#give that man a persimmon

[giri-giri-waifu]

[cottagecori]

does anyone have any tips on how to make jam? my neighbor gave me a bunch of figs from his tree and I want to try to make jam with them

[scorndotexe]

people will say they love dilfs and start talking about like. thirty year olds

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi fellow adventurers!! Welcome to chapter 2! We're going to be attempting a nice lil fruit-focused quiche/frittata/pie thing. And yes, tomatoes are fruits.

Who says you cant eat totally normal things in a dungeon with definitely no monsters in them? 

You know what that means; Man-Eating Plant Tart!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Man-Eating Plant Tart?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe way its prepared in the show is akin to a frittata, but the crust is borrowed from quiche world.

Eggs

Whole milk

Bell peppers

Persimmons

Cherry tomatoes

Pitted green olives

Thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

In the show they use leftover hotpot stock, slime, and mashed up fruit as the batter ingredients. Fruit mush is easy to work with but I couldn't find any stand-in for slime that would cook correctly into what they made in the show, and the hotpot stock is just not thick enough to carry the base. It is too many watery ingredients at once. Needing a thickening agent, both gelatin and agar agar were tried. It was edible but the texture was… gelatinous. Regular egg and milk will serve for our purposes.

The next complication was the crust- so in the show its made with the skins of fruit, straightforward yeah? Well. You see it also has to be 1. Thick enough to bake without burning 2. Harden through cooking to be sliced and held and 3. Inedible. Lotus leaves? Plantain leaves? Really thin gourds? I couldnt find any historical basis for a savory food cooked in this method, or similar method, with an intentionally inedible crust. I could find a few dishes which used leaves as their crust, but none that hardened during cooking and even less that used fruit skin. I chose sweet potato skin for its visual match and texture. It is edible, and it is not a fruit.

I hope youll forgive me for these 2 major deviations as i wanted to keep it looking how it does in the show while also ensuring it tastes good.

AND, “what does a Man-Eating Plant Tart taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKFluffy, airy, savory, salty.

The density of the eggs is offset by the crisp fruits

And the saltiness doesnt overpower the remnant fruit-sweetness

(If you eat the crust) the sweet potato brings this nice muted, smokey, flavor

Spongecake-esque in consistency

Would pair well with cranberry or strawberry juice

Would also pair well with a mellow hot sauce?

. You can use heavy cream instead of milk for a creamier batter . Roast the fruit longer to remove more liquid if too wet (and vice versa if too dry) . Smoked paprika, pepper flakes, cumin, garlic powder, and onion powder would taste good in the mixture

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"A mixture of mashed up and cut up Man-Eating Plant fruit, slime and scorpion soup is poured into a pan lined with the flattened peel of the fruit and cooked before garnishing with some more fruit. Described as salty by the group."

From start to finish this recipe took 3-ish hours? Shredding the potatoes took the longest, so if you get them bagged itd be cut down. A very filling recipe and a good way to sneak veggies/fruits in if you have a hard time getting enough of those essential nutrients. The best advice i can give is to add salt/seasonings at every stage of the process, to build up layers. It makes a difference flavor-wise (even if its just salt). I advise against reheating if possible. The filling will make the crust soggy over time.

If you want to be closer to the cooking of the show, you could double the fruit amounts and mash them together while halving the amount of egg and milk. I hadnt tried due to budget reasons, but it should work with some finangling. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys with how todays recipe turned out <333

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do better, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 Eggs

13oz whole milk

2 bell peppers

2 small persimmons

140oz cherry tomatoes

12oz pitted green olives

34oz thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

Method:

Heat oven to 420f and grease a 9-inch pie pan.

Thinly slice (or shred) your sweet potatoes and squeeze out any excess moisture. Coat in olive oil, salt and pepper.

Press sweet potato mixture evenly into and up the sides of the pie pan.

Blind bake for roughly 25 minutes or until lightly golden-brown. No worries if the edges get crisp.

Remove pie pan from oven and set aside.

Core and chop up your bell peppers and persimmons. Coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Line out on a baking sheet, evenly spaced, and roast for roughly 20 minutes or until softened. (you can do this at the same time on a separate rack from the pie crust if you have room)

Remove the stems from your cherry tomatoes, and drain/dry your green olives if canned.

Bring a frying pan to medium heat with olive oil. Add the green olives and sautee until their skin texture starts dimpling. Add the cherry tomatoes and continue sauteeing for about 5 minutes or until lightly browned.

Once the bell peppers, persimmons, cherry tomatoes, and green olives are all done, set aside to cool until just above room temp.

Lower the oven temperature to 350f.

In a mixing bowl combine your eggs and milk, add salt to taste. If you want other seasonings nows a good time!

Once uniform in color and texture, add your cooked fruit. Stir until evenly distributed.

Pour mixture into the potato pie crust.

Bake for roughly 40 minutes. The filling should be mostly firm, but wiggle *slightly* when you shake the pan.

Remove from oven and let rest for roughly 15 minutes before serving.

[kitorin]

"I need you to be completely honest with me right now."

"What's wrong, Rin?" Another page turns, your eyes remain glued to the novel, head resting on his thighs as his fingers occasionally poke your cheek.

"Am I ugly?"

The question makes you choke on your spit; Itoshi Rin, the very man who had you infatuated at first glance with his prominent eye lashes and his wintry gaze, just asked if he was hideous.

"Who the hell said that?" The surprise makes you sit up, and Rin barely dodges collision with your head. It's common knowledge that he couldn't care less about his appearance, skin and hair care were simply for hygiene, which was all that mattered to him. There's anger heating up at the thought of someone breaking his indifference, and it reveals itself through your speech

"No one, Yukimiya's photographer came for a photo shoot. Everything went well until I noticed the lines on my face."

"Lines?"

He nods "They weren't there before." His fingers ghost over an area near his cheeks. "Apparently they're not supposed to be there." Rin reaches into his pocket, unlocking it and showing you a photo.

It's a photo of him, Hiori and Yukimiya, the three of them grinning whilst being covered in designer brands. Nothing seemed wrong, it's an adorable photo; revealing Rin's typically concealed dimples, eyes squinting with joy, the kind of smile he uses when he's genuinely happy, instead of the polite and subtle one he gives to interviewers.

"I don't see an issue."

"Here." He zooms into his face. "Those things." His lithe fingers point towards the area between the sides of his nose and the corners of his mouth. Smile lines.

"Fans said they shouldn't be there. So, am I ugly now?"

There's a legitimate confusion laced with his tone, and you silently thank how he decided to talk about it with you before believing in whatever comments were left on Instagram.

"First, whatever fans say have no credibility, they're just people on the internet. Second." You climb into his lap again, cupping his cheeks and once again getting lost in the depths of his beryl irises. "Those are called smile lines. You're not ugly for having them, and never will be." His aquamarine eyes gaze back, as you brush a strand of hair out of his face.

"Even if they weren't there before?"

"Of course. They're a sign you're living a life filled with joy and happiness. And that is more beautiful than any beauty standard out there, and so are you." Your thumbs trace the creases, the entirety of your palms can feel the warmth of his cheeks, savouring how the softness contrasts the callousness of your hands. "You're beautiful, you always have been and always will be. Don't listen to anyone who says otherwise."

Your lips plant a kiss on his forehead, and you soon return to admiring every crevice of his face. From the viridescent azure irises and the eyelashes which adorn them, how surprisingly soft and squishy his cheeks are (of course only you'll ever know that).

"Thank you for putting them there then."

"Hm?"

"I never had reasons to smile. Not until I met you."

Anyone can tell Itoshi Rin seldom expresses emotion, let alone joy; but you had always assumed he kept it to himself rather than believe nothing was worth his jubilation.

His hands reach for yours, fingers ghosting over them. "Thank you for brightening my life, for being the reason why I'm able to live so happily." Gently, his hand pries one of yours off his face, placing a kiss on it. "I love you."

Rin smiles; it's soft, exposing his dimples and smile lines, cheeks matching his lips in colour. You're pretty sure you're just as flushed.

A quick peck to his lips (he still tastes like the persimmon haichuu you were eating together earlier) and you swear he somehow grows redder. "Does this mean I'm allowed to have the last ice cream?"

"You're supposed to say it back dumbass. And fuck no, that's mine." Despite his callous language he picks you up into a cradle carry, placing you down besides him, soon making his way to the front door. "What flavours do you want? And what kind and which brand?"

"Awww, I love you too, I want the vanilla and melon soft serve by the way."

Rin scoffs. "Of course you only say it back when I'm doing you a favour." But he's pocketing his wallet, and about to unlock the door to leave. "You're annoying."

"Yet you still love me."

"Are you sure? Because I'm buying every flavour of yukimidaifuku and you're not getting any. Milky candy too." You don't miss the smirk on his face at the sight of your disbelief.

"I hate you."

"Love you too darlin'."

[In the end "you're not getting any" was a lie]

Tagging: @yuzurins

[lovequartz]

to feel the same.

❁ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x fiancee!reader

❁ genre: fluff

❁ warnings: mention of blood + injury

❁ word count: 1.3k

❁ winter passed and spring came, you're a flower with green leaves and raindrops

❁ notes: this is dedicated to the lovely @jenowithjaem who gave me the inspo behind this piece, thank you <3

you are fixing your hair when you hear your mother call your name. her voice traveling from the front of the house through the open door of your bedroom. you quickly pin a few front pieces and smooth your skirt down before hurrying off to your mother’s side.

she’s standing with the entry door open, and beams when she sees you, “wonwoo is here!” she practically giggles.

in the time wonwoo has been taking to court you, he's been coming by your house more and more often lately. the two of you have been taking walks in the early evening, which was the reason you were fixing yourself earlier. 

“you don’t have to announce his presence every time,” you whine softly as you grab her arm. turning to peek out the door, you smile as wonwoo’s eyes meet yours. he looks handsome as always, but today his glasses are tucked into the breast pocket of his lovely navy blue shirt. 

“good evening,” he says, grinning when he hears you return his greeting in a much more quiet tone, “are you ready? or should i wait a bit longer?” 

you give him an apologetic look, “give me just one minute? i’ll grab my shoes.”

he nods in understanding before you mother gets his attention once more.

“are you sure you don’t want to come in? you know our home is your home after all,” you hear your mother say as you scurry off to find your footwear.

a little later you and wonwoo wave to your mother as she slides the door shut, your arm tucked safely into the crook of his elbow as the two of you make your way down the road. the temperature is lovely and there’s a warm breeze rustling through the trees and their leaves. you wonder if someone like you is allowed to feel this giddy, to be able to bask in the sun’s glow and wonwoo’s simple presence beside you. 

soon all your strolling takes the two of you to the small creek nestled just behind the persimmon orchard, the current a touch fast due to the heavy rain last night. wonwoo grips your hand in his as the two of you meander down the creekbank. a quick movement catches your eye and you spot a small frog near the water’s edge. you gasp before pointing it out to the man next to you.

“wonwoo look! it's a frog,” you say, letting go of his hand to see if you can catch the small friend. it does a tentative hop but surprisingly allows you to scoop it up into your hand, your palm underneath it. 

its little head peeks out from under the arch of your thumb, and you cradle it gently before lifting it to your beau’s eye level. 

wonwoo has a small smile on his face as he brings his own hands to hover just under yours, in case the frog decides to make a leap for it. “indeed it is.”

the two of you coddle the small creature for a few moments more before you eventually set him back on the ground. your hands are muddy so you swish them around in the water of the creek before brushing away an itch at your cheek and standing. 

when you turn to wonwoo he has a look in his eye you can’t quite place, and a smirk tugging at his lips. 

confusion paints your features as you say; “what?”

the man chuckles lightly before stepping closer to you and rubbing his thumb across your cheek, the finger brushing the very bottom of your scar. “i think you managed to get some dirt on your face while you were cleaning your hands.” 

a small twinge of embarrassment flushes through you but you can only continue to stare at wonwoo and mumble a small “oh.”

he hums, looking rather pleased as he continues to touch your face. thumb gently running the line of your scar. part of you wants to flinch away but the other part of you wants to indulge in wonwoo’s attention and affections. so stay still you do.

“you never told me,” his soft voice breaks the silence between the two of you, “how you got it.”

you breathe out a sigh, fingers coming up to curl around the hand that touches your face. “let’s keep walking, i’ll tell you as we do.”

winter age 8 

the winter’s chill bites at your bare fingers, not as cold as it was the previous day but still brisk. your sister had run up ahead of you, her boot marks disturbing the freshly fallen snow as she traverses through the neat rows of persimmon trees. your parents had allowed both of you to meander around outside until dinner was ready, your mother had just begun feeding the stove wood when you’d left. so you and your sister decided that it would be the perfect time to play with the kite your uncle had gifted the two of you a few weeks ago.

“not so far!” you shout to your sister as she continues to trek forward, the kite still sailing high in the wind above your heads. 

“it keeps falling!” she shouts back, “i’m trying to get it to stay up!” 

as her pace slows the both of you watch the kite circle around from a particularly strong gust before it starts descending quickly. 

“see, it's coming down!” the frustration is clear in her voice. 

eventually, the kite lands between the branches of one of the persimmon trees, and your sister tries tugging it free to no avail. 

“you’re gonna rip it! one of us is gonna have to climb to get it,” you say when you finally catch up to her. 

“its gonna have to be you,” she says immediately.

you turn to look at her, protests already ready on your tongue. 

“i’m wearing my new skirt, mother will have my HEAD if i tear it. besides, you’re wearing trousers and you’re smaller so it’ll be easier for you to get up there.” she says before you can get a word in edgewise. 

you sigh heavily, accepting your already decided fate, “fine.”

it doesn’t take you long before you’re able to reach the branches where the kite is wedged. however, due to their height you have to stand up on the branch you’re perched on. carefully, you make your way to your feet, heart pounding as you reach above you. your fingers brush against the fabric of the kite’s side and you lift just a bit onto your toes for a little extra reach. the next thing you know you feel your left foot slip, and all you can hear is your own scream followed by your sister’s.

a dull pain starts to radiate from your back, and you realize you’re on the ground. the left side of your face feels cold, and you wipe at it, thinking you must have snow stuck there from the fall, but when you pull your hand away it is covered in blood. you stare at it blankly before your eyes meet your sister’s who stands over you unmoving, a look of pure horror twisting her features. 

her face is the last thing you remember before everything went black. 

“she said she thought i died,” you say with a chuckle, “she ran screaming to get my parents, and everyone was pretty shook up before they were told i was going to be fine.” your fingers brush against the skin of your cheek.

