#but the balance of his love/respect for the universe makes it Okay and keeps him in check | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stargazeraldroth · 1 year

Note

Okay! It is I, Rainy, now bringing you more details on my Forced Gods AU!

Firstly, the very basics: Guardians of aspects of the Balance are selected for their roles by taking into account what they’re skilled at, and what they enjoy doing, and if they’d be happy to keep doing that, even if it’s exhausting. It doesn’t make sense to give someone so powerful a job they hate, after all- They’d be able to leave eventually.

A good example would be Reaper- He doesn’t enjoy being able to kill anything with a touch, but he’d never want his brother dealing with a responsibility like this, and I’ve always imagined him as the kind of guy who likes bringing comfort and guidance, even if people are scared of him at first. Guiding the dead is exhausting, yes, and leaves him touch starved, but it’s also rewarding to him, to have a tiny, fragile soul in his hands as they realize that even in death, they aren’t alone or unloved. It leaves him happy, to guide people to their loved ones in the afterlife.

But, to summarize the actual plot, Error, while initially very reluctant to destroy (he doesn’t exactly… Want dust and blood on his hands, you know?), ends up destroying worlds regardless- Maybe the first one is an accident, maybe he felt pressured or forced, the specifics don’t matter. What does matter is that he feels… Lighter? Happier? After he does it. And he brushes it off, at first, because he’s a good person, right? He doesn’t actually want to kill and destroy like this, right? He doesn’t want to do this- But you can only exist for so long, and see so much of the same thing, before you become… Numb, in a way- Aren’t they all the same, at their core? Is he really hurting real people?

And then he starts to spiral from there, rationalizing what he has to do- Aren’t they all just copies? Do they really matter, when there’s plenty of other things just like them out there? Aren’t so many of them just corruptions of an original concept- More miserable, more violent, more aquatic, more beastly, more hungry, more everything? They all blend together, anyways- And they’re all always repeating, over and over again. By that logic, is he doing them all a favor, ending that kind of cycle? Using those thoughts, he takes to his work with a bit more vigor- He’s doing this for them, right? He’s helping them, they just don’t know it. It doesn’t have anything to do with how nice it feels, to tear things apart and watch them dissolve into nothing. It doesn’t have anything to do with how it leaves him lighter and freer, or how it quenches some quiet, distantly sadistic part of him, to watch people realize that their world is falling apart around them and they can’t do anything about it.

And then he starts feeling less and less of an urge to justify it to himself, to remind himself that these are people who deserve some level of respect, even if he needs to wipe their universe out- These aren’t really people that he’s saving, after all. They’re functionally ants to someone who’s existed as long as he has, by now, and they aren’t even interesting, anymore. And are they even meant to be here? Aren’t they just taking up space- Space that could be used for something else? Why would he be here, told to wreck havoc, if not to wipe it all out eventually? Hell, half of these shitty abominations aren’t even that happy, they probably want to stop existing! Isn’t he doing them a favor, putting him out of their misery? Isn’t he like a god, to their puny souls? Souls that all look the same, even- All they’re really good for is acting like fairy lights. It really brightens up his antivoid, and it’s fun to mess with them once he strings them around up there. Who cares how much that weird grim reaper guy scolds him- Death is nothing to utter destruction, after all, and really, what harm is a few misplaced souls in the cycle of life gonna do? At this point, he’s stopped denying how much he enjoys this- It’s exhilarating, having this much power, this much control! He doesn’t even remember why he ever hated it- He’s doing what he was made to do, what he was born to do, tearing things apart and leaving white voids in his wake. He’s a god to these useless anomalies, and the idea that he ever thought they were worth something is hilarious, now. What’s a few dirty glitches to a timeless deity that was made to destroy them?

There’s a tugging where what remains of his soul is, nowadays, like he’s forgetting something, doing something wrong- Which is the stupidest thing he’s heard in a long time. Why would he need to slow down? Why should he have to let the Multiverse heal? Why does there need to be anything at all? He can tear those damned universes to shreds in moments, and they take so long to come into existence that it feels like they weren’t meant to be at all. Who gives a damn how desperately that weird ass squid of a skeleton tried to convince him to stop and talk, or how hard the little mistake tried to get him to listen? Error is a god and he answers to no one- Certainly not some tiny artist who cares too much for the abominations that litter the Multiverse like trash. Though Error can admit- For someone that barely seemed capable of functioning, that so-called Protector did well keeping up with him. It was almost fun.

Ink, for his part, is being completely run ragged, desperately trying to encourage creators that are rapidly losing hope of their worlds holding meaning (and he tries not to think of the way his chest aches and hurts, in the space where a soul would be if he had one), trying to help Core rescue any stragglers left in the wake of the rogue Destroyer’s wake (all of them so, so hurt and angry, why didn’t he help them, why couldn’t he save more of them-), repairing whatever scraps of the AUs that he can (it’s rare that there’s anything left, anymore), trying to jump in and Protect in the way he always had (though it gets harder and harder, with every destroyed world weighing his bones down with pain, heavier and heavier), desperately trying to mediate between the Guardians of positivity and negativity because the last thing they need is another severe imbalance (and they’re still so, so young, and it’s times like this that he misses Nim so deeply it hurts-)… It’s all so much, and he’s breaking under the pressure- Reaper and Life try, at least, but this isn’t their jurisdiction, and they have their hands full trying to manage how deeply the Destroyer has interfered with their own Balance, anyways. He can’t ask more of them.

He doesn’t understand where it all went wrong- The Destroyer was meant to wipe out worlds, yes, but not every single one. It was meant to be worlds at the end of their lifespans, to let the inhabitants move into the gentle hold of Reaper before being born anew from Life to experience a new universe and all its wonders. He was meant to end copied or stolen universes- One with no true passion and love that a only a creator can gift to their creations, ones where the inhabitants can feel, keenly, that lack of true spark in their souls.

It feels like failure, to Ink- Somehow, someway, he hadn’t been good enough, and now, everyone is paying the price. He quick patches and desperate repairs aren’t doing the trick, anymore- The Balance is tipped too far, and at this rate, it won’t ever be righted.

The Multiverse is dying, and no one knows how to fix it.

(… Ahem. That got long. Let me know your thoughts, though!)

🌧️ Rainy Anon 🌧️

Finally, some good Forced God of Destruction

I'm only noticing a key difference between out interpretations just from the introduction. I think that's pretty neat! I like seeing how people interpret things differently! I usually don't have the ability to retire for my AUs, but then again, I also give the Guardians/Gods different, uh... what's the word... bodily composition? Physiology? I'm not sure what the word is. Regardless, I'm sure they appreciate the mercy of retirement lol.

I find Reaper's place in the Balance Guardians to be a bit difficult sometimes. I mean, he's obviously the God of Death, but there's also his brother, another God of Death. I can understand his sorrow regarding his duties, even with the souls, he's probably lonely. Maybe that's why he likes Geno so much.

... I read "more beastly" as "more breastly", and I will not elaborate on how I misread that. But if I'm understanding this correctly, then what starts as begrudging destruction and conflicting feelings turns into a twisted sense of heroism, right? This reminds me of the Messiah Complex, though I don't know how applicable that actually is. It's been a while since I looked at anything for that. So, if I understand this correctly, Error thinks of himself as something of a savior to the AUs for destroying them. His isolation in the Anti-Void probably didn't help with his spiraling madness, I'll bet. And for the record Error, your Anti-Void is already bright enough. It's pure white!

I like the detail of the Balance trying to tell Error that he's going too far. It doesn't actually tell him, but it's like it's poking at his subconsciousness, hoping to remind him of why he's doing this in the first place. And the way he looks down on the other Guardians... big sad. Especially Ink. He knows Ink is the Protector, but does he know that Ink's the Guardian of Creation?

And Ink... my baby :(( he's trying his best! There's so much that's out of his control, but he's the Protector, he's supposed to save people and AUs! Hm... something I have to ask: if push came to shove... would Ink be forced to... "dispose" of Error? Error is the God of Destruction, yes, but should something happen, there's always replacements... right? And if Error's overstepping and posing too great a threat to the Multiverse, is it not Ink's sworn duty to eradicate him? Is there anyone who has a skewed perception of the situation and thinks this rampant destruction is a good thing (with the exception of Nightmare)? And, just out of curiosity... does Ink die? I do like my permadeath angst.

Also, that end bit gave me an idea for a FGOC idea. I'm gonna make a post about that.

#undertale au #ink sans #forced god of destruction au #anonymous asks

6 notes · View notes

eruverse · 2 years

Text

Speaking about Mongolia, some notes I have in mind about his development and characterization (headcanon):

-I love animal/mythological creature origin in nationpeoples. Mongolia in my mind represents both the Takhi and steppe wolf, noting the origin story of the Borjigins/Mongols as well! Mongolia kind of began as a wolf-dog of the Borjigins, or as a wolf-dog of a Borjigid ancestor. In time, he took the shape of a human, and lived with the Borjigins and took their name as a minor family member. He was both treated as not a human and a human at the same time when the Mongol confederation was taking shape. The Borjigins (esp Chinggis Khan’s family) had humble and even difficult beginnings, so Mongolia didn’t actually live like a royal!! He was a hardworking nomad just like anybody else. Even as an empire with abundant wealth in his side, he was still hardworking for the most part — for he knows it’s only his hard work that brought result, not his pedigree.

-I see Mongolia as the nomads’ nomad, the original nomad. Every single one of his people could become sedentary and he wouldn’t begrudge them any (in fact he would be happy with anything that makes his people happy and thrive) but he shall always be a nomad. He will still be a nomad even when he’s the last nomad left in his lands. Even now in 2k23 he still acts like a nomad; the city overwhelms him and makes him feel claustrophobic, so there’s nothing else he wants than to scurry off to the countryside. If he couldn’t see the steppe five minutes upon waking up he will immediately get jittery like a smoker who’s trying to stop smoking and getting into withdrawal. Okay, that’s quite an exaggeration, but you get the point.

-But yeah, steppe nomads are family based pastoralists for the most part. They are nomadic because they have to switch pastures for their herds, and this isn’t a work you can do alone. Mongolia at best has a few horses, a dog — I rather think he has a personal system where he owns a sizable number of horses and and would lend them to some other herders. This is actually a system that has existed since at least medieval era from the book I read!! Not just horses, but basically all kinds of herds. In the past, a Khan would lend animals to poorer herders and in turn they would present their dairy products to him, as steppe pastoral life was basically a circulation and distribution system and hoarding without circulating things at all goes against nomadic belief of maintaining universal balance. Mongolia modifies this system into what fits him and other herders in the current time.

-As far as his daily life in general goes, he has an extremely strategically situated apartment in the city, but he’s only there when his bosses have works for him that he has to handle in person. Mostly, he keeps touch and does his works from afar; he’s not very excited about technology because he’s a boomer, but he admits that they make his job easier. For the most part though, his human job is interacting and dealing with herders and making sure everything is going well with them; mediating if there are conflicts, connecting herders to markets or other adequate middlemen if they don’t have them already, connecting with health/public health sectors if there exist health problems in some herders, making sure the kids are connected to schools well, overseeing the pasture map, and like. His lifeblood is his extensive networks among herders, and he’s extremely respected as if a tribal elder. Well, technically he is.

-When he’s out of the city, Mongolia either lives with the herders or camps alone with only his dog and horse. He does plenty sleeping outside without roof over his head whatsoever also — it gets Very Cold at night but he cannot die, and he runs hot enough to warm all his body. This is one of his perks. He’s basically an undying furnace. No predators like wolves or dogs dare to touch him also, because he’s in fact the most alpha of alpha wolves.

-This isn’t saying he has no interest that has nothing to do with nomadic life whatsoever, but the nomadic life is what brings him most joy!!

#hetalia #aph mongolia #hws mongolia #my headcanon

2 notes · View notes

siriuslyreads · 2 years

Text

Under One Roof by Ali Hazelwood: A Review

Title: Under One Roof

Series: The STEMinist Novellas

Author: Ali Hazelwood

Genre: Romance

Rating: 3.7/5

Release Date: May 3rd 2022

Format: E-Book

Synopsis:

A scientist should never cohabitate with her annoyingly hot nemesis – it leads to combustion. Mara, Sadie, and Hannah are friends first, scientists always. Though their fields of study might take them to different corners of the world, they can all agree on this universal truth: when it comes to love and science, opposites attract and rivals make you burn…. As an environmental engineer, Mara knows all about the delicate nature of ecosystems. They require balance. And leaving the thermostat alone. And not stealing someone else’s food. And other rules Liam, her detestable big-oil lawyer of a roommate, knows nothing about. Okay, sure, technically she’s the interloper. Liam was already entrenched in his aunt’s house like some glowering grumpy giant when Mara moved in, with his big muscles and kissable mouth just sitting there on the couch tempting respectable scientists to the dark side…but Helena was her mentor and Mara’s not about to move out and give up her inheritance without a fight. The problem is, living with someone means getting to know them. And the more Mara finds out about Liam, the harder it is to loathe him…and the easier it is to love him.

Review:

This will be a short one, as it is for a novella that was pretty so-so in my opinion. Of the three novellas in this ‘series’ this was my second favorite of the three. Mara and Liam have a cute antagonistic relationship at the start, and once they became friends, they got even more precious. However, this is supposed the be about women in the STEM field, and while yes, Mara works in a STEM field, it has nothing to do with the story. Not really at least. There is a plot point about Mara gunning for a promotion, but the majority of the novella is about Liam and Mara’s relationship. Which I get, it’s a novella, there is not much space for a long story. It just feels kinda pointless, Mara could have had no job and it would not have changed the story at all.

There is the common misunderstanding trope, which I will admit I enjoy, so the misunderstandings in this novella that cause the third act angst were wonderful to read. One issue I have with this, and all Hazelwood’s other books, is that the love interests are all the same. They all start as grumpy guys, who have always been in love with the sunshine girl, but hide it in order to keep her from knowing. There is also the physical descriptors that are involved with the smutty bits that are common across the board as well. Honestly is feels like all five of her male love interests (Love Hypothesis, Love on the Brain and the three novellas) are pretty much cookie cutter versions of the ‘perfect’ guy. If it hadn’t been for this, I would have enjoyed this more.

#ali hazelwood #under one roof #romance books #novella #steminist

0 notes

the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo · 2 years

Text

My Heart Is A Safehouse For You | Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 1,697

Rating: T

Summary: Set prior to the events in the Triple Frontier universe. There is a 3 year contract to obtain intelligence and dismantle as many cartel related activities as possible - hopefully leading up to toppling one of the most prolific traffickers in Columbia. Can the reader help the team decipher the cartel’s next movements, and will they possibly lose their heart in the process?

Notes: Taking all the background liberties with this one. Littering everyone’s backstory we know from the film and pretending the guys banded back together for a 3 year contract mission, that paid them pretty decently and kept them relatively at low risk.

Not beta read or proofread.

