir.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” He smacks your ass with his flesh hand at the same time as a really forceful plunge. “Cum.”

You whine so loud that there’s no doubt a neighbor will be filing a complaint for you. You’re small frame wriggles beneath his large stature as you cum so hard that you understand the meaning of why an orgasm’s called ‘a little death’. You pant against him as he contiues to hammer into you, forcing your juices out of you in a gush.

In final punishing thrusts, he cums hot and sticky inside you much to your chagrin—or so you claim until you noticed the way your hands reached for him from behind, taking fistfuls of the fabric of his boxers that pooled around his knees; you keep him locked in place within you. And you don’t let you go until you’re satisfied that every drop has been milked out of him, clenching around him for added measures.

“Fuck, babygirl,” He growls at this action giving you a few more languid thrusts before pulling out and watching his hot spunk spilling out of you. He pushes his metal finger into you, stuffing you with the escaping essence. “Phew, that worked me up a mean appetite. Think you could make me two sandwiches, hot stuff.”

You remain sweaty and panting on the ground, completely boneless but more than satisfied with being his little toy.

You don’t hate Bucky Barnes after all.

[count-on-mi]

Mile High Club (Mina)

Mina is a senior flight attendant of an airline. The stewardess uniform tightly wraps her towering breasts and round buttocks, , also her angelic face, always allow her attracting countless envious glances when shuttle through the air.

As a senior flight attendant, Mina knows the first-class passengers on the plane very well. She knows which passengers will stare at her beautiful legs as soon as they board the plane, and which guests like to deliberately touch her butt when collecting their luggage. some people will even send her obscene invitations to " take care of " themselves during the flight.

Mina never refuses invitations from these men because she knows her advantages - she has a mesmerizing face and a pair of beautiful legs that can drive any man crazy. Whenever Mina sees the first-class guests casting fiery glances at her, she knows she has a new target.

Mina walked lightly to the first-class seat in black pointed high heels, attracting the attention of many people along the way.

She sat nimbly next to a middle-aged man about forty years old. This was not the first time this guest had taken this flight. Mina recognized his squinting eyes immediately.

" Hello, sir, I am Mina, the steward of this flight . Do you need anything?" Mina smiled and handed over a glass of red wine. Her little hand slipped across the man's arm intentionally or unintentionally, causing the other person to immediately become short of breath.

"Ah... no, no... I'm just... honored to be on your flight..." the man replied incoherently, and Mina noticed that his eyes kept rolling on her thighs.

"Then, if you have any needs, sir, please call me at any time and I will try my best to satisfy you." Mina put the red wine in front of the man, got up and walked towards the other passengers.

" Really ... is it okay ...?" The man looked at Mina 's back in surprise, watching her tall and graceful figure gradually move away, with an evil smile on his lips.

Of course, Mina understood the meaning behind this smile, she had expected it, but this was her job - to meet the various needs of first-class guests, even those that went beyond ordinary etiquette.

Sure enough, after the meal was over, the middle-aged man pressed the internal call button. Mina smiled knowingly, opened the hatch and walked in. "Sir, how can I help you?" Mina stood in front of the man and asked with a low eyebrow.

The men looked at Mina lustfully : "I want ... to let you stay with me here for a little while ... just for a little while ..."

Mina blinked innocently: "Here? But this is against the rules..."

"Don't be afraid... we'll keep the noise down... and I'm willing to give you some tips..." The man quickly took out a stack of thick bills from his wallet, put it on the table and pushed it to Mina.

Mina's eyes wandered between the banknotes and the man, and she quickly decided: "Since you are so sincere, then I have to try my best..."

She walked up behind the man, quietly unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt with her little hands, and whispered softly in her ear: "Sir...how do you want me to 'take care' of you...?"

The man's breathing suddenly became heavy. He reached out and grabbed Mina's arm and pulled her into his arms...

Mina smiled knowingly. She stood up and closed the seat partition to ensure that no one would disturb their "game".

Returning to the man, Mina leaned down, stretched out her tongue and licked the man's neck, leaving wet traces. "Sir, do you think my 'care' is adequate now?"

The man had been completely aroused by Mina. He roughly pulled open Mina's collar and covered her breasts with his hands and keep kneaded them. "Oh...it's so cool...I really should have chosen first class earlier..."

Mina hummed softly, raised her neck and let the man bite her throat. Her little hand restlessly inserted into the man's crotch, skillfully found the hot hard cock, and began to stroke it up and down.

" Umm ... you are so amazing ... It is already so big ..." Mina looked at the man with charming eyes and increased the speed of her hand.

"Fuck! It's so fucking exciting..." the man roared, grabbing Mina's wrist to stop her movement, then grabbed her collar and ripped it open, revealing a large area of snow-white skin.

" Miss Mina ... I want you to give it to me now ..." the man gasped and growled. Mina nodded with a smile, knelt on the ground and took off the man's pants ...

Mina gently took off the man's pants and underwear. The man's already highly erected penis eagerly popped out and jumped twice in the air.

"Oh...it's so energetic..." Mina wrapped her fingers around the thick and hard penis, stroked it up and down a few times before lowering her head and swallowing the tip into her mouth.

"Ah...Miss Mina...so good..." The man cried out comfortably, and inserted one hand into Mina's hair to press her head down, while the other hand reached into Mina's open top. The pair of white and tender breasts were rubbed vigorously inside.

Mina didn't care about the man's rough movements. She skillfully swallowed the huge thing in her mouth, and occasionally lick the sensitive crown with the tip of her tongue to arouse the man's excitement.

"It feels so good... You are much better than that whore last time..." The man became more and more excited. He simply picked up Mina's head and inserted it completely. His abdomen hit her chin and made a loud slapping sound.

Mina tried her best to relax her throat to allow the man to thrust easily, sucking and swallowing with the men’s rhythm at the same time. Soon the man's breathing became heavy and rapid, the only thing left in the cabin was the man's sensual moans and the gurgling sound of water in Mina's throat...

With Mina's efforts, the man quickly reached climax. He held Mina's head firmly against his crotch, and a thick white liquid spurted out, pouring all of it into Mina's mouth.

Mina did not spit out the man's penis immediately, but swallowed every drop of semen in her mouth, and did not raise her head until the man softened.

" Miss Mina ... you are so wonderful ..." the man gasped, still stroking Mina 's hair with his big hands.

Mina smiled and wiped away the residue from her lips, then crawled back onto the man: " In that case, sir, do you want more ' care ‘? "

Without saying a word, the man pushed Mina down on the seat and eagerly pulled open her uniform skirt, revealing the narrow thong between her slender legs. " Fuck ... you little evil ... I'm going to fuck you up ..." The man growled, taking off his clothes, stepping forward and possessing Mina fiercely...

"Ah... so deep... you are so powerful..." Mina raised her neck and hummed softly. The man's penis was thick, long and powerful, and it reached the deepest point at once.

The man grabbed Mina's waist and pumped her quickly, hitting her every time, causing Mina to moan intermittently. "Scream louder...I like to hear your voice..." the man ordered, while increasing the intensity.

" Oh ... Sir ... be gentle ... I won't be able to bear it ..." Mina twisted her waist to escape from the man's control, but it only made the man more excited.

"Little evil... you just need to be fucked..." The man rushed forward and kissed Mina on the lips, holding her swaying breasts in his big hands and kneading them.

Mina responded to the man's deep kiss, inserted one hand between the two of them, and gently twisted the man's scrotum, while the other hand left scratch marks on the man's back.

"Hmm... It's so fucking exciting... You really should be a prostitute..." The man was so excited by Mina's reaction that his penis expanded more and more, and each penetration brought Mina greater pleasure.