“i got treated like a princess for the whole week after. my sister was beside herself with guilt, but she knows it wasn’t really her fault. it was a series of unfortunate accidents that ended with my face being the poor victim of a sharp branch.” 

wonwoo looks pensive, his fingers squeezing yours. “poor girl, it must’ve hurt at the time.” 

you immediately feel flustered at his words, stunned into silence as the two of you look at each other. 

“well, just a bit,” you reply, “it was worse when it was healing, it took everything in little eight year old me not to pick at the scab.”

wonwoo hums, lifting the hand in his to press his lips against the back of it. 

“thank you for sharing with me, i’m happy i get to know more about you.” 

❁ notes: thank you always for reading! all these recent works from me have been an honor to write so thank you once again love u all

[vintagehellfire]

Hi friend! Could you write fluff (or fluffy smut, if you desire where Reader hears best friend!Eddie telling Steve that he thinks Reader is the most beautiful girl in the world, but he doesn’t wanna ruin the friendship by asking her out? Maybe she decides to take the lead and just go for it hehe

xoxoxo @munson-blurbs 💚

Hi friend! Of course I can. I kind of uh let Jesus or the devil take the wheel on this to be honest so it is what it is.

505 |E.M x Reader

best friend!Eddiex fem!reader

Warnings: fem reader, smut, oral (m receiving), two idiots in love, fluff to smut but like fluffy smut 18+ mdni

Word count: 4.7k

Eddie Munson, best friend, metalhead, and absolute sweetheart found himself stuck with you since that one evening in the frigid winter where he took an elbow to the nose at a show. He wouldn’t have ever guessed that getting his nose broken by protecting you would lead to the best and most heart wrenching friendship known to his existence. That’s not to say he didn’t absolutely adore every second of it. You were the best partner in crime and yet the worst influence, always at the ready to suggest the wildest and most impulsive ideas. Everyone would agree the two of you were two peas in a pod, absolutely inseparable, but that never stopped your worries from pooling in the darkest recesses of your stomach. They would dig a deep pit and lodge themselves there so comfortably that you didn’t dare venture past the territory of friendship.

That’s where Steve Harrington came in - he was your confidant on all matters Munson. He had been trying to tell you to come clean about your feelings since the day you took a road trip with Eddie and convinced him to steal persimmons off of some poor farmer’s land. It was truly then that it clicked for Steve that the metalhead was smitten with you - Eddie was never a thief and as much as his jagged personality might make it seem like he’d get caught up with the law, it wouldn’t ever be for theft yet somehow all his perturbation slipped away when it came to you. Eddie could have sworn those were the sweetest persimmons he’s ever tasted and if everyone were being honest it was mainly because he was sharing them with you.

That brings you to today, relaxing on the couch with the frizzy haired man, your heels digging into his thigh as a movie plays in the background. Neither of you were particularly paying attention to it, it was mostly used to fill the silence if anything else. Eddie was scribbling away in his campaign notebook, busy trying to add some finishing touches before tomorrow night’s game and you were crocheting what you were hoping would turn out to be a mothman plush toy. When Eddie pried the information out of you, with you sheepishly admitting it was a mothman you were trying to create, he couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. It could have been taken as an insulting laugh at how ridiculous you were but the reality of the situation was that Eddie was falling helplessly for you.

“Does this look right?” You broke the silence and held up what looked like some sort of skinned carnage of what used to be a stuffed animal. It was a genuine question and your nerves began to eat away at you over the answer Eddie would give. He slowly turned his head, curls cascading into his face and tickling his nose. With his left hand he pushed the hair out of the way to reveal the beautiful mahogany of his eyes. He briefly flicked over your expression before settling on the tangle of yarn, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips in an amused manner.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the man cooed out, “maybe if you add the fluff to it? I can���t really tell like this.” The crows feet in the corners of his eyes crinkled as a teasing smile split across his features. Suddenly the mothman wasn’t as important as you’d thought because you managed to get a smile from the man who held your heart in his hands, his dimples pronouncing themselves even more when you returned a lopsided tug of your own lips.

“Wow, you wound me, Munson.” You barked out in a laugh signaling to him that you didn’t feel insulted in the least - how could you when he was looking at you like that? As if you hung the stars in the sky for him. His gaze was burning into you, an impromptu staring contest taking place. It was something that was happening more and more lately and it had both of your insides swarm with bats though neither of you would admit it to each other. The moment you managed to peel your eyes away from his was almost like a resignation of sorts yet the tension remained. “So uh, when is Steve swinging by?” You try to change the topic, hoping that it might give an ounce of relief to the thick atmosphere. The metalhead across from you leans back into the couch, stretching out his back with a satisfied groan, one that leaves you salivating - what you’d do to be the one getting him to make such noises.

There was no hiding that with the noise that escaped the man prompted your eyes to trail downwards - denying that you’d set your eyes on the way the hem of his t-shirt rode up to reveal the trail of hair that led to below the belt would cast you as a liar, and lying was a sin- but honestly you’d be written off as a bigger sinner for the things you’d wanted to do to your best friend.

“He’s supposed to be here in,” he checks his little black wrist watch, his movement forcing you to readjust your feet, which in turn had his hand shooting to your ankle, steadying your movements, “I don’t know, now in theory. Harrington’s already late.” He sighs out. He couldn’t let you have that effect on him while you were here, he won’t allow it, and besides, he’s certain that you wouldn't want to entertain such notions in the first place,

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Just as you huff out your sentence there’s a knock at the door. “Well speak of the devil.” You smirk before trying to swing your legs off of Eddie’s denim clad thighs, his firm grip on your ankle stopping you. A deep blush coats his cheeks before he releases his hold, allowing you to get up and welcome Steve into the trailer. As soon as you do, there is no doubt that Steve shoots Eddie a knowing smirk that both of you chose to ignore. Neither one of you believed that feelings of the romantic sort were involved, and if they were, why ruin the perfectly forged friendship you both had? What good was it to complicate things if neither party reciprocated?

“Hey, lovebird. Still in denial?” Steve tutted while making his way towards the Munson kitchen a case of beer in hand with a few bags of microwave popcorn. Steve was the designated carrier of snacks and booze, especially since the incident after his breakup with college woman Maggie Thompson - he quickly started pining over her and they ended up dating for a good six month stretch, that was until she brutally broke his heart and he was left no choice, allegedly, but to force everyone to watch Dirty Dancing on repeat through the night.

“Fuck off Steve.” You shouted back, a smile still stuck on your face.

“You wound me, peach.” He calls back to you, opening the fridge and keeping the door propped open with his hip. His search for space to store the beer doesn’t last painfully long, but long enough that you have the chance to put away your eldritch horror and that Eddie gently tucks his notebook and pen into his room. It was a comfortable movie night routine after all - now it was just a matter of waiting for your second favourite chatterbox.

“Hey Eds?” Your head rounds the doorway of his room as you poke your head in, a low hum coming from the corner of the room that harboured his desk. “I’m going to run to the washroom, okay? Can you make sure King Steeb doesn’t burn the popcorn?” You ask him meekly. As his eyes fall onto you his facial expression softens and he takes a few steps, crossing the room in order to plant himself in front of you. Seldom you found comfort in what he does next - in fact your best friend was the only one who had permission to do so. His rough hand gently meets your elbow, his skin setting yours ablaze.

“Of course sweetheart.” He murmurs before you timidly stalk off to the washroom.

Eddie takes this opportunity to pad over to Steve, greeting him with a firm slap on the back and his signature dimples engraving themselves into his features. His smile softened his otherwise hard features and set jaw.

“Hey man, thanks for grabbing the drinks for tonight.” His voice rumbled out as he rounded the former king of Hawkins High, propping his hip against the kitchen counter.

“Don’t worry about it, man, I’m happy to bring something along since you won’t let me choose the movies anymore.” The younger teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “But uh, Eddie, while we have a minute… the two of you aren’t seriously in denial, are you?” He poses the question that everyone of your mutual friends has been wondering about, the one that’s been burning in everyone’s mind including your own.

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie hissed, hands coming to rub his face before dropping at his sides. “Between you and me, Steve,” a small hesitation finds itself wedged in just before the big confession, in part to make sure you were nowhere near, in part because Eddie needed a minute to collect himself. He’d never been so smitten before and god the pain he feels in his chest over it rivals even the pain of a broken heart yet, he’d rather feel that hurt than lose you forever, “I’m not denying anything. I think that our peach is the most beautiful fucking person on this goddamn planet, I forget how to breathe when they’re around. I can’t remember the last time someone took the air from my lungs like that, the last time I felt comfortable just existing.” Eddie rambled, his hands gesticulating wildly as he divulged his feelings. He was so wrapped up in his confession that he completely missed hearing your footsteps hurriedly walking over as to not miss anything, he missed the way they came to an abrupt stop as he called you beautiful, he missed the sound of your heartbeat that felt like it was in your ears at this point…

“So why don’t you go for it, man?” Steve inquired, prodding further into something that was simultaneously none of his business at all and absolutely his business. He couldn’t stand seeing two of his best friends miserable without each other.

“Because,” Was the pathetic answer that slipped past the plush lips of the older man, “Ruining our friendship would ruin me. No more feeling like I belong somewhere with someone just as strange as I am. Nobody that- man this is going to sound pathetic but fuck, Peach is just a breath of fresh air, they’re the highly anticipated crisp fall air that the end of summer brings, and they’re the beautiful turn of the season, bringing something different and new but so welcome. They’re - fuck Steve - they’re my heart, my soul, the very breath in my lungs, and christ even having the chance to share a space with ‘em is more than I could ever ask for, more than I deserve.” He sighs out. It’s then when you decide to make yourself known by clearing your throat gently.

“Uh, hey uh, I think Robin is here.” And with that, Eddie wishes the world would swallow him whole.

Throughout the movie you’re sat next to the metal head, squished onto the worn brown couch, Steve and Robin smushed together on the other end of it. This would have been a comfortable arrangement had it not been for what you’d overheard, though the issue wasn’t that it was uncomfortable, no, it was too comfortable. He smelled earthy with hints of smoke, his cologne overtook your senses and sent shivers down your spine, each vertebrae resonating at a seemingly different frequency, and soon the warmth spread to your chest. You shifted in your seat, thighs rubbing against Eddie’s strong ones as you tried to adjust your position. Giving up, you slung your legs across the metalhead’s thighs, training your eyes to his face as you did so. It didn’t escape you that his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed his nerves down. On his end, it was like swallowing nails, he couldn’t think and it was borderline painful what you were doing to him - how you could be so unaware was beyond him, and yet he tried to play into it, to be as normal as possible. His hand found your knee and he started drawing lazy little circles, something that he would often do to calm his anxieties - it was a reprieve of sorts to get lost in swirls and patterns - sometimes if he ended up lazily drawing them out in class he’d use them as dungeon layouts.

Whatever god Eddie had angered was not a forgiving one for as soon as he did that, you scooted yourself further up, leaning your body into his, gently resting your hand on his chest. You could feel his heart rate quicken with your delicate touch and it only got worse as you started tracing little patterns in turn. A heat crept up his chest and crawled its way up his neck, resting itself on the apples of his cheeks. The perfect shade for him, he should wear that colour more, you thought to yourself. Even in the dark glow of the TV screen, it was quite the discernable difference to his usual pale complexion and it looked good.

The more Eddie shifted under your touch, the worse his fate became and eventually it came to a point where the rebellious Dungeon Master genuinely thought that maybe it was the devil doing his bidding and in place of God because what god would allow you to shift your legs enough to press into his tented jeans. The man hissed and firmly gripped your knee, pushing your legs slightly further down his thigh. He prayed to Satan, God, Beelzebub, anyone who would listen really, that you didn’t notice the effect you had on him, but you had. In fact you had been intentionally teasing the man all night long, hoping to get enough of a rise from him to completely break him, to have him snap and make a move — what you hadn’t accounted for was how resilient he was.

As the night went on, you pushed the boundaries further until you managed to tangle a hand in his hair, your legs draped across his lap - you were practically buried in his side as if it were a little nest made perfectly for you. Eventually you shifted, tucking your legs under you but you remained pressed into the curly haired man, head finding a resting place on his shoulder, and your hand on his upper thigh. Occasionally you would shoot a glance towards Steve and Robin, the two were deeply engrossed in whatever was going on on the screen - the movie meant little to nothing to you given the positions you were putting yourself in. As you turned your head slightly to watch what their eyes were trained on, the scene shifted to something akin to a physically intimate moment between the actors - the scene sparking something in you.

With a slight tilt of your chin your lips brushed Eddie’s jugular and this time you felt the shivers run down his spine causing him to shift in his seat, which in turn made the fact that your hand was on his thigh so much worse. All in all, there was no winning for Eddie Munson, not in this regard at least but he would end up winning something, he just doesn’t know it yet. His eyes screwed themselves shut tightly and his breathing quickened yet he made no attempt to move.

About half an hour after the end of the movie, Steve and Robin left, citing off having work in the morning as their excuses, they left with little waves goodbye and bickering about which actress was hottest, making no comments about the position you and Eddie wound up in, and if they did notice, they had only given each other a small but knowing look, choosing to continue on instead of commenting on the obvious. It was not really anybody’s business but your own and soon you were going to have to address it. A beat of silence passed, the brown haired boy closing his eyes and tilting his head back so it hit the back of the couch. A jagged breath escaped past his lips and you caught on his in time, breaking the stagnant silence between the two of you.

“Hey Eds?” You cooed out, slithering off of his lap, trying to be discreet about what you were doing. You couldn’t have him tipped off and finding out about the plan you concocted. You watched his features intently, the way he swallowed the lump in his throat, the constricted hum that his vocal chords produced - the only sound he trusted himself with at the moment. Your hands found the insides of his thighs and you felt him stiffen under you as you slotted yourself between his legs, knees surely getting a carpet burn.

“I think you’re also the most beautiful person, I think you’re the fiery orange sunset that lights up the sky so brightly that you can’t help but watch, stare, and take it all in. If I’m the crisp autumn air, you’re the falling leaves, beautiful and underappreciated. You’re fleeting to most people’s lives in the same sense but I’d stay there if I could, if I’m so lucky as to be offered a place there. You’re my heart, my soul, the passion that lights a fire from under me.” This time his eyes snap open and he looks at you, lips parted, bitten and bloody from holding himself back all night. “And Eddie, I know you’re afraid of ruining our friendship, but how about I ruin it instead?” You breathe over his hips. “Let me take your breath away, for real this time, yeah?” You boldly decided to kiss the inside of his thigh, eyes trained on his face. If you weren’t just the prettiest thing, looking at him up through your eyelashes. His brain short circuit, acting like an overheated motherboard and his mouth ran dry as if he’d swallowed a kilo of sand all at once.