----------

Of all the people to discuss your revelation about Santiago, Will wasn’t really at the top of the list. Quite frankly, none of the guys were someone you would talk to about something so personal. That being said, Will mostly kept to himself. Wasn’t one to go around gossiping with his friends, no matter how close he was with them. The strong and silent type. In that respect, out of all the guys - he would be the one person you felt you could trust to confide in.

“It stays between us?” you look up at him from your perch on the fence.

“I’ll take it to my grave,” Miller says, smirking slightly while resting a hand over his heart.

You chuckle at his remark, before giving in.

“I made a mistake,” you admit, sighing.

“Hard to believe that.”

“Okay smooth operator, it’s not like that. I had no control what so ever,” you playfully swipe at the arm closest in range. You gaze at Will, watching him take a drink from his beer before continuing, “I - kind of, fell in love.” Pausing momentarily, you grimace, “With Santiago.”

The expression on his face, coupled with the reaction of Will nearly choking on his beer, almost made you wish you could have snapped a photo and save it for posterity.

Eyes raising in surprise, Miller recovered long enough to eye you curiously, before turning to lean his arms against the fencing and look out into the field. Though he didn’t say anything right away, you could tell from the expression on his face, he was working out what you had revealed to him.

“It makes sense. I mean - of all the things I thought you might say, this definitely wasn’t one of them - but, I get it.”

“You do?” responding slowly, twisting to mimic his pose, arms resting on the fence.

You hear Will clear his throat, taking another pull from his drink, “I’m not so sure it’s one sided either. From the very first day we arrived, you and Pope - you’re relationship has always been different than with the rest of us. Not so much so that it would attract attention, but you’ve always gravitated toward one another.” Pausing to look at you, he continues “Looking back, maybe we all should have seen it sooner, but you two have a balance that I’ve rarely seen. Even with my own fiancé.”

Tilting your head, you glance up at him, brow furrowing.

“What? Come on. Don’t be silly. You and Meg are great together,” you parry back, grabbing his arm and looping yours through his in comfort. “And as far as Garcia is concerned, you forget he has a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend. That’s not exactly the word I would use, but sure - let’s go with that for now,” Will laughs humorlessly.

“Will,” you drag his name out. “Listen, you and I can both agree that I’m not Garcia’s type.” You see Miller start to open his mouth to protest, but you stop him, “I’m super nerdy, spend all my day in books, run around doing a million different things to stay busy and keep to myself a lot,”

“Look. This is out of my area of expertise, so I’m not going to sit here and debate you on this. All I know, is from what I’ve observed. And what I see is that there is a lot that goes unsaid between the two of you, whether you’re both willing to admit it or not. I won’t pretend to know how Garcia feels. What I do know, is that in all the years I’ve known Pope, he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”

It was probably one of the longest conversation you’d ever had with Will alone. And at that moment, you really wanted to hug the man.

So you put down your bottle and did just that. Wrapping your arms around him, you muffle out into his shoulder, “Thank you.”

You feel Miller exhale as he reciprocated the hug.

“Try not to let that guy get into your head too much. You’ll figure out what to do,” he whispers into your hairline, brushing his lips against your temple lightly.

The hug was comforting and reassuring. Will really knew how to make someone feel calm, grounded. Your feelings didn’t seem quite so overwhelming anymore.

A not so subtle cough sounded from the side, interrupting your train of thought.

You pull away from Will, turning to glance in the direction of the noise.

“Hey Benny,” you smile, scrunching your nose and waving.

“Am I interrupting, or -,” the youngest Miller trails off, cautiousness in his tone.

“No,” you groan rolling your eyes.

“Dude,” the eldest Miller brother scolds, simultaneously to your reply.

“One hug and everything goes to hell in a handbasket,” you grumble so only Will can hear.

Will drops his eyes from his brother to grin down at you.

“Come on, let’s get inside before my brother makes a scene out of nothing,” Will mocks, his voice getting louder with each word.

You both grab your empty bottles and head inside. You push forward leaving the two Miller brothers behind, but not before poking Benny in the side.

“No interrogating. Your brother was just being a good friend.”

Benny holds his side in an exaggerating manner, “Oow, woman. Who’s been training you?”

You swivel around walking backwards, “Only learn from the best, Miller.” Winking at him, you turn back around and make your way towards the house once more.

Benny had been kind enough to teach you some self defense in your off time. You weren’t great, but you weren’t terrible either. So, your pokes are a little bit of an inside joke between the two of you.

You can hear the chuckles of both brothers. Opening the door, you hold it so Will and Benny can pass through. As they approach, you can hear Benny whispering questions to his brother, hand clamped around his shoulder. The oldest Miller simply looks exasperated at whatever his brother is saying. As they pass through the doorway, Will gives you a shake of his head at his brother. Benny, smiles at you, but makes a motion with his fingers from his eyes to you.

Oh great. What. Does he really think, you and Will are having some sort of torrid affair? Hopefully Will would set him straight. There was humor in his body language when he did it, but still. You didn’t want a shovel talk from Benny over a non-existent relationship with someone, who is, in your mind, already married.

Shaking your head, you close the door.

You turn to move further into the room ,but nearly bump into Garcia, not noticing he had been waiting by the door.

Clutching your chest, you inhale sharply to prevent yourself from making any startling noises.

“Garcia. Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you say breathily.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Pope says, holding his hands up placatingly.

“Ugh. You and Will both today. It’s fine. I should have been more observant.”

“Everything okay?” Garcia juts his head to the outside, crossing his arms on his chest.

Not ready to discuss the conversation you had with Will, you play it off light-heartedly, “Yeah. Nothing life threatening. I would tell you if it was something serious.”

Garcia scrutinizes your response, but his body language is much more lax. He steps closer to you, reaching a hand up to the top of your head.

You peer up at him confused, but when he brings his hand away you see he’s got a leaf. Must have fallen onto your head as you were walking under one of the trees outside.

“Can’t take you anywhere huh?”

Your jaw drops in mock outrage.

“Oh, it’s like that? See if I save you any flan after we eat dinner tonight. Maybe I’ll just give it all to Frankie,” rolling back on the balls of your feet, amused.

“M’sorry - I take it back. Please forgive me,” Garcia says playing along.

You both stare at each other a beat before erupting in laughter.

“Hey - you two coming to dinner or what?” Frankie yells from the kitchen.

“Yeah, Fish - we’re coming,” you shout back while smirking at Garcia. You brush past Garcia, but not before grabbing his wrist, “Come on Pope. Let’s see if you play your cards right and maybe you’ll get a slice of that flan.”

You release your hold on Garcia and twist your head back to grin at him. Walking towards the kitchen, you can hear the rest of the guys making idol chatter about the game that was just on.

Suddenly, two hands come up to wrap around either side of your hips. Santiago has snuck up from behind and is leaning into your side, mouth right up against your ear.

“I never back down from a challenge,” he murmurs to you, before removing his hands from you and striding ahead, disappearing without a second glance.

Sitting down around the table, your stomach starts growling. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until, you sat down and smelled all the delicious food. Frankie cooked tonight. so you know - it was going to be a good meal.

You join in on the conversation, not noticing Santiago sitting down beside you. He usually sits opposite from you. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, you simply carry on as usual. As you all pass the food around the table, you take a dish from Will who catches your eyes and makes a darting motion towards Garcia.

You yank the plate from him, trying not to make a face at him - instead you simply shrug minutely.

Miller just gives you an unimpressed look.

You hold in an eye roll and pass the dish to Garcia after scooping some food onto your plate. Passing the dish over to him, you look over at Frankie, who is now staring at Will and you.

Jesus Christ.

This is going to be a long dinner.

-----

#santiago garcia #triple frontier #santiago garcia x reader #will miller #benny miller #frankie morales #tom davis #oscar isaac

103 notes · View notes

chaos-burst · 3 years

Text

one way or another (i’m gonna get you)

Dorian has a problem.

That problem is currently drunk off his ass and trying to balance one of Opal’s daggers on the tip of his nose. Of course he’s failing miserably, hitting himself in the eye with the blunt end twice thus far and maybe Dorian shouldn’t chuckle about it, but Dariax just keeps trying as Opal and Fearne edge him on.

“If you’re not careful you’ll stab your own eye out”, Orym says. He’s still nursing the same beer he started drinking an hour ago, probably to stay sober enough to stop any shenanigans that go too far.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, buddy. That already happened to me, like, three times, and I just healed it back together. No big deal.”

Dorian can see that Orym is at a loss for words.

“Dorian, do you think I can do it?”, Dariax calls over to him where he’s sitting, holding his lute and enjoying the warm evening breeze.

“Sure, Dariax. I’ll write a song about you if you do”, he says with an amused smile. Dorian tries to keep his smile from widening as Dariax beams at him and tries even harder.

All his life Dorian has been taught to be proper and well behaved—maybe that is why he feels drawn towards—well. Towards the group. The group that Dariax is also a part of and that Dorian definitely doesn’t feel drawn towards more than any of the others.

He starts moving his fingers mindlessly over the strings of his lute as Dariax stumbles backwards, falls over Opal’s outstretched legs and lands in her lap with the dagger clattering to the ground in front of them.

Dorian thinks about Dariax sitting on his lap, then he almost chokes on his own spit because so far Dariax hasn’t done anything even remotely appealing or attractive. He’s had shit on his beard, piss on his hands, he’s dirty and loud and so obnoxious.

But when he told Dorian that he’s the handsome one and that he’s just good at talking to people and whether Dorian wants some tips from him—Dorian was tempted. For a split second, he was thinking about Dariax offering to teach him how to flirt.

Because Dorian might be aware that he’s handsome, but he has exactly zero idea about how to flirt with people.

“Hey, Dorian! Do I still get a song?”, Dariax shouts, still half sitting in Opal’s lap.

“Sure, buddy. I’ll write you a song.”

“Cool! It’s a promise!”, Dariax says, thumbs up, a big grin on his handsome face.

There, Dorian can admit it.

Dariax is handsome. They’re all handsome. It’s really no big deal. Not at all.

Dorian tries not to think about what his parents would say about Dariax, because it’s completely irrelevant. It’s not like his parents will meet his friends, and especially not Dariax. Maybe he should go to bed and hope that come the next morning his circling thoughts will have stopped.

“Are you working on the song?”

Dorian blinks and turns his head, only to come face to face with Dariax who managed to get up from Opal’s lap and is now sitting right next to him, leaning way into Dorian’s personal space.

Dariax smells like ten different kinds of alcohol, leather and thankfully no bodily fluids, which is definitely an improvement. Dorian wishes that the fact that he’s seen this man with shit on his beard would dissuade his heart from beating a little faster every time Dariax grins at him.

Sadly his heart doesn’t care.

Neither does his stomach, which is currently doing all kinds of complicated gymnastics since Dariax invaded Dorian’s personal space.

“No. I don’t think I can concentrate in here while all that is going on”, Dorian says and gestures towards Opal who is now teaching Fearne how to do body shots.

“Aw, man. Can you play something? Something...hm. Something cool.”

“All my songs are cool, thank you very much!”

Dariax laughs.

“Yeah, okay, you’re not wrong there. You have a really beautiful voice, buddy. No wonder that goliath lady fell in love with you after like, three minutes!”

Dorian feels something that reminds him a lot of the feeling he gets when he’s falling or misses a step on some stairs. His heart starts doing an offensive little tumble and he clears his throat a little too loud as he leans out of Dariax’ space and clutches his lute as if his life depends on it.

“I don’t think I would know what to do if someone actually fell in love with me”, Dorian says with an embarrassingly shrill laugh and a second after the words have left his mouth he regrets them already.

“Aw, buddy, I told you—I can totally teach you a few tricks, you know? Just show you how to get real popular with the ladies. Or gents. Or people in general”, Dariax says and winks at him.

Dorian wishes he could turn into thin air. His cheeks feel very hot.

“I—uh. I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not like I really have the time—“

Dariax snorts and raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, come on, Dorian. We’re just hanging out, right? If you wanna get laid, we have plenty of time for that. You should just relax a little more. Okay, so. What’s your type?”

Dorian stares at Dariax for almost thirty seconds before he clears his throat again.

“Uh. I—don’t. Well. Adventurous. Maybe—uh. Maybe brunettes?”

“Adventurous brunettes? That’s pretty vague, buddy. Just saying. Wait a second!”

Dariax leans closer again and puts his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Then he does a terrible shout-whisper into Dorian’s ear that shouldn’t give him goosebumps but, fuck, it definitely does.

“Are you into Orym?”

Dorian blinks and turns his head to stare at Dariax who looks as if he just found out an earth-shattering secret through some careful investigation.

“N—no! No, he’s not. I mean, Orym is—fine? I don’t, uh—what I meant to say is... I don’t really know what my type is”, he ends lamely.

Of course Dariax feels the need to put an arm around Dorian now.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get you laid in no time. You have a pretty face and voice and all that, pretty sure that’ll go easy peasy.”

“That’s really not—“

“Hey guys, what are you whispering about?”, Opal shouts.

“We’re trying to figure out what Dorian’s type is to get him laid!”, Dariax shouts back.

“No, that’s not—“

“Ohh! Interesting! You don’t have a type? Did you never have a relationship before? Wait—are you like, a virgin?”

Dorian abruptly gets up from his chair. He’s definitely not drunk enough for this.

“I’m going to bed”, he says and leaves the room in a hurry, ignoring the disappointed shouts of his new friends following him outside.

Dorian hopes that his friends have forgotten the whole thing about supposedly getting him laid and about how Dariax intends to teach him flirting. But unfortunately the universe decides to not do him this favor.

Suddenly, every remotely attractive person they pass invokes a whole litany of questions.

Opal, Fearne and Dariax want to know everything. Which height, body-type, eye color, temperament, and style of clothing does he like? Does he prefer any genders to others? On six different occasions, Dariax tries to wingman Dorian into asking random strangers on dates.

Dorian is so desperate that he considers just telling them that he actually has someone back home, just so they will leave him alone.

It wouldn’t be the first lie he told.

Dorian feels a pang of guilt for lying about his name to these people who keep fighting alongside him.

Orym, bless his soul, is the only person who doesn’t partake in these interrogations and at some point, after Opal had asked Dorian if he was more into “tits or asses” Orym had quietly stated that “he deserves his privacy, you guys”.

Dorian has no idea if he’s a “tits or asses” kinda guy.

But Dorian just can’t stop thinking about the way Dariax’ voice sounded when it lilted “Man, you have the prettiest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen” the last time they were drunk.

It seems weirdly typical and ridiculous that Dorian has to have his first crush on the most chaotic man he ever met.

Dorian wishes he could forget about those damn words, just like everything that happened in their first week.

“You know”, Orym says to him two nights after that cursed conversation as they’re making their way further south towards Byroden, “if you told them to stop in earnest, I think they would respect that.”

The landscape is a carpet of green, sloping hills, rolling fields that lie bare now that winter is closing in around them. The sky is blue and cloudless and as they talk their breath puffs up in front of their faces and vanishes shortly after.

