#is that a character development i'm smelling????

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: photos of character bios from the Hazbin playbill, which say:

Charlie Morningstar: (Hotel Manager) Is honored to be starring in her first ever big series. Charlotte "Charlie" Morningstar is the princess of Hell, who has won numerous musical theater awards throughout college, none of which matter much in Hell but she is still very proud of them. She loves to bring people together through song and dance, and wants to remind everyone to please consider checking in to the Hazbin Hotel! She'd like to give a special thanks to her girlfriend Vaggie, and all of her friends and family. She hopes her mother is proud of her for this accomplishment!

Alastor: (Facility Manager) (all capitalized) About me? Hah! Wouldn't you like to know? i'm the host of hell's number #1 rated radio broadcast, the best and most reliable source of media in all of pentagram city. Despite my short absence, radio's back and better than ever! Catch my broadcasts everyday day at noon, or whenever I feel like it. Haven't had a lot of time for guest stars recently since I have been helping Charlie run the hazbin hotel but who knows?!?! You could be next! Just wrong me. do it. :)

Angel Dust: (Hotel Resident) Is an award- winning adult film actor, dancer and singer in Pentagram City. Angel made his first onscreen debut in the Valentino produced film "My Cousin and Me." He has since starred in others such as "Morning Coffee Gone Sexual?," "Stepdads 4," "The Mysterious Stranger enters.... You," "Boystory," and many more, including the upcoming "THE PURE BOY." Angel has won multiple SE-XXX-Y awards, including one for "Interrogation." Angel has a pig named Fat-Nuggets.

Vaggie: (Head of Operations) Is the head of operations at the Hazbin Hotel. Trained in advanced hand-to-hand combat, as well as synchronized dance. She is proud of her work keeping the hotel patrons focused on the road to redemption. Willing to do whatever it takes to make Charlie's dreams a reality and protect her and the hotel at all costs.

Husker: (Bartender) "Whaddaya wanna know? What's this for? Regardless, I ain't tellin' you nothin' about myself!"

Niffty: (Housekeeper) I'm Niffty! I clean! There is this little roach society under the floorboards of the Hotel! They think I can't hear them but I can. Sometimes I wait patiently by their hole and stab all who scurry out. It's like a little game we play, you come out, I stab you! This makes staying at the hotel so much fun! THAT and all the rooms it has, since they are always empty 'cause no one wants to stay there, it's really easy to clean! I like the smell of bleach.

Sir Pentious: (Hotel Resident) is an award-winning Hell inventor. He is the coolest and most popular "overlord" in all of Hell. Technically not an overlord-overlord but he's basically an overlord. He has done weapons development for Carmine Industries and Voxtek. He created his own helpers he ingeniously calls "egg bois" all by himself. He had absolutely no help at all with this incredible accomplishment. He is incredibly excited to be included in such a starring role, and to be able to thank his friends for the first time ever. He's never had friends to thank before. #Swag #Basedonfact

Lucifer Morningstar: (King of Hell / Sin of Pride) Ringleader of Hell, and Ruler of the Sins! Lucifer is most known for his performances with his iconic troupe the Deadly Sins! Lucifer loves his family and dedicates everything he does to them. He is the self-awarded #1 duck collector. He really misses his wife.]

[Carmilla Carmine: (Overlord) The CEO of Carmine Industries, top weapons dealer in Hell. Provider of the highest quality arms in all of Pentagram City. Carmilla's proudest achievement is discovering the uses of Angelic technology to advance Hell's weaponry. Awarded most-decorated Overlord. Host of the board of Pentagram City Overlords. For inquiries about Angelic-based weapons, an in-person consultation is required.

Rosie: (Overlord) wants everyone in Hell to know - if you on your soul, please stop by Rosie's you need something taken care of, for Emporium in the heart of Cannibal Town! If you're gonna sell your soul to somebody, leave everythin' to Rosie!

Sera: (Head Seraphim) The highest Seraphim, who works directly under the speaker of God. In charge of Heaven's hierarchy and laws. Highly respected and dedicated. Honored to be blessed with her position.

