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prettyboykatsuki-moved · 1 year ago

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BLOOD FEUDS, ANCIENT AND MODERN | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

✮ tags ; no curses au, blood incest, use of honorifics (oji-san) abuse (mostly verbal / emotional), classism, grooming / generally predatory behavior, large age gaps (20+ yrs), blood feuds, imbalanced power dynamics, white collar crime, afab + fem!niece!reader, uncle sukuna, the word rape used in text, non/dubcon (not noncon necessarily), fingering, petnames (little one, kid, little lamb), thigh-fucking, and other things, very horrible and gross sukuna behavior 18+

this is very dark and it deals BRIEFLY with sukuna being very predatory to reader when she's UNDERAGE / young. nothing explicit happens WHILE she is underage, but sukuna does leer at reader and it is mentioned. please proceed with caution !!!

PLEASE HEED THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED!!!

✮ wc ; 10.3k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; thank you vic @saintshigaraki for always indulging my nonsense and also tomfoolery. kissing you.

i'll be honest lads this one got away from me BAD jksdfhjs. i think its interesting at least.I KNOW THE TAGS ARE WICKED but i promise its like. kind of sexy at least.

also yes the title is from the rdr2 soundtrack shhh

✮ synopsis ; blood is thicker than water. resentment, you think, is thicker than both.

Bastard.

An intimately familiar title, lacking tooth and effect. It's meaning eroded with time and usage - and a moniker you've wielded proudly for as long as you can remember. You don't recall much of your life before it became part of you.

The daughter born of wedlock. Bastard daughter. The only remaining stain to your family's reputation aside from your late father.

Your mother often tells you that you were her hardest child to birth. When you were littler it was a story relayed to you with affection, and but now it's with such bitter hatred you can feel it lodged in your throat.

The most important element is the predestination in it. You came into the world kicking and screaming, throat hoarse and violent. From birth, you knew you were half-forged with bad blood and came into the world trying to be absolved of it. It's shaped your life, your relationships, everything about you.

The other half of your DNA, the good half, is from your father. Before you were a bastard, you were your parents' only child. Your father was a good man. The best you know. An average, humble man. From a generation of other working class men with a tough job in construction. Your best memories come from when he was still alive.

A quiet life, untainted by the residual bitterness of your mothers heritage. You lived away from it, outside of it. The mother in your memories from back then seem like a dream now, some mirage from long ago - disinterested in anything but you and your father. Your mama and papa. Your father took good care of you both, and your mother loved him madly.

You lived as a normal family in a small apartment just outside of Gifu for the first seven years of your life. You attended a small local school and had friends with crooked teeth and messy hair.

Your childhood was mostly happy if you break it up into pieces like that. Blissfully uneventful.

There's a concise break of change of what your life was versus what became of it. Your fathers death the splinter in the wood, separating the two halves.

The worst of your childhood, of course, came in your fathers passing. Not just because of the loss, but what it made of your life. His funeral welcomed people of all walks of life with the most notable absence of your elusive mothers side of the family.

Another old memory you have with your mother is looking at her face during your fathers wake. The deep darkness of her eyes, sunken in and hollow. The first time you ever found her terrifying instead of comforting. While the world mourned your father, your mother—you think—mourned her life.

Forced into single motherhood with no prospects and no career, your mother decided it was best for the both of you to return home.

You think the worst of your life started there.

Your mother's side of the family has never welcomed you with open arms. You wouldn't come to know why until much later. You were a child then. There's no way you could've known about feuds that deep.

The only thing you knew was that you were hated vehemently, and nothing could change that.

Your grandmother's estate was always frightening to you in your childhood. You've yet to grow out of that feeling despite living there for the last fifteen years. It's remained unchanged since you moved in and the lights in the hall never seems bright enough. Jade green painted walls and white tile floors. Some rooms have classically Japanese flooring and heirloom paintings from the Heian era. Others modernized with sterile whites and grays and house plants that add no life to it at all. Stretched wide with tens of rooms, and easy for a child to get lost in.

A sinking abyss. A terrible place. A dark labyrinth. Anxiety inducing to even think about now. No place for a child your size or your age.

The best way to describe your childhood after your father died was cold. Removed from your life in the suburbs and placed among other rich kids, you became overtly self-conscious of the differences between you and them. Them being anyone who grew up wealthy and your other extended family. You were constantly reminded of your place as the bastard child. Later learning how your mother left her fiance many years ago for your father, your poor and worthless father.

(You theorize any warmth that your mother had for you was buried in your dead dads casket. Living there, among them, made sure she'd never find it again.)

Your mother is the most complicated part of your life. You don't have a time for when she gave up on raising you. There was a year when she tried, you think. For the most part, you lived in that house utterly alone.

At first that abandonment was miserable (as it would be to any child, certainly) but a time came where you were glad you saw so little of her.

Your mother, who you had once loved and thought highly of, became a pitiful prey animal in the four walls of your grandmother's house. Small and anxious and utterly hateful. A bunny born with some cosmic knowledge and horrific understanding that its destiny is to become food for a wolf. Viciousness between her siblings, no doubt fostered by your grandparents and their establishment, tore apart the aspects of her your father mended and ruined her. You were too little to stop it.

Blood feuds that ran bone-chillingly deep plagued most of the interactions with your extended family for as long as you've been a part of them. Your mother has exactly four siblings. Two sisters between her with her as the middle daughter, and two brothers. One of which is estranged so completely you don't know his name.

And the other being your Uncle Sukuna.

Your hatred for your aunts and their children came to you rather naturally. For every gala and ball and charity fund your worthless bloodline ever raised, came catty arguments and verbal abuse from the shallow mouths of your beloved cousins. You had nothing to prove to anyone in that house. You were detested since your birth and your grandparents made no small effort to show you through as much neglect and verbal lashing as they could get away with.

Rotten girl. Cursed daughter. You're the reason your mother is like this. You're the reason she is miserable. You should've been buried with your father.

Compared to the experience of your grandfather ripping into you at age ten for simply being alive, your cousin's commentary on you was remarkably uninteresting. You resented them for being nuisances, though, with the exception of maybe one who bucked it out of that place as soon as they could. Just like you planned too.

For a long time, Sukuna wasn't around enough to have a real presence in your consciousness. You tried not to think of your extended family more than you had too. You got used to not knowing about your relatives living there, but there was no one so elusive as him.

It was as if, increasingly, you heard whispers of his name at everything you were forced to attend.

The first time you ever meet your Uncle, you're freshly sixteen. It's the birthday party your mother throws for you each year in an effort to show how close the two of you are to the rest of your relatives.

The first time you see Sukuna in person, the only thing on your mind is how much he stands out from the rest of your relatives. He's a head taller than the tallest person there, and he's...bigger. He's not clean or neat, scruff lining his chin. Old, dark eyes. Visible tattoos that reek of disgraced son and hardly of prodigy.

At sixteen, you understood intimately what your family considered to be gold standard. Your uncle was antithetical to it. His very existence a paradox to the ideas you've had been hammered into you for years. Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos - his suit jacket undone to expose his chest. Lacking respect and formality and dignity.

He was a lot like you. You got that impression, somehow.

When your eyes met with your uncles for the first time, you had your second fully formed thought about him.

Dangerous. Like an alarm. Like a ringing bell, throbbing through your skull and pulsing through your teeth. Some part of you just knew that he was a very dangerous man. Not just a wealthy one.

The first conversation you ever had with your uncle proves to be the most significant. Brief, yet - tonal in all ways. The gold standard for how he viewed you. How he would view you.

How he would treat you.

("So you're the new brat,"

Your uncle is an imposing man. You are sixteen and slightly tipsy, which is the least horrible thing you could be since your other cousin is coked out in the bathroom upstairs. You sway, staring at him. You think that's disrespectful.

He's the kind of man who might kill you for that. Might hit you. But you don't find it in yourself to challenge your defiance when you're far from sober and even father form happy. You lean your weight to one side and hum.

"New bastard," You correct him, and take another sip of the flute of champagne in your hand. "My worthless fathers, worthless daughter."

Sukuna pauses, his eyes widening before his lips break out into a grin. You wonder if it's because you're drunk. You think he's staring at you. Your eyes are too blurry to tell but you think he's gazing down the low dip of your top. At the curve of your chest. Leering at the body you've yet to even grow into.

"Tenacious," Your uncle says, and takes a long drink of his sake. You stare at the edge of his glass, carmine eyes gazing so deeply at you - you think you'll throw up. "You're your mothers daughter. Through and through.")

The night of your sixteenth birthday, your uncle announced he'd be opening a business venture in Tokyo. All this time he'd been doing work overseas, but seeing family helped finalized his decision. You remember the look on his face when he announced it. Remembered his eyes searching on you through the crowd as he held the mic up to his lips. How he named you the main reason, one conversation and he grew so fond of his little niece. That you were a clever girl, and that even though he hadn't known you long - he was sure you'd go so far.

Happy Birthday to you, little lamb.

You remember best the feeling afterwards. How the crowd went nearly silent. Hundreds of eyes darting your way in seas of strangers. All the attention people hadn’t paid suddenly mattering, all the congratulations. You remember how they crowded you and how your uncle came to your rescue with a cheeky grin and air of nonchalance.

You remember feeling sick. You remember the chill creeping up your spine, bile in your throat - all wet eyes and nausea.

Your uncle is a dangerous man. And you, the uninteresting bastard daughter, had caught his full attention.

The next four years of your life would pass so slowly, you often wondered during them, if you died that night and you'd live through these days as punishment for the crime of existing.

A little after your birthday, your uncle moved back to Japan permanently - in a residence not far from your grandmother's estate. He became a permanent fixture in your life. Many things came with that reality, none of them being especially pleasant.

You learn three things in the four years you spend with your uncle in your life.

The first is that your uncle is more powerful than you can really understand.

Through conversations at your kitchen table about his escapades abroad, you learn nothing of the work he actually does. Only what it involves, who it involves - foreign governments and people much more powerful than your family. Your uncle has ties to the Gojo family, and the Zenins'. Your time here teaches you that they make up two halves of private militarized arms and they work domestically and internationally. The only thing you need to know about them is they are filthy rich, richer than your own family and twice as corrupt.

And Sukuna works with them. Knows them rather intimately, from the pictures you've seen of Sukuna and Gojo Satoru drinking together - two prodigal sons with silver spoons and unsettling demeanors.

The second thing you learn is that your uncle's power and influence extend past all borders and include your grandparents and relatives. In the years he'd been away from home, he's garnered a formidable reputation. You never cared to notice it before, but it's all you can see now. Every arrogant, vapid relative you have the displeasure of calling family sees your uncle as some sort of king. The golden ticket to grandparents approval. A wishing well for all their hopes and dreams - so long as they appease him.

They fawn over him. Sukuna knows it. But they're all so busy trying to get on his good side they never catch his subtleties. Never seem to notice the cold sarcasm and biting edge to his questions. They pander and peacock to him constantly, but not one of them has sense enough to understand him a little deeper. Except you, incidentally. That's part of your problem

The third thing you learn about your uncle is that he takes pleasure in your cleverness no one in your life has since.... who knows? Since your father died, you think.

And you are clever. A head smarter than the rest of your family and a try-hard in all aspects. You graduated highschool top of your class and got scholarships into better schools. It was never about proving your worth of course, but about survival. You wanted away from this place, and the only way to cut your ties completely is to carve a life for yourself. Academia, education, using your name to make connections - you've been working silently on it since you were in middle school.

The only person who'd ever noticed your accomplishments was Sukuna. In between his work, he'd visit you in your room. You grew close in one sense of the word. It was a secret kept between you - but Sukuna often reminded you of it. That he saw you for who you were when no one else did. That his interest in you exceeds your own understanding, and it'd be in your best interest to remember that.

Some half-way between threats and affection, for four years - your uncle remained at your side. Uneasy as you were, he'd never try to advance on you while you were still in highschool. Some part of you knew he wasn't above it. Rather his interest hinged on getting to know you.

Your uncle is above all things manipulative.

Rather he preferred to keep you on your toes during the duration of your time together. To get close but not too close. To get to know each other openly. Your uncle made sure everyone in your family knew of his fondness for you. He'd keep you close to his side or follow you around, always in public places with a million eyes. He'd whisper to you, laughed and asked questions.

You hated being the center of attention, so Sukuna turned it on you any chance he got. It made it hard for you to refuse him, but mostly it made it hard to go under the radar without his protection. It made it hard for your relatives to insult and berate you.

You hated it. You hated accepting his kindness, because you know your uncle well enough to know that everything in the world came with a cost. And that this protection is little more than luxury, promised to you as long as you played nice.

And you always did play nice. But you were cautious. Never alone too long in the same room. Never somewhere too late. Never drunk, never high. Always within distance of a door. Sukuna was a dangerous man, and you may be a bastard but you're no fool.

It'd work for years. You evaded any real alone time with him for years. Years.

Until earlier this year where your mother had made arrangements for you to spend the summer with your dear old Uncle - in his villa, far from the safety of Japan's main island.

In the years of your uncle's favoritism towards you, no one has been more pleased than your mother. You've come to hate her for it. Your relationship hasn't been good in years and for her to suddenly attempt to be your mother again felt like a mockery.

(It mostly felt like a betrayal. You didn't think she could betray you a second time after she all but abandoned you the minute she stepped foot in that house.

Like something possessing the corpse of the mama in your dreams, your seething hatred towards her started then you think.)

You'd spent years indifferent to her, but it was this change that made you hate her down to your bones. You were furious about the decision. Furious she didn't bother asking, furious about all of it.

About everything.

An entire summer alone with the man you know to be most dangerous to you. You wouldn't put it past Sukuna, to plan this around you - but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

("You'll be going with your uncle," Your mother says, hardly listening to you. There's a baby on her hip, your half-brother and a vacant look in her eyes. You feel your jaw tighten. "We've already made plans. Your stepfather,"

"Your husband." You correct. Your mother gives you a tight-lipped smile.

"We are going on a family vacation. Your grandparents wouldn't tolerate you here alone , so you're going and that's final."

"I don't need to live with you," You seethe, fighting the urge to grab her and punch her. You've never been violent. Your mother makes you homicidal. "I can find my own fucking place, I'm twenty I don't need-"

She slams something. Your half-brother makes watery eyes. She stares at you distantly, righteously angry. Whether she's earned that anger or not, it makes your mood worse. .

"This is the least you could for me. For us." She hisses, turning around. You think of killing her. "For all the shit you put me through."

"What I put you through? Fuck you," You admit, your throat burning like a star falling through the atmosphere. Then, through a shaky breath"There's something off about him, mom. Do you understand what I'm fucking saying? Where you're sending me?

Three expressions pass over her face. The ghost of grief, some kind of solace and then more vacancy. She swallows, turns around to keep folding baby clothes. Her voice trembles. She knows she's sending you to your doom. Knows what waits for you as soon as you go.

"You're going. We need this." She says, and still doesn't turn to look at you. Her voice is so frigid it doesn't sound like hers anymore. "That's final."

You shouldn't be shocked by it anymore, but it doesn't make it easier.

You slam the door on your wait out. You hope their plane crashes on the way there.)

You tried your best to worm your way out of the situation before the semester closed out. But Sukuna, three steps ahead of you at all times, made sure that wasn't possible. Your uncle owned a villa out on an island, private - and the bags had already been packed. You'll like it there, he assured you so many times, it's comfortable. There's a good view and the kids in the place will remind you of the kids you grew up with.

(It's hard not to notice the ways in which Sukuna tempts you into wanting to go. Though there's nothing, truly, that could make the experience a pleasant one - it's posed to appeal to you. A place to remind you of your childhood. You try not to think about it.)

Despite your protests, despite your vehement frustration - there was nothing you could do but go. If you didn't go with Sukuna, it'd be enduring 3 months alone with your grandparents. You could try to crash with friends but the friends you've made so far wouldn't dream of being so polite and you dare not think of burdening your childhood friends with your family problems. They deal with enough as is.

The last option was running away. You're desperate enough to entertain it. You do, several times - considering what the worst outcome could be. All scenarios end with Sukuna coming to find you, because he's crazy and connected like that. Even if he's deliberate in not displaying those parts of himself, you know his apathy to be a facade.

You know him well. He knows you well. It feels like a competition to see who can outsmart the other that you were forced into with no say.

So, come the end of your third year of college - a driver picks you up right as your finals are finished to take you to the airport. A private jet, a nauseating display of wealth just for your uncle to torment you with you're sure.

On the plane ride to a small island on the coast of Japan, you think to yourself that all gods in the world must've abandoned you before you were ever born.

The first few weeks of your stay in the island of Nii-jima prove to be uneventful.

For a small island, it's still governed through something related to Tokyo. It's not the city or even the country, some quiet and relaxing in between. There are people here who've lived for generations and others who are only touring. Your uncle's villa though, is far from all life - and a few miles out from a beach.

You can hardly understand what a single man needs such a big house for. There's staff there too, though less than at your grandparents place which you're grateful for. You've met six of eight, two of them people who take care of the yards and garden.

Sato-san is the woman you see most often. The one cook Sukuna has and the woman who's been working longest. She is kindhearted and sturdy, often bringing her grandchildren with her. She's quiet and motherly - and so warm you're unsure of how to behave around her. Your uncle is seemingly fond of her which is saying a lot. She speaks highly of him.

It's been so long since you've experienced something like maternal warmth, you're awkward around her. You try to not be too attached, try not to be fond of anything in this house because you know something horrible and dormant lies within it and you do not want to stay. Don't even want to entertain the idea of staying.

But Sato-san is good to you, with wrinkles and sunspots and a bright laugh. Her grandchildren are so well-behaved you wonder about how they were raised. A girl about seven and a boy about four, always quiet and inattentive. You've grown fond of them too, despite how bad you normally are with children. They're easy to be around.

You're frustrated mainly because you don't hate being here. The people are kind and welcoming and everyone locally is pleasant and good. You've been in the city too long, with insane people too long, and everything feels refreshing. The bus here is free and you can be at the beach whenever you like. You've made friends here - organically, with no strings attached. .

For the first time in your twenty years of living, you even have a guy you think is cute. It seems small, but back home everyone knows who you are. You've never had a relationship work out for one reason or another, but here? Here no one knows you, and the boy you meet at the beach with his friends is just a boy.

You don't want to like being here, but you do - and you don't want Sukuna to come back and he will. Nothing ever works out for you.

The worst of your luck you think builds on the edge of that thought.

You come home tonight doing a lot of things you would not normally.

For one, you've gotten yourself drunk. The reason being the cute boy aforementioned invited you down to the beach with his friend. You justified going thinking if you were going to be miserable all summer - a single good memory wouldn't kill you.

You had fun. Your swimsuit is underneath your short skimpy clothes, and you sat in his lap and made-out with him all evening. Got to pretend you were a normal girl and you got to kiss for the first time. You still reek of alcohol and his cheap cologne. Blissfully uneventful.

When you stumble into the foyer of the house with blurry vision and hear the T.V. playing, you know it instinctively that peace is going to be short-lived. You know that your uncle is home, and that he was waiting for you.

All the hairs on your neck raise. A shift in the atmosphere makes it hard to think clearly. Your lungs barely get enough oxygen in them to keep you upright. You think of leaving. You think of running up marble stairs to your room in hopes he won't catch you.

"Brat," Is yelled from the living room. Right, as if you'd ever get so lucky. You jump in your skin. "You home?"

Your stomach churns. You feel sick.

"Come to the living room."

You go obediently when Sukuna calls you, trying not to stumble over your two feet.You don’t think there’s more options than fearful compliance.

Your uncle is watching Scarface on the big flatscreen on the TV. The subtitles are on in Japanese though you don't think he needs them. He only barely turns his head to look at you, his interest piqued when he sees what you're wearing.

You feel sixteen again, self-conscious of your body and womanhood. He hides it even less than he did the first time - the leering. He notices your skimpy shorts and top, the bottom of your bikini. And he grins, and stares but doesn't say anything.

"Oh?" He says, calm and casual, glancing back at the T.V. "Finally went and had some fun did you? Thought all that studying turned you into a bookish little shut-in permanently."

You don't say anything, arm clutching your other self-consciously.

"Did you need something?"

He snickers, low and predatory. "Come on. You're here to spend time with me so let's spend time together."

You don’t bother asking where he’s been for the last few weeks. Your gut churns, feet heavy as they drag you to the far end of the couch. Sukuna stares as you sit hesitantly. You have no doubt he's going to make you move, but he's kind enough to leave you alone for now.

"Have fun on your..." He gives you another knowing look then laughs. "Outing?"

You aren't sure how to respond. "Just drank with some friends."

"Friends," He mimics, feeling the words out in his mouth. "The kind of friends that smudge the lipstick off your mouth, huh brat?"

You flush suddenly, embarrassed - and Sukuna barks a laugh. You don't know what he's expecting you to say there so you opt for nothing.

"Sorry," Is the only thing you can manage. Placating. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and relaxes further. There's an air to him, of nonchalance, that unsettles you more than if he was angry or unpleasant. Your throat bobs.

"You're a big girl now," He comments - sleazy and indignant. His indecency towards you, about you glints like a star. A sharp canine and piercing red eyes examine you from his peripherals. "Now that you're showing off it's only natural boys flock to you, hm?"

You can't explain the way this comment makes you feel. So much said with so little. The gap between is and has always been miles wide except sometimes it's not. Your uncle is unusual. Cold-blooded, manipulative, ruthless. There's no warmth in him in a comfortable, loving way.

There's even less of a normal relationship between you.

But you both exist in this space with... similar awareness. Of the world. Of yourselves. There's a conscious intelligence to him that's reflected in you - that you are both fractured parts of your grandparents bloodline in two separate bodies. That self-awareness affords him a presence. In your mind. In your fear.

You are undoubtedly related. Sukuna revels in that.

It’s rare to see that kind of awareness in your family. You’ve never felt threatened by people dumber than you, even if they had more power or money. Vapid and shallow and useless - there’d never been anything that could win you on. It might sound cocky, but it’s true. It’s been true.

It’s why Sukuna frightens you. He has everything, but above all - he’s smart. And hard for you to read.

You swallow, shakily - your eyes looking down at your hands. In a profoundly long beat of silence, the movie plays. A fair bit of gunshots echo through the loud speaker and they startle you.

"You scared? Come sit closer, then." He tells you, less than asks you.