Dorian looks at Orym and then pointedly turns his gaze at Opal and Dariax, who started making a list of their findings regarding Dorian’s type.

“You sure?”, he says with one eyebrow raised.

Orym looks at least as pained as Dorian feels right now.

“I see your point. But they’re not—you know. Not bad people, I guess. I don’t think they want to hurt you.”

“Well, they’re not hurting me, they’re annoying me to death!”

Orym pats him on the back in a way that is so pitiful, Dorian can hardly take it.

“I wouldn’t usually encourage lying, but maybe you could just make up a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or—“

“What if I just tell them that you’re my type”, Dorian interrupts and Orym blinks at him.

“Uh—“

“No offense, you’re not. Not that you’re not handsome or anything, I just. Well—“

“It’s fine”, Orym says with a snort and shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. “You don’t have to fuss about it. You’re also very handsome but not my type.”

Dorian tries not to be offended after the last kick to his ego in Gilmore’s shop and clears his throat.

“Okay, so. What about it? Will you be my—I don’t know. My fake boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Orym, I’m desperate here!”

“I will not be swept up in all of that. I still think you should just try to talk to them.”

Dorian feels betrayed and huffs, but he doesn’t press the issue any further. It’s probably going to be fine, he thinks. That is, until Dariax walks up to him, grins up at him cheekily and bumps his elbow into Dorian’s side.

“So. Are you finally ready to admit it?”, Dariax asks.

There is a glint in his eyes that Dorian can’t quite read.

“Admit what?”, he asks, already dreading the answer.

“That you have the hots for Orym!”

Dorian stares down at Dariax, the man he, so, so very unfortunately has “the hots for” and sighs deeply.

“You caught me”, he says with a gravelly voice. “I have the hots for Orym.”

“I knew it!”, Dariax shouts, then catches himself and turns his voice into a whisper instead. “I fucking knew it!”

Dorian massages his temple.

Maybe becoming an adventurer was a terrible idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here. He could make a name for himself somewhere else. The Menagerie coast is supposed to be lovely all year around.

“Okay, don’t worry, buddy. I gotcha. I’ll keep your secret, won’t even tell the girls at all. And you know what, because we’re such great friends I have a special offer just for you”, Dariax says and leans in even closer to Dorian, who has to lean down significantly.

“And what offer is that?”, Dorian asks with a sigh, resigning himself to his fate. At least Orym knows that Dorian isn’t actually attracted to him, so, he thinks, this can’t possibly get any worse.

“I should totally be your fake boyfriend so you can make him jealous.”

Dorian stares at Dariax.

Dariax stares back with the proudest grin on his handsome face.

The universe is trying to punish him. For whatever reason, it must have decided to make Dorian the butt of a cosmic joke. That’s the only explanation for all of this.

“I don’t think that’s—“

“It’s perfect! Don’t worry, I have experience with this sort of stuff, just lemme handle this.”

Dariax winks at Dorian and then grabs his hand to intertwine their fingers.

“Hey guys”, he calls as he pulls Dorian along who follows helplessly, his heart stumbling in his chest as his consciousness zooms in on the feeling of Dariax’ hand in his, “guess what. I should’ve clocked it all along, but of course it makes perfect sense! Check it out!”

And as Orym, Opal and Fearne turn their heads, Dariax raises their intertwined fingers and beams at the others.

“Wait…”, Orym starts slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion, “what…?”

“Too late, Orym. He’s my boyfriend now”, Dariax says and Dorian wishes that the wind would just pick him up and carry him away.

Dorian has to say something.

He can’t, under any circumstances, keep this up.

He is sitting—and gods, his heart is beating so terribly fast—on Dariax’ lap.

Dariax had insisted on it and now his muscular arms are wound around Dorian’s waist as if this is the most normal thing in the world. For someone who doesn’t actually have to breathe to survive, Dorian feels a little bit like he’s suffocating from the staccato inside his rib cage.

They made camp close to a rock formation that, according to Fearne, looks like a pig with wings. The night smells of snow, but Dorian feels hot despite the cold.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He knows it even less when Dariax’ hand finds one of his and just casually starts rubbing circles into the back of his hand with a thumb. Dorian can feel Orym’s eyes on them and sadly that edges Dariax on even more because he thinks his plan is working.

“You know”, Dariax says and sounds way too casual about it, “I can’t believe how lucky I got. Pretty sure you’re the most beautiful person I’ve been with so far, Dorian.”

“I—uh”, Dorian says, then somehow forgets how to speak. His cheeks feel incredibly hot even though he doesn’t sit remotely close to the fire.

Orym cocks his head and suddenly his eyes turn a little too wide for Dorian’s tastes.

Dorian doesn’t want anyone to understand anything about this disaster.

“Well, I would certainly love a boyfriend who tells me nice things like that”, Opal sighs dreamily. “Or—you know. Maybe a girlfriend. Who knows. I certainly don’t.”

She laughs a little too shrilly but Dorian doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about it anymore because a tingling sensation is running through his body and crawling along the underside of his skin as Dariax’ fingers just keep on gently, way too gently, drawing nonsensical symbols and circles on Dorian’s hand.

“Well, I just know what’s good. I make a great boyfriend”, Dariax announces with a smug undertone to his voice. The sad thing is that Dorian can’t even disagree.

So far, Dariax has been nothing but—well. There is no other word for it. Gentle and accommodating. He also started flirting with Dorian and his flirting only ever got tasteless twice during the last twenty-four hours.

He has offered to carry stuff for Dorian, held his hand, given him way too many compliments for Dorian’s poor heart to handle, helped him climb over some rocks and purposefully took a hit for Dorian in combat earlier today while shouting “Not my boyfriend, you ash-hole!”.

If someone had told him that Dariax makes good boyfriend material, Dorian would have scoffed at them.

But now.

Well.

Now he’s in even deeper shit, because this doesn’t help his feelings at all. It does the exact opposite of helping.

Gods, Dorian wishes he could kiss him.

“Well, I am certainly—uh. Happy? For you two”, Orym says with a pointed look at Dorian. Dorian tries to tell Orym that this wasn’t his idea with his eyes alone, that this is the worst, that Dorian definitely needs saving, but he doesn’t think anything gets across because the moment that Orym says that and looks at Dorian, Dariax seems to decide that he can’t have Orym looking at Dorian like that.

Dorian makes an embarrassing screeching sound as he is dipped backwards on Dariax’ lap. There is a very handsome, dwarven face with glinting eyes right in front of his when he opens his eyes again.

“Just go along”, Dariax whispers and before Dorian can protest or even just try to catch up with what’s happening, there are dry, warm lips pressed against his mouth and Dariax is closing his eyes.

Dorian’s brain is blank for a few seconds, then it kicks into overdrive, much like his heart that seems eager to jump right out of his chest and into the campfire. Dorian can’t fault it, because he, too, would love to jump into the campfire, never to be seen again.

Dariax is holding him with one arm while his other hand is resting on Dorian’s cheeks where Dariax’ thumb starts rubbing circles again as he kisses Dorian.

Dorian wants to run away.

He wants to kiss back.

He wants this to be real.

Dariax doesn’t actually want to kiss him. He only does it because he’s pretending, there is nothing real about any of this, no matter how nice and exciting his warm lips feel against Dorian’s.

Dorian pushes him away, clambers up from his position, trying very hard not to fall as he stands up, and steps away from Dariax hastily.

“I—ah. I need to. Pee. Yes. Pee. I’ll be—uh. Later!”

And he walks as fast as he can without breaking into a run.

His lips are still burning after he stops walking without even seeing where he’s going. It’s dumb. All of this is so incredibly dumb.

Beautiful eyes, beautiful voice, beautiful person.

Dariax really has to stop saying these things.

It’s already enough that Dorian developed this stupid crush after such a short amount of time on the road. It’s stupid that it had to be Dariax of all people—couldn’t it have been someone reasonable? Like Orym?

Couldn’t it just have been no one? Or a nice, noble lady that he impressed with his songs and good looks?

No.

He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, his heart beating rapidly in his chest with no clue where he even is or what he’s doing. The trees around him are leafless and bare, stretching towards the dark sky like skeletal silhouettes. Dorian doesn't know what to do.

Dariax kissed him.

He had his first kiss with a complete and utter maniac of a person. His lips are still tingling and gods, he wants to kiss him again and again and again—

“Dorian! Doriaaan!”

Dorian turns around and wipes at his face that feels weirdly wet.

Gods, he hates everything and everyone right now.

Dariax comes to a halt in front of him, his breath coming quickly and holding his compass rose.

“Okay—wow. Your legs. Are so. Long. You’re so. Fucking fast”, Dariax huffs and puts his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

Dorian looks at him and can’t decide whether he wants to kick Dariax in the shin or just run away further.

“So, uh—sorry. I got a little carried away and I kinda—uh. It was brought to my attention that it wasn’t very cool of me to just kiss you without asking if that’s okay with you. So—uh. Really sorry about that, shoulda thought about that before I—uh. You know.”

Dariax scratches the back of his head as he looks down at Dorian’s left knee.

“It’s—well. Yeah, I suppose a little warning would have been nice. It’s—uh.”

Dorian stops and wipes at his face again and when he looks back up Dariax is studying him, his gaze intense and uncharacteristically serious.

“Wait—wait a second. Was that your first kiss?”

“No! I mean. Yes! Sort of! Maybe!”

Dariax gapes and Dorian wishes the earth could swallow him up whole.

“Oh fuck, buddy, man, that’s. I’m really sorry, I didn’t—damn. I really fucked that one up, huh?”

Dariax looks so earnestly mortified at what he’s done that Dorian can already feel how he’s forgiving him, how he finds it endearing, how his heart swells in his chest like the idiot that it is.

“It’s not such a big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just—uh. Maybe we should talk about all of this stuff before… you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, totally. I swear I’m usually not a creep or anything, it was just… you know. The heat of the moment, or something. So…”

Dariax is scratching the back of his head again and swallows before he shoots Dorian a lopsided grin.

“So. No kissing and stuff like that, huh? Just the hand-holding? Hey, maybe a hug or something?”

Dorian stares at him and he could swear that Dariax’ cheeks are a little redder than before, which, Dorian supposes, comes from his embarrassment about his earlier fuck-up.

As long as they’re doing this fake-boyfriend gig, Dorian could kiss Dariax whenever he wants. Because apparently Dariax doesn’t mind that one little bit. He might never get the chance again to kiss him if he says no now.

So Dorian does something incredibly stupid and impulsive and maybe it’s even a real ash-hole move. In this tiny moment in time he decides to be selfish.

“Kissing is fine. Uh—you know. You’re not that bad at it, I guess”, he says and laughs which sounds terribly false in his own ears but Dariax perks up and throws him a reckless grin that makes Dorian’s heart stumble in his chest.

“Ha! You just wait for it, I’ll kiss your brains out before you know it!”

Dorian might be addicted.

He knows that this is all a ruse based on a misunderstanding but gods, kissing Dariax is so good.

And Dariax somehow makes it seem as if he’s just as into it as Dorian is, because he keeps kissing him all the time. Of course, it never happens when they’re alone and only when Orym is in more or less close proximity but if Dorian isn’t careful he’ll start believing that they’re actually boyfriends sooner than later.

Dariax is so good at pretending.

He kisses Dorian as if he never wants to kiss anyone else. He holds Dorian’s face in his hands as if it’s something precious. He kisses Dorian breathless and at more than one point Dorian had to stop him because he was getting a little too into it and he’s afraid of overstepping any boundaries.

Dariax promised that he would kiss Dorian’s brains out and it’s absolutely working. On the seventh day on their journey south they get so caught up in making out that they don’t realize that the others have gone to find a camping place for the night.

“We should—uh. Probably follow them”, Dorian croaks and stares down at Dariax’ lips.

“Hmhm. Yeah. Probably a good idea”, Dariax mumbles. Then he kisses Dorian again.

Dorian gets lost in the sensation of tongues sliding against one another and the feeling of Dariax’ hand cupping his cheeks. Dorian slides his hands into Dariax’ hair and buries his fingers in there, something that provokes a sound from Dariax. A sound that gives Dorian goosebumps all over his arms.

He wants to hear it again. He wants to touch more. He wants, he wants, he wants—

Dariax pulls back, his eyes glassy, his breathing labored.

“I—uh. Ha. I got a little carried away. Sorry. What do you say about checking where the others went?”

“Sure. Yeah. Great idea. Let’s go.”

He steps away from Dariax and stuffs his hands into his pockets to keep Dariax from reaching for them. This is a complete and utter disaster.

Dorian knows that he should stop it.

He shouldn’t abuse Dariax’ trust like this and keep up his pretense when all that Dariax wants is to help Dorian make Orym jealous.

Which has, of course, not worked in the slightest, but Dariax insists that it’s just because Orym is such a rational and level-headed guy.

“We just need to wear him thin, you know.”

Dorian doesn’t know.

He feels like he doesn’t know anything anymore.

When they finally reach the campsite, Fearne has placed her head in Opal’s lap and seems to be napping as Opal carefully braids her long, green hair.

“You guys alright?”, Orym asks with his eyebrows raised. Dorian feels himself flush and clear his throat.

“More than alright”, Dariax answers and winks. The implication makes Dorian’s cheeks heat up even more.

He didn’t think that Orym’s eyebrows could climb even higher, but that’s exactly what happens as he regards the two of them.

“Dorian, can I talk to you for a second?”, Orym asks and gets up from the log he was sitting on. Dorian shoots Dariax a glance and he seems… off.

Dariax doesn’t return Dorian’s look, he just walks over to the fire, lets himself fall down next to Opal and asks, way too loudly to be necessary “So what’s for dinner?”.

But Dorian doesn’t have any time to think more about this, because Orym grabs his wrist and pulls him towards a group of trees, away from the campfire and away from Dariax whose eyes seem to bore themselves into the back of Dorian’s head as he follows Orym into the night.

“What are you doing?”

Dorian doesn’t have to ask what Orym means. He wrings his hands and stares at the ground.

“I—uh. I don’t really... I don’t really know?”

“So when you said adventurous and brunette, what you actually meant was short, stocky and a complete disaster?”

“I—um...”

Orym looks at him with raised eyebrows and despite the fact that Dorian is so much taller than him he suddenly feels very small.

“Well. Dariax kind of got it into his head that I’m into you. Which I’m not.”

“Yes, we established that.”

“Exactly. And. Well, he thought it would be a good idea to be fake boyfriends to make you jealous.”

Orym’s eyebrows rise even higher towards his hairline.

“But I’m not jealous. Because you and I are just friends.”

“I know, okay? It just kinda got out of hand?He’s so—I don’t know! I don’t know what to do!”

Orym sighs and rubs his temples.

“So. You’re actually into Dariax?”, he asks.

Dorian presses his lips together and takes a deep breath before he nods.

“And he doesn’t know. He thinks you’re into me?”

Dorian nods again.

“And now he’s waiting for me to get jealous and for us two to be boyfriends?”

Dorian shrugs helplessly.