“I- y-yeah? Yeah…” He breathed out, licking his lips as he tried to answer you. He couldn’t believe you were reciting what he’d admit to Steve right back to him, maybe there was a god, maybe it was in fact the devil himself sent to tempt him in sin, maybe it was just everything he’s ever wished for and he was not about to let it slip away from him. A shaking hand raked itself through his hair, his other one reaching for your hand. This wasn’t real, was it?

You took his approval as a signal to keep kissing up his thigh, only confirming to him that this was in fact very real. You smooth your hands over the expanse of his thighs, kissing closer and closer to the tent in his jeans. Low whines releasing themselves from the back of his throat, and out into the open air for you to take pleasure in. You walked your fingers up to his bulge and carefully, delicately even, splayed your hand across it, gentle squeezing.

“All this for me?” You acted surprised, eyes trained on the denim.

“Y-yeah, sweetheart, all for you.” His rattled breath made its way to your ears, a hum of admiration releasing itself from the back of your throat. “Let me help you.” He cooed out, an ounce of confidence making its way back to the man. With that he elected to lift his hips as he undid the fly of his jeans, being careful to unbutton them first, and then drag them down his thighs. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Eddie in boxers, but it was certainly the first time you'd seen him in such loose and thin black material, cock straining against the cage of fabric, begging to be taken care of with careful hands — and lips. You couldn’t help but salivate at his size, it wasn’t what you’d imagined with your hands between your thighs in the middle of the night, no, it exceeded that expectation.

“Oh, fuck.” You groan,bringing your mouth to hover over him, hot breath fanning his clothed member.

“Please don’t tease, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.” He lets out. It’s all you need to press your lips to him, mouthing at him. Your nose was slotted perfectly against his belly, open mouth trailing up to suck his tip through his boxers, saliva leaving a wet spot on his boxers. He hissed in satisfaction, his hands coming to tangle themselves in your hair, tugging gently. His choice of movement brought out a moan you didn’t even realise you were holding in but you were more than happy to let it escape, especially when Eddie’s reaction was to tug your hair a little harder, forcing you closer to his aching cock. You take advantage of the sudden movement and lick a stripe through the fabric before pulling back, hand trailing up, giving his balls a gentle squeeze before slithering your hand into his underwear. The skin to skin contact had the Dungeon Master hissing from pleasure, and the low sound of breath filtering through his teeth turned into a groan, much like the one you’d heard him make earlier. It was sweeter pulling them out of him yourself, a sense of accomplishment flooding you.

“You’re going to be good for me, yeah Eds?” You purred before doing the filthiest thing he could have possibly imagined you doing, As you pulled his aching cock from his boxers, you spit on him, using your hand to spread your spit.

“Oh fuck.” He choked out upon seeing that. He’d be a liar to say he didn’t imagine this before, to say that he didn’t think of your lips wrapped around his swollen head while you used your spit covered hand to jerk him off, but somehow this was so much filthier. “I’ll be so good for you, sweetheart.” His head hit the back of the couch once again, breathing getting heavier, deeper, his whole body becoming unbearably hot. You were in no better of a position. Sweat started to build on your forehead and you had barely touched the man before you, and if you were to bet on anything it would be that the heat you were feeling in between your thighs was a good indicator to how wet you were getting just from this sight alone.

Before long you decided to quit your slow teasing, licking your lips before sinking your warm mouth onto his length. You started by swirling your tongue along the mushroom head of his cock before flicking it over his frenulum, eliciting the most pornographic moan you have ever heard.

“Oh fuck, right there, sweetheart.” He cried out and so you repeated the calculated flick of your tongue before you circled it over his head, paying extra attention to his slit. He was leaking salty precum at this point, seeing stars that you had in fact hung in his vision. Without warning you hollow your cheeks before sinking your mouth completely onto his cock, taking it as deep as your throat would allow - his tip hitting the very back of your palette and yet you managed not to gag. You were convinced that the moans Eddie was releasing were enough to make angels sin - it was unlike anything you’d heard before and god you wished you could keep them bottled up. “God fuck, please don’t stop.” His encouragement egged you on, kept you wanting, no, needing to show him how good you could be to him.

You took him down your throat once again, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed your head up and down his length, employing your tongue to flick across his head every time you came up. After a minute or so, you added your right hand, saliva dripping down it and onto his balls while your left hand decided to shoot down between your legs. You rocked yourself against it trying to chase your own high, your own impending orgasm, but you knew you wouldn’t get there off of just this.

Your train of thought got cut off by the buck of Eddie’s hips, apologies tumbling from his lips between pained swears of pleasure yet you keep going, taking it like a champ. His cock was reactive to what you were doing, getting harder and angrily leaking and every time you’d feel any ounce of precum drip from him, you lapped it up like it was your last meal on death row - so eager to taste him, so have him, to swallow every last bit of what he had to offer and for all Eddie knew you were eagerly sucking his soul out of his cock. He was on cloud nine with the way your warm mouth felt around his thick member.

You let your mouth pop off of him with a POP, a lust-drunk smile painted onto your lips as you sped up your hand movements, jerking the metal head’s cock faster and faster, pace picking up to get him as close to the end of the finish line as possible.

“Fucking - Jesus- Christ!” He cried out.

“You’re doing so good for me, babe, come on, please, I wanna taste you. Would you let me taste you, Eds?” You practically begged him, nearly sending him over the edge. You watched his muscles twitch before you sank your warm lips over his head,taking him only halfway into your mouth while your hand worked a steady pace on the other half of his cock.

“Jesus, can’t say shit like that, sweetheart. I’m- I can’t- I’m so close.” He babbled out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t…” Before either of you could process what was happening, he shot down your throat which you happily swallowed down. You waited to make sure that he was completely spent before you pulled off of him, licking the remaining cum off your lips before daring to look up at him through your love drunk haze. Much like you, his chest was heaving and his eyes were glazed over in both lust and love, his lips swollen and pink as if he were biting them in order to hold himself back.

“You okay?” He uttered out quietly, tucking himself back in before sinking to the floor in order to be eye level with you. Being this close allowed you both to see how blown your pupils were, his irises nearly completely disappeared in his cloudy haze.

“Yeah, Eds, I am.” A lazy smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Are you?”

“Never better, Peach.” He returned your smile, dimples pronouncing themselves infinitely more than they had been earlier.

“I love your smile, Eddie. And your silly dimples. I never want them to go away.” You admit drunkenly.

“They won’t so long as you’re by my side.” His eyes shifted away from you for a second, tongue darting out to lick his lips in careful consideration of what he was about to say to you. “I think maybe we should ruin our friendship.” He concludes. “Maybe we’d make better lovers.” His eyes flick up to read your expression carefully.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” You respond in a timid tone, soft, full of love. It’s an almost bashful sounding confirmation, something you’d been waiting to hear for a long time, and yet it felt new, it made you feel giddy, and it certainly didn’t help that you had only riled yourself up without being able to chase any relief.

“Mmm,” Eddie hummed before cupping your cheek. “Then how about we take this to the bedroom and we Christen this relationship in the most devilish way I know?” His touch is tender and as he leans into you, his lips brush against yours, gentle as a butterfly's wings. You can barely get a nod out before he’s helping you up and dragging you to his bedroom in order to find himself in his most dedicated place of worship for the night; slotted between your thighs.

—

a/n: Hopefully this is somewhat what you were looking for, Bug! It was so much fun to write and I got way too engrossed in it. I also realise I haven’t written smut in like 700 years so hopefully this is a good warmup.

Thank you, angel @munson-blurbs for requesting this little guy 🖤

[suigetsusunny]

Temporary whispers of the heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader

Chapter 3 | Smooth Operator

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A soft blanket was tenderly tucked around you by a pair of large yet gentle hands, the movement momentarily waking you from your slumber. You sluggishly managed to peel open an eye, realising the perpetrator had beautiful, glimmering bronze eyes that shone with each look they graced you with. The slight creases of his lips lifted the bottoms of his eyelids, a half-lidded and reverent smile greeting you. 

“Good morning, Miss Shihoin. Rested well?”

You grinned back in return, rushes of warmth tainting your cheeks as you felt your once gentle chest rise rapidly from the increased palpitations of your heart. The man removed his dark spectacles, using his ivory haōri to wipe them, all while his eyes continued to fixate on you. 

“I apologise, I’ve once again foolishly fallen asleep at your abode out of the blue… I haven’t been resting well, please do forgive me.” You sheepishly pardoned, mentally cursing yourself for repeatedly bothering the Captain with your careless sleep schedule. You could not help but lower your guard around the gentleman… You felt at peace in his vicinity, so much that it caused you to slip in and out of consciousness through the amount of comfort his presence gave. 

Aizen lifted a hand, profusely yet politely denying your apology. “Do not fret. I can understand your fatigue, times have been quite rough...” His caring tone accompanied by his smooth voice touched your racing heart, causing it to settle and calm itself as it was once again comforted by him. Your eyes fluttered shut once more, allowing your body to be completely engulfed in the soft futon that lay underneath you.

“The fact that my presence alone is enough to comfort you to the point of rest is far more important to me than any apology you could ever give me.” 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A splitting headache accompanied you as you arose from your slumber, groggily rubbing your forehead as you checked the time. 10.23 AM. Thank goodness it was a Saturday.

You shot up, stumbling as you stood to snatch a trash bag from the kitchen and dump all the empty bottles and cans into it. The clattering awoke Rangiku, loud groans following as she rolled over to the side whilst rubbing her eyes. As Matsumoto had yawned and sat up, she noticed you had already tidied up the place without her.

“Give yourself a break, Y/N...”

You shot Rangiku a dissatisfied look before swinging the trash bag around your shoulder, stepping out of the apartment to place it into the bins outside. “I’m fine, Ran.”

You both freshened up before setting up the memorial shrine, placed next to Unohana’s in your apartment. Sliding open the cabinet adjacent to the small oak table it was set at, you took out some dry persimmons and offered them alongside various fruits, such as mandarins and apples. Rangiku set out the incense, gently placing a few sticks in a little ceramic vase next to the picture frame of Gin. 

Matsumoto wafted the incense towards you two, your hands offering to do the same. You both kneeled down in front of the makeshift shrine, calmly closing your eyes as you two left gentle prayers for the deceased. Matsumoto’s soft sobs began to escape her lips, her sniffles and hics often breaking the solemn silence accompanying you two. Ichimaru was not only her lover but a dear friend of yours, so every year you would celebrate the anniversary of his death to honour his liege. 

Warm tears fell from your own eyes once more, your prayers often being interrupted by flashes of the past with him and Rangiku. The past always seemed to come back to haunt you, creeping up on you whenever you least expected it. 

Ding~

Your serene moment was once more suspended by the abrupt noise of the doorbell ringing, snapping you from your haze. You hushed Rangiku to sit back down as she attempted to rise alongside you, indicating that she should continue sitting with Gin whilst you dealt with whoever was at the door. After touching up your appearance to look more presentable by tucking a few strands of hair back and wiping your tears, you gently creaked the maple wood door open.

Your heart sunk, the only feeling that coursed through your veins in that moment being pure rage and embarrassment, having to see him again after yesterday's ordeal.

“What are you doing here.” Hazel irises penetrated your own, a complacent yet irked look staining his face. “Shunsui ordered for me to come here and take my dinner invite from you since you took them home last night.” Aizen's cold and unwelcoming voice greeted you as he loomed over you, his head perking up at the smell of incense wafting throughout his nose. “ You were invited? I severely doubt that.” You scoffed, glaring at him indifferently. “Check the invites and we’ll both see.” You grumble, leaving the door slightly ajar as you made your way back to the couch in the living room to find your bag. Rangiku glanced back up at you to query what was taking so long, but you continued to quiet her and indicate to her nonverbally that it was okay and that she should continue with her prayer. Seeing the cause of Gin’s death on his anniversary was causing you yourself to spiral, you couldn't bear to see her reaction if she saw that murderer on your doorstep.

You fished around the leather bag, until you felt the invites in your palm once again. You brought them out to vision, lifting the laminated sheets up from their place. Shihoin Y/N, Kyouraku Shunsui, Matsumoto Rangiku, Aizen Sosuke- Your eyes must have deceived you. You re-read the last name on the last invitation several times, convinced you may have accidentally become illiterate. You exhaled loudly, muttering incoherently underneath your breath as you took the invite back to the doorway where Aizen was seemingly admiring the intricate woodwork done on your door. His eyes roamed back to yours, the backs of his sepia locks glowing in the noon sun. 

You knew Shunsui could have just asked Hisagi or another one or his guards, yet the illogical man was probably trying to get you two to be on a more friendly base with each other by… making him visit your home? And at the worst time possible, to say the least.

“Leave.” You ordered after handing the invite to him, stabbing the enigma with your harsh leer, highlighting his presence was unwelcome to you. “Is the incense because of Ichimaru’s passing day?” 

You paused while shutting the door, your scowl intensifying as he dared to utter your friend's name out of his hexing lips. “It is none of your business. Leave.” Aizen sighed, pursing his lips as he glanced behind you to see a familiar strawberry blonde advancing towards you, stopping in her tracks as she perceived him. You turned sharply after hearing the tufts of her feet on the carpet, pupils narrowing as you saw her expression. Rangiku and Aizen were caught in an indestructible haze, their eyes battling wars with each other. Yet, you could not understand what either of them were thinking due to the complacent nature of their looks.

Aizen shuffled around his coat pockets, before bringing out a packet of dry persimmons into his palm. “Shunsui asked me to pass these onto you.” A look of shock tainted your face as Aizen slightly hung his head while Matsumoto silently received the packet, bowing and muttering a brief word of thanks. “...Did you buy these because Shunsui asked you to come here and give offerings to his memorial?” You gaped at your companions' bewildering question, eyebrows furrowed with stupefaction as you mentally questioned what she was reaching at. “...Yes.”

“However, I am aware that a place for me here would be… utmost unwelcome.” Aizen responded, eyes scanning the doorframe and the humble nature of your compact home. “Yeah, it would. Please leave.” You butted into Aizen’s statement, ensuring that he felt utmost unwelcome with the way your glare stabbed daggers into him. 

“You may come in.” 

Your jaw sunk alongside your heart, so far into the ground it may have reached the core of the earth after you heard Rangiku’s invitation. You slightly tilted the door closed, giving a sarcastically polite smile to him before you turned to berate your friend. 

“Matsumoto?! What on earth?!”

“If I want to move on, then I should come to terms with the past… This would be a good first step to realising reality and to stop dwelling on what is no longer. And besides, the man came all the way here to give his offerings… How could I turn away a guest.” 

“But-”

“You always go on about honouring your duty. This is my duty. To forgive, and forget.”