In the midst of this passion, the plane suddenly encountered turbulence, and the fuselage began to vibrate violently. "Be careful...ah..." Mina exclaimed, hugging the man's shoulders tightly with both hands, and the two of them swayed on the chair.

"Fuck...I don't care...let's continue..." The man gritted his teeth, fixed Mina's buttocks with his hands and continued to thrust violently, as if he wanted to penetrate her...

Mina lost control due to the man's collision. She raised her head and threw her hair away. She screamed and twisted her waist desperately, seeming to enjoy this wild pleasure.

The bumps in the fuselage caused the two of them to constantly collide and rub against each other, which only added to the excitement of sex. Mina's legs were wrapped around the man's waist, her fingers dug deep into his back, and her nails made bloody marks.

"Fuck...it feels so good...I'm going to cum..." the man growled, speeding up his thrusts and gushing out in the deepest part of Mina.

Mina also reached climax at the same time. She screamed and stretched her waist, her vagina tightened around the man's penis like a spasm, and a large amount of honey gushed out.

" Ah ... that's great ..." Mina fell into the man's arms exhausted, her forehead covered with beads of sweat.

The man chuckled lightly and kissed the corner of Mina's lips: "Your 'care' is so perfect... I will only choose you when I fly first class in the future..."

Mina chuckled and whispered in the man's ear: " Then we'll see you on the next flight ..."

When the man heard this, he was immediately excited. He hugged Mina tightly and planned to have a second round...

"Wait..." Mina suddenly pushed the man away with an embarrassed expression.

"What's wrong?" The man looked at Mina in confusion.

Mina blushed and shook her head: "For the second round of your special service, we need to charge some extra fees..."

The man's eyes widened: "What do you mean? Aren't you a flight attendant on the plane?"

Mina said: " Yes, but to provide such a long-term special service to one customer, there is still an additional charge ..."

"What?!" The man was furious. He stood up angrily: "So you are playing tricks on me..."

Mina quickly grabbed the man and explained aggrievedly: "Don't be angry... Of course I am willing to serve you, but this is not in compliance with company regulations... If I am found out, I will lose my job..."

"Then how much do you want?" the man asked.

Mina thought for a moment and held out three fingers hesitantly.

"Three thousand?!" The man was shocked.

" No ... it's three hundred thousand ..." Mina said with a blush.

"What?! Do you think I'm being taken advantage of?" the man was furious.

Mina immediately put on a pitiful look: " But sir ... I really can't provide such services for free ... You just said that I am much better than a prostitute ..."

The man sighed helplessly. He took out a thick stack of cash from the suitcase and threw it to Mina: "Okay... take it..."

After getting the money, Mina immediately changed into a different person. She knelt on the ground and leaned down again, using her gloves to touch the man's genitals while taking it into her mouth.

" Ah ... little fairy ... you are really ..." The man felt Mina 's skill and closed his eyes comfortably. Mina licked the man like a charming cat, her tongue swirled around the crown, and then suddenly slid into the deepest recess, scraping the sensitive spots teasingly.

"Oh... you're really good at licking..." The man couldn't help but hold down Mina's head and completely insert his penis into her mouth.

Mina obediently allowed herself to be manipulated by the man. The tip of her tongue hung at the base of the penis, rubbing the sensitive parts as the man thrust. "I'm going to cum..." The man's breathing became heavy. He held Mina's head firmly, thrust dozens of times, and then poured all the hot fluid into Mina's mouth.

Mina carefully swallowed every drop of semen, raised her head and showed a charming smile to the man: "Do you have any other 'requests'?"

The man stared at Mina's flushed lips and smiled evilly: "I want to fuck every hole in your body..." Mina immediately understood what the man meant. She turned over and lay on the seat, raising her butt high: "Then come on...please enjoy my back garden..."

The man stared intently at Mina's buttocks. Her vagina had not yet been closed, and the pink flesh walls could be vaguely seen, as well as the white turbid semen that was constantly flowing out. "What a beauty..." The man reached out and slapped Mina on the buttocks with emotion, causing her to scream.

"Moan..." the man ordered. He held Mina's waist and slowly advanced. The front end of his cock separated the pink anus and gradually sank into it. "Ah...Sir...slower..." Mina raised her head and gasped, feeling a strange pleasure from the thick foreign object invading her anus.

The man ignored Mina's pleas. He grabbed Mina's waist and pushed hard, inserting the entire penis into Mina's anus. "Oh..." Mina whispered in a daze. She felt that part of her body was stretched to the limit, and the man's penis jumped up and down in her body, bringing waves of tingling pleasure.

The man began to thrust rapidly. His penis was tightly wrapped by Mina's ass, and every inch of skin was rubbing, causing an extreme sense of comfort. "It feels so fucking good...you little devil..." the man growled and sped up, hitting Mina's G-spot with every penetration, causing her to scream.

"Ah...don't...too deep...sir..." Mina cried, the pain and pleasure coming from her anus made her almost lose her mind. The man doesn't care about so much, he just wants to indulge in Mina. His big hands pinched Mina's breasts, kneading them into various shapes, and pinched the sensitive nipples with his fingertips.

"Moan louder...I'm going to fuck you out..." The man gasped, his penis moving in and out of Mina's body quickly.

"Oh...Sir...I can't survive...I'm going to be broken..." Mina burst into tears. She felt that her lower body was completely out of control, and streams of juice could not stop pouring out of her vagina.

"Then let me see how wild you can be..." The man bit Mina's shoulder viciously, and his penis hit the deepest part, and then erupted again amidst Mina's high-pitched moans. White turbid semen spurted out and poured into Mina's rectum, mixing with the previous semen, making the entire anus look even muddier.

"It feels so fucking good...you are such a natural born slut..." The man pulled out his penis, covered Mina's buttocks with one hand, turned her over and pressed her on the seat, and once again buried his head in her Chest biting and sucking...

Mina looked at the man in front of her who was crazy about her with joy. She understood that as long as she could make him cum more often, she would get higher rewards.

"Do you still want it... Are you satisfied with Mina's service... Do you still want more?” Mina’s teasing is so effective that the men’s cock starts to rise again. "You little evil..." the man growled. He grabbed Mina's hands and held them above her head. Then he lowered his head and kissed Mina's red lips hard.

Mina responded to the kiss passionately, her tongue protruding into the man's mouth and entangled with his. At the same time, she felt a hot thing squeeze into her body, slowly but surely moving deeper.

" Ah ... Sir ... you are so amazing ..." Mina gasped repeatedly. She felt that the desire in her body was completely ignited, and her whole body seemed to be in cloud 9, bumping up and down with the man's movements.

The man pumped faster and faster, and his penis was tightly wrapped by Mina's tight vagina, bringing unprecedented pleasure. " Fuck ... you're driving me crazy ..." the man cursed in a low voice. He grabbed Mina 's slender waist and pushed hard ..." Mina pretended to be helpless and moaned. In fact, she felt unprecedented Relief.

The man gasped and sped up, and every thrust hit Mina's deepest core, causing a throbbing sensation. " It feels so good ..." Mina swayed obliviously, her breasts rising and falling as if they were two active volcanoes waiting to be conquered.

The man became even more excited when he saw Mina. He grabbed Mina's breasts hard and rubbed and pressed her nipples with his thumbs, causing a burst of electricity to pass through her body. " Ah ... Sir ... harder ... deeper ..." Mina twisted her body to meet the man's movements. She felt that her desire had reached the limit, and she longed for a more violent impact.

The man's scalp was numb from the stimulation of Mina's words and movements. He growled, held Mina's slim waist with both hands, and pushed his penis deep. "Oh...it's too deep..." Mina raised her head and gasped. Her eyes were blurred, as if she had lost consciousness.