“Isn’t that... I don’t know. It seems like lying to him.”

“What do you want me to do? Just tell him that I have the hots for him and then leave the country forever?”, Dorian hisses.

“Well, maybe he has the hots for you, too!”, Orym whispers back and Dorian can’t help but laugh. It sounds a little hysterical.

“Then why would he offer to help me to get with you?”

Orym stares at Dorian for a full thirty seconds. Then he sighs.

“I guess it’s a little hard to... fathom... what goes on in Dariax’ head.”

“That seems like an understatement.”

Orym scoffs and shakes his head with half a smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you actually fell for—that.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. I guess to each their own.”

“So what’s your type then?”

“Uh—I don’t really have a type. I’m not into the whole relationship stuff. Or—uh. The sex stuff, for that matter.”

“Oh. Oh! I see. Well, that seems pretty convenient. Way less stressful than what I’m doing with my life.”

Orym smiles and shakes his head again.

“I’m not going to lie, when I’m watching you and Dariax or Opal and Fearne I am glad that I don’t have to deal with any of it”, Orym admits.

“Opal and Fearne? How do you mean?”, Dorian asks. His brain is still stuck on kissing Dariax without Orym even being in any close proximity. His whole brain capacity seems to be occupied by thinking about Dariax. It’s an absolute clusterfuck.

“Never mind. So, what do you intend to do? You can’t keep this up forever”, Orym says and pulls Dorian away from a trail of thoughts that was leading towards something explicit and utterly unbefitting of a talk with a good friend about feelings.

“I—uh. I’m still figuring it out. I’ll just. You know, I could just tell him that I’m not into you anymore and then he would probably stop”, Dorian says and ignores the uncomfortable tightness of his chest as he thinks about not being able to kiss Dariax anymore. Or hold his hand. Or being told that he’s beautiful.

He’s so fucked.

“I think you should just tell him, you know? We’re adventurers now, no one knows what might happen. If I learned anything from our Voice of the Tempest, it’s that you should do your best to live without any regrets, because time is a precious thing”, Orym says.

“A weird soup”, Dorian answers, his voice weak and his heart hurting. Orym snorts.

“Yes, sure. A weird, precious soup. Anyway. Think about it, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Something is up with Dariax.

Dorian has no idea what it is, but there is definitely something wrong.

He’s quieter than usual, which is disconcerting. He’s also, very definitely, holding onto Dorian’s hand way tighter than before.

“Hey, is everything alright?”, Dorian asks him quietly as they’re getting ready for the night. The sky overhead is dark and full of clouds and the moon is barely visible.

“Yeah, sure. Stellar”, Dariax says but he’s not looking at Dorian.

“You don’t look stellar”, Dorian insists and puts his hand on Dariax’ shoulder. Dariax’ eyes flicker down to his hand and then up to his face. Dariax opens his mouth to answer, but Dorian doesn’t hear anything because there is a searing pain on his back and he slumps forward and crumples onto his knees.

His vision goes blurry from the pain and he can feel that there is something coursing through his body. It hurts.

“Dorian? Dorian!”

Lying down seems like a great idea. What if he dies now and he didn’t even tell Dariax that he’s not into Orym? What if his adventure ends here already? He doesn’t want to sink into the weird soup that is time already. He wants…

“Take your hands off my boyfriend, you fuckers!”

“Hey! What’s going on?”

“Dorian, are you okay?”

He is definitely not okay and while he probably should have different priorities as he’s bleeding out in the grass, all he can think about is the fact that Dariax just called him his boyfriend.

“Dorian, are you okay?”, Dariax’ voice sounds muffled and far away.

“Heh. You’re really good at pretending”, he lulls as he’s turned onto his back to look up at Dariax’ face.

“What? Guys, I think he has a concussion or something!”

“Well, heal him!”

“I’m trying! Dorian, hey! Buddy, don’t pass out on me, okay?”

“Did you know that your eyes are really pretty?”, Dorian slurs and he wants to raise a hand to touch Dariax’ face that seems way too red all of a sudden, but he can’t move a muscle and as he feels Dariax’ warm healing magic flow into him, he passes out from the mind-numbing pain.

Dorian has never shared a bed with anyone. Neither in a platonic nor in a romantic or sexual way.

When he wakes up there is someone plastered to his side. The quiet snoring tells him that it must be Dariax.

“Are you okay, Dorian?”, Fearne’s soft voice reaches his ears and he turns his head to see her sit on his other side, her hand places closed to his shoulder as if to make sure that he’s within reach.

“Uh—ow. Yeah. What happened?”

Dorian tries to concentrate on his own body and on Fearne’s words, but he’s distracted by the feeling of Dariax sleeping so close to him. His arm is thrown over Dorian’s chest and his face is pressed into Dorian’s shoulder. Orym is nowhere to be seen.

“Those Nameless Ones seem to have a pretty far reach. They really want that spider crown.”

Dorian groans as he tries to move.

“They hit me with poison or something?”

“Yeah. Dariax fixed it. Then he insisted on carrying you back to the cart. Then he insisted to tuck you into bed. And then he just sort of flopped down next to you and stared at you really intensely until he passed out.”

Dorian tries to laugh but almost chokes on it as he imagines this short man trying to carry someone as tall as Dorian. His thoughts circle around the fact that Dariax cared for him, healed him, tucked him into bed.

“So. Ah—where are Orym and Opal?”, he asks to distract himself from the feeling of having Dariax pressed so close to him.

“They’re checking to see if we’ll be safe for the night. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Fearne smiles down at him and starts scratching Little Mister under the chin as she hums a melody that Dorian’s never heard before.

“Did you ever have a really dumb crush?”, he asks before he can stop himself. Fearne turns her head to look at him again and cocks her head.

“A crush that was dumb because it wasn’t mutual or a crush that was dumb because the person was dumb?”, she wants to know.

“Ah. Huh—I haven’t thought about it that way. I guess… how about we go with both?”

Fearne puts her index fingers to her lips and cocks her head from side to side as she thinks about it.

“Well, I don’t think crushes are dumb just because they aren’t mutual. And I also think that Opal is very intelligent in her own, special way.”

Dorian blinks.

“Wait. What?”

“Hm?”

“You have a crush on Opal?”

“Sure. I thought it was pretty obvious”, Fearne says and smiles dreamily.

“Uh—maybe. Now that you mention it, I think Orym clocked it.”

“She is just. You know. Very exciting and spontaneous and funny and creative and pretty.”

The way that Fearne just talks about her crush makes Dorian wonder why he isn’t able to just say it like this. That he likes Dariax because he’s funny and brave and adventurous and a complete idiot in a lovable kind of way.

“What do you like about Dariax?”, Fearne wants to know.

“Uh—well”, he laughs nervously and clears his throat. Dariax is still softly snoring into his shoulder. “I guess… I guess pretty much everything?”

“That’s so sweet! And that’s what he said too. You guys just fit so well”, Fearne says with an earnest smile.

“Wait. What?”

“Hm?”

“What did you just say?”

“I said that you guys fit really well.”

“No. No, I meant before that.”

“Uh—well, when I asked him what he liked most about you, he also said that he likes everything about you. I thought it was really sweet, you know? There was a whole list of things, but he stopped midway through it and said ‘So basically, everything’.”

There was a whole list of things.

A list.

“So basically, everything.”

“Dorian? Are you really okay? You look a little flushed.”

“Hm? Oh—yeah. I’m fine. Perfect. Peachy. Never better.”

He laughs nervously and glances over at Dariax as his insides dissolve into small, hyperactive butterflies. Maybe it’s not what he thinks. Maybe Dariax meant that he likes everything about Dorian as a friend.

“If you’re sure you’re okay I think I’ll stretch my legs a little bit. This cart is pretty small”, Fearne says and scoots towards the exit of the cart. Little Mister follows behind her and a moment later Dorian is alone with a snoring Dariax, whose hand has somehow managed to sneak under Dorian’s shirt.

What is he supposed to do now?

Wake Dariax up? Confess his feelings?

His heart beats so quickly that Dorian is almost afraid that it might just leap out of his rib cage. In the end he’s not brave enough to wake Dariax up and instead intertwines their fingers and turns his head to look at Dariax who has definitely drooled onto his shirt.

He knows that he’s completely fucked because he thinks that this is endearing.

Dorian raises his arm and gently cards his hand through Dariax’ hair.

Dariax makes a small sound in his sleep, something that sounds like a content sigh, and the butterflies in Dorian’s stomach start dancing happily.

“D’you really think my eyes are pretty?”, Dariax mumbles a second later and Dorian pulls his hand away hastily as Dariax’ eyes open.

“Um—well. Yeah. They’re… they have a very nice color”, Dorian croaks. Dariax pulls his hand out from under Dorian’s shirt and starts rubbing at his eyes.

“You okay again?”

“Yeah. Thank you for saving me. And carrying me to the cart. And—uh. Tucking me in.”

Dariax’ cheeks redden as he coughs slightly before sitting up.

“Well, you know. It’s what boyfriends are for, right?”, Dariax says with half a laugh in his voice that doesn’t sound completely genuine.

Dorian swallows and bites his bottom lip as he tries to find the words. He’s usually not bad at talking, so why does this seem so endlessly hard?

“So—uh. I have something to confess”, he starts as his thoughts start spinning around in panicked circles. Dariax turns his head to look down at him.

“I know, I know”, he answers.

“Huh?”

“Well, I figured, you know. When Orym dragged you away I thought you guys probably had a talk?”

“We did, yeah”, Dorian says but he is endlessly confused about what that has to do with anything.

“See, I knew it. So you think it finally started working, huh? Told you, I’m really good at this kind of stuff.”

Dorian decides that he has to sit up for this. His head is spinning and his heart is racing and he is endlessly confused about what in the ever-loving hell is going on.

“Working? What are you talking about?”

“You know, the jealousy thing.”

Dorian stares at him.

Then it finally clicks.

“Dariax… I don’t want to be fake boyfriends anymore”, he says quietly before he can think of a better way to say it. Dariax’ expression twists and he looks away, his hand reaching for the back of his head to scratch at his scalp—a sign for nervousness, as Dorian knows by now.

“Yeah. Okay. I—uh. That’s—“

“I want to be your real boyfriend.”

Dariax blinks a few times. Then his face turns the deepest shade of red that Dorian has ever seen on him.

“You—what?”

“I don’t like Orym. I never have. Not like that. I—uh. I like you. And when—if—I kiss you again I don’t want it to be just pretend, I want to really kiss you. Because I—uh. I really like kissing you.”

Dariax is still staring at him, seemingly stunned. The hand at the back of his head has stopped moving and started to sink slowly back into Dariax’ lap.

“So…”, Dorian says and the nervous energy humming under his skin is almost unbearable, “can I? Can I… kiss you? For real?”

If Dariax doesn’t say anything soon Dorian might have to flee from the cart and actually leave the country. The suspense is torturous, his words hang heavy in the air between them. And then, faster than Dorian can react, Dariax lounges himself at Dorian and kisses him so passionately that Dorian can’t suppress the moan that escapes him.

Dariax pushes at him, shoves Dorian back down onto the bedroll, sinks one hand into Dorian’s long hair and cups his face with the other.

Dorian’s brain goes blank as he arches up against Dariax’ weight on top of him.

“So, is that a yes?”, he pants into the kiss.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes”, Dariax rasps and kisses him again. “Gods, you’re so pretty. I thought I was going to go insane.”

Dorian makes a very embarrassing noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Maybe he likes those compliments more than a normal person would.

“So you like me?”

“Are you kidding me? So fucking much.”

Dariax is kissing his whole face now and Dorian wraps his arms around him. He feels light as a feather and the butterflies in his stomach have gone completely off the rails.

“Are you guys decent?”, Opal shouts from outside the cart.

“No! Go away! I want to make out with my boyfriend!”, Dariax shouts back and Dorian laughs.

“Don’t leave any icky spots though!”, Opal says.

“Oh, come on”, Dorian hears Orym protest.

“That’s what Prestidigitation is for, Opal! Read a book about magic!”, Dariax announces loudly and Dorian has no time to protest this obscene exchange because Dariax is kissing him again and Orym seems to be dragging Opal away from the cart.

“So do you know what that means?”, Dorian mumbles against Dariax’ lips.

“Hm?”

“I don’t need any flirting lessons from you after all.”

#critfic #exandria unlimited #exu #exu fic #dorian storm #dariax zaveon #fanfiction #mi writes #critical role #doriax #text #screeching into the void #this is 7k words of chaotic fake dating ooops

593 notes · View notes

ohnominamino · 3 years

Text

An Essay on Love in Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time

Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a movie about love in all its forms. From the love of family, friends, and neighbors, to the compassion we feel for people we have never met. The movie reminds us that love is something we continuously gain, lose, and choose, again and again. Which love is greatest? In my opinion, the answer to that question is left up to interpretation. In this essay, I will give my own personal interpretation on certain character interactions and what I believe we are meant to take away from their Rebuild portrayals.

The character I will start with is one I’ve noticed the most outrage over from people who haven’t seen the movie and read out-of-context spoilers: Kaworu Nagisa.

Kaworu is a beloved character among many Evangelion fans, especially those who are members of the LGBT+ community. He is a canonical love interest of Shinji Ikari and I want to reassure people that this final movie does not change that fact. However, it does not make the couple blatantly endgame either. This skirting around the couple might make some fans upset, and while their feelings are completely valid, I do not think they fully understand the difficulties faced by LGBT+ people in Japan, nor do they understand the way that romance is typically conveyed in Japanese storytelling. (I recommend watching “Is ‘Yuri On Ice’ Good Gay Representation?” by James Somerton for more about storytelling nuances.)

What have we been shown about Shinji and Kaworu’s love? The good news is, anything you read into the original TV series and End of Evangelion is completely true for the Rebuilds— because Kaworu is the same Kaworu. This movie proves Evangelion is a single universe set on repeat, and that Kaworu and Shinji meet each other every loop, and in each, Kaworu is trying to make Shinji happy. Within the final movie, Shinji becomes aware of the loops and chooses to break the cycle and free Kaworu from his pain.

What does the relationship between Shinji and Kaworu teach us? I believe the purpose of their love is to show the audience that first, in the words of Kaji, “love has no gender.” Second, I believe Kaworu’s love in particular is a warning about basing your own happiness solely upon another person. There are parallels drawn between Gendo/Yui and Kaworu/Shinji. Gendo could not exist without Yui, and so he was willing to destroy the world to be reunited with her. For Kaworu, it was not the destruction of humanity, but the destruction of himself that defined his tragedy. What’s important within the final movie, in my opinion, is that Shinji does not reject Kaworu’s love. With the insight he’s gained from remembering past loops, he sees Kaworu’s love and appreciates him, but he also sees his suffering and wants to ease it. He helps Kaworu into a new world where he can seek his own happiness and find balance in his life (something his father did not have).