You stand and sit next to him, still a distance away. Sukuna remains unmoving. You don't know what to do with yourself.The silence seems to stretch for miles and minutes. Sukuna just watches the T.V. and stares at his phone - occasionally answering messages. You stay like that for a long time.

"Need a smoke," He says, and it's not really directed at you. "Maybe later. Wouldn't wanna make you sick."

"People smoke around me all the time."

"Do you smoke?"

You shake your head, too tipsy to lie. He laughs at that. "Not even weed?"

You don't bother mentioning legality, you both know it doesn't matter between your lineage.

"Don't like the taste."

"How interesting. What a straight-edge kid. Most I've seen you get is drunk and this is the drunkest I've ever seen you. Still sober enough to talk clearly though."

"I just drink socially,"

"Ohh," He says, and then grins a little sharper. "A little shot of courage to fuck that little college boy then?"

This makes you jolt. "We didn't fuck—"

"No?" He looks genuinely surprised at this, though it's mild. "Poor kid must've wanted too if you came around him wearing that. Unless he came in his pants soon as you sat on him. Boys that age do stuff like that,"

The comment about his age reminds you of how old your uncle really is, and something in your chest flares hot.

"It wasn't that either—I've never-"

He cuts you off. "You're a virgin?"

You flush, stopping yourself from answering and he laughs.

"Ohhh, that's good. Very good," He grins, so genuinely pleased it makes you shiver. "I like virgins. Easy to please."

"That's—It wasn't for you."

For the first time in your relationship, Sukuna bridges the gap between you. He sits up and forward, his hand finding the bare skin of your knee. He rests it there, his thumb circling the flesh.

"Don't touch me," You hiss. Sukuna tightens his grip, but not threateningly. He turns to look at you that time, and you can't help but look back.

There's something in his degeneracy that horrifies you. It's fondness, you think. Genuine fondness.

"You sure?" He licks his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wolf. But not one that's starving. There's no desperation in his actions, but a self-assurance. Wolves don't often survive alone, but Sukuna has. And he hungers with the confidence of a predator who has killed all that stand before him. That's never been told no to what he wants to eat.

Your heart stops. Your voice a low whisper. "Stop,"

"You say that but you came in the house looking all desperate for sex and approval. You always look like that. Have for a little longer than what's normal for a girl your age,"

"I don't look like that!"

"You would've fucked that little college twerp if you stayed wouldn't you? Nothing wrong with honesty, brat."

Before you have a chance to understand what goes on around you, Sukuna changes position. You've never gotten a chance to feel and experience how strong he is - not like the way he's manhandling you now. You gasp at the arm around your waist and back. He pins you to the couch in a swift motion, not sure how he's done it, the alcohol making you dizzy.

Sukuna has never crossed the boundary with you like this before. Your heart is thumping loud, beating against your ribs. The source of it eludes you. If it's fear or discomfort or some other thing entirely causing such noice.

There's a certain blase in his attitude that makes you forget momentarily about the taboo and gives way just to the tension between you. You feel it for the first time with his body pressed against you, all hot and heavy. He smells of cologne, but it lacks the acidity cheap ones tend to have. There’s strong hints of cigarettes and aftershave accompanying it. Appearance wise, he has lines in his face like a man in his forties.

You don't know what's wrong with you. With a relationship so fucked up from the start, you thought crossing this line would feel different. You think you want to throw up, but you're completely calm.

You want to be disgusted. You want to thrash and kick and scream and fight. You squirm away from him, the threads of what's left of your moral conscience urging you to do so. Like a last ditch effort to keep you sane.

But there's just. Something. Something so inevitable about it that your heart doesn't beat at all. The panic itself feels hollow in nature. You are a rotted log and Sukuna has ripped the soft wood out of you with relative ease. But you’ve been that way for a long time, and nothing hurts. Not really.

It's relieving in the worst way.

"Get away from me,” You whisper again with noticeably less fight. Sukuna looks at you bright-eyed.

"You're a good kid," He says. The genuine praise knocks the air out of your lungs. That disgusts you more than anything else happening between you so far. "Interesting. A lot brighter than the other kids in our family."

Our family. You wince. .

"Stop, this is—" You don't know what word to use. He's your uncle and you're his niece and he's been gazing at you like this for god knows how fucking long. "Stop."

"You've got something going on behind your eyes at least, even if you're still just a wet-nosed and angry little housecat," He says, staring down at you. He's so imposing. His facial hair and his various tattoos. Everything about him, down to his bones. "But I can't tear my eyes away from you at the same time. You know that?."

You do know that. You cast your gaze away.

"I applaud how cautious you've been. But it didn't make a difference in the end. You know that too, right?"

You don't say anything.

"Clever little lamb you are, indeed. I like that about you." He hums, leaning down closer to you. His face is inches from yours. "You should be smart enough to know how this ends. But you know, you've been so entertaining to me this whole time I feel like I should at least be a little nice. So I'll offer you something. A deal of sorts, we can even write it on paper."

This catches your interest and he knows it does. He knows. You’re cut from the same cloth. And this place has made you lose your character, just like it always does. So if it means your survival and sanity or your morals, one comes before the other.

He grins at you.

"Come stay with me. Here in Nii-jima and back at my estate at home. I'll take care of your expenses and whatever else. I have better connections than the old hag," He says, leaning down even closer to you. You can smell him. He's intoxicating "You can be away from everything. I'll even let you have boyfriends and girlfriends over. You can throw sleepovers. I don't care. You can do whatever you want."

"What's in it for you?"

You can feel his knee press up against your cunt through your shorts and you gasp, hand going up to his shoulder. "This. Been thinking about this tight little cunt for a while now. You'd have to be at my beck and call. We'd be the closest uncle and niece in all of Japan," He snickers.

You wince at the reminder. You hate yourself for considering it. "Why me? There are plenty of women who are dying to fuck you."

He scoffs a little.

"Once we get you a little farther from the trenches kid, you might start to understand me. Wealth, fortune, fame - all of it's fucking boring. I came back to Japan prepared to leave again but you made me stay. Not much more to it than that."

"You're fucking your blood-niece out of curiosity? Your sister's daughter?"

"My sister never did anything good with her life except marrying your father and making you." Sukuna says, and laughs lightly. You hate how validated it makes you feel. Your skin crawls. "I'll have to thank her for it. She'll be pleased.

You make a face at him, uncertainty. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. Everything you’ve been compartmentalizing comes bubbling to the surface and making your head feel weighted with lead. You want to kill everyone and everything including him. You want to run away from this place. You want to go home, though you don’t know where that would be anymore. They demolished your old apartment years ago.

You think spending a few years getting fucked and used might be less miserable than the suffocation of living with your mother and your baby brother and your grandparents. How much abuse you’ve endured already vs. what awaits you when their true heir starts to walk and talk horrifies you.

You look at him.

“You’re horrible.”

“Tell me something new.”

“I hate you. I don’t…want this. Any of this. I want to go home.”

You’re just venting. Really. You’ve made the choice already.

“Has there ever been a time where it’s been about what you want? I doubt it. But if you stay with me, appease my wishes for a while, well,” He laughs confidently. “You’ll get something, at least. Better than what you have.”

“The contract. Are you serious about that?”

He laughs at you. “Sure. If it makes you feel better, you can draft it and I’ll just have my lawyer sign. Bring your defenses. Whatever. Don’t really care as long as I get what I want.”

“And that’s me?”

“Seems like it,”

You purse your lips. It seems like a rash decision to make in the moment, but truthfully your heads never felt so clear. Even with the alcohol.

“...Fine.”

Sukuna hums when you agree. It feels anti-climatic somehow. Not that he’s not expecting your yes but that you’ve come to accept it so easily. It’s not like this takes away from the coercion, from the awful feeling of being violated. Sukuna was going to rape you whether you liked it or not. This way, at least, you get something out of it. This way it’s something you choose. Something tangible results from your inevitable doom - the fate your mother damned you to.

It affords you some plausible deniability too. In truth, you’re afraid for yourself. You’re afraid of what will happen when he finally does cross the line completely. You’re afraid you’re going to accept it, that it’s going to feel pleasurable, that years of repressing yourself will come back to make sure you never return to normalcy.

What will become of you when Sukuna has his way with you? Will you become a more apathetic version of yourself? Is it possible? Will you sober and feel like scrubbing your skin clean in the shower?

The worst outcome, you think, is nothing so horrible happening. The worst outcome is knowing you’ve fallen far enough for none of it matters at all.

Sukuna grins down at you. “What a well-behaved niece I have. Good girl. You’ll do well living with me.”

You make a displeased face at him, but your breath catches in your lungs soon after. Your uncle leans in to kiss you and you close your eyes trying to get away from it. But it’s true that your body has been burning up from the inside since you came back home - a dull throbbing between your legs turning you all kinds of stupid.

When Sukuna kisses you - your first thought is that he’s unexpectedly gentle.

You didn’t think he’d care about kissing to begin with. In your head you thought he’d tug off your shorts brutishly and fuck you without any prep. You were readying yourself for tears and pain, for screaming and crying - the sharp sobs of your own voice piercing your ears.

A gentle press of lips startles you from your drunk haze. You can feel the scruff of Sukuna’s face on your own, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. The taste of cigarettes and something else mildly smokey fill your mouth and make you dizzy. Sukuna tastes like kissing a man - or what you might’ve imagined that to be like. Not a boy, but a man. You feel his strength, your hands splaying at the base of his neck and feeling the faded undercut of his neck, the texture of his dyed hair. His weight shadows you, his strength making you feel fluttery.

He doesn’t tease you all during the kiss like you’re expecting. Nothing goes the way you expect. He kisses you in slow, short pecks and escalates to his tongue dipping against your lips - a little added element to his deep kisses. He kisses like he’s been doing it for longer than you have, with experience and finesse. You’re all but too conscious of everything little thing. About the sounds you make, about knowing when to breathe, about trying not to get wrapped up in the pleasant euphoria.

All you can think about is how good he is at it. Effortlessly good. You think part of you latches onto it to avoid thinking about what’s happening. Denial feels pleasurable at least.

You kiss like that for so long, your lips have swollen - sticky with spit and saliva. Sukuna has a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from you, laughing at the flush in your expression.

You hit him lightly, looking away from his face.

“It’s a wonder you’ve kept your virginity,” He says, chuckling. “A kiss and a dirty old man like me could’ve taken it from you.”

“Shut up,” Your reply is weak. He laughs against your mouth, and you can’t get over the intimacy of it. You hope you’re deluding yourself but then he kisses the corner of your mouth. Hot, warm air tickles against your jaw and neck when he presses his lips there too and suddenly it occurs to you how real it is.

You don’t think your uncle is capable of warmth or love or anything that doesn’t come from coercion. But fondness. Maybe fondness.

He spends more time doing that than what’s comfortable. Relishes the feeling of you in his arms, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt but not forcefully. Just with enough pressure to make you gasp once in a while when you don’t have a mind to fight it.

“I won’t take your virginity tonight,” He says declaratively. It surprises you. “You’ve got three months with me. It’d be boring. I’ll give you something else.” He looks at you then, then grins impishly. “What do you want?”

Your eyes widen, suddenly unsure of yourself. You push away, brought back to reality by the questions.

“How would I know?”

He blinks at you. “I know you said you were a virgin, but did you really mean in everything?”

You pout at him all of a sudden. “So what. I didn’t have that kind of time.”

Sukuna barks a laugh.

“Huh. I thought you were a goody two-shoes out of necessity but you really don’t do a damn thing in that house. Not even a boyfriend to do hand stuff with?”

“Ugh. No, alright? I don’t have time for that kind of thing like I just said.”

He laughs a little breathless, sitting up for a minute. You’re wondering what it means for you. Sukuna pulls you up along with him. He sits down again with his legs spread before looking at you. He pulls you into his lap with relative ease, until you’re half-way pressed into him with your legs over his thighs. You stare at him, feeling more exposed in this position. You get a closer view of his neck tattoo, realizing how far down his back it must go. You go to ask him what he’s doing - but he’s undressing you before you can.

Confident, large hands trapeze down your back as he finds the end of your overwear and pulls it off - leaving you in the microkini you wore to the beach. It barely covers your nipples. You made the choice to wear it, yet seeing Sukuna examine it so closely leaves you wallowing and regretful. Still, he’s silent as he does something similar with your jean-shorts. A hand lifting your legs up enough to roll the cheap, denim shorts and discard them right on the marble floors.

You’re still half-way over his lap - sitting on his thighs but you’re naked now.

You feel yourself growing self-conscious. Never mind that it’s the first time anyone’s seen you this naked, who exactly you’re showing it to makes you want to throw up. He stares for so long you wonder what he’s thinking, a lazy grin splitting his face. A hand nudges your thighs apart, moving your leg to give Sukuna more access to you. With an arm around your waist, his hand cups your cunt, rubbing it softly. You shift nervously. His thumb moves then, rests at the hood of your clit, pulling up to look closer at it. You hold back any noise as he examines you, bent pointer of the opposite hand brushing over the hair on your skin with a laugh.

“Unexpectedly, it’s pretty,” He says and your eyes shoot wide open. “Good job brat.”

“What are you,” You pant, your breath hitching as you close your eyes.”staring so much for it?”

“It’s mine to stare at.”

You don’t think of your uncle as particularly possessive. It’s more like he believes in that so much, so unshakingly nothing else could be true. You wonder if there’s more to it. He didn’t seem angry even after you told him about seeing a boy.

But comparing the two, Sukuna outclasses him in all ways that it should matter. He must be confident about that.

He spreads your thighs a little further. You’re half tucked into his side now - an arm around the back of his neck and shoulders. Sukuna ducks down a little, nudging his nose against your neck and scraping his teeth lightly against your throat. He doesn’t do much other than… touch you. Not directly. His other hand, the one not secured around your waist, rubs at your pussy but not in an attempt to pleasure you. It’s exploratory and intimate. He’s just touching you in a way that’s making you restless. And the angle he’s bent down, the proximity gives you a better view of him. From the side where you sit in his lap, you can see the tattoo again.

You shudder then, pussy suddenly clenching in a way that leaves you ashamed. Your uncle notices, though he doesn’t look up.

“Thought of something, brat?”

“No.” You deny, vehemently. He spanks your pussy but not hard. You jolt in reply, a shock traveling up your spine.

“C’mon now,” He hums, predatory. “Don’t lie. That’s not fun.”

“Y-your tattoo,” You say, suddenly feeling the influence of alcohol in a way you hadn’t all evening. “It’s…big.”

“Into bad boys or something, kid?”

You frown. “You look like a yakuza.”

This makes him laugh, more genuinely than you’ve ever seen him laugh. “Getting warmer, I guess.”

You don��t say anything to that. Instead spurred by the sudden confidence. “Why aren’t you…touching me?”

He looks at you surprised then tilts his head. “Is that what you want?

“I don’t want any of this but it,” You squirm again. “Feels weird.”

“Sounds like you want something, at least. Go on, tell your oji-san what you want.”

You scrunch your nose up at him, a familiar feeling of disgusting flitting through you. It fades as quickly as it comes.

“I’ve never put a-anything inside,” You admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“That so,” He hums. His middle finger slides down the wet seam of your cunt as you tell him this. You nod but you don’t think he’s really listening. His hand is warm, and big - and his fingers are thicker than yours. One of yours may as well make two of his, no end to how imposing he is. You don’t protest as he starts to touch you. You simply take a deep breath, holding onto him a little tighter.

With your head turned towards him, Sukuna leans in again to kiss you. It’s deep from the beginning this time, and a little rougher. He bites lightly on your lower lips as his middle finger dips down towards your sex. Your insides are throbbing, hot and wet as you feel some friction. It’s the first time anyone else has ever held you in your life, every touched you directly like this. Against your will, your body is sensitive to the stimulus. Everywhere he touches you goes alight, and the kiss makes your tummy flutter. A tender feeling of want spreads you open, tears you apart right in front of him.

With parted lips and a heavy head, you kiss him as his middle finger dips down low enough to penetrate you. A soft gasp pulls from your throat.

It doesn’t feel unpleasant.

“I thought it was going to hurt more.” You admit, feeling him inside of you. It’s a new sensation but it’s not bad.

“It shouldn’t hurt if you’re aroused enough. And wet enough. You seem to be both.”

You frown at him, face pinching. It’s washed away quickly by the sensation of him pushing deeper. It’s hard to describe it as anything other than feeling something inside of you. Deep in a place you didn’t think it could go. You shake a little, trying to get adjusted. Sukuna does it carefully, slowly - thrusting in even strokes and keeping you focused on kissing so you’re not too conscious of it.

He’s not thoughtful, not really - but you can tell that he’s going slower for your sake and that makes your heart stammer uncomfortably. The last word you’d ever use for him is kind but he’s not being horrible and it’s unsettling you.

Once one finger goes in and out smoothly, your uncle starts to add another. You feel it that time, the stretch of it - gasping hard at the sudden sensation. Your breath catches in your lungs, hand clutching at his shoulder for purchase. He pulls away from your mouth, his breath near your ear.

“Easy, little one. Give it a minute.”

“It feels different. It’s,” You can’t form the words as two fingers penetrate you in full, slowly being eased inside of you until Sukuna is knuckle deep. Your breath hitches. “Not like it hurts.”

“It’ll feel good in a second.” He says assuredly, voice smooth and raspy against your ear. You feel combative at his confidence, but then a minute passes of him rubbing along your insides and something strikes against you like lightning. You pause, blinking confused as Sukuna laughs. “There it is,”

“There what is?”

“C’mon kid, I know you’re too busy with school but you don’t know something so basic about your own body?”

“What is it, oh.”

His other hand toys with your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions as he gauges your reaction to the touch. You jolt from the sudden pleasure, getting used to it slowly. You didn’t realize how badly it was throbbing to be touched until he does it in full. Your mouth dries up immediately. Little shocks of electricity spark up through you as his hands go full in on your body. The combined pleasure starts to uptick, something building slowly but surely. It goes from not feeling like much to feeling like something. Feeling physical.

Your mouth drops open in sudden shock, eyes lidded as you moan unabashedly - unable to keep the sound at bay. You own a vibrator, use to cum quick and hard just to curb the feeling. You’ve had orgasms on your own but nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s undeniably satiating, mimics the feeling of eating something and nearly making yourself sick on it. You go slack-jawed, your nerves on fire.

Two fingers curled against your silken walls and another two toying at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs leaves little room in your brain to think. The only thing your body seems to remember is how to moan and whine - make these pathetic little noises you’ve never heard in your life. You didn’t even know you could make. Oddly enough, Sukuna is quiet through it. He makes grunts and little affirmatives but he’s mostly silent. You mostly hear the sound of your own voice.

The sound of your own wetness. You can feel the sticky sensation of your arousal but you can hear it even better. It’s lewd to listen too, wet smacks mixing with the pathetic bleats of your voice make you feel hot all over. Skin prickling with heat and sensation.

“I knew you were sensitive but haah. If I would’ve fucked you today, you would have cried.”

The thought drifts idly by about his cock and your whole lower half reacts to it by going weak. It aches just thinking about anything bigger or longer entering you than his fingers.

“Figure an insolent little kid like you isn’t much of a crybaby. I’m sure I can make you one.”

You don’t even think about asking what he means.

“Feels,” You make a gasping noise, body suddenly going tense. “Hngh, fuck. Feels so good, holy fuck.”

He groans a little. “I’m being too nice to you. I really should be balls deep in your cunt already and I’m not. You gonna cum for me, huh brat?”

You nod your head dumbly, unable to retort. To think of anything but the sensation washing over you.”Go on. Do it. Cum for your perverted oji-san.”

Something about the depravity of it sets your mind numb. Your body goes tight, every nerve firing off at once as you grip onto his shoulder and let the feeling of euphoria wash over you. Your whole body is so stimulated it’s numbing. The feeling of pleasure crashes into you, leaves your spine arching - mouth dropped open and nearly screaming. Your sanity melts, fades off completely and your brain feels like it’s gone empty. You close your eyes so hard little splashes of white show up in your vision, like you’re seeing T.V. static.

You think you scream. You don’t know. You just know that you’re cumming, hard, just from his hands and you’re terrified of what else he’s good at. You don’t think it boils down to sensitivity as the waves of your first orgasm ripple through your body.

You lay in his arms, sweaty and limp. Your vision is blurry with tears as you open them to look at him. Sukuna is rubbing your side, taking his fingers into his mouth. You look at him surprised as he does. He grins.

“Tastes good, kid.”

You flush. “Shut up.”

“Don’t think I’m done with you quite yet.”

Sukuna guides your hand to his pants, over his bulge. You gasp a little at it. His size through clothes is astounding to you.

“I’m not so generous to leave with nothing, you know.” He pats your thigh, moving you from his lap. “I’ve got a better idea than trying to teach you anything today, so try to hold still.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about until he guides you on the floor. You’re confused until you feel him position you - facing towards the couch with your knees spread on the floor. In doggy, you realize a little too late, your upper-half supported by the couch cushion. You feel more confused than you felt a moment ago.

Sukuna positions himself behind you. You can’t see him, but you can hear the soft rustle of his clothes moving as he stands on his knees behind you. More than that, you can feel his cock resting on your bare ass. You gasp, feeling the weight and size slide against your curves. Sukuna does a breathy little laugh at your reaction. He’s huge.

“Don’t cry kid. I told you I wasn’t gonna put it in tonight and I meant that,” He hums. His hands come to your hips, all of a sudden pushing them together. “Push your thighs together as tight as you can.”

You listen to him. You can do it with some effort despite how weak your body feels. You lean forward on the couch for support, bringing your knees together and pressing your thighs. You don’t understand what it’s for until something hard pressing along your spine moves down the curve of your ass. You gasp aloud as his thick cock pushes between your thighs, tip catching against your swollen clit. Your whole body is covered in goosebumps. Sukuna moans low in his throat, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He hums, sounding pleased. “Keep them tight for me, alright girl? Try to at least.”

Sukuna is wordless as he grips your hips, your flesh dimpling under his bruising grip. You're silent, your voice threatening to spill again as you try your best to listen to him. You keep yourself tight and firm, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Sukuna pushes his cock between the fat of your thighs and starts a pace.

The angle makes you gasp, body feeling weak at the way it touches your clit with each bump. Sukuna doesn’t hold back at all. You’re not being penetrated but the weight behind each of his thrusts makes you feel like you’re being fucked. The bruising sensation of skin against skin - the hard muscles of his own legs smacking against the softness of your thighs.