You stood defeated at the new Rangiku that shone next to you, hanging your head low as she silently opened the door further to welcome Aizen inside. Sosuke quietly removed his leather loafers, placing them beside the doorway before advancing towards the strong scent of incense alongside you two. You kneeled on the floor once more in front of the shrine, turning to help Matsumoto with the packet of persimmons as she sat beside you, clearly struggling to rip it open. You yourself found it hard to tear open, the stubborn plastic refusing to comply with your sorrowful, grieving hands. 

A smooth, slender hand gently took the packet out of your grip, tearing the plastic open with one swift move before placing it back into your palm. Aizen’s features were deficit of any emotion, and to you it seemed he was simply helping to follow his orders. A man who once reigned free… caged up so easily. It was almost amusing that he was restrained like this after just slightly losing the will in his heart to change the world.

You placed the dry persimmons in their designated bowl, setting up another stick of incense before returning to your reverent pose. A dense silence fell upon the living room, your pupils drifting to occasionally take a peek at Aizen. The man was kneeling down, yet not with his eyes shut like the rest of you. His eyes were fixated tensely on the frame of Gin, the thoughts running through his head perfectly concealed by his indifferent poise. 

You gave a final bow to Gin’s picture, wafting the incense one last time towards you before rising to set up something to eat. After hearing Rangiku’s growling stomach repeatedly interrupting the silence, you could tell she was hardly restraining herself from stuffing all the persimmons and fruits in her mouth. The only reason they hadn’t perished by now is because she wouldn’t dare to take them away from her soulmate…

In the kitchen, you scanned the mahogany cabinet above the sink, searching for some tea to quench your thirst. Your fingers grazed the several packets of brew as you sorted through them, pondering what would attain to both your tastes and the enigma’s. You abruptly halted after discerning the type of tea that was currently at your fingertips.

Hibiscus tea.

You suspired at the fact that you still recognised that specific flavour, your mind still conditioned to associating it with a certain individual. You gently slid the packet out, shutting the cabinet door and taking a few teabags out in your palm.

As you stood by the boiling kettle, trapped in your thoughts, you perceived another figure in the corner of your eye progressing towards you. 

“Hibiscus tea?” Aizen slightly tilted his head as he recognised the brand of brew lying in the three porcelain cups you had set adjacent to the kettle on the counter. You gave a melancholic nod, avidly avoiding contact with his gruelling eyes on this agonising day.

A pensive look greeted yours as you finally glanced upwards, humiliation buzzing throughout you once more as seeing him reminded you of yesterday's events. 

“By any chance did you recall that it was of my taste?” 

You adamantly refused to lock eyes with the man once more as you sharply turned to lift the silver kettle up from the counter, tipping it slightly to gently pour the scalding water into one of the cups. 

“No. It was simply a random choice I made based on what I felt like having today.” You murmured as you set the kettle down, turning to once more re-open the cabinet and bring out the jar of sugar cubes you had set next to the teabags. 

Aizen took a step towards you, the heat from his chest slightly radiating towards your back as his arm reached above you and into the cabinet. You sharply whipped your head around, a raised eyebrow greeting the man as you queried his sudden proximity. Your eyes trailed the direction of his hand, observing as he sifted through the array of tea packets to gently peel a different one out. 

Two fingers then proceeded to remove the hibiscus tea bag out of one of the empty cups, replacing it with the other tea bag Aizen had selected before reaching up once more behind you to place the original tea bag back into the cabinet.

Jasmine tea.

“...Why?” Your eyes widened as you questioned, perplexed at his unexpected movements. 

“...It is bothersome that you undermine my knowledge, Miss Shihoin.”  

His index and thumb reached to clasp the tongs that rested in the glass jar of sugar cubes, placing several cubes into the cup of jasmine tea. Your eyebrows furrowed once more as he took the kettle and poured the hot liquid into the cup, sliding it towards you after he was done.

You reluctantly took the cup, the saccharine scent pleasing your nostrils and causing your mouth to water. It was true that your affinity for jasmine tea hadn’t changed, though, it troubled you that the enigma somehow remembered it and attempted to… use it to prove his authority? his knowledge?

“Knowing what tea I fancy does not change the fact you don’t know anything about me. I hope you are aware of that.” You declared diffidently, lost in a pensive haze as you pondered the reasoning behind his actions.

“Did I not just ask you to not undermine my knowledge?”

Rangiku stumbled into the kitchen after hearing your bickering, her hands still trailing the buddhist rosemary from the shrine as she investigated the ordeal. 

“What's wrong?”

Pangs of guilt stabbed at your chest as you realised you had disturbed her once more from her prayer, your mind rushing to blame the being standing alongside you. Your sworn enemy… offering you a cup of your favourite tea… sweetened exactly to your tastes. It was almost laughable, a cruel joke the universe was trying to play on you.

“Nothing, Ran. I’ve prepared the tea.” 

You nudge Aizen aside, taking the kettle and pouring the last bit of water into the final cup for Rangiku, sliding the jar of sugar alongside the cup resting on a wooden coaster. She took it in her hands, bringing it silently to the living room as you followed closely behind her.

The three of you awkwardly sat opposite each other on the compact coffee table, the only sounds surrounding you being the gentle slurping of your teas and bites of biscuits and amenities you had set out. Had it not been for Rangiku, you would have contemplated slipping some sort of sedative into Aizen’s tea and succumbing him to your own little Muken that you’d make yourself just to trap the thing and get him away from you.

“So… We’re all invited to this dinner thing, right?” 

Matsumoto’s oddly jovial voice shattered the thick silence, causing you both to turn your heads towards her and nod in sync.

“Where is it being held again? I haven’t properly read it.” You inquired the blonde, tapping your nails against the ceramic as you looked elsewhere, trying to recall what was written on the invite.

Rangiku rotates around, taking the pile of invitations off the couch and sliding one into her hand. The laminated sheet wobbled as she steadied it in her grip, clearing her throat as she began to read out its contents. 

“6PM, Sunday night… Urahara… Shōten?”

Your eyebrows creased, a slight giggle escaping your lips. “Urahara's dingy shop? What on earth were they thinking…” You shook your head in disapproval before taking another biscuit and lightly dipping it into your tea.

“I presume he may have actually tidied the basement underneath his abode for once.” A nonchalant voice commented, slightly chuckling at your jab at Urahara before lifting the porcelain cup to his lips once more. 

You observed Aizen’s meticulous motions, each movement seemingly serving a specific purpose as he brought the hibiscus brew up to his nostrils, savouring its scent. You didn’t expect an actual display of emotion from the reserved individual… especially not one of humour towards you. 

The three of you proceeded to engage in slight small talk, occasionally bringing up collegiate topics such as work and your other comrades.

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Three rough knocks on the door interrupted your awkward conversations, the sounds of two mature men outside reverberating throughout the house as you got up to open the door.

“What is taking him so long here- Y/N!”  

A toothy grin greeted you as you creaked open the door, the blinding smile belonging to none other than your friend Shuuhei Hisagi. You shook his hand as you beamed back at him, appreciating the familiar presence. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of the energetic and jubilated man as you pat his shoulder. 

“Shuuhei! So nice seeing you again man. Please, do come inside!” You cheerfully chirped, inviting the sleek, raven haired man inside your home.

“Oh gosh, I’d love to but I have to babysit Aizen… Sorry Shishi!” 

You frowned at him declining your invite, sighing as you realised you couldn’t tear him from his duty. The smell of incense wafted throughout Hisagi’s nostrils, alongside the vast mixture of tea scents. The cogs in his head turned as he recalled what day it was.

“...Gin?” 

You nodded sincerely, tilting the door a bit more to allow a weary Rangiku to greet Shuuhei at the door alongside you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for disturbing you two… I give my sincerest condolences.” Hisagi apologised as he gave a slight bow, causing you to avidly reject his apology as unnecessary. 

The scent of hibiscus brew alongside a gentle vanilla merged as it appeared beside you, the slender man arriving to greet his caretakers at the door. 

“I shall see you tomorrow, then.” Aizen stated, giving one last glance towards you before he faced away to step out of the door.

“And… My condolences for Ichimaru.” 

The three men made their way down the stairs leading up to your apartment, heading towards the familiar Mercedes you had seen before. You waved to Hisagi once more before they stepped into the vehicle, swiftly speeding off after restraining Aizen’s wrists once more. A part of you refused to accept the obvious fib of condolences the murderer gave yet, a minuscule part of you somehow managed to believe that they were sincere. 

You refused to let the latter take reign, slamming the door to halt your oozing thoughts and focus on something else. Rangiku took note of your attitude, understanding that when you began cleaning in silence, you wanted to be left alone. Matsumoto aided you in clearing the burnt incense sticks and setting away the dishes, the running tap being the only sounds exchanged between the two of you. 

“Are you feeling better, Ran?”

She turned to face you, her familiar grin plastered once more on her face.

“Honestly… Yeah. I feel like seeing him again has made me come to terms with it and that it’s no longer the past anymore.”

You were appalled that her mood had not exacerbated but in fact done the opposite, expecting that his presence would evoke painful memories in her once more as it did to you. “That's… good.” You lied through your teeth, feelings of hatred for him still coursing fervently throughout your veins. You glanced towards her hands, perceiving them fumble with the silver ring necklace from her beloved. Once more, you reached to embrace her, squeezing her tight in your arms.

“I’m happy for you, Ran. No matter what.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

[vennilavee]

vi. sword & shield

blood&pearls mlist

wc: 4.1k

summary: you are a curious creature, trying to explore the depths below and the lands above. your curiosity may get you in trouble with a world that you do not understand.

warnings: monsterfucking, blood play, demon sex, mermaid sex, mentions of violence and drowning

a/n: omg it has been almost 2 months since i updated...please accept 4.1k of word during this sukuna-less time...pls rb/comment if you enjoyed!

Despite Sukuna’s protections and charms over this domain, it does not stop others from visiting your lake. Word has spread to the tiny villages on the outskirts of the forest that there was a magical pond where the water was always sparkling and the sun always shone on it.

It’s become something of legend, like the elusive fountain of youth. All you have to do is offer a curl of your lips and a coy look over your shoulder for curious townspeople to come visit you bearing gifts.

You’ve received foreign fruits flowing out of gold encrusted plates- cherries, persimmon, and sweet peaches. Enough for you and enough for the fairies several times over. They come with shining jewels and glittering gems just for one look at you. 

It means nothing to you but nevertheless, you smile sweetly with your fangs bared.

You toss the jewels in the sea, only for them to sink to the bottom where only dead sailors would ever cross paths with the hidden treasures.

The white-haired man comes in the summertime. His hands are empty but bright blue eyes burn into you even as you hide under the surface of the lake. Something about him has you hesitant in your own home, but you’re no coward.

You know he can see you with those striking eyes. Sukuna has told you very little about the jujutsu world, but you know enough now to know what those awful eyes mean for you.

Perhaps you should have taken him up on his offer to stay in the shrine. Instead of being “stubborn” and “bull-headed”, as he had so kindly said to you several evenings ago-

“If you spent more than a second doing anything other than laying bare in the sun, you would understand the dangers of-”

“I do not simply fill my time by laying bare in the sun! I am a thing of many distinct interests.”

“I do not care, girl. You will stay in the shrine until I sort these fools out.”

“I will stay in the water for as long as I wish.”

Trying to busy yourself with lining the shoreline of the sea with your shiny shells, you ignore the gaze of the man you do not know. He watches with several others near the trees, far enough away from you. You hear their whispers, their desire to understand and harness the powers of the sea in their own self-made crusade. The fairies stay hidden as well but you can hear them buzzing softly in the trees, shielding themselves from the sudden influx of strange energy over the course of many moons.

Hues of bright, celestial blue haunt you even as you lurk in the comfort of the murky depths.

Your heartbeat is jarring in your ears as his tongue parts your wanting lips while the air in between you and Sukuna ignites. There is no space between you, not where his chest meets yours or his hand cradles your cheek to face him. There is no space between you, and the rhythm of your breaths nearly makes you combust.

You claw at him with razor sharp nails that manifest from nothing, rivulets of blood running down his back. 

All you listen to is the fervent racing of your heart, the way it sings and roars with each pass of Sukuna’s touch on your glistening skin. You chase the roaring in your ears with more, more, more- arms twisting to reach for him, lips panting for him, body bending to him…

Until he squeezes your throat and murmurs for you to stop.

Smaller hands push against his solid, marked chest to no avail. You try to intertwine your tongue with his and coil yourself around him, desperate for Sukuna to just look your way, give you an inkling of attention.

But he holds you still with a firm hand squeezing your cheeks tightly.

“Stop,” Sukuna says quietly but roughly.

“Why?” you mumble petulantly into his mouth. Your eyes flash red for just a second, the same shade of red as his own eyes.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow and holds you at arm’s length as if he is committing you to memory. Something trickles from his shoulder down his back and to his surprise, he finds blood dotted on his fingers when he reaches behind.

You gasp, lurching forward to reach for him, just to gasp again when you glance at your hands.

“What,” you mutter, “What is this?”

Your nails are long, the same length as Sukuna’s. Painted the same color as Sukuna’s nails as well.

“What magic is this?” you ask again with wide, frantic eyes, “There is this inferno inside me-I need-”

The erratic beating of your heart pierces your ears, leveling your head with a rough buzzing noise. You wonder if Sukuna can hear it. Hear how desperately your heart beats just for a wayward glance, a stray touch of his. Your sharpened nails claw at his skin, bright red blooms emerging with your touch. He barely flinches as rivulets of blood stream down his chest.

His lips are rough against yours as he harshly tries to quell your rising restlessness. Sukuna brings you to his bed, laying you upon it with an unceremonious thump. You reach for him when he pulls away for half a second.

“What have you done to me?” you whisper. It is not an accusation, but merely a curiosity. No man has ever made you feel as if you were the embodiment of a hurricane, raging and unleashing anger and impatience at the rest of the world. He is the eye of the storm, the only burning balm that can simmer you down at this moment.

But Ryomen Sukuna is no common man, as you have come to learn.

Many nights have been spent in this very bed, where he’s bent you over with the strength of ten seas in one hand. You have felt this burning before, the yearning before it takes over your soul completely. When his cocks are slick with your wetness, when all of his eyes are trained on you. 

You had never felt as bare as you did when Sukuna watched cocks sink into your warmth, or when he watched his own cum drip out of you and onto his silk sheets.

Sometimes your magic leaks out and converges with his, twisting and tangling together. Scarlet and midnight meld together as his name escapes your lips in soft, breathy whines.

This time, it’s his back against the cool sheets and your nails digging into Sukuna’s chest as you throw your head back and moan freely into the air. Sukuna holds your hips loosely with his bottom pair of hands. The top pair rises to twist your hardened peaks. It’s as if you feel nothing and everything- his touch is blazing, small flecks of fire lighting up your shimmering skin.