While Kaworu and Shinji are not seen as an explicit couple at the end of the movie, it’s significant to note that, when he sets Kaworu free, Shinji holds out his hand to Kaworu as a promise to stay together. Over the course of the movie, Shinji comes to accept his connection to others through accepting touch (in the form of hand holding and hugs from Rei, Misato, and Gendo); however, Kaworu is the only character in the movie who Shinji initiates physical contact with and that speaks to how much Kaworu means to him. This simple gesture, in my opinion, keeps the door open for Kaworu and Shinji to be a couple one day, after Kaworu has found more balance in his life.

If I were to write an entire essay about Kaworu, it would be titled, “Out of the Coffin: How the Resurrection of Kaworu Nagisa Buries the Tragic Lovers Trope” because this movie truly does just that.

Another potential love interest for Shinji for many years was Asuka; however, unlike with Kaworu, the nature of this relationship is not left up to interpretation by the end of the movie. Before her big final battle, Asuka tells Shinji, “I think I loved you back then” (regarding their time in middle school) and Shinji, during Instrumentality, tells Asuka, “Thank you for saying you loved me. I loved you too.” It is past tense.

What does this relationship teach us? It’s a beautiful way of showing that we can love people, and grow and learn, and let go when we no longer fit each other. Letting go is an integral part of life. Whereas other Instrumentality scenes involve touch, Asuka’s, mirroring the ending of End of Evangelion, has a distinct lack of touch. Shinji sits with his arms around his knees and Asuka turns her body away from him. He gives her his thanks and he sends her off to find her peace. Asuka and Shinji teach us that it’s okay to grow out of relationships. You can appreciate what they were to you at the time they happened and move on.

What about Rei? To be honest with you, this movie is less about Rei’s relationship with Shinji, and more about her relationship with the world. Rei teaches movie viewers about the simple pleasures of living. While Shinji is in mourning for the first quarter of the movie, Rei (as “Sokkuri”) is learning about crop growing and community, the wonder of babies and kittens, the joy of the bath after a long day of fruitful work, and the power of words and picture books. At the end of her life, she only regrets not having more time to spend with the people she loves. In Instrumentality, Shinji accepts her hand when it is offered to him, which I hope signifies he is ready to see life as she had come to during the final movie.

Rei teaches us that we can love living and to not take our limited time for granted.

Next, we move on to parent figures: Gendo and Misato. I think they both represent people ill suited to the role, who do the best they can despite it. Gendo, as mentioned for Kaworu above, is a warning about defining yourself by your relationship to another person (Ikari, afterall, is Yui’s name). He is also a lesson in how people mourn and how they can lash out. Misato, like Gendo, felt herself a poor parent, and while mourning the loss of Kaji, she gave up her child to be raised by other people, but, unlike Gendo, went forward to put all her energy into protecting humanity. Both of them reach out to hug Shinji within the movie and he accepts them where they are.

While I wouldn’t say the movie shows that Shinji forgives Gendo, it does show his making an effort to understand and make peace with what others have done. For Misato, it is fair to say we can still hope for a better future, even when it feels like everything is crumbling around us. Her self-sacrificing love for her son and the whole of humanity is what enables Shinji to then save the people he loves (via the spear of Gaius).

In the movie, we are also shown friendship. Touji, Hikari, and Kensuke are important members of their community who maintain open communication with those around them and respect others’ boundaries. They are patient and kind and represent the importance of being present. They teach us to meet people where they are and support them how we can, whether it’s giving them a warm meal or giving them space when they need it.

There are many more characters that could be talked about, but today I am going to end on Mari. Mari’s love is physical. She enjoys being in people’s personal bubbles. She cuddles Asuka and helps trim her hair, she gets into Gendo’s space at college, and at the end of the movie, she reaches out her hand to Shinji to help him stand up from his seat. Upon first glance, some viewers might take Mari and Shinji’s final scene to be romantic, but the reality of it is this: We do not, and cannot, know what kind of love she is meant to represent in his life.

We do not know Mari’s relationship with Shinji because they hardly interact in the movie. She clearly cares about him, but in my opinion, it comes from a place of duty and compassion— Mari was friends with Gendo and Yui. She has been there since he was born. (If we take the manga to be canon, then Mari even had romantic feelings towards his mother. Her hairstyle and glasses are from Yui. At the end of the movie, Mari has changed her hairstyle, which to me implies she has moved on, and “getting” with Shinji would be a thematic break.)

Additionally, their conversation, while flirty, is very much one that implies they haven’t seen each other for a while. Mari is someone who is very physically affectionate. With everyone. If someone ignores that and focuses on the fact she gets into Shinji’s space and claims that’s romantic, they better acknowledge it’s possibly romantic with Asuka, who we see far more intimacy with. When Mari flirts, Shinji flirts back and her initial reaction is surprise, “Wow, you’ve learned to talk back!” Her purpose is clear. She is there to remove the DSS choker from his neck.

Personally, I love that Mari is the one to close the movie, for the exact reason that we do not know her relationship with Shinji. For Mari to have an assigned role would be to say, “This kind of love is most important,” when the entire movie was spent showing us each love is of equal importance in the balance and building of our lives. (It’s wonderful to see those types of love embodied across the platform from Shinji at the end of the movie: Rei and Kaworu, who, just like in End of Evangelion, could signify the ability to connect with others and be loved.)

If you view Mari as a romantic love interest, then I think it speaks to the value that you as an individual give to romance rather than what the characters themselves are feeling. To me, Mari, the character who was created to “destroy Eva,” is a symbol of all love. When Shinji takes her offered hand and then pulls her to run into the new world, it’s a symbol of balance. The give and take of any kind of relationship.

We are the product of every relationship we have ever had, from our parents to the people we once loved, from our friendships to any other person we want to stay connected to. Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a story about these relationships. It is a story about love.

#rebuild of evangelion #kaworu nagisa #shinji ikari #asuka shikinami #mari makinami #rei ayanami #misato katsuragi #gendo ikari #thrice upon a time #kawoshin #essay #movie review #shinkawo

472 notes · View notes

earlgreydream · 3 years

Text

force.

| kylo ren x reader | smut |

Kylo helps you seize the power of the force, tipping the balance in favor of the dark side

cw: force-violence, mentions of death (star wars), inappropriate use of the force

“Breathe, Y/N.”

The command grounded you. You felt it, the block inside of you shattering. Everything inside of you reached out, the invisible hand grabbing hold, finding stability in The Force.

Power filled you as you inhaled, flooding like a wave. Your eyes opened, revealing a world of slick black and red. You hovered above the ground, above your prince.

You harnessed The Force, soaking it up and feeling the power surge through your veins. It became your center, your source of life, and the absolute balance.

There was no longer a wall that kept you from the power, and you were free from the bonds of your mind that held you back. The bonds that had been put into place to keep you from The Force.

The Force was overwhelming. The raw power made your body hum and throb, pulsing deep inside of your soul and pouring out of you.

And there was Kylo, his dark eyes glittering with a savage hunger, a sick satisfaction. He gazed up at you in all of your glory. The prince was awestruck, his prodigé finally reaching full potential.

The two of you had spent months trying to break the block in your mind. Your screams had echoed off of the walls of the Star Destroyer, white-hot pain searing every corner of your mind as Kylo forced himself in, trying to break through.

“You’re still holding on! Let go!”

It had been like you were burning from the inside out. His screams mixed with your own, echoing in your head, through the entire ship, until there was sudden silence. The heat turned to ice when you collapsed on the cold ground, relief washing over you as Kylo let go of your mind.

Kylo tortured you daily, trying to help you connect with your power. It tortured him as much as it did you, and after months he struggled. Whenever you’d collapse, he heaved out apologies. The Supreme Leader would drag you into him, begging you to open your eyes and let him know you were okay. He always feared that one time you wouldn’t survive it, that his forceful efforts would finally kill you. Even with the risk, you begged him to do it anyway. You wanted the power, you needed it.

Now, it had worked.

Your sick, deranged laughter bounced off of the glass, fueled by the euphoric high that spun in your mind. You felt the balance shift, and Kylo felt it too. Everything tipped into darkness, falling.

“You did it.”

“I did it,” you repeated after Kylo.

You slowly sank to the floor, bare feet connecting with cool, black marble. The heartbeat of the universe was under your feet, and you finally stopped tumbling through nothingness.

Kylo felt everything shift, your power pouring into the dark side. This was what you wanted, what you worked for, what you almost died for.

“Supreme Leader.”

“Empress.”

A grin spread across your face, hearing him call you that. The Knights of Ren all dropped to one knee, bowing to you. You were no longer his prodigé, but his equal. With training, it was likely you would surpass even his own ability.

You felt it now, the connection. You and Kylo were one. His heartbeat was yours, thrumming in your chest to the same rhythm.

Your black robes soundlessly brushed the floor as you followed Kylo to the throne room. General Hux stood in your way, as usual.

“Y/N-”

“Empress!” Kylo snapped, correcting him. Ginger eyebrows shot up, and he barked out a laugh of disbelief.

“Come on, you didn’t manage to open up your broken doll!” He snorted.

Less than a millisecond passed before Hux’s body cracked against the other end of the hallway. Your fingers squeezed, choking him from meters away. Kylo made no move to stop you, or save his general from your new abilities.

He choked and struggled against your invisible grip on his throat, sick pleasure twisting in you as you watched the light bleed from his eyes. His fear only fueled you, his terror buzzing like electricity up your spine.

Just before the loss of oxygen was fatal, you dropped him, releasing your hold. Hux wheezed and gasped, fighting for his life in a squirming pile on the floor.

“Disrespect me again, General Hux, and I won’t be so gentle,” you warned, your voice dripping with sadistic amusement. His green eyes were wide, and he looked to Kylo for protection, who only smirked at your warning.

The Knights’ steps echoed after you like thunder, three going to either side of the throne as you took your place beside Kylo, instead of kneeling on the floor beneath him. The First Order was at your fingertips, an army at your command. And soon, the who galaxy.

Everyone felt it, the shift in The Force. The Jedi filled with dread, feeling your power pull the galaxy like a magnet.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kylo’s voice echoed Anakin’s.

“Come with me.”

You obeyed, following Kylo through the dark hallways to his chambers. The door slid shut behind you, securing the two of you in the huge, dark room. Stars glittered outside the wall of glass, planets far-off in the distance. Everything was black and luxurious, all but the red First Order symbol on the back of the door.

Your black robes slipped from your body, discarded with Kylo’s. He was huge in every respect, towering over you and filling the room with his presence. Before, you had felt small, and powerless under him, but it was different now. It didn’t feel the same, not anymore. He dominated you physically, but your mind and power were just as sharp as his.

“Please,” you didn’t need to elaborate. Kylo nodded, and you pushed him down against the black silk sheets. He moved easily, his large hands sliding up your waist and steadying you as you straddled his hips.

“Let me please you,” you whispered, your hot breath stirring Kylo’s dark locks, your lips ghosting his cheekbone. He nodded, and Kylo’s black eyes widened in surprise as his hands were pinned above his head. He tugged at his wrists fruitlessly, unable to move, even when he tried.

“Y/N?” His deep voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Just lay there and take it, Supreme Leader. Give yourself to me, let go,” you breathed.

Your lips lightly brushed against his, and he leaned up to really kiss you. It was needy and desperate, his walls crumbling as he submitted to you. Your praises were soft, soothing his desperation to touch you, to flip you over and pound into you like he was so accustomed to doing.

Your tongue slid along his full lips before gliding against his own, deepening the kiss. You swallowed Kylo’s low whine as your force wrapped around him and began to stroke his cock like an invisible hand. He fought against the restraints, wanting to take control and feel you actually touch him.

Choked whimpers escaped him as your fingers moved, making the pressure tease him. You smiled, brushing his curls away from his forehead. Your nails lightly dragged down his broad chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

“What is it, love?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head to the side and leaning forward.

“You’re being a fucking tease,” he snarled.

Kylo thrashed on the bed, but you couldn’t focus any more strength on restraining him. Maybe with more practice, but you were unsure if Kylo would help after your misuse of power.

“Oh, Kylo, what would your knights think of you if they saw you like this? The First Order? Their Supreme Leader weak for me.”

He growled out a threat, cut off sharply with a mewl when your tongue lapped at the head of his cock, making his hips twitch. Your nails dragged over this thighs, moving between his legs to replace The Force with your own touch. Your movements became more focused as you tried to drag him toward an orgasm, finding your efforts quickly successful.

Kylo came in thick ribbons with a yell, his curls fanning out around him as his head fell back, his hips thrusting up into your hand. You sat on his thighs, pinning him down as you continued to tease him, not letting up.

“Y/N! Fuck, don’t!”

“I will fucking tear you apart when you let me go-” he threatened, crying out as you overstimulated him. You had the Supreme Leader whimpering at your little touches.

You were drunk on the power you asserted, seeing him falling apart and begging you to let him go, until his dark eyes were wet and his voice was nothing more than broken whines.

You were about to sink yourself down on him, using him to get yourself off, when your attention faltered for an instant at the touch to your throbbing sex. Kylo seized the opportunity, tearing free of your hold.

A frightened scream escaped you as your body was thrown against the mattress, your wrists trapped in First Order binder handcuffs. Your front was pressed against cool sheets, Kylo not bothering to use his power to restrain you, wanting all of it to go into your torture.

“I hope you enjoyed that, because it was the last time you ever overpower me,” Kylo seethed, biting down into the smooth skin of your shoulder, ripping a yelp from you.

“Kylo, I’m sorry,” you tried to backtrack, but it was too late.

Kylo gripped your grips and jerked you onto your knees, your face still pressed against the mattress. You squealed as he buried himself inside of your slick cunt in one violent thrust. He stretched you out, forcing your body to accommodate him, not bothering to give you time to adjust.

His grip was painfully tight on your hips as he slammed into you, fucking you aggressively. The pent-up rage from the way you’d toyed with him came pouring out in the way he tore you up. Painful pleasure blinded you, your body screaming from the stimulation. The invisible touch was stroking your clit and swirling around your nipples, as well as squeezing your throat, reminding you further who was in charge now.

You writhed beneath Kylo as he used you, going as rough and as hard as he could until you collapsed, limp and weak beneath him. Kylo showed you no mercy, fucking you past three orgasms, until your throat was raw from screaming. Exhaustion got to you before Kylo finished, and you wished you were numb by the time he finally unlocked your wrists and pulled out of your raw sex. You shuddered at every slight brush against your skin, the overstimulation sparking pain through your nerves.

He flipped you onto your back, his massive hand gripping your jaw and making you look him in the eye.

“I am your Supreme Leader, and you submit to me!”

“Yes, Kylo,” your breathed weakly, accepting the kiss you were given as solace.

1K notes · View notes

ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

trials

this takes place in my ‘poly frontier’ universe

pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco “Catfish Morales, Ben “Benny” Miller and a female reader

wordcount: 2.1k

warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, poly relationship, domestic, romantic, and sexual intimacy. strong language, angst with a happy ending

summary: this one is a Santi story - he tries to bring another girl into the relationship, and learns instead how much he loves you

it wont be everyone's cup of tea but I felt like it was an important part of the story

note: don’t hate Santi! I think this is a pretty normal, and the best sunsets come after rain

Santi was the first to branch out. He didn’t mean to – hated himself for it a little, but he did.