The man pumped faster and faster, and his glans kept hitting Mina's cervix, causing waves of spasms." Call me husband ... you slut ..." The man bit Mina 's ear, his hoarse voice filled with indescribable temptation.

" Husband ... " Mina responded unconsciously. Her body was completely dominated, and she could only passively withstand the man's attack.

The man felt Mina 's body tighten suddenly, followed by a violent tremor. His penis was tightly twisted, almost suffocating.

" Ah...I'm going to cum..." the man growled, his penis buried deeply into Mina's body, spurting out stream after stream of hot heat inside. "Husband..." Mina also reached climax. She hugged the man tightly, and their bodies softened after a spasm.

The man gently stroked Mina's sweaty back and whispered, " You are mine for the rest of the flight. " Mina raised her head and smiled sweetly at the man. She responded softly: "Yes, husband..."

The man stared at Mina in front of him. Although the stewardess uniform she was wearing was already messy, the contrast between chaos and order gave people a very impactful sense of beauty.

Mina also noticed the man's gaze. She deliberately shook her body, revealing the snow-white skin under her clothes and a faint red mark. "Sir..." Mina blinked and called softly, as if teasing something.

The man felt that the thing in his body was tending to rise again, and he sighed. This woman was simply a natural succubus, who could always easily arouse his desire.

"What are we going to do now..." Mina tilted her head and looked at the man, looking innocent, but her eyes were so coquettish that her heart beat faster.

The man couldn't help but leaned down, and his lips fell on Mina's forehead, nose, and lips, licking all the way down, and finally took a hard red fruit in his mouth and sucked hard. "Oh..." Mina raised her head and hummed. She put her arms around the man's neck and offered her lips and tongue.

The man growled and deepened the kiss. His big hands slipped under Mina's skirt, covering her smooth thighs, and gradually explored upwards...

"Well...Husband..." Mina's murmurs came intermittently. She felt that she was about to be ignited again, and that primitive desire was taking over her reason little by little...

Mina knew exactly what she had to do - there was only the last moment before the plane landed, and she had to seize this last opportunity to drain the man in front of her. So, Mina kept whispering "husband". She twisted her body and rubbed the man's lower body, trying to arouse his interest.

" Husband ... I want more ..." Mina said coquettishly, her fingers slipped under the man's nightgown, grabbed the half-hard penis and started to play with it.

The man felt that he was about to lose control, but he still couldn't bear to stop. Mina's techniques are proficient and full of skills. She seems to be born with all this, and people can't help but indulge in it.

" You goblin ..." the man gasped and pushed Mina down on the seat again. His tongue swept across Mina 's bare shoulders, leaving a trail of glistening saliva.

" As long as my husband likes it ..." Mina chuckled. She put her arms around the man's neck and pulled him to cover her again.

The man buried his head in Mina 's chest and sucked her nipples hard. At the same time, he raised his buttocks and pressed against Mina 's private parts, rubbing them slightly.

"Oh..." Mina felt a numbing pleasure spread from her lower body. She couldn't help but raise her head and moan in response to the man's sucking. " Baby ... you are so sweet ..." The man's hoarse voice sounded extremely aggressive. He pulled open Mina 's dress without any explanation and bit into a bud.

"Husband..." Mina sighed softly and opened her legs to facilitate the man's further invasion. The man unhooked Mina's bra, and a pair of proud jade rabbits popped out. The man eagerly lowered his head, took one of the nipples into his mouth, and teased it with the tip of his tongue, causing Mina to gasp.

" Ah ... it feels so comfortable ... honey ... push harder ..." Mina twisted her body, her hand kept touching the man's penis and began to stroke it gently. The man felt the heat gradually rising in his lower body, and his breathing became heavier, but he still did not forget to take care of Mina's two-point red cherry in his mouth, sucking and licking it, making a "tsk tsk" sound.

"Husband... I can't bear it anymore... Come in..." Mina begged softly, her legs automatically parted, inviting the man to enter. The man finally let go of Mina 's breasts. He put his hands on Mina 's waist, then slowly moved forward, and slowly inserted his huge penis into Mina 's body.

" Ah!" Mina raised her head and gasped. The depths of her body were immediately filled, and an electric-like pleasure coursed through her limbs.

The man began to pump slowly, going all the way in every stroke, hitting the deepest part of Mina. " Honey ... come on ... harder ..." Mina urged, feeling like she was about to melt into the waves of pleasure.

The man obeyed the order and sped up. His penis quickly moved in and out of Mina's body, making waves of water and sluggish sounds. " Baby, you're so tight ... it's driving me crazy ..." the man gasped, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

When Mina heard the man's words, a proud smile appeared on her lips. She adjusted her breathing, and then rhythmically tightened her body cavity, tightly wrapping the man's hot desire.

"Oh!" The man felt that he was being tightly clamped, and Mina's pussy seemed to be alive, squirming and squeezing, trying to squeeze out all the essence in his body.

"Baby...you're going to drain me..." the man roared, his speed getting faster and faster, hitting Mina's deepest part hard every time, causing waves of convulsions.

Mina 's breathing became more and more rapid. She clutched the sheets tightly, and her whole body was shaking uncontrollably.

"Honey... cum together... I'm cumming..." Mina shouted in a daze, her body suddenly tightened again, and a strong suction force hit the man's clone. "Oh...fuck!" The man could no longer control himself. He growled and poured all of himself into Mina's body.

The two of them froze up while climaxing and could not recover for a long time.

After a while, the man withdrew from Mina's body, bringing out a large amount of viscous bodily fluids. Mina was lying on her back on the seat, the lingering feeling had not dissipated, her eyes were a little confused, and she seemed to be in some kind of passionate state.

The man leaned down, gently stroked Mina 's hair, and said with a low smile: " Baby, you are truly a stunner. " Mina narrowed her eyes and showed a charming smile: "Husband, this is just the beginning." "

For the next period, Mina was like an insatiable demon, constantly squeezing the desire out of the man's body. They tried various positions and methods, reaching the peak again and again.

It wasn't until the plane started to land that Mina stopped this wild game. She quickly arranged her clothes to cover up the mess on her body. Then, Mina took out a large check from the man's wallet, smiled kindly at him, and left his first-class cabin.

When Mina returned to work, she looked as elegant and capable as ever. No one could have imagined that this dignified stewardess had just staged such a ridiculous love affair in a private cabin.

Mina greeted the other passengers with a smile on her face. She stuffed the check left by the man into her pocket and silently planned her spending plan for tonight.

The drained man was still unconscious on the first-class bed. His body was covered with hickeys and fingerprints, and a pool of thick bodily fluids wet the sheets.

It seems that this journey will become a very unforgettable memory for him.

[amethystina]

hiii! just curious of you've watched beyond evil? 🤔 (ps: i loveeee ur fics <3)

I have not, no, but it's been on my list of things to watch since I saw The Devil Judge. Though mainly because I had seen (and liked) Yeo Jin Goo in Hotel del Luna and was curious to see him in a drama with a different tone and story (i.e. I had no idea about the comparisons between The Devil Judge and Beyond Evil at the time). It was actually one of the dramas I had planned to watch right after The Devil Judge, but then got too distracted writing fanfics x'D

And, by now, I'm mostly postponing it because I don't want to collect another drama I possibly want to write for, which is the same reason why I haven't watched Word of Honor or Evilive, for example.