You breathe him in and out. Sukuna is decadent in a way that is comparable to sin, something spicy and delicious sitting right under the artery that slithers up his neck. 

You give Sukuna no opportunity to take control from you- placing his hands exactly where you want them and lacing your fingers through his as you rock your hips against his hardened cocks. You tease yourself, uncaring that you are teasing him as well. 

Sukuna does not miss how your eyes flash red when he attempts to ease his cocks into you. You wish to take your time. To indulge, as he’s taught you to many times in this very bed.

Your teeth bite into his neck with a sigh as you sink onto him as you take a moment to adjust. It is only a moment, just to relish the feeling of being completely, utterly full. A shiver rushes down your spine, your chest heaving as you keep him nestled with your warmth.

The moon shines on your face, making your eyes look iridescent. As if you’ve been possessed by an angel. Or a demon, the one lying beneath you, in surrender to your touch.

You sink your teeth into his chest and sharp fangs pierce skin unforgivingly. You can feel his gaze on you as blood drips down your lips and onto your neck. Tilting your head, you press a hand to his left side, where his heart should be. You apply pressure as your nails, an extension of him, shred the skin there as well.

But you stop and lick your fingers, Sukuna’s blood fresh and ripe on your tongue. 

“Take it,” he rasps, holding onto your wrist tightly. The King of Curses never begs, but for you, it’s nearly on his tongue.

You consider it, allowing your fingers to ghost over the silence of his heart before squeezing down once more. Sukuna groans loudly before repeating the command to you again.

“No,” you reply easily, “Maybe next time.”

Instead, you sink your teeth into his neck once more and the fruit of death is ripe on your tongue. You pull one of his thick digits into your mouth, coating specks of his own blood on his finger with your lips. The vibrations of your hum resonate through him and his hot, sticky cum shoots inside of you.

A moonlit halo covers your head, as if you are a goddess looking down upon him and he is at your altar on his knees.

Sukuna comes to you hours past midnight, when he knows you will be awake and moonbathing on your precious rock. He knows you will be waiting for him with open arms and glistening eyes that contain the depths of the ocean that you come from.

But this time, you’re nowhere to be seen. He can sense your energy, but he just can’t see it.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. How juvenile, playing games and hiding from him when you know that it is futile.

 A gentle laugh and buzzing breaks the silence of the night. It must be those pesky fairies flying around and planting silly ideas in your head.

“Something must be disrupting your thoughts,” comes your voice from far away, but he hears it echo, “It has been some time since the king graced me with his presence, after all.”

“Not long enough, I suppose,” he replies, wading into the water to meet your outstretched arms. 

Sukuna barely takes several strides before you part the water for him to join your embrace. It must be a whirlpool, the way the water spins and suctions you both down deep into the dark abyss.

He blinks to adjust to the sudden darkness but you illuminate the seafloor with your glowing, honeyed eyes and bright green-blue scales. Sukuna has never seen you in your true domain but when you smile at him with sharp fangs and wrap your tail around him, he wonders why you willingly gave up this power.

Only a simple flick of your fingers pulls him closer to you with an unseen force. He understands now. Your heartbeat is one with the heartbeat of the sea.

Not only have you made a home out of the meadow surrounding the water, but you’ve made a home out of the water itself. It is silent here, as if every hidden creature waits for your command. In spite of the darkness, tiny shining corals and flowers live and thrive near the cave at the bottom of the ocean floor that you frequent.

You smile at him with warm cheeks and eager hands before swimming away and letting your tail nearly whip him in the face.

“Don’t get lost, darling. You’re in my domain now.”

Your sweet voice is loud in his head. Sukuna rolls his eyes but follows you towards the cave, nevertheless.

Inside your cave, the air is warm and completely dry. The water does not touch this patch of underwater land, somehow. Perhaps Sukuna does not know as much of your powers as he presumed.

You beckon him forward and gesture for him to sit on the ground, where shells and rocks line the entrance of the cave.

“I am a god,” Sukuna hisses, his eyes flashing, “You demand a god to kneel before you?”

“You have kneeled before me many times before,” you reply easily, “Don’t hesitate just because you exist in my domain. I do not demand you to do anything that you do not already want to do, dear.”

It suffices and he sits beside you as your magic flows and presses against Sukuna’s cursed energy. Dark blue swirls poke and Sukuna’s feet, surging around his broad shoulders and caressing the lines on his face.

You laugh when his own energy wraps and curls around you far more roughly than your magic.

“Come. I wish to show you around my home.”

*****

Time does not pass normally underwater as it passes on land. There must be something cosmic about the tinkering of time here, because Sukuna has certainly made a home in between your legs for the better part of the night. Surely, the sun must be rising in the east by now. But it does not matter, because the only radiance he needs is right here.

His tongue is shiny with your desire, pearls dotted on your lips as a gift to him. The seam of the mouth on his stomach splits open in a menacing smirk to lick your heated skin.

Quiet whines echo off of the walls of the cave, reverberating into the water in waves. Sukuna braces his lower arms against your impatient hips as a furrow forms over your eyebrows.

The image of the dark, thick lines on his face reflects in your opaque, half-lidded eyes. His thumb is warm against your cheek as he drinks you in. Your eyes are different than they are above water- still dark and deep, but sheer. And your pupils have shrunk, barely visible to his gaze. All he can see is a sea of darkness illuminating your eyes.

Sukuna is once again reminded that you are not a fragile human. His fingers are firm on your throat and you tilt your head to the side for him to press down harder.

“You may take me,” you murmur serenely, your smile a song, “I wish to show you something.”

In the caves, your lips and your words are coy and fleeting, much like how you behave when you remain perched up on jagged rocks in the ocean without a care in the world. Waiting for an untoward sailor claiming innocence to come your way.

But you have brought him into the sea, where you glow like the seashells and coral delicately placed at the bottom of the seafloor. With bright eyes and shimmering skin, you do a dance with him. Your tail wraps around, closing around him as golden warmth spreads-

Air does not escape his chest and water does not enter it. Something breathes for him, though he is not sure what.

“Come, follow me,” you say. Except your voice is not spoken, it is in his head. It is… jarring,  as if you have access to the fabric of his brain matter.

Your tail whips around him, parting the water with a force equivalent to a domain expansion. The only thing he can see in the murky waters is the light of your sharp fangs as you beckon him to follow you.

Moonlight glistens on your tail as rays from above pierce through the water. The darkness is illuminated with the blessing of the moon. And in the middle of it all, there you are. Floating, with your eyes fixated on him. Nothing moves here and yet everything moves. In the place where life bloomed at the bottom of the ocean floor all those millenia ago.

Even as you both float downward towards the blue ocean floor, the light shines on you. Making you a beacon in the abyss.

The water wraps around him warmly like a cocoon when you press yourself closer to him. You cup his face with your hands and he is curious when he sees that the skin connecting your fingers is webbed.

Is this the true version of you, with your endless tail? Or is it the version of you on land, with your endless legs? Perhaps it does not matter.

Sukuna hears you in his head. Closer… just a little bit closer…

His lips are on yours in half a breath that he does not need to take, hands dipping down to feel the shape of your tail in his palms. His upper pair of arms wraps around your waist as a hand circles your neck to hold you closer. As you wish.

The breath from his lungs is stolen by you as your fingers brush against his neck, where his skin pulses suddenly. 

“What have you done to me?” Sukuna asks, though no words come out of his lips.

You only smile at him and reply in his mind, “You are able to breathe in the water now.”

The slits on his neck are foreign, but Sukuna pays it no mind. Instead, he chooses to focus on you and presses his tongue to your neck. 

You shiver, a whine escaping your lips. But he hears it.

“This is sensitive for you,” he states, his lip curling into a sneer.

“If you need to ask, then perhaps you should continue.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes and runs his fingers over the slits on your neck. You let out a little moan and he smirks, clearly satisfied. Replacing his lithe fingers with his lips, he grins wolfishly when you press yourself against him immediately.

It’s a rare smile from him, one more animalistic than anything else.

Your tail wraps around him, the tender parts of your fins tickling his thighs and his abdomen. Sukuna does not know where to look- at the slits on your neck, or the larger slits on your torso that are glistening with your wetness, or the way your scales shimmer and move. As if wanting to part for something hidden in the crevices of your body.

Instead, he allows for you to wrap your fins around his cocks and lazily move up and down, up and down, until he is fully erect. You don’t break eye contact but if he was a lesser god, he may shirk at the sheer lust blown in your eyes.

“Does this feel nice for you, Sukuna?”

Sukuna does not have to answer for you to already know the answer, and you both know it. He feels weightless, stood still by the power of time as you stroke his cocks languidly. You pull him in closer to press kisses to the slits on his neck and his hips abruptly buck into yours.

“I do not like surprises,” Sukuna mutters.

He surrenders control to you, surrendering to the foreign feeling that bursts in his chest. He groans in your ear, cocks moving of their own accord. 

“You were made for me,” you murmur, “Are you going to cum for me, darling?” 

He shakes his head, wanting to savor the moment and eyeing the slits on your torso. You seem to understand and shoot him a smug grin. Unraveling your tail from around him, you press yourself closer so that his cocks rub against the silvery slits molded into your skin. You’re unable to stop a sharp moan from leaving your throat as he ruts against you.

The watery friction is nothing that he has ever felt before, and yet it reminds him of the warmth of you when you are laid on his bed and he enters your cunt mercilessly. You are everywhere all at once.

Sukuna impatiently swallows your moans with his tongue and feels his fangs pierce your lips. The drops of your blood are honeyed and savory while his fingers toy with the slits on your neck.

Your eyes are hooded and you pulse with the heartbeat found at the bottom of the sea.

“More, Sukuna,” you mumble, “Faster, want you to cum for me like this, want to see you cum all over me-”

With a sharp gasp, you cum harshly and Sukuna greedily licks your wetness before his own cum lands at the slits of your torso. You look at him curiously, offering him a disarming smile and infinite eyes.

“As I said. You may take me.”

The hidden moon is in the company of a thundering downpour on the night that they come. You are quietly arranging your rocks and your seashells when your ears perk up. Multiple voices and sets of footsteps echo as the sounds carry through the trees. It is jarring in the stillness of the night, and something dark washes over you. 

The fairies look at you urgently, then at each other before immediately skittering away. They tell you to leave, that they have weapons and great powers, greater than you’ve ever seen. But they do not know the ruler of the sea.

And where will you go? This is your home now.

You stay hidden below the lake with your teeth bared, waiting for piercing blue eyes to find you just below the surface where your world splits open.

When you were a child, your mother told you that your magic was divine, given to you by Ryuujin himself. Perhaps her intent was for this knowledge to humble you. Instead, it made you wish for more than just a life in the sea. You wonder if she regrets instilling the belief that you are touched by Ryuujin.

The legends say that every millenia, there is a chosen creature of the sea. One who can unite the warring land and sea, or one who can destroy both.

If Ryuujin chose you for something greater than yourself, something meant to end the maelstrom that contains humans and curses, you cannot bring yourself to care. All you care about is protecting the lands in which you live so that you may continue to live there.

But your protective wards cannot stay up forever, even with Sukuna’s cursed energy to enhance yours.

Perhaps if you were less stubborn, less foolish, you may have seeked refuge in Sukuna’s shrine. Nonetheless, when they come, they come in a blinding blaze of glory in hues of reds and blues and purples. Trying and failing to break down your protective wards.

The power of the white haired clan’s energy nearly surpasses Sukuna’s own energy. You shiver.

Perhaps you will simply drown them instead.

“You should have listened to me, but instead you choose to remain insolent,” the great demon king of these lands says. You expect that anyone else would be fearful to be in his throne room while he speaks to you with death on his tongue and vexation in his eyes. But not you.

“I will not live in fear-”

“You are tempting fate each time a Gojo sorcerer comes your way,” Sukuna seethes, his face only inches from yours, “Do you think that drowning them will be the last of it?”  But you do not back down, sending him a poisonous glare of your own.

“Are you not the king of curses? Won’t you do anything about them?” you taunt him with a smirk.

“They will not rest until they have you,” he hisses, “Them and every other clan-”

“Human matters are of no concern to me! Why should I hide when I have every right to be here as much as them? As much as you?”

“You will get yourself killed for your arrogance.”

You scoff. “You lecture me about arrogance?”

Sukuna forces you to look at him, taking your chin in his large hand.

“You are not safe here. Why do you continue to disobey and stay here?”

“If you have not figured it out by now, then you are just as foolish as the humans you claim to reign over.”

His eyes flash and he drops his hand as if you’ve burned him. His energy angrily rises, swirling around you and prodding your skin.

“If you refuse to accept my protection here, I cannot help you. You are a girl in a world of gods and monsters. Go home, girl. Go back to the sea. ”

There is none of the wordless affection in his eyes that you are accustomed to, only cold distaste and fury. His words are poisonous and you have only heard this level of vitriol pointed at others. Never at you. You pull away from him immediately, feeling your hardening heart sinking to the ground.

You are certain your heartbreak is written all over your face. After all, it is not the first time that you have been devastated by a man.

“You are afraid,” you say softly, “You are afraid that you are not the god you think yourself to be. And you are afraid of me.”

You turn your back on him before Sukuna has the chance to drive the bloody knife further into your spine.

tags: @kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @threadbaresweater @aboveasphodel

[l0velylecter]

can i request headcannons for könig + 141 x reader! who is not in the military? maybe something like they are into arts, wants to live in cottage, have big family? i feel like it would be the opposite of the boys lol

— the men of 141 & könig + a civilian s/o !  characters : simon ‘ghost’ riley, john ‘soap’ mactavish, captain john price, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, könig  fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii tags : gn!reader, headcanons, some mild characterisation for the reader as i’ll put them into civlian professions / give them hobbies and interests  rating : t for teen and up audiences , sfw!

01| If there was one word to describe Soap was that he's supportive. There was the initial worry that he wouldn't enjoy your lifestyle, that you'd be too different from one another. Yet, it doesn't matter to Johnny, even if he doesn't quite understand it. He's the type to enjoy anything his partner likes as long as it makes them happy. So it doesn't matter how busy he gets, he'd always be on the front row of your music recitals, urging the crowd to give standing ovations. And when you take him to museums to see paintings of Rembrandt or Vermeer, he tries his best to listen to every word you say, focused on how your eyes light up with passion. You also enjoy reading to him, running your hand against his scalp as he drifts off to sleep. 