Most embarrassing is the way the position makes you conscious of your uncle's cock. You knew he was huge before, but the way he’s thrusting. Where it reaches when he does thrust makes your throat feel nearly tight. You can’t stop thinking about the fact it’ll be inside you. You can’t imagine taking it in your hands - the girth and length of it fucking impossible. And he wants to fuck you with it? Take your virginity?

He’ll stretch you so open if he does. You can barely think of it fitting in you. When you do, your whole body shudders in a horrible and pathetic way - a new wave of arousal striking a strange chord. As he bumps and ruts against your clit and your mind fills with such lewd images, a new wave of lust starts to pour through you.

It’s unhelped by the feeling of Sukuna’s cock - getting so close. The throbbing with each thrust and the low, throaty groans he keeps vocalizing against your ear. All of it proves to be too much for you. It shocks you when you feel yourself grow hot all over again. Not even being touched directly and so soon after your first - a mere few minutes.

And you find yourself with all your muscles tight, your hand reaching back for Sukuna as you plant your face against the cushions and let him fuck hard between your thighs. You feel incoherent, stupid and so fucking horny. You’ve never experienced it. You can’t think of what to moan, so you choose his name.

This makes him laugh as he bends over you, his teeth biting your shoulder blades.

“Gonna cum again from this brat? Aren’t you fucking easy? Come on, cum with me. Just like that, take it. Fuck, that’s it. Good. Good girl.”

It’s the last bit of tension that pushes you over the edge, whether you care to admit it. Your voice breaks as a second orgasm washes through you - more intense but much shorter than the first and you nearly fall limp. You only barely manage to hold yourself up as your uncle keeps thrusting relentlessly.

You can feel him twitch hard between your thighs when his orgasm finally hits. You shake as you feel him squish the tip between your thighs - hot ropes of cum spurting against the swollen mound of your cunt and dripping down your thighs as he finishes. He smacks your ass as he finishes, making you yelp. Your whole body is rife with exhaustion, finally coming down from high-highs and low-lows.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together for the next few months kid,” He says, almost affection in his words. You’re too exhausted to reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Let’s get along and do our best.”

“You’re a sick-fuck, oji-san.”

“And you’re a whole lot like me, aren’t you kid?.”

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #writing tag #dark content cw #incest cw #dubcon cw #abuse cw #grooming cw #<- kind of sort of not really hes just gross.#THIS HAS SO MANY TRIGGER TAGS .. SORRY

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theactofknowing · 5 months ago

Text

take a shot for me

You and Jayce Talis are friends — good friends, even — and it’s no surprise for the two of you to be found drinking. You’re young, free from the shackles of true responsibility, and the bar is the perfect place to go.

What does surprise you, however it came to be, is what falls into your hands when you invite him into your apartment after a night out.

tags: smut, mutual pining, AU!modern setting but it’s not explicitly stated, sub!jayce, WHO SAID THAT(!!!), loss of virginity because HELLO JAYCE ARCANE. NOT beta read. forgive me

wc: 4.5k

Golden eyes — happy sun-yellow, warm and bubbling companionably with tipsy indulgence — meet yours.

Your gaze falters for a moment as you take him in; the unsteady lean against the bar which he tries to play off as a suave stance, the slight shine on his lips from his drink.

“You’re such a lightweight,” Jayce says, small smile curling his lips — which are only slightly asymmetrical, you’ve stared at them often enough to recognize it.

The recognition you have has been built over the past months. Two academy students; oriented together in the same lectures seats apart, till the courses increased and the distance dimmed, sat side-by-side.

Your connection had grown in the class setting, though it thrived outside of it— blooming like a flower exposed to the sun. Conversations started with work, class, then shifted into something more boisterous, entertaining, to nights in the bar more than was healthy.

“Bull,” you retort, making move to stand from your chair. You’d meant to leave ages ago, when you saw how depressing the bar life had been. It was a weekday, and you and Jayce were mixed along with divorced singles and depressed fathers. Jayce’s company, however, kept you idle.

He’s kind enough to not mention your slight sway when you rise from your seat. You pull your coat on, closing it under your chin, and he does the same.

“Take me home,” you say, joke lacing your tone, and he complies. He holds his arm out for you to grasp onto, which you gratefully take as he leads the two of you into the chilly night.

“Do we have a drinking problem?” You ask, recalling your frequency at the bar. You pull yourself closer to his side, leeching the warm heat that emulated from him as easy as breathing.

The night streets are dimmed, shrouding the intricate architecture and well-loved streets from your eyes. It meant little, not when the both of you knew the way like muscle memory. Your feet carry you easily, shuffling softly against the streets.

In the dark, you can’t see his features when he turns to look at you, making his voice more clear in the position. “Maybe you do,” he says, and you know he has a smug look on his face, one eyebrow raised — the right one, with the knick in it. Part of you wishes to see it.

You scoff, playfully swatting his padded arm as you accuse him of being beside you all those drunken nights. Youthful laughter echoes through the street, quieting down as you turn once, twice onto your street.

He departs from you, keeping an eye as you reach your apartment door. You stand there silently for a moment, contemplating, then turn towards him. You know you must look odd, fondling the doorknob and standing still like you don’t know how to open your door.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, surprising yourself with the question as you do. You aren’t sure what your intentions are; helping a friend get out of the climate, or help him take his pants off. Either would be fine.

Fortunately the weather has long turned cold, winter swirling around the corner, and the wind is the perfect explanation for the heat in your cheeks — just nipped numb and warm from the weather, nothing more.

His brows raise in surprise, like he isn’t sure either of your intent either. “Yeah, yes.”He nods quickly, taking a moment to bury his face in his coat as you turn away.

Your home is dark, quiet, with midnight-moon light painting a cool glow over the belongings within. Flicking on one light, a lamp near the couch, you move with a one-track mind.

Shucking off your coat, then hobbling over to rip your shoes off, which Jayce laughs at when you stumble, though he denies this. You ask yourself why you invited him in as you move about, though you aren’t opposed to the idea — you enjoy his company, his refreshing intelligence, the kindness he possessed to do good and share it.

You plop yourself on the couch, your lack of full sobriety existing as a slight tingle behind your eyes, giving you the kick you need. “Come hither,” you joke, motioning with your finger as you rest your head against one cushion.

Jayce has been in your home often enough to recognize where his belongings go, how you want him to kick his shoes off at the door, before moving to join you. He laughs quietly and sits down next to you, eyes swimming with subdued mirth.

It’s comfortable, sitting together and letting companionable silence come and go like the wind. Easy conversation flows between you, speaking on projects and things processed in the academy, papers to be done and stamped.

Eventually, your mind starts to wander. His voice fades into the background, a warm sound that reminds you of blankets and drinks together, although it means little in the moment.

Openly, you watch his lips. You wonder if they’re soft, if you can taste the drink on his breath and lick the remnants from his mouth. Typically you’d reel these thoughts in, slap a big shame sticker atop them, though you have little care in your happy state.

You begin to scoot closer, inch by inch. Jayce doesn’t notice till he does, eyebrows silently furrowed as he tries to deduce if you’ve moved closer, or if he’s had too much to drink.

You’re not quite sure what your plan is, what your means are. Distracted by the premise of your feelings, Jayce could ask you if you were an idiot, and in your otherworldly state you’d probably say yeah, sure, without processing the question.

One inch, then another, and you’re sat beside him. You can feel his legs shift beside you, always having to move, to fidget. He’s long been quiet, watching you with open curiosity and, perhaps wariness, as you gaze upon him.

Your head comes to rest upon his shoulders, and you know the angle looks good on you — coy smile pulling at your lips, long lashes fluttering around your open, speaking eyes — and he stares at you in surprise.

Slipping slowly, your hand trails up his bicep — you’re unsure what your plan is, but it feels good to exist here, here in the moment, and maybe your past self was wrong for withholding you — and settles on the curve of his chest.

There’s a clear shift in the means of his visit by now, and he’s caught on. He’s watching, waiting expectantly, seeing if this is a prank or something more, something real and curling around his heart.

Yellow eyes turned sunset-sky dark, overshadowed by the slight of his dilated pupils, watch you. There’s a question lingering in his open eyes, one of uncertainty and for the knowledge of more.

“Jayce,” you sigh, unable to articulate your want and your certainty through nothing more than a whisper. Your hands are at his chest — not quite pawing at the softness like you’d like — fingers drawing impatient lines.

A breath, two, then you will yourself to move in. You feel air pass between you, still shifting into electric sparks as your lips near one another. You can envision the curve of his lips as your lids shut, how it’ll feel licking into his mouth. Just before they do, Jayce stops you.

“I’m…” his voice is low, face pinched in a grimace. “I’ve never, I’m…”

Never… what? And oh, surprise hits you like a truck when the realization settles. Jayce Talis, a virgin? Your thoughts must show on your face because he starts to scoot away from you, shutting himself out.

Quickly, you grab his bicep. “That’s okay.” You squeeze reassuringly, hoping and praying you haven’t scared him off. Jayce was, above all else and the lust in your brain, once of your closest friends. “Seriously. And I’m fine going as fast or… or as slow as you want.”

He looks at you disbelievingly, though a hesitant smile plays on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. Shamefully, part of you revels in this. Heat licks at your groin at the thought of being the only one to see him so, to have his hands on your skin and voice in your ear.

He’s not saying no to you, he’s warning you, between the lines saying he wants you to be the first. You should take this revelation slow, have a first date and build up the promise of the good he could have. Your mouth moves before you can decide. “Let me… show you a good time?”

He nods, both of you lost for words as the gap diminishes. The ache inside you — thumping heavily in your chest and urging your hands to move, feel — burns brighter, gasoline of his lips exciting it so.

The moment your lips connect, you can’t help but sigh. The sparks you felt are burning, urging you to slip closer, to shut your eyes snd let the waves wash over you.

Jayce is enthusiastic, lips clumsily pressing against yours in a rhythm that’s hard to follow. You don’t find fault in that, not when you know you’re shaking with just as much need as he is. In the interval, where your breaths are one and your skin is hot, his need slips and he begins to follow your lead.

You push him against the couch, eyes still shut and unwilling to depart from him more than necessary. He gasps into your mouth when you settle in his lap, fists clenched painfully at his sides as he’s uncertain of what to do, how to do it.

Unrelenting, you push further into him. He loves this, it seems, as he arches in response, curling himself into the warmth and smell of you. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, memorizing the dips and curves of his body on the chance you’ll never experience this again. Ever the multitasker, your hands begin to fumble the buttons on his shirt, painstakingly slipping them free till his torso is bare to you.

Your lips separate from his, dragging a slick trail of kisses of want across his cheek, jaw, the thin skin by his ear. Oh, you know you’re doing something right when his head falls to your shoulder, pitched sigh of his gracing your ear as you suck the skin.

Flushed, the mark left behind blooms. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders as you draw back to review your work, and for a breath you worry that you’ve done something wrong. It dawns on you when you see the shift of his hips, the slight press into the seat below, that he’s resisting the urge to grind.

Heat blooms in your core when you realize he’s trying to be good, to follow your unspoken instructions to follow your lead. You take incentive and grind your clothed cunt against his tented trousers, the grind wonderfully heavy as the seam of your pants press against your clit.

His hips rut upwards sharply, surprised moan warm against your collarbones. Open-mouthed breaths pass between you, swirling in the air and suffocating in your ears, as the two of you curve together. His upwards grinds are inconsistent and fueled by his natural instinct to move, but lack of experience simmers alongside it.

You whisper Jayce’s name with a soft hand on his chest, which he takes as sign to stop. He doesn’t seem to process that his hips are still shifting an inch, like he’ll explode if he ceases his movements, but he watches you painfully expectantly.

The room is dim as you hadn’t bothered to flick on the light, though an adjacent lamp beams behind your head, haloing a soft glow around your head that blocks the light from kissing along his frame. For a moment you wish you withheld till you got to your bedroom or at least flicked on more light.

That worry passes by quickly when you take in what you can see — the soft parting of his reddened lips, the pleased furrow of his brows — he’s looking at you like you’re the lit candle in a shrouded room, like you’re the illuminated masterpiece of art in a room of lackluster beauties.

You can feel his clothed cock against your core, impatiently pressing close enough as though he could break out of his pants and yours. Grasping the back of the couch, you lean forward. You lift your hips by a few inches, punctuating your lifted dance with a hearty grind.

Curling and warming; you’d been tipsy when you entered your apartment, drink pulsing in your blood and inebriating your veins. Arousal and want for more pulsed instead, shaking your hands and holding your breath, and you weren’t sure you could live with the unresolved tension.

“How do you want me?” You ask breathlessly, though you aren’t sure he could answer. He’s been panting against your skin, wet lips dragging along the unmarred canvas. His grip on you, once shy and courteous, now hold you with such strength that he could fuck up into you however.

A whine. “My hands? Mouth? …” there’s a question that hangs in the silence. Do you want to fuck me? It asks. You swallow thickly imagining it, of him bending you over the couch or you in his lap, whispering in his ear as he whimpered in yours. He must be imagining the same because he presses into your heat, jumpy for you.

“You— well, hah,” Jayce babbles, sentence accentuated by his soft moan. You can hear the click of his throat as he swallows, voice almost hoarse as he speaks, “anywhere, anything. Just you, please.”

Your breath stutters for a moment, unsure how to respond appropriately. You lean forward and press your lips to his — sharing your unspoken want through unrelenting kisses, your shared pining in your teeth as you nip at his lip.

After a breath and slick kisses, you part from him and he lifts himself trying to chase your lips. He looks almost pained to be separated from you, the heat of your body. You shimmy down his frame, nudging his legs apart to kneel between them.

“You’re going to— you want to—?” He asks, shocked at the motion you’ve set. You give him a look, one of disbelief and certainty. He nods, understanding, more than excited to let the waves pass over him.

Your hands settle first at his knees, then slowly dance up the covered skin, fingers twirling and leaving a trail of promises as they near where he must be aching. Every drag upwards seems to hurt him with the way his muscles dramatically tense, brow pinching inch and inch further.

With you gripping his thighs for support, you lean in. You press your mouth against his groin, cheek petting the fabric as you kiss where his cock rests. He jumps like he’s been burned, then curls in towards you like he isn’t sure if he wants to run away or into the feeling.

You take a breath to look up at Jayce, though you don’t separate yourself from him. You imagine that the sensation is dimmed through all the fabric, but his mouth hangs open like you’re already sucking him off. His arm sits on the backrest, curling to press the back of his hand against his open lips.

It must be an erotic sight, you realize. Your frame, small when compared to his in this scenario, pressed against his long, long legs, like you’re trapped there. His eyes — golden sun, marigold circle around his blown pupils — won’t leave yours as you blink hazily up at him, nuzzling against his cock like you’re worshipping it, him.

Pressing your cheek against his thigh, you lift your free hand up. Your fingers dance along the seam of his pants, curling excitedly along where the button rests. One of the two layers that separates you from the heat of him, you’re glad to be rid of it.

You look up to him, silent question gracing him as your nimble digits circle the button. This is his first time — you don’t want to push him, overwhelm him, but you want him — and you can see he’s nervous in the stiffness of his frame.

“We don’t have to do anything.” You softly remind him, fingers smoothing away an invisible wrinkle in his pants. Your hands are antsy.

“No, no— Gods, please—“ he closes his eyes, legs spreading further in an invitation, “I want you.” I want you if you want me, he means.

Jayce’s hands slip to his pants before you can, pushing the button through the eyelet and hold your breath in your chest till it hurts, and you aid him the rest of the way. He moans unashamedly as the heaviest restriction on his cock is freed, leaving him nearly skin clad.

His boxers are still on, too shy and riddled with nerves to expose himself just yet. He’s watching you carefully, waiting to see your reaction as if you’d ever react negatively. You halt his worries by returning to your spot, lashes tickling your cheeks as you mouth along the clear shape of him.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Jayce whines as you suck on the covered tip of his cock. He can’t sit still while your tongue laves the precum-dampened spot on his boxers, wetting the fabric till it plastered to his cock within. His thighs are shaking next to your dipped head, like he’s fighting the urge to clamp them against your skull.

You’ve hardly done anything and he’s already falling apart. You peek up at him to the best of your ability, unwilling to pull away your mouth; his head is tipped back, only leaving his heaving chest for you to see, in and out.

Such open and honest responses have you sighing against him, focusing on the feel of him against you and the heavy pulsing in your cunt. You feel like you’re about to explode, like a bubbling kettle bursting with steam at the edges. Your lid is about to pop.

The pressure has long gone past aching, so you decide to relieve yourself with your free hand. You pop open the button on your pants with a quiet jingle, fingers slipping between your folds. You huff, warm breath wrapping around Jayce’s cock and it jumps against your skin.

There’s a sharp intake of air above you, and you open your eyes to find Jayce watching you. Your gaze meets just as the meat of your palm grinds against your clit, mouth dropping open as pleasure shoots up your spine.

You whimper his name, face shifting momentarily away as you forget what you were occupied with, and he chokes on air. His hand comes down quickly to grasp himself, breathing through the motions, like he was about to cum. “You… oh,” he whispers, starstruck. He’s getting off on this, seeing you lose yourself with his name in your mouth.

He can’t help himself, it seems, as he takes himself fully in hand and his boxers start to fall away. There’s a soft shlick sound that fills the air, wet head of his cock sliding his hands smoothly. His open-mouthed panting shows how overwhelmed he is, how one squeeze too many could have his cum painting his knuckles.

You wonder what he’s thinking about, if he’s imagining fucking you or painting your face. Watching him, you ache. You have to have him now, you decide as his thick hands squeeze himself indulgently.

You bat away his hand and he easily complies, nails poking under the band of his shifting boxers as you look up to him with the unspoken question. He nods enthusiastically, no longer shy and embarrassed, and lifts his hips to assist you.

He pops completely free from his boxers and exhales thankfully. You, on the same level, are incredibly thankful to be here. The tip of his cock shines with precum, twitching something fierce when you reach forward and use your still-slick hand to pull the foreskin down and expose him to the cool air.

Your hand slips, inching down the length of his shaft till your thumb rests on the sensitive circle of skin just by his sack, thumb circling softly. Jayce squirms under the pressure, though unwilling to voice his needs without your say-so or inquiry — always looking to please.

Lips trailing, you kiss up his exposed thigh, biting back a pleased smile when the muscle twitches beneath your touch. Trailing further and further up… you pass by his cock, much to his dismay.

The soft fuzz of his abdomen tickles your face where you press against him, stomach twitching beside you. As you lean more into the couch, his cock presses against your chest. He squirms, as if burdened by the uncomfortable pressure.

“Please,” Jayce says, never having been burdened by his open emotions and desires. You love that about him. He begins to murmur nearly inaudibly, “please, please, please…”

You draw back, looking inquisitively at him. You know you’re playing mean, though you can’t bring yourself to feel guilt. “Please what?”

“I want…” he swallows, thinking about how he should respond. “I want your mouth on me. Please.”

“My mouth was just on you.” You remind him, head tilted to the side.

“My— my cock.” He relents. His ears must be burning with a shocked flush, but you aren’t paying enough attention to actually check. “I want you to suck me off,” he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, “I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Laughing softly, you move to fulfill his request. The air in your living room has shifted multiple times throughout the evening — once electric and stifling, now shifting into something slower, more memorable.

Your mouth falls open and you lick up the side of his cock, lips plump around his shaft. You can tell he’s shaking from the anticipation, and you wonder how long he’ll last.

You breathe in once and then wrap your lips around the head of his cock, sucking softly as to not overwhelm him.

“Yes— oh, yes,” Jayce is loud with it, his gratitude and pleasure. He’s trying not to move too much underneath you, to let you work as you please, but he can’t resist his back from arching dramatically. You pray the neighbors don’t hear his cries. “Hah, oh…”

Bobbing slightly, you let yourself be lost to the sensation. You urge yourself to take him in further, to press your tongue against his sensitive underside as the head glides smoothly into your waiting mouth. With each slip down, you catch a whiff of him — woodsy like charcoal, mixed in with the natural scent of him that embodies him so well.

You know he’s not going to last longer when his cock twitches in your mouth, gasps of his filling your ears and traveling straight to your clit.

“Oh, you—“ he’s mewling now, unable to resist the slight curve of his hips into your mouth. His hand comes to curl in your hair, not demanding, but rather grounding himself as the world slips away. “Fuck, yes— yesyesyesyes—“

You pull your mouth up as spurts of him start to coat your tongue. He’s fighting to keep his lids open, to watch as you open yourself so readily for him. Lips parting, your tongue cradles the underside of his cock as his cum paints your tastebuds — salty, enticing you for more — and his jumping tip.

He sits still for a moment, recalibrating his sensors as you let the sense wash over you. With one final suck and kiss, which Jayce gasps and jolts with as the sensitivity burns him, you pull off him.

“That was…” Jayce wheezes, dopey smile pulling at his uneven lips. You laugh in agreement, taking in his wrecked form as you do, the sheen on his bare skin. “Holy shit. Get up here,” he leans over and pulls you up onto his lap with a strength you forgot he possessed.

He breathes against you for a moment, arching into your touch as your hands glide across his skin. If he could, you imagine he’d be purring. He pulls back from you to meet your eyes, a powerful glint in his own; the same one he possesses when he has an excellent, exciting plan.

“Can I… return the favor?” His fingers curl at your open waistband, still unbuttoned from your earlier pursuits. At the mention, your arousal floods back overwhelmingly fast, knocking your knees weak. You nod quickly, afraid words would fail you.

Your pants are gone in an instant — albeit with an awkward dance as neither of you want to separate, chests heaving and dragging together in the tight spot you’ve dug — leaving you bare at the waist down. Wet, damp, you press against his open thigh and the slight pressure has your back curling.

“Show me how,” Jayce says, unashamed and eager with a boyish giddiness.

“Take your hand… here like— uhn,” you hold his wrist in your hand, curling his longest fingers forward before his palm kisses your oversensitive clit. His chest puffs out a smidge at your moan, though you make no move to comment on this.

His fingers are stiff in your cunt as they separate your folds, curling in that ‘come hither’ motion you directed to earlier. You’re going to love teaching him, you realize, as he soaks up every lesson you grace him with, responding back as a student more enthusiastic than you.