(For real: I took one look at Kim Young Kwang in Evilive before noping the fuck out because I have a type — a specific brand of kryptonite, if you will — and that man, in that specific drama, so perfectly encapsulates it that my flight-or-fight response kicked in. I feel like I dodged a bullet on that one)

(But I will eventually watch it — just give me some time)

Anyway! Also, from what I've gathered, the Beyond Evil peeps are doing fine without me? Like, they seem to be having a great time! No need for me to show up like the aggressive, invasive species that I am and ruin it x'D

I do want to watch it some day, though, but I admit a part of me is also kind of... hesitant? Because people have hyped it up so much? And what happens if I watch it and don't like it? Or don't find it as fascinating as everyone else seems to? x'D

(I'm pretty sure I will, but the worry is there nonetheless)

I'm one of those people who prefer to go into things blind. If I hear too much, I will build expectations (or start figuring out spoilers) without meaning to and it usually influences my experience in ways that are detrimental to the drama/show/movie in question. The less I know, the better (aside from triggers and warnings, of course).

And while I know next to nothing about Beyond Evil's plot (and would like to keep it that way so please don't spoil me!) some of the posts I've seen here on Tumblr have already influenced me negatively towards it. Which I absolutely HATE. And I'm referring to the ones that basically say that everyone should watch Beyond Evil instead of The Devil Judge because it's so much better. And while that might very well be true (especially since a lot of that is subjective), I'm still going to end up unintentionally siding with the only one of those that I actually know in more detail (i.e. The Devil Judge).

"You can't tell me what to like or not like" and all that.

Which I know is a ridiculous response and I'm trying to combat it, but I can't deny that it still affects me. To the point where I honestly wished I had watched Beyond Evil sooner since now I worry I'm going to be biased in a negative way, simply because of the discourse I've happened to glimpse online. I don't want to compare the two, but I feel defensive enough that I still might, despite my best intentions. I want to be able to judge things based on their own merit.

So can we please just stop pitting things against each other? It's tiring and ruins the experience for me.

I just want to be able to watch and enjoy cool things :C

TLDR: I haven't watched it yet but hope to at some point since it sounds like it will be good. But I'm hesitant because I already have too many projects and don't want to stumble into another fandom I want to write for right now x'D

And thank you so much! I'm glad you like my fics 💜

[foolishmortal]

I started watching Beyond Evil pretty much because of seeing your posts on it. I just got to episode 9 and all of a sudden we get Han Joowon smiling?? Laughing?? We're getting more facial expressions from him in the first half of this episode than from the previous eight episodes??? Ok that's all I had to share, back to seeing where they go from here

[lexyeevee]

it's wild to see myhouse having escaped the orbit of Doom People, because so much of it specifically riffs on doom in a way that is laser-targeted at Doom People, to the point that i just wouldn't have expected it to be nearly as interesting if you don't pick up on that stuff

right from the outset, "my house" is even a recognizable genre, because doom was among the first approachable platforms for creating a 3D space, and if you give random people the ability to create a 3D space then many of them will just try to recreate their own house. (i want to say jp lebreton even made an effort to play through every house map on the idgames archive at one point, though hell if i can find it now.) there was in fact already a "myhouse.wad", from 1995!

frankly it's incredible that someone (or someones) put so much effort into this map and then had the gall to simply post it on doomworld as "myhouse.wad", because that is a thread title that guarantees the fewest possible people will bother to look. there are posts in the thread where people outright admit that they only checked because they were surprised how many replies a "my house" wad got.

so anyway, okay, the "classic" doom wad experience is that you download a wad, it contains exactly 1 map, and it has zero custom textures or music or other frills. most wads from the 90s are like this; if you're lucky you might get a bad midi rendition of a metallica song. nowadays there are texture artists and musicians and everything collaborating on full map packs, but "just a map" is still kind of the default mapping experience and is recognizable to anyone who's been around doom for sufficiently long.

and myhouse riffs on absolutely every aspect of this:

• the music is the MAP01 music, Running From Evil, which is just the music you get if you supply your own map in the MAP01 slot and do nothing else. so a ton of 90s maps had this same track as their background music, so everyone has heard it a zillion times. it is ingrained into so many people's skulls. subtly fucking with it is a great way to fuck with the player

• the house uses only stock doom 2 textures, or occasionally light modifications of them. again this is just what you get if you make a map and don't supply any other resources, so the stock textures are very familiar. only later, with sufficient poking around, does the map introduce new textures, which really help sell the impression of being swept away to Somewhere Else

• if you take the exit, you go to MAP02, Underhalls. this is the expected experience because doom wads replace what's already there — you're not really supplying a "new map pack" or anything, you're overwriting a map from the original doom 2 progression. (there are ways to fiddle with this now, but in vanilla doom 2, the level progression was hardcoded.) so the "ending" of a no-frills single-map wad is always, always to transition to Underhalls. the opening shot of Underhalls is practically like seeing the credits. so roping Underhalls into the experience is completely unexpected, because Underhalls is the sign that you've escaped back to regular doom

• the super shotgun is "hidden" in Underhalls, in probably the best-known super shotgun location in the whole game, because it's the first time you can get it

• incidentally Underhalls itself feels uncanny, because the player camera height is higher than usual to make the house's proportions feel sensible. (part of the trouble with exact recreations of real spaces in doom is that the camera is weirdly low.) i was actually convinced that myhouse included a modified Underhalls, but no, it's stock doom 2 Underhalls, it just feels off when you're slightly taller

but wait, there's more

• silent teleporters are a feature from boom, a very early doom derivative that added a number of helpful mapping features and is basically considered only half a step beyond vanilla. so shifting between two versions of a space without interruption isn't completely unexpected. it's only later that the portal use becomes more obvious

• although if you're especially canny, you should notice that the second version of the house shows both the upstairs and downstairs windows in full, which is impossible — doom cannot do room-over-room. (in fact this is accomplished with a semi-obscure zdoom feature called sector portals — essentially, the whole second floor and the space outside it are a separate area, and the "ceiling" of the yard becomes a view up through the "floor" of that second space.)

• swinging doors are a hexen feature (polyobjects) that gzdoom inherited. (heretic and hexen were modifications of the doom engine, and zdoom started out as a merge of all three codebases into something that could play all three games.) they might also be in other fancy engines (eternity?), but they are very distinctly not a doom thing. if you're deeply familiar with doom's limitations then they'll jump out at you immediately, but if you're looking at doom like it's any old 3D game then maybe not so much

• recreations of other humble real-world locales are also a somewhat common theme, and remind me in particular of Doom City, from way back in 1995

• a very common desire for players is to "uv-max" a map, i.e. reach the exit on ultra-violence with 100% kills and secrets. if you can't do this, the map is (reasonably) considered broken. it is comically impossible to do this in myhouse, and anyone with the skill to create the map would be acutely aware of this

• the extra weapon frames look to be borrowed from the well-known smooth doom, which adds extra frames for everything and is just pretty dang slick overall. so it's not merely "ho ho, got you, smoother weapons" but specific integration of another familiar project

• this might be reaching a bit, but mirrors are specifically a nightmare in zdoom's software renderer because they work by rendering all visible geometry as if it were physically present on the other side of the mirror — and if there be any actual geometry back there, it will also get rendered and you will have a big fucking mess. so a mirror in the middle of a room is a laughable idea. this is somewhat less of a concern now that the hardware renderer is basically the default, but it's still a spectre looming over the very concept of mirrors, so the way mirrors play out in myhouse is very funny to me

there's probably more, like, the way it intercepts noclip is a stroke of genius and not something i've ever seen done before. but i hope you get the idea

[dystopic-view]

The stranger in my bed

Human Sukuna x fem/afab reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Ryomen Sukuna is a feared tyrant, left wounded after a failed assassination attempt. When you find him, you have no idea who he truly is. To you, he is simply a stranger in need of help. But as you tend to his wounds and his identity comes to light, tensions rise.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: heian era au, fluff, tyrant Sukuna, detailed mentions of blood and wounds, caregiving, treating wounds, wholesome Sukuna???, oblivious reader, minor-paced heat (not exactly a slow burn), bickering, first kiss

𝐖.𝐂: 3.8K

During the Heian era, Ryomen Sukuna’s name echoed through the land, a symbol of both salvation and destruction. To some, he was a fearless guardian, a necessary evil who protected his people through fear. To others, he was a bloodthirsty tyrant, a dictator who ruled with an iron fist. Stories of his violence reached far and wide, stretching beyond Japan’s borders. Whether true or false, these stories fueled the image of him being a ruthless monster. Without Sukuna’s knowledge, his tyranny had sparked the flames of rebellion inside the hearts of the oppressed.