Emily: (Seraphim) The second Seraphim in Heaven, bringer of joy in charge of entertainment and comfort of all heavenly people. Bright-eyed and welcoming to everyone and open to fresh new ideas, her only goal is to spread happiness! "Spread love, and kill only with kindness!" :D

Mimzy: (Sinner) Still in her prime. Mimzy has starred in too many shows to name. Most of them were before she was in Hell, but they still count! She owns one of Hell's classiest clubs the "Ragtime." She appeared on a radio special with Alastor entitled "Singa for ya Dinna!" She is hoping she can star in more episodes, because she deserves it more than everyone else.

Vox: (Overlord) The CEO and founder of the Voxtek corporation, the Pentagram's #1 Media/ Entertainment provider. Hell's most powerful Overlord, director and humble entrepreneur. Award-winning producer, actor and Talk show host. Creator of over 50 classic hit shows such as "Yeah I Fucked Your Sister So What?" and "Late Nights with Vox." So when in Pentagram City remember to put your money and trust in the Voxtek brand. "Trust us with your entertainment!"

Valentino: (Overlord) Hell's sexiest overlord Multi-award winning porn film director. Known for his incredibly good looks and unmatched fashion sense. You will find him shooting up the night in the Entertainment District, owned and ruled states and I guess Vox. Be sure to check his latest film that's owning the charts "Cum My Way" starring Angel Dust, Hell's #1 whore/slut. Looking for a really good time? Call him ;)

Velvette: (Overlord) She/Her | Voxtek Influencer | Problematic | 100+ Million subs | #Girlboss - The youngest and spunkiest Overlord in all of Pentagram City. Running Hell's leading fashion empire directly out V Tower, her influence is ever-growing. Makee keeping up with the trends look easy! How does she do it? It's honestly kinda scary. Also known as the Head Developer of "Love Potions in collaboration with Valentino, known for their sweet taste and 100% customer satisfaction. Award winning spells and top selling brands.

Travis: (Sinner) First time directing but happy with the result, "The Pure Boy" is sure to become a classic amongst porn fanatics and collectors alike. Of course I'd be nothing without the support of Valentino and the Voxtek studio! Well not nothing I mean, I'm worth something? I mean come on, I was in the pilot. That's gotta mean something?? Right??

Buddy Mcsluggy: (Sinner) "Someone please touch my parts!"]

[Saint Peter: (Gatekeeper) is pretty stoked to be included! He is the lead singer in Heaven's royal choir as well as the founder of the Angelic drama club. He is an accomplished harp and french horn player in the Sera-ymphany orchestra. At least that's what he calls it!

Lute: (Lieutenant Exorcist) Classified information.

Adam: (Archangel/Leader of Exorcists/Dick Master) First Man, rock and roll legend, voted biggest dick in all of Heaven. Leader of Heaven's exorcist army, in charge of leading and commanding Hell's yearly extermination to prevent overpopulation. A total badass that ladies can't resist, except for that one chick, what's her fuck? Anyway he and Lute are coming, buckle up bitches!

Zestial: (Overlord) Oldest living Overlord in power. Once one of the most feared Overlords for many centuries, now effectively retired. Spends his days roaming Hell and enjoying the spoils. Currently assisting Carmilla with her endeavors due to them being on friendly terms and similar mindsets.

Cherri Bomb: (Sinner) She likes to fuck shit up, and cause problems on purpose. Self-awarded best explosions expert in Hell. Can't be fucked to say more, just happy to keep having fun!

Vivienne Medrano: (Creator/Director/Writer) Vivienne is beyond fucking thrilled, and truly honored to be in her first real authentic Playbill!!! AHHH!! She is glad she finally got to bring her very queer, very raunchy, animated musical cartoon to life! She is pretty happy her love for musical theater. and connections as a fan at the stage door really paid off. She is the founder of the indie animation studio SpindleHorse, and creator of Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Timber, Zoophobia, and much more (and more to come)! She played Grace in Urbana Elementary's production of "Annie".... in 5th grade.

SpindleHorse: (Production Studio) Founded by Vivienne Medrano to create the original Hazbin Hotel pilot, this is SpindleHorse's first ever collaboration with a major studio and first ever experience creating an episode of television for a client! The studio is proud of its incredible and talented team, and its work on the season and]

There's a lot of really interesting new information in the Hazbin Playbill!

[neon-angels-system]

only one 999 ending to go (true end (+ coffin end by technicality)). anyway.