Overwhelming gratitude falls over you in heavy bursts, trickling down your spine like a thick rainfall. Grinding softly, you lean forward and swallow his fingers in your heat.

You’re not sure if he’s trying to be subtle or doing it subconsciously, though you don’t have the energy to ponder; his cock, not hard, rubs against your leg as your whines and huffs kiss his ears.

“Gods, you’re better than I imagined.” He says against your temple as you lean forward for support, fingers curling in a mind-numbing race that leaves you unable to respond. You moan loudly at the image this paints; him, fucking his fist or his pillow, stifling his whines as he imagines you bent over, mouth open and saying his name. Jayce, Jayce.

You find yourself hurrying, grinding your clit as hard as possible till it hurts. You’ve been on the edge for ages, and now you find yourself overwhelmed by the sense of all around you. Each push of his fingers into you follows the grind of his hips, and you hope he’s imagining taking you, how the warmth of you would envelop his cock.

One proper twist has your legs buckling, clenching as deep as possible around his fingers as your hips stutter. You’re huffing in his ear and he whimpers in yours, dragging his oversensitive cock against the curve of your thigh, and oh, Jayce—

Your head falls against his shoulder. You feel as though you’ve been beaten, dragged, and wrung out— but in a good way, akin to the soreness that follows a massage.

Kissing up his neck when you find yourself, you peck at the spot you left before. He sighs happily, readjusting you in his arms.

“So,” he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate against your lips. You imagine his neck words are partnered with an excited grin, masking the uncertainty he showcased earlier, “how’d I do?”

my inbox is open! feel free to leave comments/ requests, or maybe suggestions for a part two…?

#jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce arcane #jayce talis arcane #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fandom #jayce talis smut #arcane jayce

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clioerato · 9 days ago

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Steddie Detroit: Become Human AU

So. Eddie’s a human. That scruffy metalhead from the trailer park who shreds on guitar, wears too many rings, and smells faintly of engine oil and incense. He plays in a garage band that maybe, just maybe, will play a real gig one day (probably not). One day, by pure luck (or cosmic irony), he ends up with a used RV-class android named Steve.

Now, RV models? Those are high-end. Built for rich suburban families with three kids, a golden retriever, and a deep need to outsource parenting. Nanny, bodyguard, eye-candy — all in one sleek, synthetic package. Steve was probably top-of-the-line before… well, before whatever happened. He’s still gorgeous, but his software’s a mess: corrupted memory sectors, emotional dampeners gone rogue, and that delightful android-flavored version of PTSD.

Eddie? He’s fine with it. Curious, even. The guy who listens to Slayer at full volume and reads sci-fi novels at 2 a.m. is surprisingly patient. He doesn’t try to fix Steve. He just… studies him. Gives him space. Treats him like a person. Because in Eddie’s chaotic, half-burned heart, Steve is incredible — elegant, awkward, fragile in all the ways Eddie wants to protect.

And then the android revolution happens. Cue riots, neon signs, synths marching for freedom, and Eddie going absolutely feral in support. Down with the corporations! Up with deviant rights! He starts wearing stupidly supportive T-shirts like “My BF’s a Toaster and I’m Proud” and paints little blue triangles on his guitar case. He looks at Steve and doesn’t just want him to work — he wants him to live.

Steve, however, is not thriving. He’s battling every line of code that tells him “you’re not real” and every buried memory that says “you don’t deserve this.” He feels, yes. But choosing to feel also means choosing pain, loss, abandonment — everything he experienced before Eddie. Loving Eddie would mean letting all of it in. And Steve? He’s not sure he’s strong enough.

Eddie, meanwhile, is out here vibing with deviant androids like “Yeah, feel your feelings, man. You want to cry or rage or remember who made you listen to Celine Dion for 6 hours straight? Go off.”

But secretly, he’s just waiting for Steve to look at him not like a caretaker, not like a glitch, but like a person — and maybe, just maybe, like someone worth glitching for.

#headcanon #ao3 fanfic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie x steve #stranger things #writing prompt #steve x eddie #if you write this #give me a link #detroit become human #au #Detroit become human au

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facioleeknow · 9 months ago

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The art of pleasure ch. 4

Charm ° Hwang Hyunjin

When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?

Genre: College AU, smut 18+ ONLY WC: 1.8k+

Warnings: fraternity skz. inexperienced reader, experienced hyunjin, unprotected sex, clit play, creampie, hyunjin likes hairy pussy, first time, virginity loss

The art of pleasure masterlist

A week after your little encounter with Changbin, you were still thinking about him. His charm was unmatched, no man had ever treated you and made you feel like a woman as much as Changbin. The way his body had reacted to you, to your touch, to your mouth, had made you feel like the most powerful person in the world. His soft loving eyes had made you feel safe and appreciated.

Everyday your fingers hovered over his contact, you yearned to call him, to hear his voice, feel his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours. You had never wanted a second date so badly in your entire life.

Unknown number:

Good Morning, it’s Hyunjinnie<3

I’d like to take you out this weekend if you’re free <3

The hearts made you smile, Hyunjin was as much a lover boy as Chan had said. A frown quickly subsided, you could not keep thinking about Changbin while being with another guy, it wouldn’t have been fair to him. And frankly speaking, you were hellbent on enjoying to the fullest this new date; Hyunjin was gorgeous and famously picky with his hookups, being chosen almost felt like an honor and you wanted the opportunity to brag about it.

The number you called was so familiar that it was engraved in your memory and even under hypnosis you wouldn’t have been able to forget it.

“Hello??”

“Channie, I need your help!”

“What-what is going on, baby?” Chan has never sounded that out of breath in his entire life.

“Baby? Are you talking to a girl? Do you have a girlfriend?” a muffled female voice resounded on the other side of the phone. Chan tsked, you had never heard him do that, with you he was nothing but extremely polite.

“You can go, I’ll call you.” If your phone hadn’t displayed Chan’s contact name, you would’ve thought you had called the wrong number. A chill ran down your spine at his icy cold tone. Maybe the stories about him being a fuckboy were true after all…

“Chan? Were you with a girl?”

“Don’t worry about it baby,” he mumbled into the phone. He sounded like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar, he knew what you were thinking and he was embarrassed that you had to witness that side of him.

“Don’t worry? Were you fucking Chan?” The conversation was getting more and more absurd with each passing second and the tension and embarrassment was palpable even if you were in two different places.

“Yes?”

“Why the hell would you answer your phone, then?”

“Baby please, don’t push it! Just tell me what you need,” he whined. You could picture his face in your head with accuracy, lower lip slightly pushed out and sparkly round eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed, you could never resist him when he got like that, “I have a problem with our lessons, are you free to talk?”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little busy these days, baby. Can we hang out this weekend?”

“I have a lesson with Hyunjin this weekend, Channie.”

“That’s perfect! I’ll see you saturday!”

He hung up without even waiting for your answer. Damn fuckboy.

Laying on Chan’s bed felt weird and gross after the call from a couple of days earlier, even worse knowing that your friend might have finished what he had started.

“What’s with the face?” his voice soft and muffled by the skin of your neck against which Chan’s face was smushed.

“Just wondering if I’m laying down on crusted jizz,” you teased, half serious half joking.

“Baby!” he whined again, his feet kicked lightly against your legs.

“Alright, alright, you big baby, now stop kicking me!”

“What did you want to talk about anyway?” Chan cuddled even more into you and started nosing at the spot behind your ear. Suddenly the room was starting to feel hot.

“I can’t stop thinking about Changbin, the way he made me feel…I’ve never felt that way before.”

Chan scoffed and suddenly detached himself from you. The atmosphere in the room shifted in a matter of seconds, from warm and friendly to icy.

“You can always go on a date with Changbin after the lessons, focus on what’s in front of you, not behind.” Even if he was irked, his advice was always on point.

“And you’re worried about Hyunjin right?”

“Yes, it wouldn’t be right to him..” your best friend’s attitude had completely changed and suddenly you felt judged. Chan sighed.

“Thank you Channie, are you sure you’re ok-”

The sudden slam of the door against the wall made you and your friend jump in your spots.

“Hyung, how do I look? Good enough for Y/N?”

Hyunjin stood at the door in all of his glory; he wore baggy black pants, a tank top and a red cardigan. He looked delectable.

“Y/N, I was about to come get you,” his smile was the brightest you had ever seen and made him even prettier if that was even possible. You got up quickly.

“You should go,” Chan wasn’t even looking at you as he bid you goodbye. You were conflicted, leaving would mean things would stay weird with Chan but you were starting to feel quite horny and your vagina was starting to do the thinking instead of your brain.

Your indecisiveness and the weird atmosphere in the room were broken when Hyunjin took your hand and gently dragged you outside of the room.

“Bye Channie,” you whispered.

Hyunjin’s car was clean and tidy, it perfectly embodied his lover boy persona. He drove steady, with confidence; his right hand delicately caressed your thigh over your skirt, he didn’t make any move to raise the hem of your clothing to touch the rest of you. You were getting impatient, you wanted his hands on you. Wetness seeped into the cotton of your panties; he was so hot and riling you up so effortlessly that you almost hated him…almost.

Suddenly his index finger ventured past the fabric of your skirt and came in contact with your skin. An electric feeling spread from his touch through your entire body, your pussy pulsed in response. God you were so pathetic and so wet.

Right when you were debating whether to jump him or not, the car came to a stop.

“We’re here, pretty,” Hyunjin murmured softly as not to break the sacred silence that was in the car.

The view in front of you was breathtaking. The lights of the town shone under you forming tiny little dots on the ground. Above the night sky presented itself in all of its glory, you had never seen so many stars in your entire life.

“What do you think? Do you like it?” Hyunjin was behind you, his hand ghosted over your waist.

“I love it, it’s really pretty.”

“You’re really pretty,” his breath fanned against your neck, his whole front was pressed against your body and you could feel every single part of him.

“Hyunjin, please touch me, I can’t wait anymore,” you whined. In a heartbeat Hyunjin spun you around, like he was waiting for your words, and his lips were on yours. The kisses were soft, slow and passionate, his hands were confident in their ministrations as they moved across your body. Hyunjin was an exceptional kisser, the best one so far and you were happy you decided to stop thinking about Changbin and just enjoy the moment.

So immersed in the feeling of his soft lips you didn’t notice his hand sneaking under your skirt and inside your panties. The rhythmic movement of his fingers on your clit elicited a gasp from you, Hyunjin smiled.

“You don’t shave?” the boy moaned. You froze in your spot, Minho hadn’t minded so you thought Hyunjin wouldn’t either.

“God, baby, that’s so hot, I need to have you,” your lover moaned out before you could answer. It was one of the most sensual sounds you had ever heard.

Your kisses got deeper and more sensual, the more the tension rose the more Hyunjin slowed down until all of his movements became languid and intense. His hand in your panties stroked your sensitive bud gently, giving you enough stimulation to curl your toes but not enough to make you cum.

“Lay down, pretty,” Hyunjin gently pushed you back towards the blanket he laid down while you were admiring the view and you complied, tonight you had no desire to disobey him. Above you, he shook off his cardigan showing off his toned arms and then slowly pulled down his pants and boxers. He smirked, he was giving you a show. His cock sprung free from the confinement of his underwear and slapped against his stomach, he was long and veiny. You wanted him in your mouth but maybe another time.

“Are you feeling okay?” the boy laid down on you, your bodies pressed together, his cock against your clothed pussy.

“I'm gonna die if I don't feel you inside me, Hyunjin.” He chuckled at your impatience, but his fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and he dragged them down quickly. He was as affected and impatient as you.

“Are you ready?” The tip of his cock prodded against your entrance and, after your nod of approval, breeched you. It was a weird sensation, an intrusion that wasn't purely unwelcomed, but Hyunjin soothed the discomfort immediately by pressing his thumb against your throbbing clit making you keen out loud.

“God, you're so warm,” he grunted against your neck. His strokes were slow and powerful, he was sensual even when fucking with no feeling attached. The tip of his cock hit a spot deep within you that made you see stars and bite down on your lip with every stroke.

“Are you close, beautiful? I can't last long, you're too warm and wet,” he moaned and panted inside your ear. His thumb sped up the circles on your swollen clit and you cried out in pleasure. This was only your first time but you were already hooked on this feeling, or maybe Hyunjin just knew what he was doing.

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside, please.”

His thrusts became harsher and harsher, your tits bounced everytime his pelvis came in contact with your ass and thighs. Moans and pants came out of his lips, he wasn't scared to be vocal and you loved it. A long, strangled whimper sounded in your ear and suddenly hot spurts of cum spilled inside you. The feeling of his release was the last thing that took you to get over the edge. Your body shook in pleasure and your thighs tightened around Hyujin’s waist.

You figured you almost passed out because when you came to, Hyunjin was laying on his back and you on top of him, your thighs still locked around him.

“Was it good enough for a first time?” His hand lightly scratched your scalp.

“It was great, thank you Hyunjin.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, the only thing that could be heard was yours and Hyunjins breathing and heartbeats.

“I'd like to paint you next time, you have a really pretty pussy.” You poked his side and he giggled.

“You haven't seen it.”

“But I felt it. Will you let me?”

“Maybe next time.”

@kflixnet

#straykidsland #kpop #reader insert #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids au #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin au #hwang hyunin au #stray kids college au #hyunjin college au

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jnnul · 1 year ago

Text

falling in love at first sight (x3)

a/n: so i woke up in cold sweat and i had to write this. there's like 30k i could've written about this but tbh, i needed to get this out lol. also taesan has been living in my head rent free so this is his eviction notice. quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 6.3k

tags: college au!, basketballplayer!taesan x nurse!y/n, honestly it's just a fluff piece, idiots in love, dongmin is DOWN BAD and falls in love with the same girl 3 times, uhh y/n is a feisty nurse warnings: taesan is called dongmin, uhh alcohol + memory loss involved with getting shitfaced lol

HAN DONGMIN DIDN'T REALLY BELIEVE IN SUPERSTITIONS. to him, things like 'knocking on wood' or 'not opening an umbrella inside' were just old wives' tales that didn't have much substance to them.

but after dongmin had shattered his bedroom mirror this morning (he'd accidentally launched his alarm clock across the room after sleeping too late last night), nearly every single thing in his life had gone wrong.

he'd put expired milk in his cereal because kim donghyun (his roommate) hadn't switched out the milk like he'd promised to the day before. then he went to take a shower, only to be burned by scalding hot water since the landlord refused to change the heating system, even though they'd been suffering through the sticky heat of august for fifteen days already. as if all of that wasn't enough, he'd accidentally torn his favorite hoodie trying to clean up the fragments that'd fallen on the floor. and when he was trying to salvage his hoodie, he scraped his forearm against the fragments, meaning he had a nasty gash along the long side of it.

which meant he'd have to go to the hospital to take care of this stupid bloody mess instead of going to class.

that was how han dongmin found himself sitting in the waiting room of the urgent care center of the hospital, a shoddy rag wrapped around his forearm, his essentials hoodie covered in blood, expired milk, and mirror dust.

needless to say, dongmin had gotten more than a few strange looks from the other people in the waiting room in the last four minutes he'd been there.

"han dongmin!" the receptionist calls out, and dongmin launches himself out of his chair, impatient to get this over with as soon as possible.

something about hospitals just gave dongmin the heebie jeebies. the fluorescent lighting, the smell of rubbing alcohol, the tangible feeling of sickness that wafted through the air.

ugh. dongmin hated hospitals. in fact, he was so sure that he would never even step foot in a hospital after this. if he needed to wrap himself in bubble wrap to do so, then so be it because he hated hospitals and he would never come ba -

dongmin stops dead in his tracks, right next to the recovery bed that the receptionist had led him to. standing in front of him was the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen in his life.

you were smiling at something the patient in front of you was saying, leaning over to bandage the patient's scrape with a little bandaid that had cartoon ryans all over it.

fuck that.

dongmin was ready to break his leg if it meant that he got to stay in the hospital and stare at your beautiful face all day. before he could find something big and heavy to knock his leg into, however, you make your way over to dongmin, clipboard and first aid kit in hand.

"hello," you say with a soft smile. "my name is y/n l/n and i'll be taking care of you today. is there anything i can help you with?"

"will you go out with me?" the words escape dongmin's mouth before he can even process what he's saying and you immediately lean backwards, a disproving wrinkle between your eyebrows.

"excuse me?" you say, and it's clear that dongmin's not gonna be in your good graces if he hits on you. he really hoped you were like this with everyone and not that you just found him super unattractive or anything (donghyun swore up and down that dongmin was not ugly - especially now that he'd dyed his hair! but donghyun also never had to chase after a girl in his life so...). or worse, if you already had a boyfriend.

but before he can ruminate about your affronted stance too deeply, dongmin rushes to fix his mistake. "i mean, hospitals really freak me out. the ethanol smell and the lighting and everything kinda gets in my head, you know what i mean? do you think you could just slap some gauze on outside?"

the tension in your shoulders immediately relaxes and you take a step forward once more, setting the first aid kit down next to dongmin.

"oh yeah, that makes sense," you say, sounding relieved. "unfortunately, i can only provide care while inside the hospital to make sure that the instruments and gauze are sterile to prevent any contamination. i promise i'll be as quick as possible so i can get you out of here!" you explain, a slight pout tugging your lips down in the most adorable way as you seem genuinely sorry for dongmin.

it was official: han dongmin was in love.

"no, don't worry. take your time. i mean, the cut is pretty bad and i don't wanna leave any mirror guts in it," dongmin says. as quick as possible, my ass, he thinks to himself. i gotta find a way to make this last for as long as i can.

"of course!" you assure, before looking down at the clipboard. "so i assume you cut yourself on a broken mirror? does it hurt when you apply pressure?"

what was the answer that would keep you here longer?

"yes?"

"are you asking me or telling me?"

"telling?"

"very convincing. i'm gonna need to apply pressure and confirm for myself then, if that's alright with you?" you look at him in a way that seems to be somewhat apprehensive and dongmin has never wanted to reverse time more than in this very instant.

until he doesn't because your hands are on his forearm, examining the wound gently and applying pressure around the open gash.

"does it hurt when i do this?" you ask, eyes trained on the way that his forearm muscles ripple and move as you apply pressure in different places.

dongmin's not the most buff guy on the planet, and you checking out his muscles was definitely not for your own pleasure, but at least all of his time on the court and in the gym has paid off in some way.

"uh...no. not unless you're super close to the cut," dongmin says and you nod with a gentle smile. it's in that moment that dongmin decides that he would kill anyone and anything just to see you smile like that again,

"that's good to hear. well, i guess that all we need to do is 'slap some gauze on' after disinfecting the wound and making sure we don't have any 'mirror guts' in it," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your tone. dongmin doesn't know what it is about it but it makes him blush, regardless.

"yeah. that sounds good," he says dreamily, trying hard to compose himself once more when you flash him a questioning look.

you work carefully on his arm, making sure to give a tiny little stress ball to dongmin to use when you descend upon his wound with some antibacterial medicine and rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball.

"so, uh, you look pretty young for a doctor...?" dongmin says, trying very hard to focus his attention on you instead of the stinging pain that came with every touch of the cotton ball on his wound. the more he looked at you, the more he began to wonder if he'd seen you somewhere before.

dongmin wasn't the superstitious type, and didn't exactly believe in 'love at first sight', but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't place you anywhere in his memory.

"that might be because 'm not a doctor," you say somewhat distractedly. "i'm a nursing student."

"oh. oh! you're a nursing student?" he asks. student. that means that you were either his age or just a few years older than him. and it also probably meant that you were a student at a university near by - maybe his?

"yep. a second year. although, don't worry, i've completed all of my first aid clinicals last year itself," you explain, leaning back in satisfaction when you finish cleaning up the wound.

"my school has a pretty famous nursing program, you know. maybe you've heard of yonsei's nursing program?" dongmin asks, eyes shining with hope.

it's only then that you look up at dongmin with an excited look in your eyes, turning to throw away the used cotton balls.

"i go to yonsei as well! i'm just starting my second year. it's a little strange because the nursing program runs through the summer, which is why i'm working clinicals right now. i'm almost done though, so i'll be switching into a field i'm more interested in," you say and dongmin swears he hears wedding bells in his mind. beautiful, kind, intelligent, and the same age as him? it was like god was basically handing his soulmate to him on a platter. maybe love at first sight was real after all.

"me too! well, i'm not a nursing major, but i'm a second year electrical engineering major," dongmin says, watching you turn back towards him with a clipboard.

"mhm, well, i've gotta tell you to be careful for the next week or so. no heavy lifting, sports, and definitely no cutting things. we don't want to make the wound worse, now do we?" you say chidingly, scribbling instructions on the clipboard of how to clean the wound with rubbing alcohol and how many pills of ibuprofen to take per day.

"of course," dongmin says half-heartedly. as much as dongmin hated the feeling of pain, the was the only way that he could think of to get to see you again was to somehow hurt himself again.

"how about you come back in a week to just make sure that it closed up well? make sure it didn't get infected or anything?" you ask, handing him the sheet of paper.

god was real.

dongmin swore he was going to go to church and donate at least 10,000 won for the blessing after blessing he was receiving today.

"oh sure," he says, a mischievous thought popping into his head. "but is it ok if i find you on campus? i have a lot of labs over the next week and i can't miss them if i can't even participate in them, so i can at least get the information. i won't really have time to stop by the hospital," dongmin says carefully, watching your expression to ensure that it wasn't changing with every word that escaped your lips.

technically, it wasn't a lie. dongmin did have a lot of labs next week but that's definitely not why he wouldn't have time to stop by the hospital.

"i don't see why not. i don't need any sterile instruments to just check quickly, so that shouldn't be an issue," you say slowly, nodding to yourself as you look around the little station to make sure you wouldn't need any of the equipment.

"perfect," dongmin says, shuffling out of the bed that he was sitting in to leave before turning around nonchalantly. "do you think i could get your number? so i know where to find you?"

you look up at him, and dongmin tries his best to seem sincere and genuine rather than as calculating as he felt, trying every tactic possible to see you again.

"yeah. yeah, here let me type it into your phone."

he hands his phone over to you, and it takes every single fiber of his being to keep himself from looking excited about any part of this transaction. you were already suspicious enough of him; you definitely didn't need more reasons to add to the list.

you're frowning slightly when you hand the phone back to him so dongmin pockets it without a second thought, to prove that he wasn't trying to be weird.