A group of rebels, united in their struggles, set their sights on Sukuna’s downfall.

At the crack of dawn, they attacked with deadly precision, a hail storm of arrows aiming for the heart of the man who had long plagued their land.

But Sukuna was no ordinary man.

He managed to escape death, but not without injury.

One arrow hit its mark, and he stumbled into the forest, clutching his side as blood stained his kimono.

The chill of the winter morning air bit at his skin, his breath coming in ragged pants as he stumbled through the snow.

His strength was failing him, the relentless cold only worsening his agony.

His vision blurred, and before he could stop himself, he collapsed.

The snow crunched beneath him as his body fell limp, his blood painting the ground in scarlet streaks.

The great and terrible Ryomen Sukuna, once untouchable, had fallen farther than anyone had ever thought possible.

You had been walking through the woods, taking a shortcut back to your cabin after a quick run for some herbs from a neighboring village, when the sight of a blood trail against the pristine white snow stopped you in your tracks.

Your gaze followed it until it led to a man.

A stranger, one you hadn’t seen before, lying there on the ground, his chest rising and falling faintly.

“Sir!” you exclaimed, rushing to his side.

Kneeling down, you examined him with growing panic.

An arrow was sticking out from his side, blood seeping from the wound and soaking his clothing.

His face was as pale as the snow beneath him, his features twisted in pain.

His eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open, scanning the forest with paranoia.

“Who did this to you?” you asked, your voice urgent but soft as your hands hovered over him.

His eyes finally locked onto yours, sharp and filled with malice.

“Be gone,” he spat, the words dripping with venom despite his obvious weakness.

He tried to swat your hands away, but his movements were sluggish.

“Don’t touch me,” he groaned, trying to sound commanding, but his strength had abandoned him.

His arrogance, however, hadn’t.

Your eyes widened at his reaction, but you remained calm, inhaling a deep breath as you figured out the next course of action.

“You can complain all you want,” you replied, your tone firm as you ignored his protests, “but I’m not leaving you here to bleed out on the snow.”

Sliding one of his arms over your shoulders, you lifted him up with difficulty, your legs trembling under his weight. “Come on,” you said through gritted teeth, “my cabin is just a few steps away.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, attempting to pull away.

His voice carried the same threatening tone as before, but the aggression of his words was completely outshined by his obvious vulnerable state.

“Focus on not dying,” you snapped, adjusting his weight as you dragged the both of you through the snow.

When you finally reached your cabin, you pushed the door open with your foot and led him to your bed, laying him down as carefully as his deadweight allowed.

You wasted no time.

Kneeling beside him, you carefully opened up his kimono, revealing more than you expected.

His chest was broad and well-defined, muscles rippling beneath his skin.

The dim light of the room highlighted the scars that covered it.

So many, each one a mystery you couldn’t quite understand.

You frowned, fingers brushing over the marks, wondering what kind of life had left him like this.

His abs flexed slightly as you carefully touched him, and for a moment, you couldn't help but notice how his body looked like it had been carved from stone.

You caught yourself staring for a little too long at the sight of his body, and quickly shook your head, snapping your focus back to the task at hand.

His wound needed your attention.

“I’m not some helpless fool,” he growled, his voice rasping.

You ignored him, slipping away to grab some supplies.

A clean cloth, a bowl of water, and a bottle of alcohol.

Returning to his side, you soaked the cloth and pressed it gently against the wound, cleaning away the blood.

He flinched, his body tensing under your touch.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned, wrapping your fingers around the arrow. “I’m sorry.”

Without waiting for his response, you pulled the arrow out in one swift motion.

His scream tore through the cabin, raw and guttural.

He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as sweat droplets formed on his forehead.

“You’re making this worse,” he hissed when the pain subsided slightly.

“Right,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. "Bleeding out on the snow sounds way better than my help."

Even though he continued to complain and glare at you, he had no choice but to let you stitch up the wound.

As you worked, his breathing eventually steadied but the sour look on his face never left.

"I don’t need your help," he muttered one last time, his voice quieter now, but still laced with defiance.

"And I don’t need your gratitude," you replied evenly, tying off the final stitch. "But here we are anyway."

His crimson eyes bore into you with disdain, but you simply sighed and stood. "You’re lucky the wound wasn’t worse. You’ll need to rest, though."

Without waiting for a reply, you left the room, returning a few minutes later with a steaming bowl of soup.

You sat down beside him on the bed, carefully scooping up a spoonful of soup.

Gently, you brought it close to his lips, watching him closely.

“Here,” you said quietly, waiting for him to part his lips. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. This will help.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to the spoon, then back to you.

He didn’t move. “I’m not a child,” he snapped, his tone sharp despite the fatigue in his voice.

You shook your head with a light chuckle. “Good to know.”

You extended the spoon again, your voice warm but firm. “Eat, please.”

He let out a low, irritated grunt but finally opened his mouth, reluctantly accepting the spoonful you offered.

The way his jaw clenched as he accepted it was almost comical, as if the act of cooperation was physically painful for him.

You watched as he ate another spoonful, his movements stiff.

He paused, then took another, slower this time.

“It’s bland,” he muttered, turning his face away with an expression of disinterest.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “It’s supposed to be easy on your stomach,” you explained patiently. “I didn’t want to give you anything too heavy.”

He snorted, his tone laced with sarcasm. “How considerate.”

You let the comment slide, refusing to take the bait.

Instead, you stood, setting the bowl down on the nightstand and placing a blanket over his body “I’ll make something tastier once you’re feeling better. For now, this will have to do.”

Sukuna glared at you, clearly annoyed by your calm demeanor, but said nothing.

Over the next few hours, his defiance didn’t waver once.

Every time you checked his wound, he’d flinch or growl as if your touch was offensive.

When you tried to help him sit up or adjust his bandages, he’d mutter something under his breath about not needing your assistance.

By the tenth time he dismissed your efforts with a scoff, your patience began to wear thin.

“Could you at least try not to act like I’m torturing you?” you asked lightly, your voice tinged with humor rather than frustration.

“I wouldn’t have to act,” he shot back, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

You exhaled slowly, your grip tightening on the cloth in your hand. “You really have a way with words, don’t you?”

He tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement now. “Easy there, you’re sounding annoyed.”

You forced a smile, though it was strained. “Not annoyed. Just questioning why I’m bothering to help when it’s so clearly unwanted.”

The silence stretched, and his smirk momentarily disappeared.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, before leaning back against the pillows with a low grunt.

“Fine, do as you please,” he mumbled, his eyelids fluttering shut.

You sighed, torn between irritation and concern as you watched him. “I plan to,” you murmured softly, more to yourself than to him, before gathering your supplies and leaving the room.

As you walked out of the room, Sukuna cracked one eye open, his gaze lingering on the door you’d just closed.

For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, the softness in your voice and the tenderness in your actions unsettled him far more than any battle wound ever had.

Why were you treating him like this?

With so much kindness and care, despite his infamy.