02|  He had doubts about having a life outside the military, most days, Price felt more like a weapon than a man, a loaded gun ready to be recoiled and fired. After years of grueling fights and endless violence, it's hard to picture himself living a quiet and peaceful life. Yet, coming home to you gave him just that. You were both busy, so you would spend months and sometimes even a year apart. Yet the moment he comes home, he'd be all over you — following you around as you roamed your walk-in closet, undressing by the vanity table as he watched in quiet admiration. Once, when you were dozing off against his shoulder, you confessed to dreaming of having a big family. Of children's laughter ringing down the halls and sending them off to school every day. You didn't expect Price to cling to those words. " Someday," He mused, " Someday, love." He was wishful despite everything. And hope suits him. (Husband material, you once complimented, and he got too attached to the word.) 

03| To Gaz, it doesn't matter what you'd be doing as long as you were together. All he wanted was to spend time with you, especially when moments were rare. And so he tries to keep up with your shopping, with all the bags dangling off his arms, taking you out might as well be an endurance test. Although, it does make him happy to see you show off your new bag, clothes, and shoes: nodding along as you explain the design. He'd be cleaning his gun, and you'd be on the other side painting your nails, the scene almost comical. He leaves the bathroom door open so he can still talk to you every morning. Afterward, he'd take the time to drive you to work, hand on your thigh lovingly as he soaks in the joy of doing ordinary, mundane tasks.  04| Dressed head to toe in black, all the farm animals crowded Ghost curiously, and while Simon looked terribly out of place against the lush, green stretch of pasture, the sight was enough to make you laugh. And you were sure he also enjoyed living in the countryside, even with you scolding him every hour about leaving his weapons around the cottage. (You nearly cut a basket of apples with his combat knives, dropping them when you realized where they've been.) If he's not helping you collect eggs from the chicken coop ( returning with a head full of feathers ), he's dozing off by the persimmon tree, the only time you've seen him this close to relaxing. Away from all the commotion and in isolation from any unwanted company, your life was a haven he finally lets himself indulge in, a sanctuary that reminds him to look after himself after every time he fights.  05| At times, König confesses to you that your entire relationship feels like a fevered dream, a silly fantasy he's conjured up in his head because he still cannot believe he's dating you. You assured him that you weren't that big of a celebrity, and he corrected you by pointing out your face on the billboard outside your apartment. He's flattered by all the gifts you spoil him with daily, somewhat flustered as you present to him a tactical watch that probably costs more than a car. Your lifestyles should have been impossible to co-exist side by side, especially when König does not want and cannot afford all of the attention you get on the daily. But apparently, being 6'10 in a balaclava means he doesn't mind being your bodyguard. Most of the time, it was enough to give you the privacy you both wanted, and it still awes him every time he sees you on the television, even on duty, halfway across the world; chuckling to himself when his teammates would point out how beautiful you were — if only they knew.

a/n : hi anon ! thank you for requesting, to be honest, i’ve been dying for someone to request this because i do love me some civilian x cod men content. i didn’t want to add too much specific details as i want to make it as open as possible for everyone to interpret ( i read somewhere that when reader! fics are too specific it ruins the fun because it seems very oc so i’m being very careful to be inclusive <3 ) i hope you enjoy it ! thank you again for the fun idea, hope it lives up to your expectations 💖  additional hc :  → könig probably steals simon’s look and also goes out in a balaclava, simon’s heated and low-key offended ( don’t worry Si, you’re still the og trendsetter )

[ghostherlig]

even more random hcs!!

bc i probably wont be home until after christmas :')

anyway, take more johnrailaoshi bc ive been thinking about them all day-

(if you saw this early no you didnt- im stupid and pressed the wrong button-)

raiden really loves valentine's day bc it gives him extra reason to show his appreciation for the people he loves in his life- he always hand makes cards and folds origami pieces for his bfs to find around the house- he went all out one year and made each of them a jar full of paper stars

johnny and kung lao's favorite holiday is halloween!! they go all out for costumes and always decorate the house to match- johnny even hires smaller actors to dress up and play characters outside with him and lao to have fun with the kids- they have a scare actor section and a section for cartoon characters

kenshi's favorite holiday is christmas!! he doesnt have a lot of fond memories from childhood, but after johnny first asked kenshi to celebrate christmas with him, oh that man was hooked- johnny was happy to see kenshi beam all throughout december, holding warm mugs and wrapped in blankets since the cold always got to him

jax and johnny still have this kind of strange rivalry, esp when kenshi is around- kenshi thinks it's funny bc most of the time it's them trying to out do each other with history facts, but both just end up having a nice convo.... it's the only time kenshi can get paperwork done without headaches

lao and raiden still have mini bets they place with each other all the time- half the time kenshi and johnny find out abt them bc lao brags abt winning- raiden bets poorly on purpose sometimes bc he knows lao likes to win and it only costs him a little..... sometimes he humbles lao, though (the superbowl is the biggest bet of the year for them)

raiden isnt known to swear, but his favorite song is "I Don't Fuck With You" by Big Sean (thanks kung lao) and he can be heard singing the lyrics, uncensored and all, randomly

kenshi can very easily peel or cut any kind of fruit- apples, oranges, pomegranates, persimmons, pineapple, watermelon, anything- if he is handed a fruit and asked to cut it he will and it will be fast and done beautifully

raiden has johnny do his hair!! braids is usually the most common style outside of his bun, but johnny always insists on doing his hair if they're going out-

kenshi has lao help him cut his hair!! lao does his own undercut and knows his way around a buzzer/clippers- the first time lao asked to cut kenshi's hair the swordsman was unsure, but he decided it wouldnt hurt and lao did it perfectly and has done it since

johnny has a cameo on a sooby doo episode!! he somehow convinced them to put him in an episode with the hex girls and it actually was so awesome-

johnny is super good with puzzles- like insanely good- kenshi, lao, and raiden just started getting him those really fancy puzzle boxes for christmas/his bday and he's cracked every single one without fail-

they have board game nights!! monopoly and uno have been banned- but when everyone is over their favorite game to play is 'one night ultimate werewolf'

for several years johnny has done a Santa Livestream on his insta and has donated a lot of money to charities that buy gifts for kids in need as well as done fundraisers to get others to chip in too- he got tomas, syzoth, kuai liang, lao, and raiden to help him keep people entertained on the live- kenshi even agreed to do a "face reveal" if they hit ten million in a day- they hit the goal in six hours

raiden and tomas are actually pretty close as friends- both bond over their combat abilities and their lives in general, and both have dragged the other into different media- now they watch episodes of different series' weekly and talk over the phone about it- their bf's know better than to interrupt them on the phone with each other

lao is the only Only Child in their polycule- raiden has his sister, johnny his brother, and i hc kenshi as having an older sister and a younger brother-

johnny will randomly start dancing, sometimes bc he just has a song stuck in his head, other times bc he just needs to move- his bf's always smile when they catch him- the most extreme move any of them have seen him do is drop into a split

none of them are fond of using their powers for silly or stupid reasons... however, each of them have definitely used their powers in a way they werent supposed to- kenshi has for sure used his telekenesis inappropriately, raiden has used his lightning to cook smth, kung lao has used his force/air manipulation to throw things at ppl, and johnny uses his weird shadow powers (give him his green back ]:) to scare his bfs-

johnny owns the house, bc it's a five bedroom, six and a half bath, super expensive house- it gives each of them their own room and then a shared room with a big asf bed, a nnice kiving room, incredible kitchen, big dining room for guests, a wine cellar, in home gym, etc- literally a second mansion-

as soon as anyone gets sick, raiden makes chicken congee- he got the recipe from madam bo after he told her him and lao were moving to stay with johnny for a while- she was happy to give him the recipe and even showed him how to de-bone a whole chicken for it

johnny is actually so interested in tarantulas- he thinks they look super cool and that some of the colors and patterns are really pretty- if kenshi and lao werent as insect averse he would definitely get one

lao's favorite reptile (after syzoth) is the arabian sand boa (pls google these guys, they're adorable-)

kenshi really loves reptiles and has always wanted a leopord gecko or a hognose snake- but he fears not having enough time for one with work and his bf's

johnny very lovingly refers to raiden as his wife after kenshi made a joke abt johnny "wife-ing" him by making him his favorite meal- raiden always gets flustered bc johnny is very open abt opening an LLC with them all as a kind of "poly marriage loophole"-

they all have jewelry that they wear as sort of "promise" jewelry that they almost never take off- johnny has his silver bracelet/band, kenshi has a steel ring, raiden has an anklet, and lao has a necklace

johnny, to his personal assistant and manager, refers to his bf's as "The Council" and always answers scheduling questions with "i'll have to consult with The Council"- it's rubbed off on the other three which has to led to raiden telling liu kang he cant give him a firm answer bc he has yet to "speak with The Council" (liu got flashbacks to "I Must Consult With the Elder Gods-")

johnny makes the worst jokes abt US tragedies- the jfk assassination is his personal fave bc he knows he can mess with kenshi with it- "it blows my mind that you can be so childish, cage-" "yknow who else got his mind blown-" "JOHNATHAN CARLTON-"

lao still has his first chakram hat and it's hung up in the mansion living room- all of them will stare at it or remember it's there and think back to lao telling the story of his Inspiration (thanks bi han)

raiden really loves smoothies, especially mango- he will down a mango smoothie if you hang him one-

johnny has all kinds of videos on his phone of all of them doing stupid shit- his favorites are one of kenshi drunkenly eating takoyaki out of the fridge, turning to face the camera with his cheeks full- one of raiden mumbling "i dont fuck with you" under his breath, panning to lao and kenshi who look at raiden like he just vacuumed their hamster- and one of lao dancing for a good minute, really, really well, just to trip at the very end and scream-

johnny has a lot of those videos and goes through them whenever he misses his bf's

raiden will send videos of cats playing or napping together and caption them "us" and send them to whoever or to the gc- all of his bf's always melt and go to find him and give him a kiss if they're in the house together or they'll send back a little emoji if they're apart

you'd think johnny is the worst but kenshi is the most overdramatic abt not getting attention- like "my husband is off to war" levels of dramatic- lao had to get up to use the bathroom and kenshi sighed like a sickly victorian, put his hand over his forehead and monologued until lao came back- he does the same to raiden and johnny, always "why has my love left me?? i am always abandoned by my dearest... beloved, where have you gone? why have you forsaken me??" "i need to pee, ken-" "am i so unimportant?? so easily forgotten???? so unloved??????" "🙄✋️ okay-"

johnny isnt as dramatic but he does pout and sigh and sometimes follow his bf's around until they love on him a little- johnny needs the little pick-me-up's but kenshi normally waits until he needs a full battery recharge

the four of them talk shit like there's no tomorrow- you do not want to be on the recieving end of their judgemental staring- each of their side eyes alone could kill someone, all of them together??? good fuckin luck-

johnny is mesmerized by the snow- kenshi, raiden, and lao all grew up with it, but johnny isnt used to it since he was born and raised in CA and enjoys the sunny weather- so when kenshi or lao and raiden take him to japan or china during the snowy season he's always so excited- the other three love it bc his cheeks get so pink in the cold

raiden gets super flustered when one of them gives him affection and attention, but all three are evil and will pile affection and attention on him to watch him squirm and act all shy- raiden loves it but also knows to tell them when he's overwhelmed

lao knows all of his bf's humor and how to make them laugh- johnny and kenshi laugh at lao's darker jokes- johnny especially likes anti-jokes- raiden likes puns and "a ____ walked into a bar-" type jokes- kenshi also cant help but laugh at people doing stupid things and kenshi and raiden laugh together at children falling- (older sibling moment)

raiden gets super lovey sometimes and will write out in letters how he feels about his bf's and slide them under their doors- all of them have a drawer or folder or smth that stores all of the letters

lao is the only one with a real sleep schedule- he's a morning person and goes to bed by 10 almost every night- raiden tends to get distravted watching tv, and kenshi and johnny tend to overwork themselves and work into the night and wee hours

sleep is usually tough for all of them anyway (lao takes melatonin to be asleep early) bc of all that they've seen and experienced- they all like congregating in their shared room to sleep together but sometimes they go off to their own rooms when they need/want the privacy or peace

that's all for now- wishing everyone a happy holidays!! <333 hopefully im back home soon :') also pls excuse any typos, it is 2 am-

[helloescapist]

I'm Home | Gyomei Himejima

Word Count: 697

Setting: Gyomei Himejima x gn!reader (established/modern relationship)

Content Warnings: SFW, just fluff

Summary: having given up a day off from your sweet partner in the hopes of adding to your savings, you return home tired and weary, welcoming Gyomei's embrace.

A/N: there is just not enough Gyomei content, and you cannot convince me--- he would not greet you with the best snuggles.

Leaves tumbled across the sidewalk, toyed upon the step of stones to your home. Greeted the veranda covered by the shade of the day. Leaves tumbled across your home danced across one another, playfully entranced in one another’s company. The weariness of your feet heavy from a long day’s work revealed upon the sight of your shared home.

The events of the day drawn to a close, you had intended with all of your heart to curl up with your lover, snagged by a book you had been longing to read. To enjoy a quiet day at home snuggled into your giant. Snack on Gyomei’s cooking, he had been hinting at tasty treats inspired by the autumn season, the addition of chestnuts, persimmons, and sweet potatoes had not escaped your notice in the last grocery trip. If anything, it was further proof of how you had been robbed. The exhausting reminder of how you had intended to spill your day bearing on each thought. You had been called in on the weekend, your manager’s number spread across your phone screen plummeting all hopes of an enjoyable day. Allowed the exhaustion to escape your lungs, before being lulled in with the promise of bonus pay. Bid farewell to the ideal day spent at home curled into Gyomei’s arms as you placed a kiss at his brow. Allowing him the rare opportunity to sleep in before sneaking away to feed the corporate monster. You knew, with all of your heart that he would understand. He was if anything, a giving man. With the promise of adding to your savings, he would appreciate your efforts, but knew that the tender giant would fret over your health. Himejima. Not that his concerns weren’t well placed, the extra hours had worn on you, added into your already extensive work week, alongside the crunch of numbers, and the obvious agitation of peers who had been called in as well, it had been a terrible day. You shouldn’t have answered your phone. The touch of leaves playfully teased upon the small chill that traveled down your spine. The puff of your breath into the diming light, warmed your cheeks and called attention to how cold the hours had drawn. Autumn.  The touch of your home alit in the fading hours. Warm and tender, welcoming the fading of the day. The leaves that rustled across the veranda, danced upon aged would. Whispered to the late hour. Intertwine as lovers caressing one another. His warm smile comforting to your heart, whispering reassurance as the weariness of your bones settled with his gentle voice, “welcome home.”