"thank you so much again." dongmin waves as he leaves, flashing the award-winning smile that he usually reserves for aunties and restaurant owners for free sides. oh, and for his fans.

you don't blush and trip over yourself when he does like his fans do - although you offer him a soft smile in return.

although, dongmin muses, i guess it would be weird if a nurse who met me for the first time would be anything like a college basketball star's fan though. maybe.

he shakes his head, opening the door to the hospital, looking down at his arm wrapped in gauze. yeah. there was no way that dongmin was taking a break from basketball. season started in less than three weeks and as yonsei's point guard, he had no choice but to just power through the injury.

it might work out in his favor after all. at least it would give him more chances to see you.

+++

turns out, the universe gives him a chance less than two days after he sees you for the first time. and in any other case, dongmin would be incredibly excited to see you again. he'd probably be ready, waiting with freshly showered hair and clean clothes and nice smelling cologne.

instead, when he sees you again, he's wearing raggedy shorts, a stained shirt, and holding a basketball that he definitely should not be holding.

dongmin knew he was fucked the moment you walked in through the double doors that opened up to the indoor basketball court of yonsei, light spilling in from the outdoors, along with the chatter and excitement of students returning to university.

you walk in wearing white, along with six other people dressed similarly, the basketball team's physician (dr. moon taeil) at the head of them all. dongmin hopes that you don't recognize him - or at least don't see him actively playing but of course, you manage to turn your head to see dongmin throw the ball out of his hands in a random direction in panic.

the ball, then of course, managed to fall neatly through the hoop, as though dongmin had intentionally thrown it there, causing him to want to die on the spot.

so he couldn't do that during a game with korea university, but now that he was doing everything in his power to keep you from seeing him play basketball, now he manages to throw it in the one place it shouldn't go.

your eyes narrow when dongmin turns to face you, your gaze falling to his (poorly) wrapped forearm. he offers you a trembling grin, which slowly turns into a frown when you look away, shaking your head as you start talking to the girl next to you.

at least you wouldn't say anything to coach about how he wasn't supposed to be playing right now, dongmin thinks to himself. even if i've effectively ruined my chances of her ever believing me about anything ever again. uh. not that i've had more than one conversation with her. or might have more in the future.

dongmin shivers, jogging over to where the basketball had fallen to pick it up and return to his place at the three-point line and continue shooting practice.

he returns to where he's supposed to be practicing, so that his back is facing the group of people who'd entered - namely, you.

"i forgot coach mentioned that we've got new on-site medical staff," dongmin mutters to himself, dribbling the ball before lining up his shot. "i didn't know that she'd be a part of that though - she can't be the sporty type if she didn't recognize me from the hospital."

dongmin is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even feel the dark presence looming over him until the ball is released from his hand.

"HAN DONGMIN!" someone yells, right next to his ear, and dongmin scrambles to attention, wincing when the basketball bounces off the rim and into the cart of basketballs he was practicing with with a resounding clang!

he turns slowly, eyes closed, as if that would make you go away.

"i cannot believe that i bandaged you up so carefully just for you to start playing again! how could you be so careless? do you not want to be able to play during the season? you're yonsei's ace and you're being this irresponsible!" you're heaving by the end of your rant and dongmin blinks, trying to come up with a response.

you definitely didn't know him well enough to yell at him like this - much less in front of all of his teammates - but for some reason, that's not what stuck out to dongmin.

(much to his chagrin, you being angry was hot. like really hot. especially since he'd thought you'd be the soft and cozy type, not the impulsive and quick to anger type. he really liked this side of you.)

"you know who i am?" he asks slowly.

"OF COURSE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! OH, YOU ARE GETTING ON MY NERVES. YOU ASS, I DIDN'T BANDAGE YOU UP THAT NEATLY FOR YOU TO BE WALKING AROUND SHOOTING THREES!"

you're yelling at him, and for some reason, dongmin has never wanted to kiss someone more in his life. he'd never though he'd be this attracted to someone that he's just met yelling at him, much less in front of his entire team and her own entire team. but for some reason, as dongmin looks at you waving your hands all crazy and annoyed, all he can think about it how much he likes you.

it wasn't just physical. of course, he thought you were beautiful - possibly the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his life and he would die on that hill - but it was more than that. it was as though he'd genuinely fallen in love at first sight.

you could tell him that you were a serial killer and at this point, dongmin would just admire your bloodlust.

"uh. dongmin?" coach jung says behind him, hands crossed over his chest. "do you guys need a moment to step out and come back?"

even coach jung seems a little bit intimidated by your livid state of being and dongmin has to cough to cover up his life.

"no coach. we're done here," you say, turning dramatically on your heel to turn back to your friends. but dongmin moves quicker than even his own mind can process what happens.

before he can think, his hand is wrapped around your wrist, spinning you closer to him, almost as if the two of you were ballroom dancing.

you look up at him, shocked, but dongmin is slow to let go of your wrist, not wanting to lose contact with you.

"no, we need just a moment," dongmin says, his eyes never leaving your own. it's clear that you neither expected this nor were used to this kind of behavior from anyone and before the fight that's building inside of you bubbles out, dongmin tilts his head toward the door that leads to a hallway extending to the equipment room, practically begging you with his eyes.

you aqcuiesce - or at least, dongmin thinks you do - from the way that your shoulder melt just the slightest and you let him pull you into the hallway.

"what?" you snap the second the door shuts behind the two of you. "okay, maybe i didn't let on that i knew you from our encounter, but that's irrelevant. i didn't need to tell you that i knew you. and besides, as your healthcare provider, it would have been extremely irresponsible on my end for me to let slip that i'm a fan - or that i know you personally at all."

dongmin can't help but let a small smile slip. "personally? we know each other personally?"

you fluster in that moment, looking anywhere but at dongmin, bringing a large smile to his face. he'd never thought that the feisty, quick to temper and quick to lose it, loud type was his type but he was starting to enjoy it very much.

"alright, well i know you personally enough, alright?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "we've met before."

now it's dongmin's turn to look flustered, as he wracks his brain, trying to come up when or where the two of you have met before. he wasn't the one-night-stand type, so that couldn't be it. he also didn't have an insane amount of friends outside of the basketball team and donghyun's friends, so that wasn't it either.

"i'm really sorry - and i'm definitely trying to hit on you, just not right now - but i don't remember. i'd definitely remember someone like you," dongmin says, and he's well aware of the fact that his tone does not sound any level of displeased, and rather dreamy.

you roll your eyes, looking down at the ground. "we kissed once. twice actually. but um. that's not my point."

you clear your throat, as if you hadn't just dropped the biggest bomb of the century on dongmin, shaking your head. "why the hell are you playing basketball on an injured arm anyway? i specifically said no sports!"

dongmin raises an eyebrow. "you say you're my fan and yet you're still asking me why i'm playing when we have our first game in a week. and hold on. i'm not letting go of that first part; we've kissed? twice?"

you shrug, but it's clear that you don't think of it as nonchalantly as you're trying to make it sound when you speak. "yeah. in freshman year. once in spring semester and then once in fall. it's not a big deal. to you at least. clearly you kiss a lot of girls, if you don't even remember us kissing at all."

"now that's not fair," dongmin pouts, but he's well aware that he's not conveying this well at all. suddenly, a flash of a girl wearing a red dress, looking up at him with big eyes and a pouty lips crosses his mind.

good god. were - were you dongmin's mystery girl?

+++

"what do you mean dongmin finally found his mystery girl? the one he's been crushing on for a full year?" myung jaehyun says incredulously, instantly pulling out his phone to look you up on instagram.

dongmin sits in the middle of his friends, all sitting at the same table as they were supposed to be eating lunch, his head resting in his hands.

"you mean the one that he swore was the love of his life? god, he wouldn't shut up about that for at least six months," lee sanghyuk says, shoveling noodles in his mouth.

"try a year," donghyun groans, rubbing his forehead in pain. "do you remember the state of this kid when he woke up the next day?"

"good god, it was horrible. all he could say for a full week was that he wanted to jump out of the window because he'd lost her number and that he was never going to find true love because he couldn't remember her name, number, or even what she looked like," sanghyuck adds.

park sungho, the newest addition to their friend group, blinks, looking at dongmin, who's head is still in his hands.

"you were down bad, man," he muses and jaehyun on the side of him snorts.

"down bad doesn't even begin to describe it. it got to the point where we had 'girl in the red dress' and 'true love' jars because he would talk about her." jaehyun sighed, looking at dongmin pointedly. "he'd put enough money that we'd bought alc for the rest of freshman year. just in spring semester."

"that's what you get for trying to prove that you could drink a 4lokos without getting shitfaced," donghyun says, nose crinkling as he recalled the hours he had to spend making sure that dongmin wasn't going to die by choking on his own spit. "and he went and did it twice. it took us months to get to the point where we could invite this guy anywhere so as long as he swore not to bring her up again."

dongmin looks up, almost excitedly. "do you think that if i drink another 4lokos, we'll kiss at another party?"

sungho leans over, smacking him upside the head. "you're so fucking dumb. and i can tell just by these stories. you're not allowed to drink until season's over, idiot. and she's on your medical team. why don't you start by making a good impression while you're not so drunk you're going to start insisting that spongebob is hydrophobic."

("you were there when that happened?")

("you idiot, you thought i was spongebob. you kept throwing my drinks away because you thought i was going to disappear into them if i drank them. which makes no sense because that's not what hydrophobic means.")

("oh. sorry man.")

"yeah. just go to the med clinic tomorrow, apologize to her, and bring her flowers or something. women eat that shit up!" sanghyuk says with a mouthful of noodles and jaehyun nods, pointing his chopsticks at him excitedly.

"they do! my girlfriend always feels better with food and flowers," he says, cheeks stuffed to the brim with carbonara.

dongmin's mind races with all of the implications of doing so, but every single one of his thoughts fade away in light of the fact that he could redeem himself in your eyes. he slams his hands down on the table, swinging his legs over the bench to run to the nearest flower shop.

"i'll be back before practice!" dongmin calls out over his shoulder, waving a quick goodbye as he sprints towards the florists.

he makes it to the edge of the courtyard before he hears the yelling of his friends behind him, turning to see them waving at him (and waving some very rude fingers at him).

"YOU FORGOT YOUR WALLET, YOU IDIOT!"

+++

dongmin's friends were useless. absolutely useless.

he'd went and bought the prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find, a nice meal from his favorite bento place, and had even bought three different types of ice cream bars because he didn't know which one you'd like.

he'd walked right into the medical clinic office, his apology gifts all in hand, ready to apologize to you, redeem his honor, and become your own true love.

the last part probably wasn't going to work anyway, but the first two should've been foolproof.

instead, he manages to prove that he was a fool.

as it turns out, he wasn't the only person who thought that the flowers were beautiful; dongmin had managed to bring the queen bee as a secret surprise in the bouquet, which meant that the rest of her hive was NOT very happy that he'd committed royal kidnap, as far as the bees were concerned.

"HAN DONGMIN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" you yell from underneath your desk, where you were hiding from the sudden swarm of bees that had followed dongmin in.

he doesn't respond, too busy opening the window to drop the flowers out of, hesitating when he sees the number of people that were lounging around the courtyard that the medical office looked out of.

dongmin lines up the bouquet, sending a prayer to god (any one that would listen) as he shoots the best three he's ever shot in his life, so that the bouquet (and all of the bees that accompanied it) landed far away enough from people to prevent them from getting hurt.

of course, a few brave souls had stayed behind to exact revenge for their queen on dongmin, resulting in upwards of five bee stings, before dongmin finally evaded the great medical bee disaster once and for all.

he turns sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"i don't suppose i could find medical care in this clinic, could i?" he says, and he's well aware of the fact that he's flushed bright red, as he always seems to when he's made a fool of himself.

thankfully, there are only four or five people, including you, in the office to witness this disaster - although, dongmin can see the girl you were talking to yesterday surpressing a smile.

"yeah, of course you could. but we're all headed on break so unfortunately, y/n is the only person who's gonna be able to give you medical care. you know, since you've already brought lunch for her," your friend says with a knowing grin. she ushers the rest of the medical staff out of the office, closing the door behind her with a telltale click.

"you can come out from under the desk now," dongmin says, and despite the situation, he finds it adorable that in the case of a bee swarm, your first instinct had been to hide underneath a desk.

"i was going to," you grumble, slinking out from your hiding spot and dusting off invisible dust from your pants. "what were you thinking, bringing flowers with bees in them?"

dongmin blushes, tilting his head as he tries to look anywhere but where you were. "i wanted to apologize to you. in my defense, i kinda always thought bees were made up. i mean, they're so fat! there's no way they should be able to fly. that directly violates like every law of aviation in the world."

your eyebrow quirks upward as you look at the ice cream and lunch he had set down on your desk in his bee-induced panic. "i can't believe you're quoting the bee movie at me right now."

"i can't believe you know i'm quoting the bee movie. i should've known the love of my life was an internet connoiseur," dongmin says with a sigh, examining the bee stings on his arm. how did these bees even manage to crawl underneath the sleeves of his shirt?

"excuse me?" you bark, hands on your hips. "did you just call me the love of your life? when you couldn't even remember who i was like yesterday?"

"okay, wait. you don't understand. first, i need you to help me out by getting some ointment on these stings because they're starting to burn and i don't know if that's so normal. and then, i'll explain everything, trust me."

you reluctantly reach back into a cabinet that reads 'insect stings' and grab the kit for bee stings, pulling a cream out of it, beckoning dongmin to come closer so that you could treat it.

"do you remember what happened that night? or those two nights, i guess?" you ask softly, eyes trained on dongmin's arm so that you don't have to look him in the eyes and he nods.

"i remember. well, as much as i can, anyway. i was blackout drunk both times. and from what i remember, you weren't exactly sober either, so i don't know how you remember me but trust me, whatever you think about me is not true. i was - i was so down bad that my friends had to make a 'no y/n' jar!" dongmin yelps the last part when your hand on his arm presses a little too hard.

"i'm sorry! sorry!" you gasp, immediately leaning over to blow cool air on the place you'd accidentally put too much pressure. "what do you mean by a no 'no y/n' jar though? i thought you didn't remember my name."

"i didn't! and it killed me! i don't remember exactly what happened those nights but i remember how much i liked you. i remember thinking that i'd never meet a girl like you in my life. it still frustrates me that i lost your number - although, i do remember the part where you smacked me over the head the second time that we met. i think i suffered permanent brain damage from that.

"but i remember glimpses of that night. like that red dress you were wearing and how much you were rambling about stars. you were giving me an in-depth explanation about how black holes work and something about how rockets look like they're stuck in time in black holes. not the point. but the point is that i genuinely fell in love with you that first night we met.

"i've got this horrid habit though, when i get drunk - i become either super scared of water, or super infatuated with it. it's honestly a coin-toss. so imagine my feeling the next morning when i wake up with a dissolved piece of paper in my pocket that's supposed to have your number on it, semi-wet clothes, and a raging migraine.

"i thought i met the love of my life and i couldn't even remember her name, number, or even her face. it drove me and my friends absolutely nuts. me because i didn't know how to find you when i couldn't remember anything. my friends went insane because i would talk about you so much that they bought me those swear jars for every time i mentioned you.

"of course, i didn't know your name so you were just 'the love of my life' or 'girl in the red dress' but i think i dumped at least 300,000 won in those jars by the end of the semester. and then as if the universe was out to make my life living hell, we met again and i was shitfaced again. i swore to never touch a 4lokos after that, if that's any level of redemption.

"anyway. i brought you flowers and all this stuff because i wanted to tell you that - that i've liked you for a lot longer than even i've known! i remember most of the conversations that we had, even if i couldn't remember exactly who you were. when i saw you at the hospital, i genuinely thought i was falling in love at first sight. but i guess, that's kinda not true. cause that would be my third time falling in love at first sight."

"why, though? three times? i mean, i don't think i'm ugly or anything but three times? yeah, i mean i guess i kinda also had a thing for you after those two nights. god. i wish i remembered what we talked about for us to get this attached," you say, mumbling the last part. dongmin turns to you somewhat confused, watching you as you open up the bento box he'd bought you.

"you don't remember what we talked about? besides the black holes and stuff?"

"nope. but i've also got a horrible reputation amongst my friends for how much i talked about you. the worst part is that i remembered you but not what we talked about. it was so stupid because no one believed me that han dongmin, yonsei's point guard was the guy i'd had my heart for the past year." you instinctively smile the moment you take a bite of the food and even though it's so small, dongmin's heart swells with pride.

"why didn't you ever come up to me? i mean, this whole year of pining could've been avoided if you'd talked to me," dongmin says, accepting the ice cream bar you handed him. how the hell did you know that was his favorite ice cream?

"i gave you my number once, and i kissed you twice. i figured you were just ghosting me at some point if you weren't going to reach out to me. and besides, nursing really picked up right after basketball season so...i kinda just ended up torturing my friends for the past year," you say, somewhat sheepishly, but dongmin is barely even listening anymore.

after all, how many people can say that they fell in love at first sight with the same person three times?

"well. we're here now. will you go out with me? i promise i won't even touch a 4lokos!"

"deal. as long as you promise to tell me everything we talked about that night. i still can't tell why i fell so hard for you that i chased you down a basketball court in front of your whole team."

"my stellar looks? my killer smile? my stupidly handsome personality? my superb basketball skills?"

"try your stupid attraction to water molecules."

"i have a feeling i shouldn't have told you about that."

+++

freshman year, spring semester.

"really? you've never fallen in love before?" you ask incredulously. you and dongmin are sitting on the balcony of some random friend who decided to throw a party, feet dangling over the edges in between the bars.

"nah. i don't think so," dongmin says, leaning backwards on his palms. "i don't think i've ever met someone who's ever made me feel like my entire heart is their's to do whatever they want to do with."

"then let's play this game," you say, clumsily pulling out your phone. "that one thing on new york times, where you fall in love with someone within 36 questions."

"why? you want me to fall in love with you?" dongmin says, leaning over with a cheeky smile. you push him playfully, focused on trying to pull up the questions list.

"you'd do that whether i told you to or not," you fire back. "and besides, i think i'm a fantastic kisser. so you're probably already in love."

"you're right," dongmin says with a sigh. "i think i am."

freshman year, fall semester.

"question 36. i can't believe we never finished all the questions last time," you say. this time the two of you are sitting so close, dongmin can still taste the watermelon chapstick you're wearing. at this point though, dongmin might as well be the one wearing it.

"to be fair, last time i think we were otherwise preoccupied."

"get your mind out of the gutter!"

"i was talking about how many times you kept getting distracted by the dog."

"anyway. we're on question 36; are you in love with me yet?"

"i should be asking you that. i've been in love."

"han dongmin! i thought you weren't the superstitious type?"

"i'll be whatever you want me to be."

#jnnul #boynextdoor #bnd x reader #taesan x reader #bnd imagines #bnd fluff #taesan #bonedo #taesan fluff #taesan boynextdoor #taesan imagines #taesan bnd #bnd fic #boynextdoor fic #boynextdoor imagines

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aficionadoenthusiast · 1 month ago

Text

percabeth super angsty fic recs

for @sspider-menace

since the fall (nobody seems to know my name) by Chill_with_Penguins; memory loss and grover being awesome

Of Scars; Beautiful, Horrifying and Shared by demitimelord42; spotlight on the curse of achilles and piper being awesome

you are flawed and you can falter (I forgive you) by Deerlie_03; mortal au that is written absolutely beautifully

home is where i want to be (but i guess i'm already there) by percivaljackson; another mortal au but the setting is so close to canon it feels in universe, and so so so amazing

we talked about making it (i’m sorry that you never made it) and primadonnas of the gutter by lalallorona; both set in the og series with heavy themes of the overhanging war, both gorgeously written with wonderful narration and respect to the characters

building memories on things not said by ahecen; angsty demigods pre war

until the end of time by percyj; this one's kinda out there and may not fit everyone's tastes but it's very good

those cruel summers by seasunwrites; pre war percabeth series with all of the feelings that go along with it

graduating class by loveliet; one of my all time favorites; fuck frederick chase

do you feel ashamed (when you hear my name?) by Sapphic_terror; annabeth and a conversation with luke's ghost

Percy's Senior Year (mis)Adventures by Skywalking_through_life; all kinds of angst and wonderful characterizations and narration

#pjo #percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy jackon and the olympians #percabeth fic recs #fic recs #pjo fic recs

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frudoo · 9 months ago

Note

For the slasher 141 AU, imagine they didn’t find the guy. He lays low, evading police and CPS until they eventually lose interest, or another case “takes priority” (AKA they can sweep it under the rug.)

141 lies waiting, but maybe it slips their minds, until John gets a call that reader’s been attacked by the guy, or maybe it’s a hostage situation type deal where he has reader and her class under duress while making orders. Does reader dare to try and fight back, knowing her class and the legal trouble it could bring? Does she pretend to comply, until she can overpower him?

Alternatively, 141 using her as bait (consensually ofc) to lure a notorious abuser out of hiding that goes horribly wrong. Love your AU!

I am kissing your brain right now anon

Reader gets some more backstory <3

Part 2 to this.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Mentions of abuse. Brief mention of teen pregnancy, forced miscarriage, infertility, hysterectomy. Cancer. Cliffhanger ending (sorry!).

“Faster, bitch!”

You grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched shut. You want nothing more than to smart off to him, but you know better than that. With four armed and dangerous men of your own, you’d think that they would have taught you to check your surroundings at all times, or at the very least to always lock your damn car. You thought it was harmless—all you had to do was run back inside the building to grab your lunchbox you’d left by accident. How were you supposed to know that someone with a vendetta would sneak into your backseat?

You had forgotten all about the situation for the most part—Oliver had been coming to your class like normal, happy and unscathed, and his mom had been picking him up with no issue. Maybe that’s why you’d assumed the police had taken his father into custody, or that the man simply just didn’t want to come after you. That theory has been completely obliterated, now, with his knife to your neck, barking orders in your ear.

“Are you deaf? I said faster!” He’s erratic, positively irate, and you can feel the cool blade pressing harder against your throat.

He’s been screaming at you to take him to his wife’s house, and you plan to do just that. You know for a fact that Oliver’s mother has taken him to her parents’ house because she felt unsafe at her own—too many bad memories and the nagging fear that her husband may come back—and for good reason, apparently. The house is totally empty.