Him, of all people.

The next morning, you entered the room to check on him, carrying another bowl of soup in one hand and a fresh bandage roll in the other.

He was awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his expression neutral.

“Good morning,” you said kindly, setting the bowl down on the nightstand beside him.

He didn’t respond, but you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around, arranging your supplies.

You sat next to him on the edge of the bed, peeling back the blanket to inspect his wound. The stitches held on well overnight, and the redness around the area had started to fade.

“It’s healing nicely,” you said with a small smile, dabbing at the wound with a damp cloth.

Sukuna grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “I’m sure you have. But that doesn’t mean you should brush this off.”

He didn’t reply, his gaze shifting away from you to the window.

As you worked, the silence between you stretched, but it didn’t feel as tense as it had before. He didn’t flinch as much when your hands brushed against his skin, and while his annoyed expression remained firmly in place, there was something less hostile about it now.

“Here,” you said after finishing with his bandages, lifting the bowl of soup and holding it out to him.

He eyed it suspiciously. “Still bland, I assume?”

You chuckled. “Probably. But you’ll eat it anyway.”

This time, he took the bowl without complaint.

As he ate, you settled down on the bed, watching him quietly.

“You’re awfully persistent,” he muttered after a few bites, his tone less sharp than usual.

“And you’re awfully stubborn,” you countered, a teasing hint in your voice.

He snorted, a sound that almost resembled a laugh. “You’re really something, aren’t you?” He spoke with his usual sharpness, but this time, it wasn’t as cold.

You raised an eyebrow, not missing the subtle shift in his tone. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He glanced at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Could be worse, I guess. At least you’re not boring.”

With a soft chuckle, you tilted your head. "I’d say I’m doing something right, since you're still alive and complaining."

Over the next few days, a routine formed between you.

You’d take care of his wound in the morning, bring him food, and sit with him for a while, talking about small things.

Your life living in the forest, the weather, little stories from the nearby village.

At first, he barely responded, his silence more dismissive than curious.

But slowly, his mean comments became fewer, his glares less frequent.

Once, you even caught him watching you with an expression you could only describe as endearing.

One evening, as you were tidying up the room, Sukuna broke the silence.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he stated, his voice low but certain.

You glanced at him, pausing mid-step. “Should I be?”

He frowned, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Most people would.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “You’re lying half-dead in my bed, what is it that you want me to fear so bad?” Your voice was light, teasing, but there was a hint of curiosity in your gaze now.

Sukuna scoffed. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes scanning your face almost as if deciding if he truly wanted to say whatever it was he was thinking about.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“Who I am.”

A strange silence followed his statement, and you found yourself blinking in confusion. “Should I?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, sharp and humorless. “You’ve been tending to the most feared man in the land, and you don’t even realize it.”

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing to piece together his cryptic statement. “Feared?” you replied.

He leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours, gauging your reaction. “I’m Ryomen Sukuna.’’

Your breath hitched, the realization slamming into you like a splash of ice cold water. Memories of whispered stories and terrified murmurs surfaced in your mind.

Tales of a tyrant whose cruelty knew no limits, whose power was unmatched.

Your gaze darted to his eyes, lowering to the sharp angles of his jaw, until they landed on his scarred chest.

The scars on his body told a story far darker than you'd imagined.

“You…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your body slightly shifting away from him on the bed.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow “Ah, there it is. Fear.”

But as the silence stretched, the fear he expected didn’t consume you.

Instead, your expression shifted from shock to something else entirely.

“You’re joking,” you said flatly, though your voice trembled slightly.

“Do I look like someone who jokes?” His tone was sharp, his gaze unforgiving.

You stared at him, your mind racing.

The pieces fit together too neatly to deny.

The arrogance.

The way he carried himself.

The near-fatal attack he’d suffered.

It all made sense now.

And yet…

You exhaled slowly, leaning back to where you were sitting before. “Well, that explains the attitude,” you muttered.

His brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard by your response. “That’s it? No begging for mercy? No scrambling to escape?”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. “Am I supposed to? You’re still breathing only because I’m here. What are you going to do, kill me with that look?

For the first time since you’d met him, Sukuna looked genuinely stunned.

“You’re either very brave,” he said finally, his voice low, “or very foolish.”

“Maybe both,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But even if I knew who you were from the start... I probably still would’ve helped you.”

He sat there staring at you, with a bewildered expression on his face, and for once, he didn’t have a sharp reply.

The air in the room thickened with a tension neither of you had expected.

You shifted slightly on the bed, the heaviness of your words lingering between you, while Sukuna remained silent, his eyes never leaving yours.

You both seemed locked in some kind of standoff, neither of you backing down, but neither of you making a move either.

His eyes were darker now, unreadable and intense, while you felt your pulse quicken under the intensity of his gaze.

Finally, he relaxed against the pillows with a quiet grunt, still watching you carefully, as if he was trying to figure out why you weren’t reacting the way he expected.

“You’re strange, you know that?” His voice was low, but there was something softer in the way he spoke.

“I’ve been told that before,” you said, smiling softly.

He chuckled, the sound extremely faint. “I can’t believe you’re so calm after all this. After knowing who I am.”

You shrugged, your gaze not leaving his. “What does it change? You’re still the same man lying in my bed.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “And you still haven’t run screaming for the hills. A miracle.”

“No, just... common sense,” you said, a teasing tone in your voice. “What would I gain by running? I’ve already fed you, patched you up, and made sure you didn’t die on me. There’s no turning back now.”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite place. “You’ve got more nerve than I expected. I’ll give you that.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment. But I’m pretty sure you don’t hand those out often,” you said with a soft chuckle, your voice light and easy.

You scooted closer to him on the bed, and gently adjusted the blanket around him, your fingers lingering for longer than necessary.

Sukuna’s eyes shifted to your hands, noticing how your touch lingered just a little too long. His body tensed, not out of discomfort but out of unfamiliarity.

He wasn’t used to this.

To someone treating him with such care.

It felt strange.

Unsettling even.

It made him want to pull away but at the same time, he couldn’t move.

It felt like his body was stuck in place.

His gaze returned to your face, the focus in your expression catching him off guard.

There was no fear, no negative feelings toward him that he could detect.

The light weight of the blanket against his chest suddenly felt heavier, almost suffocating, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.

He stayed silent, the tension growing between you.

He felt torn, unsure whether to act on his usual instinct to push everyone away or give in to the curiosity pulling him in.

His voice eventually broke the silence, his tone quieter. “You’ve got to stop making it so easy.”

You glanced up at him, puzzled. “Making what easy?”

“Making me want to stay” he murmured, his gaze flicking down to your lips.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline immediately at this statement, your heartbeat picking up speed for a brief second, as you sat there processing his words.

You didn’t move, not at first, and just stared at him, trying to make sense of what he said.

Before you could open your mouth to reply, his hand moved.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, until his fingers gently trailed the side of your face, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you knew it, you were leaning forward unconsciously.

The proximity between you felt magnetic, the way his eyes were stuck on yours dragging you towards him.

His breath was warm against your skin, his gaze never shifting as he leaned in as well.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t frantic or desperate.

Instead it was slow.

Careful, like he wasn’t quite sure how to begin.

His lips were soft at first, like he was waiting for some signal from you.

And you gave him one.

You leaned into him, hands finding the edge of his kimono, pulling him closer with an urgency that matched the quickening pulse in your chest.

The kiss intensified, the uncertainty between you slowly disappearing with every movement. As his fingers tangled in your hair, you felt the tight knot of tension between you both loosen.

It was more than just a gesture.

That kiss was the release of everything you’d both been holding back, the chemistry finally too strong to deny.