[djevelbl]

Ok so angrily bitching about this is Spanish wasn't enough so I gotta say it here as well--

My brother was talking to a friend of his on call and I was there in the same room, right? And I could hear what they were talking about. And the friend was raving about how vivzie pop is a horrible story writer and while I won't get into her as a person I will say that it's fucking tacky as all hell to compare art of 2 different people, no matter how much you're doing it to praise your favorite series. It. Is. Tacky

But that's not what I'm here to talk about — that's just the appetizer

So this guy keeps it up and then drags not only Hazbin Hotel but Helluva Boss as well — them's fighting words bc I love Helluva Boss I'd die for those characters. And what was his criticism of the series??

"Manhwa of two gay demons." That's what he fucking said

HELLO????

Like it's okay if you don't like manhwa (I don't know what in the FUCK that has to do with anything but aight) but the gay comment??? Where in the HELL did that one come from??

And just to prove a point I looked up what the episodes for Helluva Boss were and (from memory) tallied up which ones were Stolitz related and which ones weren't.

Y'all... It's 4. This man was crying over FOUR FUCKING EPISODES. FROM A CURRENTLY 17 EPISODE LONG SERIES. THAT ISN'T EVEN HALF — IN FACT IT AIN'T EVEN A WHOLE FUCKING THIRD OF THE TOTAL RUNTIME. it's fucking 24% (23.529% more specifically) OF THE SERIES SO FAR WHAT IN THE FUCK

brother mine. P L E A S E find better friends istg

[reiderwriter]

ACK I'm so excited that your requests are open again! Um okay, this one feels a bit silly but I'd love a fic where fem!bau!reader is really attracted to Spencer and the way that he smells? (I just KNOW that man smells like cinnamon and a Scholastic Book Fair.) Like, she's been doing a good job hiding her crush from the team, until Spencer catches her eyes dilating at him when he's standing close. And he's an oblivious king, so he's trying to figure out why they were dilated. If it could be race blind like my last request, and from Spencer's POV, that'd be great. (Or split POV, if you'd rather). I really see this as fluff, but if you want to include angst or smut go right on ahead! Thank you for reading my request! Your writing makes my day.

-❤️‍🩹

A/N: This was so fun and silly, and I love writing awkward, puppy love Spencer because sometimes you just have to let yourself become mildly infatuated with a coworker. For the plot. Or at least character development. I hope you like this one!!

Warnings: none.

Masterlist

You thought you'd settled into work well in your first few weeks as a member of the BAU. You thought you were up to speed about everything going on in the office. There was just one mystery left to solve.

“Where is that smell coming from?” You whispered to yourself, frustratedly sniffing the air for the second day in a row as you attempted to locate the warm, delightful smell that seemed to follow you whenever you were in the office.

“Could be one of Garcia's scented candles. They tend to linger,” JJ said from her corner of the bull pen.

“No, I checked earlier and she said they made her throw those out weeks ago.”

Honestly, it was not knowing that was driving you insane. If you knew what the smell was, you could bottle it, spray it all around yourself, and wrap yourself in it like a little blanket. It somehow reminded you of home and of the public library you'd spent much of your childhood in.

After another day of being able to figure out whoever had bought the scent version of the Scholastic Book Fair mixed with homemade cinnamon buns, you gave up. 12 hours of paperwork, and you were just as excited to get away from the sight of brown folders as ever, and as everyone else in the bureau, evidently.

Grabbing your bag, you got in the line for the elevators alongside your team.

“Ready for the crush?” Derek said, punching Spencer Reid on the arm as they waited ahead of you.

“Ow,” the younger man muttered and you tried to hold your giggles back, rolling your eyes as you watched them in amusement.

Derek’s words were true, though. Every day at home time, the elevators packed up quickly, and being on the middle floor meant that it could often take a while for the elevator to come back to you. You swore it was half the reason Hotch stayed late most nights, just to avoid the crush of the trip home.

“I've been taking the DC public transport since I got this job. You think the elevators are bad. Try 8 am subway on a Monday morning.”

The doors opened, and the three of you climbed into the barely there space of the elevator. With a quick side step, you found yourself against the left wall of the elevator. But to your shock, the scent you'd been searching for for three weeks didn't dissipate as it usually did when you got on the elevator.

It was here. The source of the scent was here.

You tried to stay calm as it grew more potent, tried not to frantically look around searching for whatever man or woman was perfumed in heaven. The doors opened again, and more people squeezed in, and suddenly, you found yourself buried nose-first in whatever sensory heaven existed here on earth.