This – whatever this is, it’s a ticking time bomb, he told Will. One of has to do something before it breaks all of our hearts.

It was a lie.

They both knew it. But he had the money and the looks and the confidence and he was just hurt enough by the sight of you asleep in Ben’s lap one afternoon that he just… let it get to him.

Brooded and boiled until he was overcome with false righteousness and pure selfishness.

He didn’t look you in the eyes when he told you he was going to try to get another girl. It wasn’t that he was leaving what you all had, just that he deserved a chance at whatever he called balance. His gaze in the other men’s eyes was too bold – the look of a desperate man, terrified of being hurt so causing it on his own terms.

You nodded numbly, shocked in spite of yourself, scolding and scathing voices in your mind telling you not to be selfish. Not to be greedy.

He deserves more than sharing.

Tucking yourself into Frankie’s arms, you tried not to glare or cry and only failed at the latter. Because it’s not the dating another girl that hurt, really it’s not. Polyamory is hard, and it was always an open option. What hurts is his blatant choice to ignore the relationship his has with you, specifically, that he’s ignoring everything you and him have worked for, built with love and time and care.

Rubbing gentle hands over your skin, Will and Frankie and Ben shared looks as Santi stalks away.

Frankie corners him in the garage the next morning. You had slept between him and Will the night before, but they had all felt you toss and turn, all spent a fair amount of time staring at the ceiling themselves. His dark eyes are an insecure that shoots into Frankie’s core – it’s a look he knows, has spent months overcoming. He swallows hard, his words dying in his throat, and he simply shakes his head.

It almost breaks Santi in two, the first moment one of his loves betrays the damage he’s done, but he tells himself there’s no going back.

“Better now than later, when our parents hate her or –”

Frankie’s look stops him and he flinches away.

Will is at the bar he chooses without an invite, knowing where he’d be without having to even ask and they both try not to think of you at home with Ben, probably dripping flames. Santi wonders if it hurts more to watch him flirt, or to do it, but neither of them say a word to each other. In spite of it all, the respect his judgement, respect his choice, and that hurts too.

It feels strange to have others looking him up and down and to look back, smile with lust void of love and soak in the attention.

Before he succumbs to it, Santi wishes Will would come over, slide his hand around his neck and… stop respecting him so much. It would pull him back, but since he doesn’t, the thought dies under the burn of cheap alcohol.

She’s lovely, really, graceful like a cat.

Santi has kept her from you all for a few weeks now, keeping his dignity with distance. But now she’s here, in your home, and you should be jealous but instead you just smile sadly at her, and slip off to the kitchen.

He likes… coffee, dark roast, with just a clump of raw sugar. You’re stirring it when you realize they followed you, hovering at the door. The ache of it is less than it was before and they’re happy together, so for his sake, you sit down across from her.

She’s kind, friendly. Knows the gist of the situation, tells you she’ll go at your pace.

And it crashes into you, how he’s pinned you at a time when know one else is home, offering her up to you like a plea, a child who used the superglue to make a gift, never mind the fact that his hands are both stuck to it and burning.

It feels reasonable to have another woman around, to make the numbers less absurd, to – to help you. Her smile is a little shy and she takes you hand and she looks at Santi with such adoration that a knot loosens in your chest involuntarily.

She doesn’t joke about it, any of it, and you almost wish she would. It would be so much easier to hate her if she was shallow, or stupid, or something but she’s not, and when she smiles you almost think you could be friends. You wonder if you could make it work, like they do for you.

Ben and Will come home early, stepping in like the angels they are, planting themselves solid at your side like trees with roots deeper than they are tall. When Frankie comes home, he takes the spot of the two of them as their eyes draw Santi into another room.

“What the fuck, Garcia,” Benny is as hurt as you are by it all, maybe more.

“Shut up Miller.” He’s glaring, filled with venomous satisfaction at how well the two of you have been talking.

“Cant you see it’s for the better?”

There’s silence – neither of them agree, too confused by him to respond.

“Don’t you ever wonder,” Santi tries again, knowing they’re listening because they love him too.

“No.” They spoke in unison, which makes Will roll his eyes. Neither of them hesitate, and something in Santi cracks.

You poke holes in the bottom of a styrofoam container with a plastic fork. She’s long gone now, but the date still lingers as you poke at your leftovers and try to unwind each moment of the date like strings of spaghetti.

On the surface it had gone well, you had thought you had fun until you felt a burn of tears under your eyelids.

Closing them you sigh, breathing like you practiced, gentle tides of love and logic washing over a feelings you tell yourself are selfish.

When you open your eyes, your Santi is standing behind her chair, and you almost cant breathe.

He went away for two weeks to help with a mission, and he’s here, one side of his mouth higher than the other. You want to kiss it, but you smile instead, and say, “You missed her by a couple minutes, sorry,” and actually mean it.

“I caught her in the parking lot,” he sits slowly, carefully, and when he reaches for your hands it’s almost tentative. It makes you blink again, how his eyebrows are bending. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t understand what it means, cant predict at all what he says next.

“I broke it off,” his eyes are in yours.

“I don’t understand,” you hear yourself say.

Santi searches for the words, like he had them but cant make them come out of his mouth.

“She’s not you,” he says. “I want you.”

You realize with a start that his hand is trembling, and he says your name in a way you’ve never heard before – like he’s terrified. That’s how badly he wants this, wants.. you. There’s no question in your mind, your eyes answer him.

It’s messy, not like a movie, the way he tugs you up and up and into his arms, the shudder of his broad shoulders and he buries himself into you as much as he can.

Like a hazy, blurry dream, your arms find their way around him, holding him like he’s fragile, another first.

He doesn’t say You’re enough for me, or You deserve the world, or anything dramatic.

Instead he says, “Can I buy you dinner?” And, “I’m sorry,” and “It’s been too long.”

And he says “I love you.”

He already asked the others, calling them each on his drive to you. Asked like he was young, if it was okay. Santi knew none of them had fallen in love with her, because even he hadn’t. But he had to ask for their permission as much as yours, to try to win you back.

They were more guarded than you, wary of his passion.

It takes time, and work.

He stays up later than he should talking with Benny about everything and nothing, hands nervously putting together snacks. When the younger man holds you, Santi teaches himself to join, to be held and hold you both. It feels good, which feels like guilt.

He works on that, too.

Frankie and him never talk about it. For weeks he thought his oldest friend had understood, more of less forgiven him without a word. One day they’re out for lunch, and his eyes flicker at the waitress, tucking her hair behind her ear. When he returns his gaze to the man across him, his blood runs cold. It’s been years since he’s seen furious determination brewing in Frankie’s dark, caring eyes, but it’s there now and he hates it. It takes discipline, to watch how he’s perceived as closely as he watched his intentions, but he does it.

It was easier than winning Will back.

“How long has your logic been shit?” Has your heart been in the wrong place this whole damn time?

“I just got on the wrong path, Ironhead.”

“Like hell you did,” his eyes were ice. “You let that happen.”

It would’ve been easier if he punched him. This wasn’t a kiss and make up moment either. The work ended up being long talks while you forced them to drive to pick you up when your car broke down the town over. Forcing words out being so honest it hurt, until has heart and throat felt raw. Making Will understand it was out of his own fears. Showing him how he was fixing it.

And weeks of letting with watch him again, eyes not missing a single touch or flinch or moment between you all. Actions to reinforce his words.

It hurt, but infinitely less than feeling distant from you all to begin with.

Will and your Catfish bring it up with you, one sunday afternoon as you tuck yourself between them and let their hands trace your skin.

“How are you doing?”

“I don’t know, Will. Better, I think. I missed him.”

Frankie places a row of warm kisses down the side of your neck.

“He missed you too. It’s Pope, he’s... he’s scared, love.”

“I don’t know if I believe that, yet.”

Ironhead grumbles at your confession, his big fingers squeezing the meat of your thigh.

“You gave him another chance, but you’re holding back. What does your gut say?”

“Unreliable - I’m in love with him.”

His head pops up and he kisses you before half-smiling. Frankie’s hand finds one of his, and they share a look.

“Can we tell you, querida? What we’ve seen.”

“Some objective evidence,” Will kisses you again.

“He loves us.” Another kiss.

“You.”

It’s quiet as Santi flips through his latest files. The evening air is cool, and he should be getting ready for bed but you’re not home yet, and they’re all milling about waiting. You texted them how tired you were, what an awful evening you had.

“It should just be another couple of minutes,” Will says, and Frankie checks his watch. Ben wanders to the kitchen and they can hear him mixing hot chocolate.

When you walk through the front door, they fold you in their arms. Santi holds back, doubt still nagging at his mind. You let him back in, let him take you don't dates, but you didn’t fit together any more. He was running out of ways to communicate with you.

But you slump over, gently pushing aside his files and placing his laptop away before replacing it with yourself. Molding into him you sigh, and almost instantly fall asleep.

You’re small and vulnerable in his arms and the weight on his legs feels like trust.

The air in the room shifts, lighter, more breathable than it’s been in months. Adoring, proud eyes watch, and he wants to cry.

For the first time maybe ever, he’s sure that everything is going to be okay.

The bar was mercifully quite that evening, and if made it easy for you to find your love. A small, familiar feeling tugged in your gut as you made your way over to him, eyes on the waitress who was leaning over him with unwholesome intentions.

Then the feeling settled, and was replace with a warmer feeling. She was putting down a tray that had your order on it, and Santi was thanking her, distracted checking your message on his phone.

“Hey, handsome,” you said, the warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. “Can we actually get out of here?”

His brown eyes were big, dark lashes catching the low lights as he stared at you. Somewhere in his mind, he thought too protest because your drink just got there, but the words stuck on his tongue.

“Yeah... yeah of course, baby,” He signaled for the check before standing to draw you in his arms. Saying no to you had never really been an option.

The two of you barely made it to his truck before your hands were all over each other. You liked the feel of him, pinning you against the metal frame, the desperate way he kissed you.

Pope was saying something about how you looked so fucking sexy, needing him so badly you couldn’t wait. You couldn’t concentrate on them.

“Pope,” you said against his skin, sliding your hands under his shirt. In response, he only made a soft groaning noise and increases his urgency.

"Santi," you tried again, before your own gasp cut you off.

"Santi - fuck - Santiago!"

The look he gave you was that of a dog, when you held the treat just out of reach.

"I'm yours," you said, pulling his head in to press against your forehead. "And you," you kissed him, hard, fingers gripping his beautiful curls. "Are mine."

"Fuck," you could feel his heartbeat, his pulse, he was pressing into you so hard, like he wanted to blur where he ended and you began. You knew he understood.

"I am," he said into your skin again and again that evening. Not selfish position, a promise and a proclamation: "I'm yours."

"I'm yours."

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @pbeatriz

poly frontier taglist:

@grogusmum

#triple frontier #poly frontier #triple frontier poly fic #triple frontier x reader #will miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #francisco morales x reader #benny miller x reader

149 notes · View notes

fankerdoodledandy · 2 years

Note

Oh yeah the foursome is very interesting in that it lets people be a lot of different versions of themselves, depending on what the other person likes. Feral Phil gets to make an appearance, and— well mostly it’s different Phils, as we’ve seen a variety of different Wils with Dream, and Vice versa.

Though I wonder about the dynamics long term with what you said ages ago in the discussion of dom/sub dynamics, and how part of why the kings interactions are the way they are cause Phil doesn’t want a partner who’ll submit to him? (And the Techno doesn’t get any sort of joy out of submitting, in this universe.)

Alright, okay, brace yourself, you're about to get a whole braindump here:

As you may have inferred I have a lot of thoughts about sex and sexuality and identity and kink and relationships and how all those things tie into each other. Katy and I have joked a lot about how we accidentally made this porn au into a thesis on love/sex/identity/attraction/kink/etc and tbh it's only….half a joke.

You called out Feral Phil and that's definitely a big one- my enduring 'who Phil is in bed' characterization is 'man who enjoys being a bastard, but in a loving way' (see: soft techza, the rut fic). It's obviously not the only way he likes sex, but it's probably the role(? Archetype?) that he falls into most naturally.

On that note- we have seen a variety of Wills with Dream and Dreams with Will. I'm glad you noted that; katy and I have talked a lot about all the ways Will and Dream take care of each other, and how sometimes that means they push themselves into being who the other person needs. We're going to get into this a lot a couple of chapters from now, so I'm trying not to spoil that, but… what can I say here.

We've seen Wilbur think about how Dream likes to be teased a bit; we've seen Dream settle Wilbur down when he needs to be taken out of his head. Sometimes loving someone means pushing outside of your comfort zone a little bit to take care of your partner, and you get satisfaction from that even if it's not Your Thing.

(The other thing to note there is- Wilbur and Dream have both been forced into doing things and being versions of themselves that they aren't comfortable with, and in those situations you adapt however you can; that is a similar-looking but entirely different-feeling situation to those in the paragraph above)

To switch back to Phil and Techno- I maybe misspoke or conflated some things I shouldn't have when I talked about how Phil doesn't want a partner who'll submit to him.

As a king and a person outside the bedroom, Phil doesn't want a partner who will submit to him. He wants an equal. He doesn't want someone who will bend to his will just because he's king. Lots of people would! There's a power dynamic there! There's a sort of tenuous line Phil always needs to walk there re: the respect he is owed and the informality he can allow with those close to him (see: all the conversations about titles and names in act 1). It's honestly why I think a majority of the people Techno and Phil have had flings with have been soldiers, who are kind of primed for implicitly understanding the power balance but also understanding where the Rules can bend.

As a…. as a sexual being, Phil enjoys being a bit of a bastard top. He likes domming people! He likes a bit of a challenge! But it's not the only thing he's about. As long as everyone's having fun, he's pretty flexible. (make your jokes here)

For Techno, Phil, and submission: I stand by it. For people who like submission, there's kind of an inherent joy to letting go, to handing off control. That isn't a thing for Techno. There is no situation in this universe where Techno gets something good out of being under someone else's control. There are moments where he's willing to hand the reins to someone else (keep an eye out) but the satisfaction there is still not in the submission itself.

(Katy and I actually talked about this last week before she went to camp, re: upcoming chapters- honestly we don't think Techno subbing for him ever really occurred to Phil. Techno doesn't have the vibes, and, well. Phil wanted Techno, not Techno's submission.)

Phil does get something out of submission, re: being able to take off the crown for a handful of moments at a time. And like I said at the very beginning of this, sex and identity and kink are inextricably tangled together. It's something that could be dangerous for him politically, in a way that it wouldn’t be for someone like Techno or a different noble. So it's something that he and Techno keep very private.

All this being said I do think Phil and Techno's sex life is usually fairly vanilla; sometimes Phil feels a little feral and they have a fling, sometimes Phil needs to not be in control for a bit and they make that happen. Outside the bedroom, they're equals.