For a few heartbeats, there was nothing but him, nothing but the press of his lips against yours and the sound of your breathings, echoing throughout the quiet of the room.

You pulled back slowly, just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling at the same pace as his.

He didn’t say anything right away, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, like he was trying to figure out if he had misread something.

Or if you were thinking the same thing.

“Stay,” you murmured after a long silence, your voice almost too soft, like you were testing the words.

His eyes narrowed slightly, his face a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“Not just until your wound is healed,” you added, your voice steadier now. “I mean it. Stay here. No one would even think to look for you in a place like this.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

“Whoever shot that arrow at you probably thinks you’re dead anyway,” you continued, leaning in just slightly. “Whoever did that, thinks they’ve won. No one’s coming after you anymore.”

His jaw tightened, and seeing his reaction made you think you had pushed too far.

His hand slipped from your face, trailing down to his side as he straightened his posture slightly.

“As if it’s really that simple,” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost bitter. “You really think I could just disappear? Forget everything?”

You met his gaze, still not giving up despite his unwillingness. “You don’t have to forget. But you could start over. Here. With me.”

The silence that followed was unbearable, Sukuna’s eyes drifting towards the ceiling, clearly lost in thought.

Finally, his lips twisted into a faint smirk. “I didn’t know nursing me back to health included a permanent residency,” he muttered, his voice softer than before, although it carried a teasing tone to it.

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show.

Instead, you shrugged lightly, a small teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He chuckled under his breath, a sound that felt warmer than any fire.

Slowly, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I’ll stay,” he said, the words carrying more weight than he probably intended.

You smiled, leaning back with a small sigh of relief. “Good,” you replied, your voice lighter, gesturing with your head towards the nightstand. “Now stop talking and finish your soup before it gets cold.’’

He shook his head, but the faintest hint of a genuine smile tugged at his lips as he picked up the bowl.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Reveal (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

Warnings: evil!reader who fakes an injury and licks the blood off Sauron’s hand just because, light choking while kissing, you and Sauron being creepy together in general

Note: Can be read as a part two to Jealousy, but works as a stand-alone as well. Also, I have to say I feel awful for Mirdania and Celebrimbor in the show, reader is only antagonistic towards them in this fic for the sake of the plot.

The hours drag by most tediously as you assist Celebrimbor in the making of the Nine. The silence is broken only by the occasional request or observation from him, and your impatience grows by the moment. But you sit there, helpful and obedient, as you have in all the years you spent in Eregion.

You only need to endure this a little longer. Soon, everything will change.

There is a small break in your dull routine, though, when Celebrimbor suddenly says your name. He seems a bit more alert than he has been of late, and you see that he is now staring at the floor rather than at the Ring he had been tinkering with.

“Yes, lord Celebrimbor?” you reply, polite as always.

“That mouse,” he says. “You see it, don’t you?”

You throw a brief glance in the direction he is pointing. “Yes.”

“It’s not the first time it’s been here,” Celebrimbor says. His tone and the pointed look he gives you make it seem like more of a question than a statement, one to which he expects a positive answer.

“Indeed not,” you confirm. “Should I call a rat catcher?”

“No, that’s not what I...” Celebrimbor shakes his head, standing and walking to a different table. “This candle here. It hasn’t burned an inch. For hours, I am certain. And the embers in the fire—”

“Because I have replaced them, my lord,” you say, quite casually.

“I never noticed.” He frowns in your direction, unconvinced. You give him a small smile.

“It’s my task, isn’t it? To aid you in performing yours,” you explain softly. “You were quite absorbed in your own work.”

“I...” Celebrimbor looks to the place he had indicated when speaking of the candle, blinking in confusion. “I—”

“Why don’t I...?” you cut him off, standing from your seat at the worktable. “Why don’t I go and send for something to eat? I believe we have missed breakfast by quite a few hours.”

For a moment, he seems as though he might protest. But the kindly encouraging expression on your face deters him in the end. “Very well,” he nods his consent. With a smile and a respectful nod, you take your leave.

Your expression is anything but respectful, however, the moment you are out of his sight.

“A mouse,” you mutter to yourself as you descend the stairs to the bottom of the tower. “He had to invent a mouse.”

By ‘he’, you mean Sauron, of course. He may have many names, but to you he is, first and foremost, your husband. Long have you awaited his return, biding your time as one of Celebrimbor’s trusted smiths. Until, finally, your love had joined you in Eregion, posing first as Halbrand, then as Annatar. You had pretended not to know him, of course, only stealing moments of passion whenever you found yourself away from prying eyes. The ears have done nothing to diminish your craving for each other. Your bond is as strong as ever, your goals perfectly aligned.

There is only a small inconvenience to your shared plans now. When you bound yourselves to one another in marriage, those vows had a certain, mutually agreed upon effect. He could not use his power to deceive your perception, while you, in turn, received a part of his abilities—which you could not, however, use against him. As such, you can’t see the illusion Sauron has created for Celebrimbor, and can only hope to improvise correctly when the need arises. Had you noticed the discrepancies, you would have informed your husband of them long ago.

But it isn’t too late.

Chaos greets you the moment you take a look beyond the door that leads outside. Stone walls are being shattered by boulders flung from across the river, Elves are running every which way. What truly disturbs you, though, is the fact that your husband is talking to the Elf called Mirdania—again. And again, she is looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, practically begging for the slightest touch of comfort from him. Reaching out with your heightened senses, you hear what they are saying from a distance.

“Celebrimbor’s mind is gone,” Sauron says, sounding the perfect amount of regretful. “We are alone.”

Mirdania shakes her head. “No,” she says, full of sentiment. “Not alone.”

She puts her hands on his arms, tentatively lowering them to his wrists as if she hopes he might move to hold them in his own. It would be irritating if it wasn’t so pitiful. How he keeps his arms firmly planted at his sides while she searches his face for a sign of hope he might share in her feelings.

It would be an act of kindness, really, if you think about it—to open her eyes to the reality of things, once and for all. For now, though, you decide to put a stopper in this unbridled hope of hers without completely shattering the illusion. If only for a bit of personal satisfaction. You do still need her well within your husband’s power after all, same as the other Elves of Eregion.

Now, you may not be able to lock someone inside their own personal illusion, but you can alter your own appearance to the eyes of others. With a bit of concentration, your hand becomes covered in blood and your dress stained with it. You don’t need powers to make tears stream down your cheeks in an instant—your years of expertise in deception are enough for that. Holding your supposedly injured hand to your chest, you rush desperately towards Sauron and Mirdania.

“Lord Annatar!” you cry out. Mirdania quickly releases him as he turns towards you in haste, brow deeply creased with the concern he plays so well. “Lord Annatar, you must come quick! Lord Celebrimbor has—” you hesitate, glancing at Mirdania unsurely.

“It’s all right,” he says, understanding at once. “She knows of his state. Tell me, has he done this?”

He reaches for your bloodied hand, cradling it gently as he speaks. You see Mirdania avert her gaze uncomfortably, and—there. That’s better.

You suppress a smirk as you look up into Sauron’s eyes, nodding with the most helpless expression you can muster.

“He wasn’t pleased with the manner in which I was using the hammer. He-he snatched it from my hand to do it himself, and I don’t think he meant to do it, I truly don’t, but I didn’t manage to pull my hand away before—”

You dissolve into sobs, letting yourself fall against him as if you can’t stand on your own any longer. “Please, you must speak some sense into him,” you whimper into his chest as he wraps his arms around you for support. “I cannot bear it any longer!”

“Mirdania,” he says sternly, “you know my orders. See to it that they are followed.”