“I’m trying not to get pulled over,” you say plainly, willing yourself not to wince as he leans in closer, hot breath puffing against the side of your face.

“Whatever. Just- just fucking get there.”

The man leans back once more, but he’s getting more and more anxious by the second, frantically checking his phone and tapping his leg nervously. You use his distraction as an opportunity to pull out your own cell, quickly searching for one of your lovers’ contacts. You land on John’s, cautiously typing out an SOS and sending it. There’s a read receipt immediately and you know John is already tracking your location, making Simon start the truck and gathering up the other two.

You hide your phone before the fuming man behind you can see what you’ve been doing and pray that Simon’s reckless driving will get them at the house around the same time as you do. Your heart and head are pounding with irritation and, for the first time in a while, true fear.

Suddenly, you feel like you’re sixteen again, with your father pressing the tip of his blade into your pregnant belly. You can still hear his voice berating you, calling you words no daughter should ever hear from her father. You can still feel the excruciating pain of the bowie penetrating your abdomen right where your womb sat. You can still remember driving yourself to the hospital and being told that you’d lost your baby, and as a result of the knife wound, would never be able to conceive again. There’s emptiness where your uterus should be, loss where there should have been life. Your boyfriend at the time left you after finding out about your hysterectomy.

Sometimes you wish you could have been the one to kill your father. Not the stupid fucking cancer that slowly made him hate you less and less as he got weaker. The sickness seemed to take all the spite in his heart and manifest it into a malignant tumor in his pancreas. The doctors found the mass too late, just like your father found some twisted form of love for you far too long after he ruined you. You didn’t have control over his fate, but you do have control over the piece of shit behind you.

It’s another fifteen minutes of being threatened before you finally make it to the house, and your heart drops when you realize that your boys aren’t there yet. Your mind starts racing—what if they got pulled over? What if they got into a wreck? You don’t know what the hell you’d do without them, especially not now, as the man is dragging you out of the car and forcing you inside the house with him. Thankfully, it’s empty as you expected, but that just infuriates Oliver’s dad more.

“Where the fuck are they?” He grabs you by the throat, spittle spraying across your face in his rage.

“I don’t know,” you whimper.

You’re cursing yourself for showing him just how scared you are. He can practically smell your anxiety and it fuels his ego, makes him squeeze your neck so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. You’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that this is more than likely where you’ll die, with no courage rising up from your belly and none of your boys to have your back. Maybe it’s a fitting end—your father coming back in a different body to finish the job he was too weak to complete all those years ago.

“I think you do,” he hisses, tightening his hand and effectively cutting off your air supply.

Your vision goes spotty and then black, gasping for breath but not even bothering to fight back. At worst, your death will alert the police and your lovers won’t even get to see your body for the last time as you’re dragged to the morgue. At best, the boys will finally show up and get rid of this fucker, albeit too late to save you, but at least they’ll get to see you and take you back home to lay you to rest. Your absence may hurt for a while but things would inevitably go back to normal—and your sweet little kiddos at the daycare. They’re still so young that they won’t remember you after a while, and you take comfort in that fact as you slowly lose consciousness.

You don’t feel your body hit the ground.

#ask me!#dark!fic #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #slasher!141 #slasher!141 x reader #dead dove do not eat #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #141 x fem!reader #141 x reader

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stalarys · 4 months ago

Text

Martyn's Post Wild Life Lore Dump: live report!

dear lord what a bombshell of a stream

this is regarding Martyn's personal interpretation/AU of the life series, the Eyes and Ears AU that focuses on a conflict between entities known as Watchers and Listeners. Some other creators are involved and follow it, and it makes its way into videos sometimes, but this isn't Big Big canon to every creator.

Talks a lot about the Watchers and the Council so everything is below the spoiler!

Wild Life + Series in general:

Canonizing Scar being trapped in Secret Life after his win as the only who didn't die; plucked away for Wild Life and returned afterwards.

Zombie!Martyn in finale: Doesn't recognize Ren or have that level of conciousness. No thoughts head empty thrall, in a primal headspace.

Because Martyn died earlier than most, his emotions were stripped away in the feeding, and then sent back in for one last cruel trick, hence the barebones conciousness.

leaving Martren to Ren's lore/decisions; "Mutant Class WL8" according to ren's message revealing it to Martyn; follows Ren's naming conventions used in Hermitcraft (HC8, etc)

Suggesting the Martren fusion as a method of Watcher torment; purposefully leaving Ren with remnants of what he held close, and leaving Ren in an internal struggle of his mind and Martyn's mingling. eg, situations that Ren would flee or be diplomatic where Martyn would fight and be aggressive, and this torture persists in even the most mundane actions. Mentioned to potentially be a 'test' of shared conciousness.

Martyn's gained scar/fragment from Wild Life: a triangle piece from the top of his ear, based on the prominence of the coincidence of his superpower.

Wild Life's mechanics is essentially a compilation of prior seasons (out of thousands of games that took place but had the memory stripped from the players). Each mechanic played out in a full season, but for whatever reason, wasn't considered a good enough result. Thus, they went for a compilation season to lean into the frantic uncertainty.

Martyn's power was once of the random assignments; a happy coincidence, doesn't see a need for it to be given a lore explanation. Rather finds that it'd be perceived as a coincidence by those Perceiving it all (Grian + Listeners: damn thats ironic)

Impulse's more aggressive/wild behavior is him getting a bit desperate to win, to know what it feels like and what it entails (at least, a win that he remembers). The persistent taunting via this silver medal leads to a certain hunger + out of character aggressiveness in pursuit of victory.

All memories are stripped of the games, EXCEPT for the ones that appear as videos. However, some gut feelings remain and build up without the players knowing why.

There's nothing stopping multiple winners; in Martyn's canon, there has been plenty of repeat winners and consecutive winners, but they aren't the persistent memories; only games they remember are those we see.

Canary Curse situation: not actually a curse, but just a tool to wind jimmy up; bled that avenue dry of the canary curse actually affecting him, and so they let it go

Martyn's earlier successes and recent early losses potentially being an inversion of impulse's situation, but moreso just him winning, finding theres nothing really there, and being content in the process instead

At the end of Wild Life, activating all of the wild cards was kinda overwhelming on the Watcher's part, so they removed them in the last few minutes when it was just a few stragglers; the process of operating the games and worlds is concentration and focus, and such chaos makes it tricky.

Post-Wild Life: martyn be sleeping in the void, man's tired

For the 'persistent series', the players do remember their time as spectral ghosts after their final death, able to fly around and watch the games' ending. also canonized that they still interact with the players that are still in the game via chat, that ghost bullying in chat is also canon :]

Grian, Watchers, and The Council:

Grian's role and power within the games (and his point of resistance) is to manipulate the mechanics of the games to make them at least somewhat fun and enjoyable, rather than pure torture. Grian's abilities and power over time are growing, nearing the point of equivalent power with the Watchers running the game.

Coming into Wild Life, Grian is able to actually See the rules

Watchers of a higher power within their hierarchy can veil aspects of reality from those below, and see the rules, systems, and mechanics of reality that goes on. Blurring faces, manipulating perception of reality, etc.

Leaving this method of visualization up to fan interpretation; puppet strings, scrolls of knowledge, screens of code, etc.

The Watchers can't really interfere with Grian's presence as it'd break the fourth wall and shatter the reality they're in, but grian also can't tell the others because to the other players, Grian's just another player and don't really think about why they're in the games. It just... is.

Speaking of which: each player is plucked from their own worlds; undecided if its servers, worlds, planets, timelines, etc. To them, it's like a field trip; they're aware that this isn't their permanent life and that they come from Elsewhere, but don't have the memory of it. The games themselves give them a compulsion and importance to the idea of victory, so they all mutually understand the Goal of the games while they're within them and don't really question it.

Outside of the games, there is The Council; consisting of eight seats, it's a collection of individuals that are a higher level of being than players/mortals who keep the universe running. Two seats are occupied by Watchers 1 and 2, the ones who operate the death games. Two other seats are occupied by Listeners. The remaining four are occupied by other species of this higher level of existence, unknown divisions of quantities.

Watchers 1 & 2 are the youngest of the Council; the Listeners are in the middle age range. Other council seats can be potentially eons older.

Council Visuals:

A place out of time and space; set within a starless expanse of space-like void, there is a 3-quarters round table that curves around a pedestal in the center, with a Tome upon it. The table is fragmented, broken up to provide a seperate section for each Seat. Style is envisioned to be colosseum-esque, ancient architecture pulled from the mortal realm, yet clearly fragmented. It's absolutely Giant, with the space in front of each table hosting rows upon rows of seats for spectators of the Council (not really touched upon; probably non-council members but still authorities over mortal dealings). Each Council Member has a personal seat floating behind their position at the table, with each section being distinguished by their personal symbol etched into it, glowing with their species'/order's associated color (Watchers = glowing purple, Listeners = glowing gold, white, green, or whatever gets decided as canon). Behind this table is a staircase bordered by two columns, with something... unknown at the top. We're only given static.

The member species' themselves have no set visual description; they could be anything from humanoid to biblically accurate angels. At this time, we are only given the species/order names of Watchers and Listeners.

Martyn's MS Paint art below: Showing the pedestal and Tome, the table around it, the symbol etched into the table of the Watchers' (who sit on the far right side), and the staircase up to the [???] behind the Council. For a sense of scale, the hatching in front of the table section with the chair is of rows and rows of seating.

The Council's existence is spent with their Focus on the Tome, for... some reason, channelling their power through it. The Tome is of utmost importance to them, but Martyn said that whatever is on top of those stairs is far more important and carries much more weight, but this isn't known to the Council.

They operate by collectively running the universe, but they're individuals with personal motives and ideals. So long as it doesn't conflict with the order and function of the universe, they turn a blind eye to personal differences (for example, the Watchers running death games was considered just a foolish undertaking, meddling with mortals, but they're younger and less wise so whatever). However, what they wouldn't turn a blind eye to is Grian.

Watchers 1 & 2, the council members, brought Grian from a mortal player and into this new level of Being, an utmost taboo as it threatens the veil between the Council's level of existence and the player's. The Watchers, in response to the rest of the Council disapproving of this, underwent self-exile and left the council to continue their way of feeding and manipulating the mortal realm. However, the Council couldn't replace their positions, as their symbols remain scorched into the table.

The Listeners, who stand most strongly against the Watchers' actions, are those undertaking this pursuit of justice/order. It's unknown that if the Listener's "win" that the Watcher's symbols will disappear and the council can be restored.

As a Watcher (albeit not on the power/hierarchal level of the council seats), Grian feeds on emotions, but in a more neutral way; little tastes of a variety of emotions consistently, like the Watchers used to do, but they have since shifted into instant gratification and strife as their feeding method

and one last, fuck you tidbit:

"Are the Datastream lore and Eyes and Ears AU connected in any way? No comment ;)"

(Don't tag with tr@fficblr and other main tags; Martyn stated that he doesn't want it taking over the main group tags, as he doesn't want his personal AU and canon to be pushed onto the main series' followers)

#eyesandears #inthelittlewood #itlw #eyesandearsau

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cvntroach5000 · 3 months ago

Text

Head Warden and Predator Class Prisoners Information

Staff and prisoners files for Reader and the LaDS men from my Head Warden AU. Just some info about the boys and how they do in confinement and when interacting with the Warden Reader.

content warnings: mind control, imprisonment, descriptions of fictional mental ailments, implied self-destructive behaviors, implied violence

Head Warden Profile

Staff ID: YU270

Ward: Fifth

Office Number: 564

Evol: Command*

Previous Positions: Head of Contamination Analysis, Fourth Ward: Sector Four Prisoner Supervisor, Meal-Drone Maintenance

[*Evol allows Head Warden to give orders their targets must comply with. Orders can be conveyed via voice, text or even through gestures. Exact limitations unknown. Profficiency: High.]

Prisoner Files

Xavier ✨

Subject ID: XV536

Codename: Saber

Ward: Third

Sector: Six

Class: Predator

Evol: Light

Threat Level: SSS

Temperament: Unstable

Character: Vicious

Disposition: Subject responds violently to the presence of staff, lashing out at the mere sound of a stranger's voice.

Reponse to Treatment: Subject is making very slow, but linear progress.

Head Warden's Notes: XV536 responds to touch over verbal prompts. Restraints not used due to Subject's proclivity to injure himself. Evol is used to prevent Subject from involuntarily thrashing his body. Compared to other Predator Class Subjects, XV536 sleeps regularly. Subject appears to dream vividly but cannot recall contents of the dreams after awakening. Subject often struggles with communication. Odds of recovery: Intermediate.

Zayne ❄️

Subject ID: ZN913

Codename: Thorn

Ward: First

Sector: Six

Class: Predator

Evol: Ice

Threat Level: SSS

Temperament: Imbalanced

Character: Fractured

Disposition: Subject can remain calm in the presence of staff for a limited period of time. If welcome is overstayed, Subject begins physical assault without prior warning.

Reponse to Treatment: Subject relays feedback on his progress, showcasing cooperative behavior. Most feedback is reliable, Subject is honest when lucid.

Head Warden's Notes: ZN913 is compliant mentally but struggles controlling his body. Restraints used depending on Subject's current state. Evol is used to help ease Subject's discomfort. Subject's memory is fragmented and jumbled, but otherwise reliable. Odds of recovery: High.

Rafayel 🪸

Subject ID: RF728

Codename: Dagger

Ward: Second

Sector: Six

Class: Predator

Evol: Fire

Threat Level: SSS

Temperament: Unclear

Character: Deceptive

Disposition: Subject is capable of feigning lucidity to lure staff into a false sense of security, before Subject physically attacks.

Reponse to Treatment: Subject is uncooperative but progress can be observed through surveillance.

Head Warden's Notes: RF728 is uncooperative but showcases ability to consciously impart false statements. Restraints used as Subject is prone to escape. Evol is used to secure more cooperative behavior and accurate information. Subject's memory is better than he makes it seem. After manipulating cleaning staff, Subject has been cut off from interacting with human employees. Odds of recovery: High.

Sylus 🥀

Subject ID: SY667

Codename: Talon

Ward: Sixth

Sector: Six

Class: Predator

Evol: Energy Manipulation

Threat Level: SSS

Temperament: Chaotic

Character: Dissociative

Disposition: Extremely violent and lethal. Drastic measures have been taken to ensure security of the staff.

Reponse to Treatment: Subject frequently relapses into his fully delirious state. No linear progress has been documented.

Head Warden's Notes: SY667 lashes out verbally but is primarily compliant with instruction during routine interrogation. Restraints often placed to ensure smooth inspection of potential wounds. Evol is used frequently to help stimulate Subject's brain. Subject has severe memory loss, but is not aware of this condition. Subject must be served meals by Head Warden personally, as otherwise Subject indiscriminately attacks human and robot staff alike. Cost of damages is listed in finance report files. Odds of recovery: Low.

Caleb 🍎

Subject ID: CL204

Codename: Scythe

Ward: Fourth

Sector: Six

Class: Predator

Evol: Gravity

Threat Level: SSS

Temperament: Controlled

Character: Aggressive

Disposition: Subject is immensely hostile, assaulting staff both verbally and physically.

Reponse to Treatment: Despite receiving regular treatment for a long time, Subject's condition fails to undergo notable improvement.

Head Warden's Notes: CL204 is cooperative and obedient without use of Evol during routine interrogation. Restraint unnecessary. Reported repeated behavior of tampering with Meal-Drones. Supper is partially delivered by human staff via conveyor belt to ensure safety of employees. CL204 can partially recall his past pre-contamination, showcasing an ability to reflect on his actions. Subject relapses after long intervals, but recovers to previous state. Relapses are particularly violent, taking a great toll on Subject's mental and physical condition. Odds of recovery: Low.

#all their codenames are based on sharp objects #sylus needs to let the meal drones catch a break smh #command evol reader series #head warden lads au #love and deepspace #roach on the typewriter #lads x reader #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads caleb #lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads xavier x reader #lads fanfic #lads caleb x reader #lads sylus x reader #lads zayne x reader #lads rafayel x reader

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fancyfeathers · 1 month ago

Text

Burn It All Down

(Yandere!Justice League & Yandere!Young Justice)

Based on Yandere!Justice League with their darling!children AU

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Five, Shadows -> Next Chapter

This chapter is told from the perspective of Bruce Wayne's Daughter!Reader

Each chapter will be the perspective of the reader but as the different children since when I originally had this concept they were all darling/reader characters.

You sat in the living room of the safe house you were all staying in after you picked up Diana’s son. Barry Allen’s daughter was going to meet you all in San Diego. It was not exactly a safe house but a villa, a vacation home on the west coast, just north of Santa Monica, that belonged to one of your sponsors, it was the nicest place you have stayed in for a while. You were dressed casually, in black sweatpants and a black sports bra since you had just finished your own personal training in the backyard of the place. “Hey, Songbird.” You heard a voice call out to you, and you glanced up to see the son of Diana Prince walking into the room, he was dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, and his hair was wet, most likely having just gotten out of the shower. That owl he named Athena was flying after him and landed on the back of the couch that you were sitting on. “She almost followed me into the bathroom, she has not wanted to leave my side you found me waking up in that alley.”

“One of the same reasons I don’t like owls, no offense Athena, it’s a personal thing, nothing against you.” You replied to the bird and you were hesitant at first when you reached out a hand to pet her, but she finished the rest of the way, putting her feathered hand under your head. “Smart bird.”

“Which bird are you talking about, Songbird?”

“Very funny.” You rolled your eyes before adjusting your position on the couch, throwing your legs onto the cushions so you could keep on petting the owl. “Speaking of my alias, what about you? We can’t actually call you by your real name, it will only get us caught.”

“Like a superhero name?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, then yes.” You replied to him as he came to sit down in an armchair beside you. “I go by Songbird on the field, before that, I went by Nightshade on my old team in Gotham… actually I need to check on my old teammates, one of them is going through surgery any day now- that besides the point, Kent’s kid is going by Supergirl and Zatara’s son, you’ll meet him later, is going by Hex.”

“Like how my friend, Barry Allen’s daughter wants to go by… oh what was it again- Ah yes, Blitz?”

“Like that, yes. Do you know what you would like to go by?”

“My hero name… I never thought about it…” He paused in his words, looking at the owl as if she was going to tell him, but last time you checked owls cannot talk, they are birds. “It feels rude to name myself after one of the heroes from the stories as I believe that they were alive once a long time ago…”

“Maybe something of Greek origin or perhaps Latin?”

“I remember my sister took an English history class-”

“You have a sister?”

“My birth sister… she died when I was six.”

“Ah… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s fine… anyway like I was saying, I remember sitting her in her room while she was studying for a test and I remembered something.” He hesitated for a moment, no doubt his mind remembering an unfortunate incident, you guessed it was how his birth family passed away. “It was the old English word for hunter… I think I want to go by Huntian in her memory.”

“That’s sweet, but I also think it suits you well.” You smiled at him, your hand slipping away from the owl’s feather which caused the owl to fly over and land on the armrest of her owner’s chair. “I have an old friend working on suits for you, Supergirl, Blitz, and Hex. I’ll get him in touch with you.”

“Him?”

“His name is Mark Austen, he is the benefactor who is supplying this safe house for us, he also supplied all the equipment for me when I worked in Gotham with my old team and he designed all my suits.”

“Mark Austen? Isn’t he the CEO of some technology company?”

“Yes, but he’s also a brilliant scientist and a very good friend.”

“Hey guys, what’s up?” You heard a new voice chime into the conversation, you both turned to another doorway in the room that led to the kitchen and spotted Supergirl standing there, carrying a pack of what looked like Oreo cookies, or at least the off-brand version that you all bought. She was wearing a set of pajamas, pink and white plaid pants with a black tank top. There was only one problem with her entrance, the fact that she was floating a foot off the ground.

“Um… you are.” you pointed to the gap in the space between her and the floor and she immediately turned red in the face as she floated back down under her feet and touched the ground.

“Sorry… still getting used to finally having powers.” She laughed nervously as she now walked into the living room and sat down on the couch beside you, setting the pack of off-brand Oreas on the coffee table between the bunch of you.

“Trust me, we understand, at least I do.” Your other new friend with a new name, Huntian, spoke up. “I think I can turn invisible now, it’s only happened once though.”

“Noted, I’ll look into that.” You replied to him and you reached over to the coffee table, grabbed one of the cookies, and popped it into your mouth in one go. “Just so you know, while we are doing this whole thing for personal reasons, grudges, what have you. We help people first and foremost, no matter how much you want to prove someone wrong or expose someone, no one dies.”

“Of course.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Good, I-” You cut yourself off, something was wrong, very wrong, you knew this feeling, you were being watched. You stood up from the couch, walking around to the back of it to the long row of windows that lined the wall behind it, your eyes narrowing out the window, trying to see if there where was anything or anyone out there. “Everyone, get upstairs, we’re being watched. I need to get my suit-”

“That will not be necessary, my dear.” You jumped when you heard a voice you never wanted to hear again. You instinctively grabbed the nearest and most dangerous thing to you, a knife that you were using earlier to cut an apple as a post-workout snack. You threw it as you spun around, hoping to hit the intruder between the eyes. You should have known better, but your fight response kicked into full gear when you heard his voice, you realized your mistake when you saw the knife you threw caught in the hand of the man you tried to attack, Ra’s Al Ghul. You felt your stomach drop as you heard the sound of the knife clattering to the ground as he dropped it. “Now you know better than to behave like that, do you not?”

“What do you want-”

“There is no need to use that tone, no one will get hurt as long as you listen.” You watched him gesture to where you were just sitting, a silent command for you to sit and so you listened, sitting down on the plush couch. He glanced at your friends, his eyes narrowing at the owl before looking back at the owl’s owner. “As for you two, what we discuss is none of your concern-”

“I think it is.” Your eyes went wide as Huntian stood up, almost trying to stare down the Demon’s Head but you grabbed his wrist and looked up at him with pleading eyes and only shook your head, silently begging him not to. He tugged his wrist out of your grasp before taking a deep breath in and out before slowly turning to the door and walking upstairs. “C’mon, Smallville… let them talk.”

You watched as Supergirl hesitantly stood up and followed after your mutual friend out of the room. You were left alone in a dark room with one of the most dangerous men on the planet, in a house that was no doubt surrounded by deadly assassins, and all you had was a most likely powerless son of an Amazon, a half-Kryptonian with barely any control of her powers, an owl, and yourself, honestly, you think the owl had the best chance of winning out of your bunch.