“Sorry,” you heard a mumble in front of you as Spencer held his hand against the wall above your head, trying to keep a polite enough distance so as not to squish you any further. Your mismatching heights, however, led to your face being just about level with his neck.

You really weren't trying to smell him, but you had to inhale, and each time you did, it was a sensory overload.

It was him. Dear God, it was him.

The proximity and his scent really weren't helping your brain stop short circuiting in that moment, and you had to remind yourself after a minute or two or three that you were staring.

Though evidently Spencer had already noticed, and was looking at you with some concern.

“Are you okay? It's pretty tight in here, but I can try and move back if you're uncomfortable.”

“No! No, it's okay,” you did your best not to shout the words out, suddenly wanting his smell and his body close forever.

You hadn't been looking before, but like a freight train at maximum speed, the weight of his attractiveness hit you all at once. There was a slight stubble peppering his jaw, his hair hanging slightly loose, eyes big, and brown, and beautiful. He was tall, and you knew he was strong from watching him manhandle unsubs each week.

To put it blankly, you spiralled. Hard. Straight into infatuation and attraction, and you felt your head growing light with the tipsy feeling of a girlish crush.

You were fucked.

Spencer was concerned about you for the next week.

For starters, he knew that most new hires pushed themselves to the extreme over the first month and ended up quickly burnt out, mentally and physically. He may not have the best physical stamina, but he knew the lengths he had to go to to maintain his mental and physical wellness while working the job.

Which was why he started looking out for you a bit more. Every time he looked at you, you were staring off into space, somewhere just past him, or around him, face glazed over.

He wondered if you had a fever a few times, subtly touching your forehead - wiping away some sweat or a strand of hair - to feel you, and you did always feel hot.

You insisted you were fine though. But the nervous panic, and the constant insistence made him wary enough to pull you aside one day and ask you straight to your face.

“Do you need something?” He said, having unassumingly lured you off to the meeting room without arousing suspicions.

“What? What do you mean?” You said, instantly defensive. You'd hoped you hadn't been as creepy as you knew you had and that he hadn't caught on to your stolen glances and sudden close proximity.

You really couldn't help it. The man smelt too fucking good.

“If you're feeling sick, no one is going to think any less of you for taking a half day, you know.”

His voice was so gentle, you almost didn't die from sheer embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh! Oh, oh no, I'm fine, I'm totally healthy. As a cow!”

“A cow?”

“Yes, I'm as healthy as your average farm animal. Can I go back to work?”

You made to leave, but he grabbed your wrist gently as you brushed past him, and it was like sparks travelled up your arm and pierced your heart directly.

“Spencer!?” you squeaked.

“Your heart rate is elevated, and you feel hot and clammy,” he said, which was exactly the kind of compliment you were aiming to receive from men you were falling for. “You should go see a doctor and then get some rest.”

“No, Spencer, that's not-”

“Everyone pushes themselves in these first few weeks. I had to take a week off after two days in the field from the weight of holding a gun up for so long, which is more embarrassing than it sounds, and Derek-”

“What cologne do you use?” you snapped, desperately hoping to both shut him up and also detangle yourself from this situation with at least one win under your belt. If you found out whatever the smell was he used, you could buy it, grow accustomed to it, and grow out of whatever phase you were going through before you out your job in jeopardy.

“What?”

“You smell… really good. I was wondering what cologne it is.”

“I don't… I don't really use cologne.”

You baulked, unable to stop your face from dropping as your dreams of detaching yourself from your little crush on Spencer Reid faded before your very eyes.

“Shower gel? Shampoo maybe?”

“They're both unscented.”

“So you just… you just smell like that naturally?”

It was his turn to flush then, though the panic never left your head fully.

“Sorry, is it… distracting.”

“Yes,” you whispered, but with such an exhausted exhale, it sounded like a dreamt sigh. You wanted to kick yourself. You wanted to open his jacket, step inside, bury your face in his chest, and fall asleep.

“I see.”

“Mhmm.”

A minute passed in awkward silence, and you wanted to kick yourself for blurting everything out. Quickly turning to leave again, you wished so dearly to erase the last five minutes of your life, sending up enough hail mary’s to absolve you of any sin.

“Lavender. And sometimes patchouli,” he called from behind you as you took your first steps to the door.