                Rest setting on your shoulders. Allowing the bag to drop from your shoulder, your shoes to slip from your toes as you dragged your form across the porch. The affectionate smile touched upon his lips, the drop of long thick eyelashes. His large form almost humorous in the way he welcomed you home so similar to the housewife next door, the ends of his onyx hair bearing resemblance to the cat nestled into his lap. The depth of tan skin as fresh as the soil of the earth. The touch of his cable knit sweater beneath your fingertips as you urged his embrace. Guided his hands to you, giggling at the cutesy motifs a starch contrast to his demanding presence. The distinct mewl of disappointment, drawn from obvious annoyance, and perhaps jealousy as it was ushered from Gyomei’s lap. You draw into his embrace. The curl of his large frame quick to captivate your back. Provide you warmth from the escaping day. Wrapped you into his arms, and eased all the burdens of your duties, whispered affections and soothed the ends of your hair under calloused hands. The sweet smell of chestnut clinging to his sweater revealing how he had prepared sweets for your arrival. Thought of you throughout the hours of departure. Melting into his touch, savoring the sweet scent that perfumed his sweet reassurance. The touch of mugs at his side, revealing his kindness. Allowing yourself to be threaded into his lap, leaned against his large shoulder, hummed against his throat. Welcomed home with warm apple cider.

                “I’m home.”

[scorndotexe]

i think. i need an actual break

[seo8inn]

Don’t let me go | Minghao

She was still the same stupid girl she was back then. In the face of this boy — man, she still felt weak in the knees. She knew it: her heart had always ever been his.

SHE hadn’t really expected to see him after. Not for a few years, at least. It was better not to hope.

And she was right. Though she’d watched and admired the person she always knew XU MINGHAO would grow to be on TV screens (glittering, bright, bigger than life), she felt like she’d lost that part of him that was always only ever hers. The boy (rather than the man,) who smiled at her under the summer sun and the way his cheeks had become flushed like persimmons.

So when she sees him now, it’s a little bit strange. It makes her giddy, really. Half of its anger, but for the most part it’s desire. He smiles, eyebags under his eyes. “It’s been a long time, Ying.”

She hates his tone and the way his smile looks polite and practiced. She feels like he’s still an ocean away. Although he looks the same, she couldn’t reach out to touch him. (He doesn’t really belong to her anymore.)

She gives him a small smile. They talk for a bit, walking along the streets, mostly polite ‘How’ve you been doing’s and ‘I’ve been fine’s. Here’s what she realised: there wasn’t really anything left to talk about anymore. Not about school. Not about life, because his life was now so vastly different and bigger than she could ever really comprehend. (As we grow older, we grow apart)

And then it’s funny, because it hits her, and she begins to tear. Like, fully, tears falling from her eyes. Concerned, he stops in front of her, leans forward to push her hair back and wipe her tears away, which would have made her fifteen-year-old heart melt into lovesick puddles.

(She wonders if he ever knew how he made her feel through these seemingly simple gestures he always did. She wonders if he always knew and did them anyway. It hurts to think about.)

“Hey, what’s wrong? You can always talk to me…”

But she really couldn’t, because how was she meant to tell him to go back to Korea and leave her alone, and how she’d just let go of him, and how she hated him for ruining things for her like that, and that after all these years, he still looked at her with such intensity she had to look away, and that she’s never really moved on, not really. She was still the same stupid girl she was back then. In the face of this boy — man, however much he’d changed, she still felt weak in the knees. Her heart had always ever been his.

—

“You’ve changed, you know.” He laughs, and her heart sinks. She’s upset. Because she had changed. And some part of her wanted him to know it. That she wasn’t the simpering fool he’d left behind. But then again she didn’t. Didn’t want him to see her, to look deep enough at her to be able to tell. (For that would mean he’d probably be able to see through the other things she tried to hide.) For the most part, she hated herself for being so concerned with what he’d think of her in the first place.

She was older now. Old enough to know not to want him anymore. She was old enough to know that he would always be out of reach, or understand that he had left her! And that was awful, and that she should hate him, really. But she was also old enough to know she couldn’t. That her foolish heart still remained the same, even after all these years, after all this pent-up resentment.

“Don’t we all?” She says. There’s some hate and yearning laced in her tone. It’s so bitter and sweet. And of course he saw right through it all, always so much smarter, always one step ahead. She hated it.

“Why do I feel like you’ve got something against me, kid?”

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Simon the Zealot | Right Place, Right Time | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: “I don’t know what to say, or do.” 

After decades of being left in the dark about his fate, you reunite with your childhood sweetheart under the least expected circumstances. 

Requested by Katie

Ramah is engrossed in her reading as you take slow, deliberate sips of your drink, legs folded underneath you as you sit in the shade of the tent. The days have been slow but you have been managing well enough, making yourself useful by gathering herbs and fruits as well as supporting the women in their endeavours. You admire Ramah’s eagerness to learn how to read and write, for you personally haven’t found the courage to pick up either a scroll or a pen yet. Perhaps that one day, you’ll feel brave enough to give it a go, although you are fully aware that you aren’t getting any younger. 

 Mary enters the tent, wondering out loud how Ramah is doing.

“How is it?” 

She takes a seat on the opposite side of the table. 

“It’s hard work.” admits Ramah, “How old were you when you learned this?” 

You look at the woman in question, also wondering about this. 

“I was young.” Mary states. “I think it’s easier when you’re a child, but I had a better teacher than you.”

There is truth to the statement that things are always easier to learn when done in the prime years of childhood, when minds maintain information like a sponge, but you feel like she is cutting herself short on the latter part of her sentence. 

“I’m sorry about before.” Mary apologises about something that you weren’t part of, so you aren’t certain what is going on.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ramah reassures, but Mary is adamant about it.

“I just feel, um… I don’t know, I… I saw a Roman on horseback today when I was picking persimmons.”  Her brow furrows, obviously troubled, and concern tugs at your heart as you lean closer to her. You have heard about her past and what trauma it had prompted within her.

“Did he question you?” you ask before Ramah can. Mary shakes her head. 

“No… He didn’t even see me… But just the sight of him made me…” she hesitates, “Filled me with…”

When she doesn’t find the right words to say, Mary lets her shoulders slump. “I just dropped my basket and ran. Totally ignored the prayers in my hands.” There is distress in her expression.

“This is hard. Not just the readings.” Ramah says, and it somewhat seems to lessen Mary’s tension as she inhales deeply through her nose, lifting her chin a bit. 

“Do you want to try again?” Mary smiles a little. 

Ramah needs a moment to gather the courage before grabbing her things to start a new reading exercise. As she does so, Mary’s face twists into a grimace. The woman reaches for her forehead as she frowns, rubbing her brow. 

“What’s wrong?” Ramah’s concerned voice sounds. “Mary?” 

You reach over to a distressed Mary in the hopes of comforting her, when a strange noise tears through the surface of the tent. 

“What’s that sound?” 

As you witness Mary’s sudden change of mood, you realise that something is seriously wrong. The three of you rise to your feet, Ramah already exiting the tent as you help up Mary, Thomas and Matthew soon joining you right outside. 

“What’s that sound?” Mary is clearly agitated, her body tense. 

“Are you okay? Mary?” Matthew worriedly queries. 

Before she can respond, a strange man rushes from between the tents, back straightened in an unnatural way. Ramah squeals. Your heart rears inside your chest as he sharply pivots to you and your friends, a strange sound tearing from his lungs. Out of protectiveness, Thomas holds a blunt knife out in the unwanted guest’s direction. “That smell…” The dishevelled looking figure says it with such venom in his voice that it makes the hairs of your neck stand on end. “It’s on all of you, but worse! Putrid!”

“Don’t come any closer.” Matthew bravely warns, stepping in front of Mary. The man smirks mockingly. Mary brushes past the former tax-collector, attempting to appear confident.

“…Lillith?” the man whispers.

Mary narrows her eyes and steps closer. “I don’t answer to that name.” 

The man dangerously hums. “Hmmm… They told me about you.”

“Did they?” 

“All seven of them.” The man nods.

“My name is Mary.” You’ve never seen her in this way. “It was always Mary.” 

The stranger’s arms flex at his sides.

“Oh, the stories they had.” He approaches her, huffing in mocking amusement. “You’re scared.” 

Mary closes more distance. “What’s your name?” she whispers, so softly that you nearly don’t catch it. You share a look with Ramah, who is equally as confused as to what is going on. 

“Belial, spawn of Oriax, fifth knight of Legion.” A chill runs down your spine as it suddenly clicks inside your mind — this is a man possessed by demons. He grins wickedly at Mary, who shakes her head.

“What’s your real name?” 

The man’s muscles seem to convulse inside his neck as he grits his teeth, grinding them together as if everything inside of his being is battling his nature. “That smell, it’s on all of you!” 

“What did your mother call you?” Mary determinedly insists.

He clasps as his throat, his lips trying to form the words. “C-Cal… Cal—” He exhales, suddenly straightening his back. A smug look appears on his face, as if taken over once again. “Can’t say.” He chuckles darkly. 

“Please say your name.” Mary pleads. 

The man steps forward threateningly, ready to reach for her, grab her collar and push her to the ground, when a sudden force collides with his back. Another stranger yanks him away from her, making the demon-possessed man stagger and grunt. A dagger shimmers in the sunlight — curved, sharp, lethal. 

“Leave.” The man with the dagger commands. Something about his shoulders and the way his hair curls strikes a strange chord of familiarity within you. The possessed man sits on his hands and knees, crawling towards his assailant. He darkly chuckles, as if about to say something. It’s enough to make the unexpected rescuer to be caught off-guard and is tackled to the ground with a force that can’t be coming just from the measly bones of the haunted man. 

As the weapon is flung from his hand, the stranger who pulled the possessed man away from Mary immediately rolls and reaches for it, but to no avail. They struggle in the dust for a brief moment before the possessed man’s hands close around his throat, putting inhumane pressure onto it. The rest of you are frozen in shock; Thomas is still holding the knife in the direction of the fight, as if it would make a difference. 

“Out!” Your hear His voice before you see Him. Jesus rushes towards the scene together with Simon, Andrew, Philip and John the Baptist. “Out of Him!” The Legion listens without a second of hesitation, the stranger’s back arching as his head is thrown backwards. It seems like a painful process as he collapses next to the man who had rescued Mary earlier. Out of breath, he staggers away from the now-limp figure laying next to him. 

A beat of intense silence passes. Everyone’s gaze is fixed upon the trembling form of the formerly possessed man. John the Baptist — in typical John fashion — cheers. “Yeah!” It would have been amusing under other circumstances, but everyone is so in shock about what has taken place, that all faces remain serious. Jesus slowly approaches the quivering man, putting a hand on his shoulder to help him turn to face Him. “It’s alright. Welcome back.” 

They share a few words whispered too softly to be heard by you. Your gaze is instead focused on the man who had pulled the possessed man away from Mary, trying to figure out where you recognise him from. Jesus pulls the formerly tortured man, apparently named Caleb, to his feet as John curiously steps closer to the man with the dagger.

“When did you pick up the Zealot?” he asks Jesus. Your heart drops. A Zealot? You are immediately on edge, fully aware that assassins are bad news. The supposed Zealot is still out of breath as John offers him his hand. “I’m John.” 

Without tearing his gaze away from Jesus, the Zealot gets to his feet. There is something akin to awe in his features now that you get a closer look at him. Those eyes. You’d recognise them everywhere, and now that you get a proper moment to drink him in, you realise who it is. Simon.

You don’t dare break the moment between him and Jesus, though. Simon’s gaze is watery as he gazes upon Jesus. 

“Did You heal my brother in Jerusalem?” 

Jesus smiles, and you feel a large gawk spread over your face, your hand covering your mouth as you realise he’s talking about Jesse. “Rabbi?” 

“Yes.” 

Simon takes a moment to breathe, his face twisting into raw emotion. “Then You are…” 

“Yes.” 

“And then where are your ah…” 

“They’re right here.” Jesus gestures at the rest of the group as Simon takes it in. His eyes flicker through the unassuming, ragtag crowd of followers. “Not the fierce warriors you pictured by My side when you were in the catacombs?” 

Simon chuckles at that. 

“There are more who are not here at the moment. Let’s go for a walk, Simon, son of Zebulon.” 

Before Jesus can walk off with him, though, you call out his name. “Simon of Ashkelon?” He freezes and slowly turns to you, wondering how you know his origin. He hadn’t observed you properly when taking in the followers a few moments prior, so when he now takes a good look at you, recognition floods his features.  

“(Y/n)?” he realises in a whisper. Simon looks at Jesus, then back at you. The Messiah smiles knowingly. “(Y/n), how are you here? Why— What—”

Jesus cuts the conversation short.

“—You two catch up later. I need to speak to Simon, first.” Then, Jesus gives the rest a few tasks to take care of Caleb, who is still injured and hungry due to his earlier possession. “Boys, tend to his wounds. Thomas, go get him some food. Ramah, check on Mary, please.”

They all nod as Jesus leads away Simon. Your mind is racing with a thousand questions as he gives you one final look over his shoulder before following your Rabbi. Had John’s suggestion be right, that he was indeed a Zealot?

“You two seem to know one another.” Ramah is stating the obvious but you don’t sense irritation because of the statement. You stare at Simon and Jesus as they disappear into the distance with a solemn expression on your face, all the memories from the past suddenly flooding back and settling deep inside your chest.

“We do.” you confess, “We were childhood friends back in our hometown Ashkelon. His older brother, Jesse, fell from a tree when he was young and got paralysed from the waist down. In our younger days, we played together a lot, and when we were teenagers, well… I thought we would end up together, and I believed that he felt the same way. Then one day, he was just gone. Not a single message left behind for me. Nothing. And now I hear that he might have become a Zealot?” There is unresolved hurt in your voice that seeps through before you can even realise it has formed on your tongue. Ramah puts a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezes upon hearing the pain you are clearly still feeling. “And now, he is here. What is going on?” 

“I’m sure he will tell you in due time,” Ramah comforts you, “Let him speak to Jesus first. I’m confident he will come to you next. Now, I’m going to see if  Mary is okay.” 

You nod, nervously picking at your nails as you start pacing back and forth. You are still trying to make sense of Simon being here, what brought him to this place and what caused him to weep before Jesus the moment he saw Him, and what the deal with Jesse is.

Although convinced that Simon will tell you, you still feel a bit anxious to speak to him again in private after such a long time. 

After what feels like forever, the two walk back into camp. Simon walks up to you right away. There is an obvious uneasiness in his gaze, as if he has been caught doing something he hadn’t been supposed to do, or if you were his mother about to chastise him. “We need to talk.” There is a sternness in your voice that only intensifies this expression. 

“Shall we go somewhere more private, then?” he suggests, which you agree upon. The two of you head over to a more secluded area just outside of the camp, hidden away by the trees. A log lays on the ground on which the two of you take a seat in an attempt to make this unexpected reunion a little more comfortable. Turning to Simon, you take a deep breath before speaking.

“So, you are a follower of Jesus now, I take it?” 

He smiles and rests his hands on his knees. “I am. And you are, too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.” 