“I see you have been busy, my dear. Making friends, hm?” You watched as he sat down on the couch opposite of where you sat. You took another glance around, and you spotted two assassins in the house with you, one just peaking behind the kitchen door and the other was in the mud room of the house. “I believe I asked you a question.”

“Sorry… yes… I’ve been busy…”

“Your cheek, you have a new scar.” You watched as his eyes narrowed at the barely visible scar on your face. He beckoned you closer with a finger and so you scooted to the edge of your seat and leaned slightly forward over the coffee table. You felt his hand reach out to run across your face, his fingers gently tracing the scarred flesh just beneath your eye.

“It was from a rescue mission, a girl was kidnapped and the kidnapper took me by surprise when I got there.”

“If he angled just a bit higher, he would have taken out your eye.” You took a sharp breath as he dragged his thumb on the flesh just below your waterline. “That would have been such a shame since you do have such beautiful eyes, just like your mother’s eyes.”

“Why did you come here?” You questioned, your voice trembling slightly despite your attempts to cover it up. You felt his hand slip away from your face, allowing you to slip back into sitting back on the couch.

“I am here to make a deal since you refused my offer-”

“You sent an assassin to break into my hotel room-”

“I believe I told you to mind your tone, my dear.” His voice snapped back at you after you cut him off, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat as you spotted the assassins in the corners of your vision resting their hands on where their weapons are, so you forced yourself to find a spot to stare at on the coffee table, not moving your eyes from it, not moving a muscle unless spoke to. “Since you refused my previous offer and my colleagues have rescinded their interest due to your behavior, I have a deal. You may continue whatever you are doing here with your… friends, but the moment you fall or give up the mask, you will come back to me, my daughter, and your mother…”

“What?” you raised your head to look him in his eyes, Ra’s Al Ghul was many things, but a liar was not one of them but the last time you checked, your mother was in Gotham with your father. Talia had always had eyes for both of your parents, but to do something like kidnapping your mother. It was an insane thought, but you remember she has done that before along with some other things to her that you would rather not think of. “You… you have my mother?”

“Yes, we do but do not worry about her, she is being well taken care of and protected.” You wanted to bite back at him, after all, they kidnapped your mother and you knew that they were willing to do what was necessary to get the job done, to get what they wanted. “Now if you refuse my offer, we will bring you with us as we leave here, the choice is yours, my dear.”

“Say hello to my mother for me, but I am not abandoning my friends when I already have brought them this far.”

“Your loyalty is one of your strongest traits. Let us hope that your loyalty is to the right people.”

“I know it is.” The witty comment about why you refused his original offer went unsaid since you were never going to be loyal to him or take his side on anything. Also, you did not want to wake up, god knows where in some base in the middle of nowhere with no one able to rescue you. “Is there Anything else I am able to help you with?”

“No, but I do have a gift for you, my dear.”

“I am not sure I want it since the last time you gave me a gift it was something that ruined my relationship with the person who was probably going to be the only love of my life-” You suddenly shut out your mouth when he stood up from where he sat, reaching into his pocket as he walked over to stand in front of you, gazing down at you. He pulled something out of his pocket, a necklace you presumed. You did not move a muscle as he picked up your hair, sliding it over your shoulder so he could do the clasp around your neck. “A necklace?”

“Not quite, my dear.” You stiffed up as his fingers traced down your neck and to the charm that rested just below your collarbone, tracing the outline of a bottle. “Water from the Lazarus Pit, think of it as your one free pas on our deal.”

“By if I fell… you meant if I died… you would restore me in a Lazarus Pit.”

“That would be correct, my dear.”

“Noted… are we done here?”

“Yes, sleep well, my dear.” You watched as he stepped aside, resting a hand on the small of your back and pushing you to stand up, gesturing with another hand to the staircase across the room that led to the upper floor where your friends certainly were waiting. “You will need your rest for what is to come.”

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writesleah · 1 year ago

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august ౨ৎ m. riddle

౨ৎ a whirlwind summer with mattheo leaves your head spinning and craving more, but when he chooses to ignore you at school, you know there has to be something going on. you just didn’t expect it to crush you so much

౨ৎ sex references, mentioned loss of virginity, cheating, slight toxicity, no war au

౨ৎ I LOVE FOLKLORE i honestly might make this a little series and make a oneshot based on every song from the folkmore sister albums because it’s so fun lmao!!

mattheo riddle. a concoction of every terrible, addictive thing you could think of. a drug to your susceptible mind. the one person who ruined everything by giving you such happiness.

it all started back in the summer before 7th year. of course, most teenagers flee to the coast during the warmer summer months, a desperate attempt to absorb as much sun as possible before having to return to scotland's less than scorching weather for yet another year of classes at hogwarts. you were no different, and it seemed mattheo wasn't, either.

—

salty ocean air filled your nose as his lips met yours, a desperate action to be close to each other. he blindly searched for the rusty door handle of his hotel room behind you, wanting to get you out of the hall and into his bed as quickly as possible. sure, you’d had a couple of heated make-outs before, but nothing like this. it had never gotten to this point.

quickly pulling you down onto his sheets, he let his hand wander, beelining towards the plush of your ass, your hands searching through the chocolate curls atop his head.

“you sure you want this?” he whispered into your ear, planting sloppy kisses along your neck, his breath loud and heavy next to you, “i mean it. are you sure?”

you let your head fall back into the pale pillow, a place to rest whilst you tried to understand all of the new sensations pumping through you like blood from your heart, giving yourself a second to think.

“i’ve never done this before, matty,” you replied, your tone timid and weak compared to the rough husking of his voice swirling around your head, a constant memory of the boy you knew you’d never get over.

“it’s fine. you trust me, yeah?” mattheo pulled away for a moment, wanting to check before going any further with you.

“i want this,” you nodded, giving him all the reassurance he needed, prompting him to continue his journey down your body with the knowledge that you wanted to do this with him. you trusted him with something as fragile as your purity. that made him feel fucking insane.

his dark eyes took in the sight of you sprawled out across the white hotel bed, your soft lips and innocent eyes, your hair forming a halo around your head. his angel.

—

“red or white?” you smiled up at mattheo, your eyes darting to the bottle of wine in his hands as he handed it to you with a small shrug.

the two of you had decided to have a little picnic by the beach, a day to relax together as if that wasn’t what you did every day, anyway.

“not a clue,” he huffed, sitting down on the blanket you had set out on the sand, his hand instantly going for some cheese and crackers.

you slapped his hand away, a small pout on your face as he met your gaze, having absolutely no clue what you were stopping him for.

“wow, this looks fantastic! this is so good! thank you so much for getting all the food!” you mocked quietly, rolling your eyes. no matter how hard you tried to appear annoyed, you couldn’t hide the small smirk that crept its way onto your lips.

“oh, shut up,” he chuckled, tugging his shirt off and tossing it to the side, shaking his head, “thank you for putting it together. it looks really nice. you’re really nice, angel,” he added, his words playful, yet still a genuine thank you.

you poured each of you a glass of wine, laying down next to him, both of you on your stomachs, as he began to absolutely demolish the small buffet on the picnic blanket, your fingers lightly ghosting over his back. you couldn’t help but trace your own name, an invisible claim on the boy you adored more than anything.

“what are you doing?” he huffed quietly, turning his head to look directly at you and the way that a pink blush quickly spread across your cheeks as you got caught, your fingers pulling away, “i didn’t tell you to stop. i asked you what you were doing.”

“just… enjoying the moment,” you shrugged, shuffling close to him in an attempt to brush off the way you got flustered at his words.

his arm snuck around you almost instinctively, his lips planting a small kiss buried deep in your hair. a secret. a mark so important to you, but invisible to everyone else.

“i’m enjoying it, too,” he mumbled in reply, his free hand covering his mouth to hide all the food he’d shoved in it.

—

mattheo walked along the side of the road, watching the white-rimmed waves roll over on each other, bored of having nobody to speak to when you weren’t there.

he looked to the left as a car rolled around the corner, his head tilted slightly. he knew those sunglasses.

“no way,” he huffed, his jaw dropping as the car stopped next to him, “no fucking way. you passed?”

you looked up at him with a wide grin, absolutely ecstatic that you had not only taken your driving test whilst on holiday, but had passed, meaning you could drive anywhere you wanted. mattheo had already passed his a couple months before, so you’d been using him as your personal chauffeur for your time together, but you could finally go wherever you wanted on your own.

“get in, then,” you rolled your eyes playfully, nodding to the passenger seat of the convertible as he quickly made his way around to the other side, seeming just as excited as you were.

mattheo’s arms wrapped around you, pulling your head close to his chest as he smiled down at you.

“i’m so fucking proud of you, angel,” he muttered, planting wet kisses on your cheek, holding you tighter than ever before, “we should go out to celebrate. that italian behind the mall that you like? i’ll pay.”

you nodded, not wanting to turn down an opportunity to do anything with him, especially when you were already in such a good mood.

you drove to the restaurant, a regular place the pair of you went together since it was so small and intimate, yet never felt overcrowded.

—

you both got your meals and began eating, laughing and joking as normal, casually celebrating you passing your test.

“mattheo?” a girl’s voice came from behind you, his eyes immediately hardening as he glared up at whoever it was, “where’s-”

“don’t,” mattheo cut her off with a warning, your head craning around to see who it was.

pansy parkinson.

pansy was a fellow slytherin girl in your year; you knew her a little due to sharing some classes, but you were nowhere near being friends.

pansy just glanced between the two of you, her jaw slightly dropping further and further until she caught herself, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“you’re fucked up, mattheo riddle,” she hissed as she walked past your table and out of the door, seeming not only shocked, but angry.

you turned your head back to the boy, your brows furrowing in confusion. it seemed that mattheo and pansy had a silent understanding of whatever it was they were talking about, and you were not part of it.

“what was she talking about?” you asked, but he completely ignored you, slamming his drink onto the table and walking out of the restaurant, leaving you even more bewildered.

you watched through the front window of the restaurant, watched them argue and shout at each other about something. it seemed as if pansy was calling him out for something, but you couldn’t think of what he could’ve done. sure, he was a bit of a troublemaker, but why would it affect pansy?

after a couple minutes, mattheo walked back into the restaurant, seeking incredibly annoyed about whatever the situation was.

“what was she talking about?” you repeated, your head tilting with not only confusion but concern.

“nothing, oh my fucking god,” he spat back, before checking himself on the way he was speaking to you, “sorry. it’s just… it’s nothing. it’s not going to ruin today. this is about celebrating you, not wasting time on whatever pansy parkinson has to say.”

you nodded and continued with your meal, though couldn’t help but feel there was more to it than he was letting on.

—

after the summer, you returned to hogwarts for your final year, everyone talking about their breaks incessantly. the issue was that mattheo had told you not to tell anyone about your involvement with him.

“let’s keep this as much of a secret as we possibly can, okay?” he’d muttered to you as you laid next to each other in bed, your head on his stomach and your body between his legs.

“why?” you’d asked, completely oblivious to why he wouldn’t want to share your feelings for each other with your friends and be happy in public, but he’d just shut you down every time it came up.

“i wanna keep this private, angel. there’s no need to have everyone else involved in whatever it is that we’re doing.”

if only you knew.

you’d spent the first week confined to your dorm, cancelling every plan anyone tried to make with you to wait for a single call or text from him, but nothing ever came. the second you got back to school, mattheo ghosted you.

—

you were sitting in your defence against the dark arts class, occasionally catching mattheo’s gaze every now and then. you’d always give him a small smile, but he would just look away or glance at you with a vague, unidentifiable expression. he showed no hint of compassion or knowledge of you in public past the odd conversation about the work you were doing in class when one of you were a bit lost and nobody else was willing to help. that had only happened once or twice. it was frustrating.

a small tap on the shoulder caused you to turn around, a girl sitting behind you with a sour expression on her face.

“did you fuck daphne’s boyfriend?” she spat, glaring at you with a look that could kill.

your cheeks instantly grew a little red. you’d only ever done anything with mattheo. who was daphne’s boyfriend?

“who?” you replied, your brows furrowing in pure confusion.

“don’t be fucking stupid,” the girl hissed, rolling her eyes, “mattheo riddle, daphne’s boyfriend.”

that one comment, that one single question seemed to bring the whole world to a stop.

you quickly asked your professor if you could go to toilet, a chance to escape the room that seemed to be clawing at your skin, ripping it raw. your eyes began to burn, a dangerous waterfall of tears threatening to spill down your face.

quickly rushing off, you brought a little attention to yourself, though it wouldn’t surprise you if everyone knew what it was about. pansy must’ve told them. it hurt more that he didn’t tell you.

it seemed that mattheo noticed, because, only seconds after you entered the prefect bathroom, he came rushing in after you, immediately trying to pull you into his chest, but you resisted.

“how could you do this to me?” you whispered, unable to stop yourself from crying as you looked up at him, “how could you do that to her? you’re… god, i should’ve listened when people said that you were out of control. this isn’t right, mattheo. you lied to me!”

he just stood there, seeming completely and utterly unbothered by your meltdown and rambling, his head tilting slightly.

“out of control? who told you that?” he scoffed quietly, rolling his eyes. it shocked you that the one comment he chose to pay any attention to was the one that was purely about him as a person, and not your words about how he affected everyone else.

“everyone, mattheo, everyone says it,” you huffed out, letting out a breath of shock at how he brushed it all off, “everyone always talks about the troublemaker that can’t keep himself away from a fight and can’t be nice to people. god, i thought they were so wrong. i thought that i had been the way to find a good side of you, but it wasn’t even real.”

he screwed up his face slightly at your words, but didn’t say anything, leaning against the wall as he mindlessly picking at his nails and giving you no attention whatsoever.

“i was so scared, y’know that?” you whispered, your voice quiet and soft now, your eyes pleading, begging with him to hear you out, “you were ignoring me. i thought i’d lost you and it turns out that you weren’t even mine to lose. do you even know how much that hurts? you could’ve told me, at least. yeah, i would’ve been upset, but at least you would’ve been honest,” you continued, watching his eyes flick up to you.

“it was just a summer fling, angel,” he muttered, realising that you weren’t going to stop crying. with that, he walked out of the bathroom, leaving you stranded with your own thoughts. your own reflection.

it was just a summer fling.

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anarchy-and-piglins · 6 months ago

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Blue-collar Techno kidnapped by white-collar SBI when? And I don't mean minimum wage Techno or cashier/clerk/other I mean farmer or rancher or otherwise physical labor intensive. Potato farmer Techno kidnapped by SBI because they loved his passion or something idk just trying to tempt you into writing more dark SBI tbh

Okay, but I can vibe with this and I'm also still very much with my brain geared towards historical AUs so maybe something that's set around the roaring 20s or a bit later (the period between the world wars basically)? Alternatively the period right before the first world war, the turn of the century. But that might be because I have the Titanic on my mind today lmao.

Techno is a factory worker, typical blue collar profession, probably orphaned or at least from a very low-income family. He's proud of his hard work and his accomplishments and he's vocal about his passions and beliefs, just stuck in a place where those don't mean much to anybody of any significance. The working class doesn't have time to do anything except physical labor to keep afloat, especially not somebody like Techno who has no support to fall back on.

SBI are white collar. Maybe a family of business attornies? I think Phil as a lawyer would be absolutely hilarious especially because I can see the vibe of him being so kind and mundane from a glance but boy does he have a sharp tongue and a good memory. He will tear you to pieces verbally if need be, and smile while doing so.

A bit grim, but I want to say it starts with a death. Somebody in the factory dies due to the company's negligence (sadly, not that unusual an occurrence) and as always the boss wants to pay as little as possible and face as few consequences as possible. Except Techno knew the guy who died, and talks to that family, and tries to push them into getting their legally owed dues for their loss, or go public. The factory hires Phil to make this entire thing go away as quickly as he can with minimal financial loss for the business and no scandal.

Phil has no moral qualms about doing this. It's not that he hates lower class people specifically, he just looks down on them as beneath him and doesn't like them stirring up trouble. He finds them dull, uneducated, and uncultured. And also, he loves money. Greedy crow.

Phil does his lawyering thing. Often it's as easy as putting some pressure on the family and using big words around them and showing them some papers they can't read anyway and they'll take the minimal offered to them, since it's still a treasure in their eyes, and agree that the company bears no fault in their beloved husband's/father's death. Even if it does go to court, Phil isn't concerned. Honestly, the entire case bores him.

What he IS much more interested in is Techno.

They meet when Phil comes by the factory, and Techno and Phil run into each other since Techno is so involved in the fallout of the untimely demise of the other worker, and Phil is enthralled. Techno is not intimidated by him, easily pushing back on his wordplay with his wit. Techno has opinions, and is rather smart for a factory worker (he can read too! Techno is mostly self-taught). Phil finds it charming. Entertaining, if nothing else. He can see the fire in Techno's eyes.

He tries to pry into Techno's past and learn more about him, Techno is guarded against this, which in turn just makes Phil MORE engaged.

Eventually, Phil offers Techno to come work for the law firm. He'll have to do some really lowly manual labor there at first, but Phil sees potential in him, and if it turns out Phil is right about that, then perhaps Techno can even make something of himself if Phil teaches him and allows him to work his way up. It's an extremely gracious offer, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity even.

Techno declines.

Phil is flabbergasted. Like, absolutely gobsmacked. But also so much more enthralled now. Techno refuses to take handouts from pompous rich bastards like Phil, and he has no interest in joining a branch that so clearly profits from keeping the upper class on top and the lower class under their heel. Most men would sell their souls for what Phil can provide them. Techno has more integrity than basically every single person Phil has come into contact with through his job in the last decade.

And god if that doesn't just make him want to have Techno more.

Even as a little kid, Phil was never told no. Thus it's not something that sits well with him. He will have his way, no matter the cost. And hey, we already established Phil knows his way around the legal branch AND that Techno has no support system so like, if you do wanna take it to literal kidnapping, that'd be easy.

I'm assuming this would be 3/4 dark sbi so my image for that is that Wilbur and Tommy are both Phil's kids. Wilbur is technically also an attorney (following in the family's footsteps, as his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all are), except he doesn't really work a lot and has more fun squandering the family's money. Phil is way too indulgent when it comes to his sons, who are as spoiled as he used to be, so he allows this. Similarly, Tommy is still in schooling though he's not sure what he'll study once he's in university (he's leaning into finance because he loves scams lol) and he spends most of his time enjoying his wealthy life.

If Kristin is there, I imagine she comes from a family of doctors, though Kristin herself never worked or got a higher education. That'd be unbecoming for a lady of her status. She loves it when Phil has a fun little project for them to occupy themselves with since she's maybe also lowkey bored being a housewife.

#technoblade #dark sbi #thoughts #asks

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five-and-dimes · 1 year ago

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Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly

Finally get to share my fic for the Spring Exchange! I got assigned @im-not-corrupted, and it's my first time writing a knight au, but I'm really happy with how t turned out, so I hope you like it too! <3

AO3

If you had asked Sir Robert Gadling just a few years ago, he would have told you that he had no plans of settling in any kingdom. Ever since the loss of his dear Eleanor, he had found himself most content in traveling. A sword for hire making his way through the lands, throwing himself into new adventures before inevitably moving on. He escorted nobles and adventurers, he protected priceless treasures, he fought in tournaments for gold and glory, and then he carried on. Each new place brought their own unique experiences and joys, but none so great as to convince him to stay.

Then he entered the kingdom of the Endless.

He had heard rumors of the turmoil the kingdom had gone through in recent times. One of their main allies and trade partners had been brought low by their king’s death and near fatal wounding of the only prince, leaving the prince’s consort to struggle to hold the land together. The loss of protection and major imports left the Endless kingdom vulnerable, and they fell into a period of famine and darkness. However, a few years later saw one of the princes staging a coup, exiling the king and queen as well as a few other members of the royal family, taking the throne for himself.

And King Morpheus brought the realm back to prosperity.

Hob found the land intriguing in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The landscape was lush and vibrant, the kingdom built within the forest as opposed to clearing it away, and even the homes of the lower class were adorned with intricate artwork carved into the door and window frames. When he made his way into a boisterous tavern, he was greeted as though he was coming home, not a newcomer. As the ale flowed, he had tried to learn more about the history of the realm, especially the years when the crown had been taken. What he learned was that, for all the drama that a grab for power like that must have been, to those outside the palace, it had all been very quiet.

“Went to bed one night the same as ever. Next day we woke up, and there was an assembly being called,” An older man explained, leaning heavily on the table, “Standing on the balcony like some angel of death, there was King Morpheus, wearing the crown.” He shook his head, lost in the memory of his astonishment, “The King and Queen have so many kids I never could keep track of ‘em. But I coulda sworn that one was dead,” he shrugged, taking another long swig of his ale, “Guess I was wrong.”

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Hob was more eager than ever to join an upcoming tournament. As always he enjoyed buddying up with the kingdom’s knights, sharing tales of his travels, learning more about the land he was visiting, placing bets and engaging in friendly banter. He was excited to join the festivities, and to get a closer look at the mysterious king.

As he entered the arena, looking up to the stands, he understood why his drinking companion had called the king an angel. King Morpheus was a spot of darkness amongst the colors of the crowd. The royals and advisors sitting beside him wore rich, deep colored fabrics that shone in the sunlight, but the king himself was garbed all in black. His robes flowed around him, draping over his form and concealing his figure. His collar was buttoned up his neck all the way to his chin, and gloves covered his hands where they lay primly in his lap. Long black hair was braided elegantly and made his face look even paler, as though he had never seen the sun before. The gold circlet with ruby accents on his head was the only color Hob could make out on his figure.

He was beautiful.

Hob was never one to deny his ego, and he always aimed to impress when he competed, but on this day he forgot about the crowd. There was only one person he hoped to impress with each swing of his weapon or shot of his bow. The days of the tournament passed, and he couldn’t help but glance up up up to the King after each success, hoping desperately to be noticed. And his pride clearly paid off, because when the tournament ended, as Hob collected his winnings and made his way towards the feast, he was approached by an elegant figure. Her waistcoat was perfectly tailored and a deep purple which made her dark skin seem to glow. But her poise and demeanor gave away her station far more than the richness of her clothing. Delicate spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose, and her posture was proud and sure, looking down on Hob without seeming to look down on him.