“Hmm?” you said, turning back around against your better judgment.

“What?”

“That's what you smell like,” he explained, hands suddenly very preoccupied with his jacket buttons. “I'm not great with scents, but you also smell… nice. Sorry, that was weird.”

“No, not at-”

“You know, the major histocompatibility complex genes are important for the immune system and appear to play a role in sexual attraction via body odour. Studies have shown that body odour is strongly connected with attraction in heterosexual females.”

“Oh. I didn't know that…”

“Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

The words almost knocked you back into the door, as sudden as they were. Had he just asked you on a date? Or was it a friendly coworker thing? A friendly coworker thing where he acknowledged your attraction to his scent and then invited you out on a date.

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Yes, I would like to get dinner with you.”

He did his best to suppress the smile, and you tried hard as well, though neither of you succeeded.

“Great, perfect,” he said, circling you as he made his way to the door, his eyes always turned to you no matter what. He likely regretted that as he bumped into first the edge of a table, then a chair, and then hitting the door with his back, but in your state of puppy love, you didn't care.

“It's a date,” he said, opening the door and walking away, cheeks flushed with heat.

[togament]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM😭😭

Please could you do a fluffy thirst of how the boys (togame, sakura, kaji, ume maybe suo) treat the reader after they’ve gone a round 🥲 like their afterglow ❤️

ANON. You and your brain!!!!!! Yoinking it out of your skull to kiss it. Thank you for the kind words! This got me flying off the hinges I worked on this so fast. Locked in, I fear. I hope you don't mind me adding Endo in. He's like a stray cat atp. Don't mind him.

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

suo. sakura. kaji. ume. kiryu. togame. endo.

"ever wondered how it'd be like to just lay there with him, naked both physically and emotionally. So bare and vulnerable, skin reddened and raw, bodies aching. But with both hearts so full, it's almost bursting at the seams? I got it."

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Sakura was written with his character development in the most recent chapter in mind! (SOBBING), some language (I'm not exactly the best person to trust with keeping things clean and straight yk), mentions of sex, mentions of cuuuuum, GN!Reader but let me know if I made any mistakes--I'll rectify dat rq (edited Sakura’s!! Tysvm anon!!! Dw you didn’t come across as rude, promise), FLUFF OOEY GOOEY FLUFF, endo???? BEING A PROPER CITIZEN??? LOVER EVEN??????, kinda NSFW? not too spicy but still--MDNI!

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

Your room's dimly lit by candlelight and the moonlight shining through the blinds. Wafts of incense and patchouli caress your senses while your beloved wipes you down with a warm towel. "Good enough for you, my dove?" he pauses as he's looking up at you and you're met with Suo looking at you as though you've hung the moon yourself. Leaning in for a lingering forehead kiss, he mutters into your scalp, "my god you're absolutely ethereal."

✦ your apartment transforms into something damn close to a spa. Suo's big on scents so he has the cool breeze flowing in, incense lit, scented candles gently perfuming the air. It's magical every time. ✦ goes without saying that he loves, loves, LOVES spoiling you. Worshipping you, even. You swear sometimes his lips would never leave your skin with how often he's placing kiss after kiss on your body. ✦ scalp massages! Suo's an absolute beast at it. You always wake up to your hair smelling of some of his essential oils. It's a whole selection and he doesn't like sticking to just one scent. Hell, your body feels so moisturized and plump once you wake up in the morning.

══════════════════ 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

"Yer so pretty," Sakura's voice is soft, gentle. A far cry from his harsh and rough tone. God. He's looking at you with such reverence you feel like you're gonna melt. Leaning towards you, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. There it is. He's blushing again. "My baby’s so pretty."

✦ he's not blushing profusely anymore. Or at least, not as red as he normally is when he's around you. he's just laid there beside you, staring into your eyes with the softest expression on his face. Gratitude. Admiration. ✦ often spends most of the time staring at you like that so lovingly. So much so that you gotta remind him to wipe you down because god the cum's starting to make you feel uncomfortable with how cold it feels. ✦ is actually such a great cuddler. Especially after such a rough session. ESPECIALLY. Doesn't want to let you go the entire time.

══════════════════ 𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈.

"Let me clean you up," reaching beside you, your lover says with a slight groan as he grabs the tissues off to your side. Taking a few squares, he wipes you down wordlessly, the cautious speed ever evident. It's silent. Soothing. His other arm's never left your side, you notice. Gripping onto your hip ever so securely.