God okay this was a lot my meeting is over and I should actually do work now. Please feel free to comment/ask more questions I love talking about this obviously.

11 notes · View notes

kythed · 3 years

Text

“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji.

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.”

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.”

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.”

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh.

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.”

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.”

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?”

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.”

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am.

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own.

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.”

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.”

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin.

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.”

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his.

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.”

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.”

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—”

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.”

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way.

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception.

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am.

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?”

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing.

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!”

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?”

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.”

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself.

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?”

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.”

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.”

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.”

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.”

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles.

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.”

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job.

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat.

“you okay?”

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.)

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.”

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye.

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.”

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he’s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.”

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation.

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.”

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.”

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning.

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

you scoff. “corny.”

“you like it.”

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.”

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.”

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.”

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.”

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.”

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind.

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm.

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.)

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?”

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.”

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?”

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?”

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.”

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.”

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.”

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.”

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.”

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real.

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

#you guys seemed to really like the last of these so I might make it a series??#cackles #also ly if you see this the last one was supposed to be for the event #I'm sorry it's so late #also I got carried away and made it a whole thing #I hope it still counts T-T #futakuchi kenji #futakuchi kenji x reader #futakuchi #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #hqcorenet

360 notes · View notes

flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

the tale of agape I — jjk

World Info: There are eight types of Love originated from Ancient Greece. In the Realm of Love, these types have been turned into seven Gods and one Goddess. — Agape (universal): OC (Name: Belle) | Pragma (everlasting): Jungkook | Storge (familial): Yoongi | Mania (obsession): Seokjin | Philia (platonic): Namjoon | Eros (sexual passion): Taehyung | Philautia (self-love): Hoseok | Ludus (playful): Jimin

Plot: Agape is a well-loved Goddess in the Realm of Love. Anyone who wins her approval will become the most powerful entity in the land, standing side by side as a co-symbol of eternal Love. Unfortunately with knowledge of this power, Gods and Nymphs are prone to obsession and cunning. So Agapes’ de facto brother, Storge organises a tournament in her honour. Only the winner will become Agapes’ partner.

Pairing(s): God!Jungkook x Goddess!OC (Name: Belle) ft. God!Seokjin

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 2.6k

Genre: Gods & Goddesses | Fantasy | Romance

Tags & Warnings: betrayal, nothing intense in this chapter but there will eventual smut and violence so

Authors Note: i miss doing a jungkook series lmao so here you go, there were a lot of people during requests asking for a god/goddess au so I’m going on that with a new plot based on the eight types of love. I’m also extremely sleepy and ready to pass out, please excuse any mistakes. And lastly of course, enjoy and let me know what you think! Is this something you’d want me to continue or nah?

Morning began with soft sunlight painting the Love Realm, making the Cherry Palace sandstone glow like a topaz gem. Yoongi, the God of Familial Love stood at the terrace with the God of Platonic Love, Namjoon. Their soft silk robes flowed in the cool breeze as they watched the chariots of red, gold and blue riding into the courtyard; each vehicle pulled by majestic stallions.

“Are you sure about this?” Namjoon asked, eyes gently squinted to adjust to the bright day. His flowing blonde hair looked almost white from the reflection of the sun.

Yoongi shook his head, heart shaped lips pursed. “I don’t like it as much as you do but this is the only way we can filter out the ones on our own accord.”

“Is Belle okay with this?”

“She likes tournaments. Chose the method herself.”

“Jousting?”

Yoongi hummed in agreement, unable to hide the smile spreading across his lips.

Namjoon chuckled. “Sometimes I think she just likes the knocking of heads.”

“Agape has a cheek to her.” Yoongi leaned forward on the balcony railing. All the heads padded out of their chariots, escorted by servants into the palace. Only one chariot hadn’t arrived yet.

“Seokjin is coming too?” Namjoons’ voice grew deep with slight contempt.

“I have to invite him. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You know how he gets, Yoongi.” Namjoon shifted to face him completely. “What if he gets out of control in this tournament?”

“I gave him my warning last time.” Yoongi raised a hand to calm him. “He knows what’ll happen.”

“You can’t kill him.”

“Oh I’ll keep him alive.”

Namjoon shook his head, laughing. “How do you make even that sound threatening?”

Yoongi grinned. “I made her my sister for a reason. No one hurts her on my account.”

“Understood.”

Refreshing wind brushed through the transparent crème curtains into Belles’ room as her lady-in-waiting fit her into a warm pink georgette dress for the first tournament. The tone matched her pink irises, making them look more otherworldly than ever.

Angel let out a satisfied sigh after fixing the train. “Lord Yoongi knows how to pick dresses.” She stood up straight and fixed the gold patchwork bordering the shoulder of the dress.

“He always chooses pink.” Belle observed herself in the silver rimmed mirror, tilting her head. Her curls fell over half her face.

“Well, you can’t wear red just yet.”

“Such a strange rule.”

“Apparently when Agape wears red, it’s only for the most auspicious occasions.” Angels’ voice turned airy as her face lit up with astonishment. Her passion for the Gods of Love was admirable and endearing without the added obsession of climbing the ladder. She respected the concept of love in its purest form. Belle needed more of that around her. “So it’s special that you wear it in specific times.”

“Will I wear it for my wedding?” A small thrill tingled through her belly mentioning her own wedding. Belle remembered all her dreams about being the splash of red amongst pink roses and falling peach blossoms in the Cherry Palace center garden.

Angel stared up at her, eyes glossed and face flushed with excitement. “It could be the most beautiful deep red dress that has a train all down the Realm.” She gestured out through the curtains.

“That’d be a bit hard to move around in.” Belle giggled as she shrugged off the pink dress until she was down to her white underdress. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Watch your left, Eros!” Laughter ensued from outside her room.

“You watch your footwork, Pragma!”

Hearing the Gods’ names being used as colloquial nicknames was a strange sound to Angel but it made Belle grin. She rushed forward through the transparent curtains to the sandstone balcony which looked over one of the smaller gardens. The ones with apple trees and the fountain.

“My lady, wait!” Angel whispered harshly.

The sleeve of Belles’ underdress slid off her shoulder but she barely thought to fix it. Angel quickly draped a silk robe over her body to keep her decent.

The two young Gods of Love, Pragma and Eros dueled each other like they were performing in a playful dance. Yoongi called Pragma by Jungkook and Eros by Taehyung. Both of them a true symbol of their role in the Realm.

Taehyung had beautiful deep tan skin, glowing like a bronze pearl and his sharpened eyes constantly brimmed with bliss over the things around him. He wore a loose silk shirt of yellow and white, half-opened to expose his soft chest while his dark brown curls fluffed and flowed like a gentle garden.

Jungkook was of milk tea skin, sweat on his neck and cheeks glistened, matting his raven hair to his forehead. His body was lithe and muscular adorned in a red and black shirt. The smile on his face had the perfect mix of mischief and pure joy. His feet moved like the genteel steps of a blossom dancer but his sword swings were the strength of a rock sentinel. Chuckles flowed from his lips at the sequence of movements, truly enjoying the activity instead of being full of anger and determination to win something.

Belle wanted to continue admiring him but a sense of her own mischief seeped through. The fountain centered this garden which the Gods did an amazing job to avoid in their flexible parries and attacks. When she noticed Jungkook nearing the fountain ready to avoid, she took a deep breath. “Having fun, my lords?!”

As expected, Jungkook lost his balance and toppled over to the fountain. His beautiful shirt splashed with water and his dampened hair from sweat completely soaked from the fountain flow. From up on the balcony, it looked like a Nymph was pouring water constantly on Jungkooks’ head.

Belle couldn’t help but laugh and Angel tried her best not to follow along.

Jungkook winced at his drenched self; almost a hint of anger on his face before he threw his head back and scoffed out a laugh.

Taehyung looked over to follow the sound and his expression softened when he recognized Belles’ face. “Agape,” he whispered with such a baritone voice that it even shocked Jungkook.

He tracked his gaze up to the sandstone balcony, decorated with pink roses and all-spice flowers. Jungkook raked his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so he could see her. Agape. The Goddess of Eternal Love. Beautiful brown curls and glowing skin against the warm sunlit sky. He couldn’t see it clearly from here but the hints of her pink irises twinkled. A smile tugged at his lips. “You got me, my lady.”

Belle smirked, leaning forward as her cheeks heated. “Be sure not to catch a cold, my lord. I’m looking forward to seeing you at the match.”

Jungkooks’ smile turned to a bright grin. “I’ll be as healthy as a God,” he mused before biting his bottom lip.

The day had come for Seokjins’ arrival. Mania: the God of Obsessive Love. This time Yoongi opted to see him personally in the council room. Kiku, the Earth Nymph Queen and his wife stood by his side despite her wish not to see this God again. In the last banquet, Seokjin had less than pleasant things to say to her and Yoongi was on the verge of announcing war. Thankfully Namjoon broke apart the fight, telling them to separate until they calm down.

Black robe train slithered across the white polished stone floor. When Yoongi remembered Seokjin, he saw a plump skinned charmer who saw the world as a trail of possibilities. Today he stood in front of a thinning man. “I thank you for welcoming me back after my horrible behaviour in the last banquet.” Seokjin spoke in his truest charm but it was changed. There was a darkness under his eyes now and his previously plump skin became sunken with age.

Yoongi attempted a smile. “It’s forgotten.”

Beetle black eyes flickered to Kiku with the same deathly sleep-deprived expression. “And Lady Earth, I offer my humblest apologies.”

Kiku nodded in response without a word. Yoongi knew it was her way to tolerating this visit without giving her true opinion.

“I’m happy to be part of this excitement.” Seokjin intertwined his long fingers together like a spiders legs uncurling.

“Both Eros and Pragma will be participating.”

“How wonderful!”

“Jimin will also be giving his famous stories as entertainment with Goddess Gaias’ illusions. I know you enjoy them.”

“My favorites are of ours.” Seokjin always had his way to maintaining the memory of their history. The two oldest Gods of Love. Family and Obsession building the Realm of Love from scratch. There was a twisted beauty about that fact.

“The servants will help you to your temporary chamber in the Palace.” Yoongi nodded to the three servants awaiting his order. “Make yourself at home.”

Seokjin bowed and turned his heel, quietly expecting the servants to scurry after him.

Yoongi glanced over at Kiku. Her entire body exuded a sense of concern and a hint of anger, green vines were twirling around her fingers to relieve her stress. He held onto her hand, her skin as soft as a cloud. A silent comfort to reassure her that it’ll all be well.

Thousands of people in the Realm of Love crowded on the wooden pavilions, waving their flags of rainbow colours representing their favourite jousters. Excitement thrummed in the air with that hint of curiosity. Who would the Goddess Agape stand next to at the end of the festival? Some of the members of the crowd were already deep into debate as to which fighter would be the most appropriate.

At the center and best view of the arena, three velvet lined seats were placed. Yoongi sat in the middle with Kiku on his left and Belle on his right. A step lower than the seats were the three non-performing gods, Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok, the God of Self-Love.

Once the crowd was organized and ready, Yoongi stood up. He didn’t need to move an inch before everyone delved into an attentive silence. “Welcome to our esteemed competition, good people. The rules are simple. You are to clash with your partners in a fair joust and the winner will provide a favor of their colour to the Goddess.” He gestured to Belle. “The one with the most favors will win the match.” Yoongi waved his hand. “Let the games begin.”

A wave of applause and cheer welcomed the first jousting match between Taehyung and an Earth Nymph. Their gold and silver armor glinted against the summer light. Another trail of pin-drop silence as the jousters had their lances ready. Belle kept her eyes on Eros as most of the crowd did. No one expected him to be much of a sportsman but his blooming friendship with Jungkook seemed to have influenced his new hobbies.

With a clap, the stallions galloped towards each other. In a pounding rise of suspense, they grew closer. Closer. Closer. Taehyung smashed the lance against the Earth Nymphs’ chest earning a wild applause.

He reached the other side and one of the servants gave him a white favor for his victory. Taehyung rode out to the platform where Belle sat. Keeping his half-lidded gaze, he kissed the favor and had it levitate towards the Goddess. “For you, my lady.”

Belle smiled and gently accepted the favor. She gave a short bow to acknowledge his gift.

Another series of matches continued on but what Belle truly waited for arrived around five matches later. She may have counted in her head until she saw the red flag matched with green.

Jungkook rode in his glinting obsidian armor and black stallion that had the most beautiful silver mane. He was a picture of magic. Lances at the ready, the crowd stills with anticipation. The Earth Nymph rides first and Jungkook follows suit a few seconds later. There were some murmurs that the God lost his focus in the midst of the match. They soon found out it was another reason altogether.

The sheer brute force of Jungkooks’ lance nearly cracked the Earth Nymphs’ armor and had them falling off their horse. Due to the leather straps, the Nymphs’ struggling body was still being dragged by the stallion while servants tried to get them to safety.

Belle stared at the fallen Nymph in worry, feeling a bit guilty for the sheer excitement brimming through her body at Jungkooks’ explosive victory. He brought a red favor. This time Belle stood up from her chair as the beautiful stallion closed in. Moving down the step platform with Namjoons’ help, she took a moment to caress the stallions’ head.

“For you, my lady.” Jungkook handed her the red favor.

Belle accepted it, feeling the warmth of his palm and the heat exuding from it. “My lord,” she muttered before turning on her heel. Perhaps it was too blatant of an action for her favoritism but she didn’t care.

Yoongi noticed the flushed pleasure on Belles’ face. He couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his lips and instinctively holding Kikus’ hand. A part of him remembered how the early thrills of a blossoming relationship felt like. The more Belle smiled, the more he felt grateful for this tournament.

Jungkook stayed still on the spot just watching Belle move back up to her platform. His body and soul grew too comfortable in her aura that it made him dizzy. When the Goddess sat down and faced him, he shook himself back to reality. Giving a quick bow, he rode back for the rest of the tournament.

***

Night fell into a deep blue blanket of sky and the remnants of thrill from the tournament celebrated with ale, dancing and pleasure. Jungkook had last seen Taehyung in a bedroom full of the most beautiful Nymphs and the smell of incense. With the look on his face, one could only imagine what was going on in there. He, however, was called to Seokjins’ chamber.

He knocked on the door four times and announced himself before Seokjin invited him in with a chirpy tone.

“Welcome, Jungkook!” Seokjin was about the only person other than Yoongi who could call him that. “I hope you had fun in the tournament.” He gestured for him to sit at the dining table.

“Sword fighting is more my favourite—” Jungkook relaxed on the chair, his tired muscles aching when it was finally resting. “—but I liked the favors idea.” He smiled.

“I’m sure you did.” Seokjin picked up an apple from the glass bowl and wiped it on his robe. “Keep going like this and our deal will go smoothly.”

His smile faded, fingers lightly tapping on the arm of his chair. “Do you think it’s fair? Sneaking up on the Goddess like this?”