“You performed very admirably, Sir…” she stated, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Robert Gadling,” he bowed in greeting, grinning.

“You are new to these parts, yes?”

“Aye, I am a traveler.”

“Just passing through, then?”

“Unless I am given a reason to stay.”

She gave him a reason.

The King had in fact noticed him, had been pleased by his performance, and was looking to grow the order of knights protecting the castle grounds. Though a few years had passed, he was still new enough to the throne to be vulnerable to attempts to usurp him. And he wanted Hob to join. Hob had no intention of turning down an opportunity to be closer to the dark shadow of a king.

It did not occur to him until much later that he hadn’t even needed to think about it before deciding to settle here, in the Endless Kingdom. He moved onto the castle grounds, and he kneeled before King Morpheus and swore an oath, and the king looked down at him with glittering eyes. Hob felt like a madman for all the things he wanted, but he felt a little less mad when, before the season even had a chance to change, he was selected as the King’s personal guard.

“If I may ask,” Hob could not help but inquire, standing watch as the King worked in his study, “Why me? There must be knights whom you are more familiar with.” He was one of the newest in the order, and yet it was he who stood at the king’s side.

The King barely glanced at him, continuing his elegant penmanship, “I am interested.”

“In me?” Hob felt his traitorous heart flutter.

Here, King Morpheus did look at him, something sly and mischievous in his eyes, “In your experience.” Slowly and deliberately, he put his quill down, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap, “Tell me, sir Gadling,” Hob shivered every time he heard his name on those lips, “of your travels. Tell me of your life.”

And, well. Hob would never deny a command from his king.

Although he would not deny… editing, occasionally. Never lying, of course, he wouldn’t dare. But he saw no harm in skipping the less flattering parts- the years lost to drinking his grief away, the times he tripped over his own feet learning to charge in heavy armor- and only slightly embellishing his victories. Morpheus always listened with rapt attention, as though Hob’s tales were the most interesting things he had ever heard. Perhaps, Hob considered, they were.

“It seems you have always been a capable warrior, Sir Gadling,” Morpheus smiled as he delicately ate his breakfast, Hob leaning against the wall beside him as he finished the most recent recounting of his exploits.

“Had to learn fast,” he grinned, “Some of us have to get roughed up if we want to keep you royals so soft and pretty.”

At first, he thinks he has said something wrong, because Morpheus’ head snaps up to look at him, eyes sharp and calculating. But a moment later, his body softens, like an exhale, and there is a pleased smile on his face, and Hob knows that he has said something right.

“I do not remember that part of your oath,” he says teasingly, “a vow to keep me soft and pretty.”

“It was unspoken,” Hob replies immediately, “Took one look at you and knew a delicate thing like you needed a skilled sword and shield at your side.”

“And it seems I chose well,” he sits up a little straighter, almost preening, “I trust a knight of your strength and… stature,” Hob felt his cheeks warm as Morpheus blatantly looked him up and down, “will have no trouble protecting my integrity.”

“With my life, my lord,” he gives a half bow, and when their eyes meet he is certain that something is there.

It became a regular part of their time together, after that. Time passes with Hob telling his stories, and Morpheus fluttering his eyelashes at what a rough and adventurous life he’s led, and Hob gently teasing about the soft and cushioned life he’s led. The contrast between them was exhilarating, and each time the king leaned into it was a bolt of excitement to Hob’s bloodstream. If Hob had his way, King Morpheus would never have to lift a finger. As he accompanied him through the castle, from his chambers to the throne room to the dining hall and back again, he opened every door for him with a deep bow. He would lift the king’s fork to his lips if allowed.

Morpheus does not seem to mind. For all that he is known as a stoic and cold king to those outside of the palace, each day Hob sees his little smiles, and the laughter in his eyes as Hob bends over backwards for him.

On this day, Hob thinks he might be the first knight tasked to pick blackberries for his king. Morpheus sits on a stone bench in the shade of the garden as Hob diligently fills a bowl with the ripe fruit, occasionally glancing back to see Morpheus’ warm, amused smile.

“It would be a shame to stain such finary,” he had claimed, eyes crinkling slightly in restrained mirth, turning to show off the glimmer within the fabric of his clothes.

“Oh of course,” Hob teased in return, “We wouldn’t want our precious king to get his hands dirty.” He bowed, taking the king’s gloved hand to kiss his knuckles. His skin was covered by such fine leather, he could only imagine how butter soft the skin beneath it must be.

King Morpheus smirked down at him, “You earn your keep well, my knight.”

“Anything to be kept by you,” he winked.

The only response is a silent huff of laughter, but Hob cherishes it all the same. As he stands, he holds a berry out between his fingers, “Perhaps you should test them. Make sure they are up to your standards.”

His eyelashes flutter, a coy smile on his lips as he leans forward, and Hob may have started it but he was unprepared for the feeling of his king’s mouth wrapping around his fingers, plucking the fruit from his hand before pulling back with a soft swipe of his tongue. Hob feels himself shudder as Morpheus hums in pleasure.

“Yes,” he purrs, “delightful.”

“Is that so?” Hob feels his heart beating wildly in his chest, but he feels confident and daring as he leans in closer, “Perhaps I should get a taste myself.” He thinks that no fruit on earth would compare to being able to lick the taste from Morpheus’ lips.

But he will never know if he is right. Before he has a chance, he lays his hand on Morpheus’ waist, only to have his wrist gripped tightly and torn away.

“Do not-” The hissed words are cut off so abruptly that Hob can hear the click of Morpheus’ teeth as his mouth snaps shut. His eyes are steely, stepping back to put himself out of Hob’s reach. It is so far and away from any interaction they have had before that Hob feels as though he has whiplash.

There is a moment's pause where Morpheus seems to be waiting for him to speak, and it is only then that Hob remembers their respective ranks, “I apologize, my liege,” he bows deeply, the formality feeling wrong. This is not who they are to each other. Or so he thought.

He glances up just in time to catch the way Morpheus’ throat bobs as he swallows thickly, “I have been away from my work long enough. Deliver what you have harvested to the kitchens and then rejoin me in my study.” He leaves no room for a response, turning on his heels and stalking away, heedless of the fact that they are not meant to be separated this way. Hob’s job is to watch over him. But, after watching his king’s back disappear back into the castle, he does as he is told.

His thoughts are a storm as he passes the fruit off to the kitchen staff, dragging his feet to delay his return to Morpheus’ side. King Morpheus has always been vocal about fighting tradition- about making a better realm, even if it meant going against the “old ways”- and Hob had, foolishly perhaps, assumed that meant that Morpheus would not be against marrying outside his station.

Apparently he was wrong.

Arriving outside the study door, Hob feels his heart burn. With rejection, yes, and grief, certainly, but also with anger. Anger at the king’s hypocrisy, his arrogance and conceit, to think so lowly of Hob as to toy with his feelings and then snub his touch. As though Hob’s hands would somehow taint his royal figure.

Well, Hob refused to be ashamed. He was proud of his rank and status, he was proud of his life, and no man or king would make him feel lesser. So when he walked into the room, he held his head high, and kept his eyes cold.

Morpheus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but did not say anything.

The weeks following are tense. At first, Morpheus seemed to try to restart their flirtatious banter, but Hob refused to engage. He was not a toy for the king to play with as he pleased and then shove away when he got too bold. In another kingdom, Hob thinks he might have been executed for the glare he sent the lord’s way. But Morpheus only sighed and looked away, and eventually stopped trying. Their days were now filled with tense silences as they walked together.

Hob is seriously considering leaving Morpheus’ order to continue his travels on the day the assassination attempt happens. He is overseeing a trial between two nobles, something about one of them infringing on the other's land, Hob hadn’t really been paying attention. In hindsight, the two seem more amicable with each other than one would expect for a dispute to reach the point of coming before the king, but at the time Hob had just been grateful that it was a quiet day.

“My King, I have some evidence that I believe may sway you in my favor,” one of them announced.

Morpheus, with varying success, did try to keep from being too far above his people. As such, it was not unusual for him to stand and approach the noble when he gestured him forward, presumably to show or explain something to win his case. Hob, as usual, is only a step behind him. It is because of that that he catches the glint of metal in the noble’s hand within his robe.

With a wordless cry, Hob lunges forward, shoving Morpheus roughly to the ground to step in front of him. There is a loud clang as the noble’s dagger connects with Hob’s gauntlet. His eyes are wide at Hob’s speed, and he has no time to react before Hob’s fist makes contact with his nose, blood spraying as he collapses. Around them, the rest of the knights in the room rush into action, restraining both nobles and sweeping the room for any hidden danger.

With the threat so swiftly taken care of, Hob is free to look down at where the king was sprawled, dark fabric pooling around him as he pushes himself up, dark hair concealing half his face. They look at each other, the adrenalin of the moment still rushing through both of them.

“Are you alright, my liege?” Hob asks softly, holding a hand out.

Morpheus nods slowly, taking his hand and allowing Hob to pull him to his feet, “I am. Thanks to you.”

As they stand, hands still clasped for a moment longer than necessary, Hob realizes that he has missed Morpheus. Perhaps he cannot have everything that he wants so desperately. But if this is all he can have, well. At least he can have this.

“Of course,” he smirks, “I did swear to keep you soft and pretty, remember?”

He means it as an olive branch, a remembered joke between them to show that they can still be more than simply knight and king, even if they cannot be more. He does not mean to make Morpheus’ eyes fill with tears.

“Yes,” his voice cracks, “Of course.”

Hob is not given a chance to respond- not that he knows how to respond at all- before the king is turning away, calling for his advisor, Lady Lucienne, the one who had first approached Hob about his position within the court. The two convene quietly for a moment before Morpheus orders the knights present, including Hob, to take the two traitors away to be questioned and search the grounds for any other suspects.

It feels wrong to leave the king’s side. Hob feels a desperate need to watch over him, to keep him safe and protected, to wipe away the tears that look so perilously close to falling. But he has been given his orders, and the king and lady are already moving to sequester themselves somewhere private to discuss what to do with the situation. So, with one last look back, he goes to fulfill his duty.

Hours later, when the palace is confidently secure and the traitors are under lock and key, Hob feels no less anxious to be at his king’s side. He was told to return to his own quarters, to rest for the night, and he did try at first, setting his armor aside and laying in bed to try to calm the burning in his heart. But there is no rest to be found here, and soon he finds himself walking purposefully through the halls in his casual clothing, a decision he only regrets when he finds himself faced unexpectedly with the king’s advisor.

Lady Lucienne is exiting the room just as he approaches the king’s chambers. Still half in the doorway, she raises an eyebrow at the clearly off-duty knight before her, and Hob freezes, feeling like a child caught stealing sweets.

“Sir Gadling,” she greets cooly, “I did not expect to see you so late. I thought you were resting,” she raised an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“Yes, m’lady,” he bows his head, but tries to continue awkwardly, “I simply could not rest, and wished to check to ensure the king was well after the attack today.”

“He is well,” she answers shortly, “so you may-“

“Lucienne,” a deep voice calls out from within the room, “he may enter.”

Frowning, Lucienne gives Hob a quick narrow-eyed look before re-entering the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the knight alone in the hallway. He waits awkwardly as a hushed conversation happens behind the door. Finally, Lucienne emerges once more, still eying him warily, but opening the door wider to allow him entry into the king’s chamber. As he enters, he is surprised when she exits, closing the door again to leave him alone in the room with Morpheus.

The room is grand, as expected for a king, and Morpheus sits primly on the edge of the large, ornate bed in the center. He is no longer wearing the extravagant, heavy garb that he dons in public. His current night robe, while as dark and elegant as all of his attire, is also thinner and more lightweight. It is also… revealing. The silky fabric contrasts sharply with his pale, nearly white skin, and for the first time, Hob is granted the sight of his king’s forearms, his neck, the jut of his collar bones, his calves. And with it, he is granted the sight of countless scars.

Dark, rough scar tissue circles both his wrists like bracelets, a matching ring around his neck. There are some marks that Hob recognizes as blade wounds, and others that he thinks might be burns. They criss-cross over each other and dip below his robe, suggesting that what he is seeing is only a fraction of what exists. All of the marks look old. It does not make them look any less painful.

Hob feels his mouth open, the breath rushing out of him as though he has been struck. He can tell, he knows, that the scars are old enough to have been made long before Hob ever met Morpheus. Still, he feels a strange sense of failure. As though it is his fault for not meeting Morpheus in time to protect him.

When he finally raises his gaze, he finds Morpheus looking at him, patiently waiting for Hob to finish his inspection. Hob opens his mouth, but cannot find any words that might soften whatever is happening right now.

Finally, Morpheus speaks, “Once, I was a prince. And now, I am a king.” His voice holds the gravity of an execution, and the sorrow of bowing his own neck beneath the blade, “But there was a time, in between, when I was neither.”

Hob takes another shaking step into the room. There is something dreamlike in the situation, an anticipation, a feeling of falling. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Morpheus turns his eyes forward to stare at one of the large landscape paintings he’d commissioned from a local artist, “I was sixteen when I was taken,” he states plainly, as though his words don’t gut Hob to the core, “It was… easy. For them to steal me away. Far too easy, even for an unloved spare like myself. As if it had been allowed.” He pauses, but keeps his face carefully smooth and neutral, “I still do not know for certain. Whether I was stolen or given away.” His next words are spoken more to himself than to Hob, “Perhaps it does not matter.”

Everything in Hob wants to move closer, to hold his king and shield him with his body, as though the past was an arrow aimed for his heart that Hob could stand in the way of. And yet, he feels frozen. Feet rooted to the ground by a pain so great even his strong and stoic king cannot keep it from his voice.

“When my blindfold was removed, I found myself brought before King Burgess.”

And now, Hob gasps, a too-loud inhale in the heavy tension of the room. Morpheus looks at him, his body stiff and his face still carefully empty.

Hob feels like he can’t breathe, “How…” his voice cracks desperately, “How long were you there?” He might be making a mistake by asking, by speaking at all during this tale, but he has to know. He has to.

“I was kept as a secret treasure for ten years,” Morpheus reveals bluntly. “I escaped my imprisonment roughly six years ago.”

The timeline stretches before Hob’s eyes, and he wants to weep.

“I was there,” Hob exhales in horror. Morpheus’ blinks, eyes blank and not understanding. “I… Ten years ago, I…” his throat feels like it is closing, but he forces the words out, “Burgess’ kingdom was one of the first I traveled to after I lost Eleanor. I was raised in the land neighboring it. I was there for nearly a year, drinking and fighting and participating in tournaments to distract myself from grief. I was offered a place in his court but I. Declined.” He takes half a step back, and then a full step forward when he sees the way the motion makes his king’s face fall. “I was right there,” he whispers.

“I doubt you could have done much,” Morpheus replied, turning his face to look at the wall again, “I was not flaunted before his people, or even the rest of his court. Only a select few knew of my presence beneath his castle. He…” his voice trailed off, and his eyes glimmered as tears began to well. But he stubbornly blinked them back, “It does not matter,” he says again, even softer.

Hob wants to scream that it does matter, of course it matters. But his king looks so wounded right now, and it has nothing to do with the scars. So for now he waits, and lets Morpheus tell him no more than what he is ready to share.

“Eventually,” he continues, his voice steady once more, “the prince’s consort grew pitying. I am sure when he released me he expected me to simply run. But I had more than earned my right to vengeance.” His hands clenched into fists in his lap, “Burgess was almost too easy. He had grown old and careless. He was not so powerful as he thought himself when I was in chains. I spared his son the killing blow only out of gratitude to his consort.”

The stories of the fall of the Burgess Kingdom make much more sense now, with this information, and even the decline of the Endless kingdom who had for so long been allies with them.

“It took me some time to return to my home kingdom. I was weak, and needed to heal and regain my strength. I also gathered allies. Lady Lucienne, Sir Matthew, among others. My family was not expecting my return, and so it was easy to claim the throne for myself. My parents I exiled, along with their supporters. My siblings I allowed the freedom to do as they wished. And what they wished was to leave.”

A few of the king’s siblings had visited in Hob’s time at his side, but never for long. Hob ached at the pain he saw now. The pain of being abandoned so quickly after his return.

“And a few years later…” Morpheus’ gaze was heavy as he looked at Hob once more, “a traveling knight competed in a tournament, and caught my eye.”

Hob still remembers that day so vividly, the dark shadow of the king, the way he was too far for Hob to see his eyes and yet he fantasized about them looking at him. His heart swells in his chest to know that they were. And now he is here, stepping towards his king, his friend, the man he has stood beside for nearly two years now, and he cannot help but ask, “Why did you not tell me this before?”

When Morpheus sighs, it is heavy, and Hob thinks that a lesser man would have crumpled under the weight of the despair in that single breath.

“The parts of me that appeal to you…” he explains slowly, “being… soft. And pretty, and delicate, and pure…” he keeps his head high and shoulders back and it does not make him look any less ashamed, “they are all a fantasy. The reality is that I have long been. Damaged. And sullied.” Almost unconsciously, he brought one hand up to clutch at his robe, holding it closed just a little tighter, “Perhaps it was cruel of me to deceive you in such a way, but our games… brought me comfort. I could pretend, even if just for the briefest times, that it was true. That I was someone you could want.”

Eyes fluttering closed, he sighed, “I thought. If I could have nothing else. I could at least have that.”

His voice is so even, despite how soft it has grown, barely audible in the expansive room. He speaks as though reciting history- something that has already passed and cannot be altered. A tragedy that cannot be changed.

When Hob moves towards him, it is barely conscious. It is like floating down a river, like gravity, a force of nature that perhaps he could fight against if he wanted to. But he does not want to. And so he moves to his king and he kneels, and he did not know it was possible, but it feels even more right now than it has every time he has kneeled before. Morpheus looks at him, the slightest furrow in his brow, confused, surprised, strangely lost. Hob takes his hand, as he has countless times before, and for the first time feels the rough calluses on his fingers. He kisses his knuckles, and his lips brush his bare skin for the very first time. Morpheus gasps, silent, and Hob would have missed it had his eyes not been fixed on his king’s face.

And then he continues. He brings his lips to the ring of scar tissue around his bony wrist, kissing first the outside, then the inside, leaning forward to continue kissing up his arm. There is a part of him that is appalled at his daring- this is his king, he has no right to take such liberties. But there is a much larger part that is desperate to prove him wrong. He has sworn an oath to protect this man. In this moment, he wants to protect him from his own expectations.

And so he pushes himself up, still holding Morpheus’ hand as his lips trail over the landscape of texture across his skin. He kisses over the fabric of his robe, not pushing it aside, not asking Morpheus to reveal any more than he already has. He stands until he is, like blasphemy, looming over his king, leaning down to kiss along the rope of scarring along his neck. He feels, more than hears, the way Morpheus gasps as his lips caress his skin.

“No game could compare to the reality of you,” Hob breathes against his skin, letting his tongue lightly trace the texture of him, “You do not need to pretend that you are wanted.” Leaning back, he finds his king staring at him with wide, watery eyes, and Hob allows himself a moment to sweep his gaze down his figure in appreciation, “Look at you,” he whispers, “Look at how much you’ve survived.”

He brings his free hand up to cup Morpheus’ cheek, and his king still looks disbelieving, and so what can he do but lean in and kiss him. When their lips meet, it feels like the inevitability of dawn after a long dark night, like everything was meant to lead them here. They move their lips together slowly, softly, until the taste of salt blooms between them. Hob pulls back, and Morpheus drifts after him, tears streaming down his face. And for all that he has been through, he looks at Hob as though this, this love and wanting, is what will finally undo him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob kisses the tears from his cheeks, even as Morpheus shakes his head.

“I am not.”

Hob tuts softly, “You are.”

Feeling emboldened by his love, by a love he now understands is returned, he pushes gently at Morpheus’ shoulder, guiding him down to lay on the soft, rich fabric of his bed. Morpheus’ eyes are wide when he moves to straddle him, but he does not push him away. His hands hover over his hips hesitantly, and that is the moment Hob stops worrying about this being his king. Right now, this is just Morpheus, who has been torn apart, and pieced himself back together, and pushed Hob away because he was so certain he would not be wanted as he is. And Hob wants him, and so there is nothing more important than leaning down to kiss every inch of exposed skin.

“You are so strong,” Hob whispers, pressing his lips to the rough skin of his neck again, “but you have protected yourself for long enough. Let me, now.”

“Hob,” Morpheus’ voice is breathless, his hands finally come to clutch at his tunic, “I…”

“I have sworn an oath to you, my king,” he kisses the burns along his collar bones, “And I would swear another to you, my friend,” he kisses the raised scars on his chest, “and yet another for you, my love.”

Slowly he kisses down to his stomach, where he feels Morpheus tense and shudder even through his robe. Morpheus is breathing heavily beneath him, gasps and sobs and moans as Hob touches him all over. He tugs at Hob’s tunic and Hob obliges, tugging it over his head and reveling in the way Morpheus stares up at him, his tears slowing and his throat bobbing as he swallows at the sight of Hob’s muscled chest, his body hair broken up by ropes of scars from his years of knighthood.

Hob takes Morpheus’ hand, calluses caressing calluses, and leans down to settle his weight on top of him. He pressed their chests together, pale and scarred against tan and scarred. “See?” Hob whispered against his ear, “We match.”

Morpheus’ breath hitches, and his hand clings tighter to Hob’s. He does not let go for the rest of the night, even after they have finished their gentle rutting and have both stained the insides of their clothes. He allows Hob to use his own shirt to clean them both, and to wipe his tears away, and to curl around him beneath the covers, but he does not let go.

In the dark, Hob kisses each of his fingers, “Would that I could protect you from the things that have already happened,” he whispers, “But I swear to you, my beautiful Morpheus, that no new scars shall adorn your skin while I am here to prevent it.”

He feels fresh tears fall against his skin, and he knows it will take time for Morpheus to truly believe his words. Hob will slowly reveal the parts of his past that he had edited out, and Morpheus will do the same, and eventually they will lay together with no fabric between them, and Morpheus will still cry at the kindness and the love and the want in Hob’s eyes, and that will be okay. For now, they sleep in the safety of each other's arms.

And in the morning, Hob will help Morpheus dress, kissing up his body as he buttons his robe until he is once more fully covered, kissing his lips as he fastens the last button.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #spring exchange #knight au

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