You let out a pleasant hum at that. A brief silence follows.

“I was convinced I was never going to see you again.” you admit.

Simon lets out a noise. “Likewise, (Y/n). Especially here, with Jesus. What landed you with Him?”

“I heard accounts of miracles and decided to check their reliability. I suppose I got more than what I bargained for.” You smile a bit at the memory, which is definitely a good one. Your childhood friend lets out a small hum as he observes your expression, feeling his heart swell upon seeing it.

“How about you? All these years ago… What happened?”  

“I left Jesse a note. Didn’t he tell you?” 

You give a shake of your head. Simon draws a sharp breath, realising his brother wanted to protect you from the hurt that you’d have felt, had you known what he had been up to in these past years of his absence.

He gives you a look — apologetic? — and scratches his jaw in a bit of an awkward manner, as if nervous to admit something. 

“I… Ran away, as you know. To… To train and get stronger.”

“Did you… Did you really join the Zealots?” 

Simon swallows hard, shame shimmering inside his gaze as he gazes at you. You had deserved to know earlier. He should have told you in person, for it would have saved you a lot of hurt.

“Yes.” He whispers. “I did indeed join the Zealots of the Fourth Philosophy. I… I hope you will not hate me for it.”

You feel the colour drain from your face. Now, the supposed implication has been confirmed by Simon himself. The man you had been heartbroken about had left to become an actual assassin? A murderer? It takes a moment to gather your thoughts. Simon waits patiently for you to speak first. About a minute passes before you find the courage to open your mouth again.

“You joined the Zealots…” you whisper, running a hand down your face as your voice teeters on disbelief. 

“The Zealots. You became an assassin? Really? That was the reason you left— The legacy you risked it all for?! Do you know how devastated Jesse was when you left—” 

“I know, I know, I— I’ve never killed anyone, but when I visited Jerusalem I found out that Jesus—”

“—Do you know how devastated I was?” 

You don’t mean to raise your voice, but it happens nevertheless. Unannounced tears suddenly roll down your cheeks, causing Simon to have to resist the urge to reach out and brush them away. 

“When you left, you never let us know anything. You never wrote— We didn’t even know if you were alive in the first place! Turns out you were learning on how to be a killer…!” 

The heartbrokenness in your voice seeps through and Simon feels guilt shunt through his chest. 

“Jesse moved to Jerusalem with the help of some friends from the village. My father died while I was out there just— Just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and you never returned!” 

“You waited for me?” Simon’s voice wavers as you swallow the lump in your throat — or at least attempt to — and you give him a soundless nod, averting your gaze as you suddenly feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. 

“I know you didn’t owe me anything, but I just… I thought we… You know... That we would eventually end up…” you can’t finish the rest of your sentence without tearing up too much, and let out a shaky breath to keep yourself from bursting out in tears. All these years of worrying, paired with the loss of your father, your silent hope for him to return; all its weight came crashing down at once into a strange concoction of grief and heartbreak about something that you had so desperately wanted but never was. 

“I’m sorry— If I had known…” Simon sounds deflated, as if he has just been hit with a truth that had been in front of him all along, and he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “Honestly, (Y/n), I don’t know what to say, or do. All that I know that I should have realised all of this way before I joined the Zealots, and… Well, now that we follow Jesus… That changes everything, doesn’t it?” 

You wipe your tears on your sleeve as you overthink his words. You let your eyes focus back on his facial features since it had become blurred by your tears. There is a certain softness in his features that you have never seen before — not even in your childhood — and you wonder if meeting Jesus has had anything to do with it. You’re know that ever since Jesus, nothing has ever been the same for you, either. 

“It does.” you mutter, your pain ebbing away slowly. “Everything that matters now is Him.” 

“Would things have been different if I hadn’t left?” Simon wonders out loud.

“Do you really need to ask?” 

Simon sighs. He already knows the answer. 

“What we should be wondering instead…” you whisper, “Would it have led us both to Jesus, had things been different back then? Had you remained, would Jesse have gone to Jerusalem and met with the Messiah? Would you have believed, Simon, if not for all of that?” 

A brief silence follows as he lets the words hang in the air. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. The circumstances put me in Jerusalem, about to assassinate a Roman senator, right where I witnessed Jesse standing on his own feet after decades of being paralysed. I can’t say for certain what would have happened if I had not joined the Zealots. Not to condone it, of course. I… In my note, to Jesse… I said that I would know that if I saw him standing on his feet again, I’d know that the Messiah had come… Lo and behold… I had to keep my word. Jesse needed to be there to meet Jesus, and I needed to be there to meet Jesse.” 

You can’t help a shiver of a smile from spreading over your lips.

“You know what, Si?” you mutter, “Perhaps we would have reached this point right here and now even under different conditions, but still… God has turned both our paths in His direction, and Jesus has called us by name to follow Him. We are right here, right now, right where we are supposed to be.” 

“I hope and pray you can forgive me, (Y/n). I understand if not, that I’ve hurt you too much to deserve such a thing, and that I—” 

“I do. I already have.” you whisper. Grabbing his hand, you squeeze it softly. He returns the gesture before releasing it. The same thrill you always felt while he was near in your youth is still there. That never changed. “Jesus wants you here. He asked you the most important question of your life and you answered positively. That means that I want you here, too. Regardless of what you did in the past.”

Your genuine smile has Simon sigh in relief. He opens his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but he decides against it. When you urge him on by giving him a look, he gives you a smile that is almost rueful, his eyes shimmering with something you can’t quite place. 

“It’s too early to ask. Unfair, too.” 

Your heart stutters. “To ask what?” 

Simon lets out a shaky breath. “I… Seeing you again after such a long time, it’s like… It feels like we’ve never been apart. I’ve… I’ve missed you a whole lot while I was gone, and I never expected to meet with you again, but here we are… And… Well, I feel… I feel that suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense in life. Not only with Jesus, but also that I’m finally face to face with you again.” 

He seems a bit abashed upon admitting it, “Back in the day, I was very sweet on you. I just never gathered the courage to confront my own feelings and discuss them with you. I guess that what I’m trying to get is, is that… Do you think, that after all this time, and I understand if not… Do we still have a chance? That things… May work out between us, despite all of this?” 

“Despite all of this?” you parrot, “Really? I’d say… I’d say especially because of this, Simon. I think we are both here for a reason, that we meet again under these new circumstances that neither of us expected. That God made us wait. For here. For now. But…” 

Something anxious crosses his gaze — an expression you’ve hardly ever seen on him — so you quickly give Simon a reassuring smile. “But now, we should focus on Jesus first and foremost. We will still wait for God’s timing when it comes to a potential marriage.” 

Simon exhales, agreeing with your words. “I… Yes, that should be our main goal. And whatever else may come of it, it will come once the time is right.” 

You hum and smile, something akin to amusement glittering in your eyes, and Simon gives you a curious look. “What, what’s so funny?” 

“Well, I’ve waited for decades. I think I can wait for a few more years if necessary.” 

At that, Simon chuckles, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. 

This day and age, here and now. Both of you are right where you are supposed to be.  

[masodemic]

[Eroica Musical Rant] The Case of the Missing Caesar Gabriel and the Character Assassination of Tyrian Persimmon

(Series masterlist)

When the Eroica Stage Show Twitter began announcing their casting choices, there was one in particular that shook an entire fandom: Tyrian Persimmon.

Or rather, it wasn’t so much about who played him, and more about the fact that he is played. Although Tyrian is the protagonist of El Halcon and Nanatsu no Umi, Nanatsu no Sora, by the time of Eroica, Tyrian is long dead and almost entirely forgotten, save for a very flattering portrait.

And that’s all Tyrian ever is in Eroica: a gorgeous painting, a MacGuffin. He, as a character, plays no role at all in this story. So why, for the love of Aoike, is there an actor playing Tyrian? For about a month leading up to the performance, my Eroica discord was confused and concerned as to wth they would use Tyrian for. Like is he going to pop out of the painting and sing? Are they trying to ride off the success of the Takarazuka Revue’s El Halcon?

After having watched the full show and spent sleepless nights contemplating, turns out the answer has to do with a character we’ve all sorta forgotten about as a fandom: Caesar Gabriel.

Caesar Gabriel

If you remember reading Eroica for the first time, you might remember that the first chapters were told from the perspective of and in relation to Caesar Gabriel – super-genius university professor at age 18, Art History expert, who's extremely frail, innocent and naïve. It was through Caesar that we as the audience were introduced to the fascinating specimen that is Dorian Red Gloria AKA Eroica. Who takes an interest in him, and whisks him away in a dramatic – illegal – fashion before letting him go, already hopelessly in love.

In the second chapter, Iron Klaus, it was due to Dorian’s effort to bargain and rescue Caesar from Klaus that they end up with a tank on their tail. Thus, beginning Dorian and Klaus' enemies-and-lovers relationship. Afterwards, Caesar is never seen or mentioned again.

So, although Caesar Gabriel might have been written purely as a functional character, his role is important in those chapters.

Caesar fills the role of the proxy through which Dorian is introduced in all of his … Gloria? By using a second-person point-of-view, Dorian first comes off as mysterious, unpredictable, and almost other-worldly. Audiences get to see Dorian’s IMPACT first, and it draws them in to this wildly charismatic character before diving into him in later chapters and arcs.

By removing a functional character, the musical has to compensate the plot-holes that the character filled. And they did that, by reviving Tyrian Persimmon from the painting. But hey before any Tyrian stan gets too excited, they gave him the personality of Caesar Gabriel. Let me tell you why this is bad.

First of all, because Caesar is the POV for the 1st chapter of the manga, it’s almost impossible to reconcile his absence. So, they skipped it. Which … fine, whatever. The big issue, though, comes up in Dorian’s plan to get the 2-in-1 painting.

In the second chapter, Iron Klaus, Dorian and Klaus meet for the first time and decide that they despise each other. Klaus refuses to sell Dorian The Man in Purple. So Dorian, being Dorian, decides that if he can’t obtain it the legal way, he has no qualm with obtaining it the illegal way. Sensing that Dorian might try something, Klaus orders tight-knit security to protect his family’s cultural treasure. Which Dorian and his gang manage to by-pass by mingling into the security unit and filling every room with sleeping gas. Eroica’s first heist is resounding a success.

However, Klaus still has “custody” of Caesar, and he calls Dorian to demand an exchange of “hostages,” to which Dorian gives his verbal agreement. On the day, though, tension is high, and Klaus begins suspecting the unknown guard stationed around the premise. Another guard rushes over and yells that the first one is Eroica, and in the commotion that ensues, the actual Eroica – revealed to have disguised as the second guard – grabs Caesar and speeds off in his red Lamborghini. Eroica’s second heist is a success – for now.

With the removal of Caesar, the plan becomes convoluted. In the musical, Dorian - using the strategy from the first heist - disguises himself as an art appraiser. With every agent out of sight, he fills the room with sleeping gas, which knocks Klaus out. Dorian, James and Bonham take the painting and drive away, feeling victorious.However, he quickly discovers that the painting is a fraud intended to trick him. Hence, Eroica’s first attempt is a failure.

He makes a U-turn - using the strategy from the second heist - disguises himself as a security guard, frames another as fake and steals the real painting right in front of Klaus and his agents. An extremely flimsy patchwork of the second heist, that also makes Klaus’s unit and instincts look slow and weak.

While in the manga, the structure of Iron Klaus is as follows:

Attack (1st heist) => bargain => attack (2nd heist) => to retaliation (tank)

In the musical, it goes like this:

Failed attack (1st attempt) => fix (2nd attempt) => lukewarm retaliation (tank)

There is no tension, no excitement, where it’s supposed to be a confrontation, where 2 characters are one-upping, mind-gaming, out-maneuvering each other. Now, it’s just a single over-complicated mess, because the 2 MacGuffins – Caesar and painting – have been reduced down to 1.

Towards the end of the manga chapter, Dorian willingly gives Klaus back the painting in exchange for Caesar’s well-being. But he steals the tank. The symbolic meaning of his actions can be read as Dorian being satisfied with Klaus’s self-expression. And to show his respect for one with a different viewpoint, he keeps the symbol of Klaus’s ideal beauty, while leaving Klaus his own.

Klaus certainly doesn’t view it as such, but like I said, different viewpoints. It’s a great note for 2 characters who have recently gotten tangled up into each other to part, promising much more to come. But in the musical, Dorian’s heist of the painting is, ultimately, a sadly failed plan, as Dorian is forced to give up on The Man in Purple. And although he does steal the tank, it seems less like a conscious action, and more like an attempt to provoke Klaus.

Tyrian Persimmon

So, in the Aoike Cinematic Universe, Tyrian Persimmon – or The Man in Purple – is Klaus’s ancestor who lived in the Elizabethan period. In Eroica though, he’s been loooooong dead, and it seems that not a lot is known about him. Although his painting is a MacGuffin, Tyrian himself doesn’t play any role, and if one only reads Eroica, it’s just a really nice painting, and that’s all it has to be. The interesting bit comes from a meta viewpoint.

If you have read El Halcon and Nanatsu no Umi Nanatsu no Sora, you would know, that Tyrian was a vile motherfucker. Murderer, rapist, traitor, and so ambitious he cares about nobody’s life but his own. Almost every character who crossed path with him died some kind of gruesome, unjust way. He’s irredeemably terrible even if entertaining. So, what’s the significance of this in the context of Eroica?

In Eroica, everyone fawns over Tyrian’s portrait like he was a god-sent beauty. It is even said that on first glance, Klaus might look like The Man in Purple but he lacks a certain “grace and charm,” attributes that could be considered heroic, or even angelic. The magnetic power of the portrait drew many of the conflicts in Eroica as characters seek to possess his image. But those who worship his beauty knows not the monster beneath the canvas. For an audience looking for meta-reading though, the fact that the portrait is still eliciting so much trouble is a reflection of Tyrian’s own life as the bane of existence. Even Klaus once wonders if they were being played like puppets in the sadistic theatre of The Man in Purple. This combined dramatic irony is severely damaged when the portrait is suddenly personified like a character.

And what’s worse is that, not only did they reanimate the portrait for the musical, they tried to give him a caricature Caesar Gabriel’s personality. This … vile, manipulative, murderous narcissist is now a bubbling, naïve and confused 18-year-old coddled child. It’s comical in the worst moments.

Like in the tense scene of the Autobahn chase, all my attention was directed to Tyrian trying to chase his hat which had flown off the vehicle, while trying to hold the portrait frame around his face. Or during, what I still maintain as the best scene in the entire musical, the cuddling in the tank scene, the budding bond between the two main characters are constantly distracted by Tyrian’s antics.

And to top it all off, they didn’t even give him his PUMPKIN PANTS!!