“Of course, my lord,” she promises, and promptly leaves. Maybe she looks pained because her city is under siege and its supposed leader has gone mad, as far as she knows. Most likely, that is the main reason. But you like to think a small part of it is seeing the object of her foolish affections holding his one true wife to his chest—even if she doesn’t know that is what you are.

You and Sauron keep up the charade for as long as you are visible to others, with you leaning against him as he leads you inside. Once the door has closed behind you, your tears and blood vanish as if they had never been there, and self-satisfaction replaces the feigned despair on your face. Your husband, however, doesn’t seem quite as pleased as he unceremoniously releases you to stand on your own.

“Must you be so dramatic?”

You smile sweetly up at him. “Would you love me if I wasn’t?”

“Depends,” he says coyly, “on whether you were still as wonderfully cruel as you are.” You delight in his compliment, but he grows serious once again. However enjoyable your twisted version of flirting, this is not the time for it. “What is it, really?”

You cross your arms with a small sigh. The fun was nice while it lasted. “You’re growing careless, and Celebrimbor is starting to notice. Apparently, there’s a mouse that keeps running in the same circle over and over, or something of the sort. And the candles never seem to burn out.” You tilt your head disapprovingly. “Really, it’s as though you’re barely trying.”

Sauron narrows his eyes slightly, but remains calm in the face of your teasing. “We are under siege, my love—”

“Which you orchestrated—”

“Still,” he insists firmly, “I was otherwise preoccupied.”

You might have made a snide remarked about who he had been preoccupied with—but a great rumble comes from outside, catching your attention and leading you to head for the window. The view that greets you draws a gasp from you.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Sauron says, watching the mountain crumble. “They are damming the river.”

“Just as you expected,” you say. After all this time, your husband’s cunning still leaves you in awe when you see his plans come together so smoothly. Or at least smoothly enough—the Rings are yet to be finished. “But we need more time.”

“Tell them to prepare for ground assault—my orders.” Your eyes meet, his as determined as yours. “I shall deal with Celebrimbor, then leave him under your watch once more.”

“You truly are cruel,” you lament. “You’d have me sit still and play the obedient little smith whilst there is a perfectly good siege right outside.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Sauron’s lips. “I would much rather stand in the midst of chaos with you at my side,” he confesses, his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you close, “but we must practice patience before we indulge in its reward.”

His voice is low and suggestive, drenched with lurid promises. His gaze is just the same, and desire washes over you with enough force to break any dam in existence.

“Keep looking at me like that,” you say, turning towards him fully and leaning in close enough for your breath to ghost his lips, “and the chaos shall have to unfold without us.”

A groan leaves his throat, right as he takes hold of yours and kisses your lips. The pressure on your neck is just right, only just enough to stake a claim and convey his greed for you in the most delicious way. You whimper into his mouth, grabbing his wrist, wishing that you could direct his hand to places more desperately in need of his touch. Yet you know this is going to be a short kiss, a parting kiss, and so it is. He leaves, as always, with a sliver of your soul caught between his teeth. But you don’t mind, because you know there is always an equal part of his soul, trapped under your thumb.

Right now, there is work to do.

Although, it seems his side of it doesn’t go quite as planned—because when you return to the forge a little while later, you open the door only to be nearly knocked down by a wildly panicked Celebrimbor who was in the midst of bolting out of the room.

“My lord!” you exclaim, catching him by the shoulders. “Where are you going in such haste?”

“We must run!” he cries out. “We must call the guards—!”

“But my lord—!” You hold fast, refusing to let him drag you along with him. Sauron, to your surprise, is merely standing next to Celebrimbor’s worktable, watching calmly.

“We have all been deceived!” he screams in your face, desperate to make you believe him. “This—all you see here—is but a prison of the mind. A trick!” He turn away, pointing an accusing finger at your husband. “He is Sauron! Look at his blood!”

You’ve seen his blood. You’ve seen it, clear as day, since the moment he cut his hand to replace the mithril that the Dwarves had refused to provide. But the fact that he’s now allowing Celebrimbor to see it himself...

Oh, finally.

Finally.

“His blood?” you ask, barely maintaining some semblance of your pretence as pure elation runs through you. “What of it?”

Celebrimbor practically shakes with frustration. “Don’t you see? It’s black as pitch!”

But when he looks back, Sauron is no longer there. In the blink of an eye, through a power unknown, he is now standing at your side, between Celebrimbor and the door. The smith gasps in terror when he notices, and stumbles backward. You, on the other hand, merely lower your gaze to Sauron’s bloodied hand.

“You’re right,” you muse, as if deeply intrigued by the sight. “It is black.”

Celebrimbor watches, locked in confusion, as you take Sauron’s hand with both of yours, tracing the open cut with a gentle finger. As Sauron allows you to do so, holding completely still as you lift his hand to your lips and—under Celebrimbor’s horrified gaze, you lick the palm of Sauron’s hand. Eyes closed, humming contently, as if the pitch-black blood is the sweetest liquor to have ever graced your tongue. Your eyes open slowly after, sinisterly drifting to Celebrimbor.

“Seems fine to me, though,” you taunt, wiping your thumb over the remnants of blood on your lips and licking that clean as well. No more masks of kindness, no more concealment of your true, twisted nature. You feel as though you’ve been loosed from a horribly tight shackle, and the sensation is divine.

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, seems like he is either about to faint, cry or throw up, in no particular order. “What...” he mumbles helplessly. “What?!”

“Easy, my love,” Sauron all but purrs, his clean hand caressing the back of your head as if to tame a newly awakened beast. “We would not want to disturb Lord Celebrimbor’s... sensibilities.”

“‘My love’?” Celebrimbor’s repeats in disbelief. “You... you’re one of my oldest collaborators—”

“And have you any idea how tedious it was,” you hiss, spitting out long-suppressed venom, “playing the devoted subject all this time? Obeying your orders, when I should have been the one giving them? I had half a mind to overthrow you and take Eregion for myself. But I knew my husband would need you, if ever he was to return.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes dart between you and Sauron, taking in the sight of you standing side by side—his loving hand at the nape of your neck, yours clasping his other hand like a most prized possession—and realization dawns on him. “All this time... you knew,” he murmurs, terror giving way to resignation. “It was all a lie. All a charade.”

Your face twists in a mockery of the concerned expression you had worn the day Halbrand had arrived in Eregion. “My lord, he appears to be hurt,” you repeat your own words from back then, the ones that had convinced Celebrimbor to finally allow him an audience despite Galadriel’s wishes. “My lord, the night is cold. Shall I bring him a shawl?” Cruel amusement mingles with the over-dramatism in your voice, a sickly sweet chuckle bubbling out of you at the end.

“She can be... overzealous, at times,” Sauron says, a subtle smile on his lips as his knuckles brush your cheek affectionately. “A most endearing quality.”

“No, this will not stand,” Celebrimbor mutters to himself. “This will not stand!” the poor Elf tries to convince himself as he musters the strength to rush past you and out the door, hoping to find salvation where there is none left. Sauron makes to go after him, but you tug at his hand to hold him back.

“No, let him go,” you insist with a sick kind of enthusiasm. “Just for a little while. Let him look the fool and do your work himself, for a change.”

Sauron turns back to you, persuaded for the moment. “Your heart has grown even blacker in my absence, love,” he remarks, gaze dark with admiration. You give a small shrug, pressing his hand flat against your chest so that his open cut stains the fabric of your dress, right over your heart.

“What matters the shade of it,” you murmur, “so long as it beats for you?”

His other hand cups your cheek with the kind of possessive reverence only he can convey. He leans to you, his tongue slowly swiping away a drop of his blood which had lingered at the corner of your mouth. Then, he puts his lips to your ear.

“Work now,” he whispers darkly, “play later.”

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