“Don’t start getting a conscience now, my lord.” Seokjin chuckled. “When you were begging for your friends’ life, you said you’d kill the Goddess.”

Jungkook tasted something bitter on his tongue at the thought.

“Too bad that friend didn’t have your beautiful dedication to friendship.” He scrunched his nose. “Wind Nymphs, they’re a bit filmsy, aren’t they?”

Jungkook pressed his lips together, averting his gaze.

Seokjin let out a deep sigh, raising his palms. “Apologies.” The kindness of his gaze ended as soon as it started when he narrowed his gaze. The shadows cast under his eyes made him look more like a Demon than a God. “But we’re still on this deal, aren’t we?”

It wasn’t a request open for Jungkook to refuse. If he backed out of his deal then the price would be dire. Seokjin was an ancient God of Love like Yoongi. Entities like him could take a God or Nymphs’ powers, rotting their core soul into a Demon. An animalistic creature with no memory of their past self.

Jungkook was trapped the moment he thought of a deal with Seokjin. All he could do was nod and accept the betrayal he was going to perform.

next chap >>>

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #bts gods au #jungkook gods au #fantasy au #bts fantasy #bts fantasy au #jungkook fantasy au #romance #bts romance #romance au #bts romance au #jungkook romance au #ancient greek

164 notes · View notes

toxicjayhoe · 3 years

Text

We don’t have to dance

Explicit

Shinso / Reader(OC)

M / F

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

I mean there's some plot in my head but y'all don't get to see that haha

Cunnilingus

Blow Jobs

Hitoshi is a good boy

he asks for consent

Brainwashing

Oral Sex

Vaginal Sex

Unprotected Sex

Aged-Up Character(s) obviously

Light Dom/sub

Choking

Ahegao

Smut

He glanced across the overcrowded room, observing acquaintances and strangers as they socialized and sipped their drinks, swaying to the beat of the music. The open space of the hero office had been rearranged as to accommodate as many individuals as possible for this year’s Christmas celebration.

Shinso had never really been the type who partied, but he thought it was important to attend, if only for appearances sake. As a new Pro-hero, he believed it was a necessity to demonstrate he was a team player.

He took a mouthful of his cider, feeling it burn down his throat as he swallowed the effervescent drink. He never really drank either, but he enjoyed a nice glass every once in a while.

The couch he rested on was quite comfortable, he thought to himself as he settled back into it. He was more than content in just sitting here all evening until he believed it was acceptable to leave. He wasn’t interested in idle conversation about the weather or whatever these people were gossiping about to one another.

However, the universe had other plans for him it seemed, as Denki quickly approached him, shots in hand.

“Hey bestie, down this and let’s go get some ladies.” The blond handed the liquor towards him, urging him to take it, waggling his eyebrows and winking.

Shinso sighed, ignoring the offending alcohol currently being offered to him. “What ladies, Denki? We are at the bottom of the food chain here.”

“My dude, it’s a Christmas office party. Have you never seen a movie in your life? Things always get spicy at Christmas office parties.” He cackled, downing one of the shots and throwing the empty cup behind him. He pulled another from behind his back.

The purple haired man made a face, before chuckling quietly. “Where did that one come from?!”

Denki shrugged, shoving the two shots into Shinso’s hands. He rolled his purple eyes, giving in to maybe the only true friend he had.

He brought them to his lips, one after the other, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and placing the empty receptacles on the table by him. Of course Denki had chosen peppermint schnapps.

“I’m only going to be your wingman, and only because you could really use the support.” He said with a bored tone to his voice as he pushed himself up from the sofa. Denki whooped enthusiastically, rushing off to where Shinso could only assume the ladies were.

He unhurriedly trailed after him, making his way between the gatherings of individuals, being vigilant as to not come into contact with anyone as he passed them. He wasn’t fond of strangers to start, much less being touched by them in any way.

He was terrific at communicating when he was obligated to, which was merely when he was required to use his Quirk. He still had issues with it and, even now, citizens still told him it was better suited for a villain, but he’d come to terms with not being able to please everyone. As long as he did a respectable job as a pro-hero and protecting the populace, then he would be happy.

Once he finally made it beyond the crowd and to where Denki had run off to, said man was being rejected by yet another woman.

Jaw clenched as not to show any suggestion of a smirk, he clapped the blond on the back in sympathy.

“You’re aiming way too high, Denki. And you try too hard.” He said simply, unsure if it was the right thing to say or not. Nonetheless, the shorter man smiled up at him, seemingly undeterred by yet another loss.

“Let’s go play foosball!” Denki hollered, forcing him in the direction of the tabletop game, stealing two additional beverages as a waiter walked by them.

They played a few rounds, one versus the other. Shinso loathed to admit it, but he had struggled to keep up with the innate talent Denki appeared to have at the game.

Just as he began to genuinely start enjoying his night, Denki sprinted off, declaring he needed to piss. Shinso took the moment alone to survey his surroundings once more, taking in the sight of people’s inhibitions all but forgotten as alcohol started influencing their behaviors. He took another sip of his own drink, finishing it in one gulp.

If he was being honest with himself, he was also starting to feel the affects drinking had on his body and on his mind.

He leaned onto the wall behind him, arms crossed on his chest as Denki came into sight, marching towards him, arms intertwined with the two women at his sides.

One of them he recognized as Jiro, whom he was relatively convinced Denki had a major crush on. The other, however, he could not recall ever having the pleasure of meeting.

“Shinso, don’t be rude, say hi!” He rolled his eyes before nodding silently at them both. “Good enough. Okay! Me and Jiro against the two of you. Let’s do this.”

/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*

Shinso was sure Denki had let him win for some odd reason his mind could not fathom.

As the two of them argued over why they lost the game, he cleared his throat, offering his hand to the shorter woman by his side

“I’m Shinso. Hitoshi Shinso. It’s nice to make your acquaintance”

She smiled, giving him a firm handshake.

“I know who you are, Brainwashing Hero.” His eyes widened, astonished anyone, let alone an alluring young woman, would know who he was. Was she not frightened of his quirk like everyone else had been? “My name is Aruna Ai.”

He heard himself hum before the words spilled from his mouth like word vomit.

“The moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course, but by its very nature, it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore? The moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.” He finished, taking a deep breath after such a long-winded sentence.

“Did you just quote Deng Ming-Doa’s Everyday Tao: Living with Balance and Harmony at me?” Aruna stared at Shinso, brows furrowed as her lips quirked up.

His hand found the back of his neck as heat rose to his cheeks in mortification, unable to look directly at her.

“Sorry, I don��t know where that came from, heh.” He continued to look everywhere but her, feeling crushingly stupid. Aruna chuckled, placing the palm of her hand on his muscular arm and squeezing.

“Don’t worry so much. I’m already a fan.” An overwhelming sense of calm overtook him then, like something paranormal was causing him to relax.

“What’s your quirk?” He blurted. He scratched his skull, once again mortified that he seemed to not have a filter tonight.

She squeezed his arm again before dropping her hand to her side, smiling brightly up at him.

“Well aren’t you just the most perceptive man?” She crammed her hand into her pockets, rocking back and forth on the heels of her shoes, seemingly deep in thought.

He patiently watched her.

“I can manifest emotions in others if I have direct skin contact with them. My power varies depending on the cycle of the moon though.”

He felt his eyebrow arch in curiosity. It was sort of similar to his own quirk, when he thought about it.

“That is truly fascinating, Aruna.”

She huffed and laughed. “Not as fascinating as being able to brainwash someone. I wonder what it feels like.”

“Care to find out?” He couldn’t believe the words leaving his own mouth.

“I would love to.” No hesitation in her voice, only a slight blush stained her cheeks.

His eyes narrowed as he stared into hers. “Are you sure?” His voice low.

She rolled her eyes “Of course I’m sure, Shin-“ Her eyes glazed over as her mind went blank.

“Follow me.” Came the command.

Although she had no control over her own movements, her mind was still aware enough to realise what was happening.

She was led across the crowds and through the halls. He silently guided her into an unoccupied office, small cots lined up on the walls.

He released his hold on her mind, allowing her a moment to turn around and leave, if she so chose.

His gaze never left her face, eyes concentrated on the way her cheeks darkened. Mortified, no doubt.

They remained standing, unmoving for long moments. Hesitation welled in him for a second, unsure of himself. Aruna’s breathing came out in a sigh as she strode forward, toward him in quick steps. When she reached him, her hands grasped his clothed shoulders as she pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes, raising her lips to meet his in a sweet kiss.

Purple eyes widened at the unexpected contact.

“I just… wanted to do that of my own accord first.” She whispered as she stepped back, breathing heavier than moments before, smile on her lips.

“You look at me like you think I’m someone else.” He said simply.

Her eyes narrowed, a look he could not read painting her features.

“How do I say this… We don’t have to talk, and we don’t have to dance around it, we don’t even have to be friends. I’m attracted to you…I want you to brainwash me. And…” She paused as Shinso slowly approached her.

Eyes peered into hers, pupils dilated. “And?”

“And… I want you to use me as you wis-“ Her mouth hung open, no words coming out as Shinso gained control once again. If she could smirk, she would have.

“Come here.” Her feet pulled her to where he was now sat on one of the cots.

Large hands grasped hers. The softness of her fingers in comparison to his own, rough and calloused, felt like heaven.

Shinso had never done anything like this before and the thrill of it all made blood rush through his entire body, his heart hammering in his chest.

He looked up into her blank eyes, dick twitching against his slacks at the sight of her. He couldn’t wait to see her ruined by him.

He couldn’t get enough of her soft skin, gliding his fingers up her arm and to her neck while the other hand drifted lower, reaching under her dress.

A devilish smirk formed on his face when his fingers tightened around her throat, a soft gasp leaving her mouth.

Hiking her dress up, he dug his fingers into her hip, pulling Aruna closer, lowering his head to kiss just above his tight grip.

Teeth grazed against her skin, eliciting soft moans from above as he nipped and kissed and sucked, marking her. He hoped the resulting bruises would last weeks, reminding her of tonight.

Despite that most thought that, while under the influence of his quirk, his victims couldn’t remember what they’d done under Shinso’s control, it all depended if he wanted them to remember or not.

He most definitely wanted Aruna to remember tonight, needed her to feel and see everything he would do to her and have her do to him.

“Spread your legs.”

A hum left his lips as she did what she was told, legs far enough apart for his face to fit nicely between soft thighs.

“Good girl.” He whispered, looking up into those blank eyes, her pupils now dilated, a look of lust filling them.

He kept his gaze fixated on hers as he released her neck, hand gliding to her breast, squeezing it gently. Fuck, he couldn’t get enough of her body. Her soft curves and her even softer skin. The breathy moans that left her lips at every new sensation.

Perhaps she was the one ruining him.

Both hands were on her hips, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties, dragging them down her legs and around her feet. He placed them in his pant pocket. They were his now.

As he pressed his nose to her, he inhaled deeply, a groan ripping through his throat. Absolute heaven, the scent of her driving him crazy with need.

His tongue met her folds, licking up to her clit before bringing it into his mouth and sucking. He felt her knees go weak, the only thing holding her up straight now were his strong hands at her hips.

She tasted absolutely amazing. Shinso’s eyes squeezed shut as he devoured her. He was sure his fingers were leaving bruises. He hoped they were.

Leaving her pussy for air was torture, but he could feel his control over her slipping as he got lost in the taste of her.

“I’m going to let go of your hips now. Don’t fall.”

He wiped his chin of her juices with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to gather the droplets on his lips. He pressed his palm down onto his cock, needing some kind of touch to release the pressure building inside him.

Nimble fingers unbuckled his belt, releasing his cock from its confines. Aruna glanced down, eyes lidded.

Her own tongue slipped from her mouth, licking her lips at the sight of him slowly stroking his cock, tired eyes locked on hers.

“Come taste me.” The commanding tone sent noticeable shivers down her spine, clearly trembling where she stood.

She could feel herself resisting the request, his control wavering as pleasure began to overtake his senses.

“ Obey me.” Aruna’s knees hit the floor, palms resting on his thighs as she positioned her mouth over him.

One calloused hand cupped her cheek, guiding her lower, the other gripping the base of his cock.

The sound that rumbled through his chest was unholy as she took as much of him into her warm mouth as she possibly could, hallowing her cheeks the instant the head hit the back of her throat.

“F-fuck. Aruna” His fingers fisted into her hair, staring down at her as drool dribbled down her chin. He gently pushed her down on his cock, face fucking her softly. He didn’t want to hurt her, but fuck if her wet tongue across the underside of his dick didn’t feel like paradise.

She moaned around him as he thrust into her mouth, sending delightful vibrations through him, dick twitching in her mouth. He was losing control. He could feel it.

Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock and- he was sure it would be the end of him. This girl. How did he get so fucking lucky?

Aruna’s fingers dug into his thighs as she came up for air, his quirk weak enough from the pleasure to break out of it.

His eyes widened as she quickly rose to her feet, pushing his chest down as she settled onto his lap, sitting on his cock, sinking down on it in one swift movement.

Strong hands grasped her hips once more, furiously fucking up into her. Every moan from her lips sent heat through him.

“You like that, baby?” He asked, voice hoarse and husky.

“Y-yes. Hah. You feel so good, Hitosh-“ Her pussy tightened around him, losing herself to his control once more.

“Silly girl. Stick your tongue out for me, and don’t stop fucking yourself on my cock.”

Her eyes blank again, tongue sticking out, drooling down her face. It was absolutely stunning. So fucking beautiful, and it was all for him. He had never seen anything so breathtaking.

He stared into her face, bringing his thumb to her clit, gently pressing circles into it and watched as she shuddered, grinding on him harder, breaths coming out unevenly, whimpers escaping her lips every time he bottomed out in her.

“You’re so beautiful. Aruna. Fuck. The way I fit inside you, like we were meant to be like this.”

The words left his mouth, any shame he might have felt discarded, pleasure overwhelming his every sense. She looked amazing, tasted amazing, smelt amazing. She was perfect.

He grasped her throat again, other hand on her ass as he met her thrust for thrust. She was close, he could feel it in the way her walls clenched around him, in the way her eyes crossed, tongue still lolling from her delicious little mouth.

“Come for me, my lovely moon. “

She stilled above him, walls clenching tight one more time as her insides fluttered around him, sending him over the edge, cock spurting deep inside her, a growl leaving his throat, fingers tightening painfully around her neck.

She collapsed against his chest as he released control over her, breathing heavily in the crook of his neck as he gently caressed her back and played with her hair, calming her as she came down from her orgasm.

Shinso adjusted her dress to cover her body. His heart felt full for what seemed like the first time in his life.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Aruna.”

He felt her smile against his neck.

There was no point in saving the world if it meant losing the moon.

Art by Me

#hitoshi shinso #shinsou x reader #bnha shinsou #mha fic #shinsou smut #shinso x you #shinso #shinso simp #boku no hero academia #mha fanart #shinso fanart #hitoshi shinso fanart #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero smut #happy birthday shinso

76 notes · View notes