✦ not a huge talker after the fact. But he's quick to clean you up and attend to your needs. It's mostly just short, meaningful praises and reassurances with the both of you, basking in the afterglow. ✦ what he lacks in words, he makes up for in actions. He loves lavishing your body with kisses, caressing where you’re aching the most. ✦ Likes the silence since it's only with you where he doesn't need his headphones to put the world on mute, doesn't need a lollipop to censor his filthy, ruthless mouth. But of course, if it's assurance and praise you need, it's assurance and praise you'll get. His lips are devoid of sweets after all. Time for you to keep them busy.

══════════════════ 𝐔𝐌𝐄.

"Do you need anything else from me, baby? A massage? Some cuddles?" your lover asks you while he's wiping your inner thighs down clean from his cum that's been dribbling down them, always eager to cater to your needs at all times. Pressing a gentle kiss to the skin, he adds gently, "Whatever you need."

✦ way sweeter than he usually is with you. Which is saying a lot because your man's the absolute sweetest around you all the damn time! Presses kisses everywhere, whispers the most heart melting praise while he's hard at work soothing your body.... BIG SIGH. ✦ likes making you laugh even when your body's aching from him practically going all in on you. Says it's the best way to distract you from the pain. Still, he's massaging you if you'd like him to. Happy to oblige. ✦ ugh the ASSURANCE he gives you every time. The PRAISE?????? ALL GENUINE. ALL FROM THE HEART. It happens every time you're both still awake after the romp. 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓.

══════════════════ 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐔.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin as he's trailing kisses down your spine, corners of his lips curled up into a gentle smile. You can feel it with each kiss he presses onto your skin. His skillful thumbs pressing soothing circles in your aching muscles, rubbing the soreness away. "How'd I get so lucky?"

✦ PRAISE IS THE ABSOLUTE NAME OF THE GAME.

✦ he's so good at massaging you omg the thought of paying him for it has crossed your mind a couple of times. You feel so guilty for being massaged and pampered this good FOR FREE. ALL THE TIME. ✦ likes talking you through everything, whispering assurances and checking in with you during the act and after. Never fails to make you feel like you're cherished. With Kiryu, you truly are. And more.

══════════════════ 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

"Need a massage?" he says as he's already flexing his hands, reaching over for the massage oil. Eyes so lovestruck as he gazes into your own, he coos at you gently, "Little reward yeah?" Pressing a gentle kiss right behind your ear, he whispers deeply, his voice ends with a slight grumble, "Did so good f'me, doll."

✦ Of course, always attentive to you. Slow with wiping you down but god is it soothing with how he's doing it so gently. Purring praises into it every time. If you're feeling peckish, no matter how tired he is, he's making something for you in the kitchen. ✦ can and would eat you out if you wanted him to help ride out your high again. Gentle with it again too since he knows how sensitive you are. Pretty easy to wrap into another round though. ✦ After all that, you both are out like lights as soon as your heads hit the pillow. He's got you close to him though, arms encasing you, breaths intertwined. Comfortable.

══════════════════ 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎.

"Fuck... ME," he says with a gentle chuckle, voice akin to a purr you can swear it rumbles, tone so honeyed and syrupy. Reaching over to your side of the bed, your lover cups a tattooed hand over your cheek, sliding his thumb over the apex of it ever so slowly. "You're gorgeous."

✦ Always, always at your beck and call. Need something? He's on it. Back aches from the diabolical backshots? He's already prepping your body with massaging oil. Need him to wipe the cum away? Of course he's on that shit ASAP (with his tongue). Would do whatever it is that you want him to do within a heartbeat. ✦ Often tries to get another round out of you. He genuinely, genuinely CANNOT get enough of you. Only if you're cool with him trying though. He's not gonna force things on you if you don't want it. ✦ lavishes you with so much love sometimes it's suffocating. It only ramps up in intensity after fucking. If you like them obsessively clingy, he's your man.

a/n: HOOOOOOO anon I hope this was alright!!!! These were all such fun to do oml. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THROUGH ALL THIS AHSDKHAKJSD more requests like these please!!!! aaaaa

[fratttymatty]

Blaked

(All characters are 18+)

Evan Brooks had always been a quintessential college nerd. Tall, lanky, and bookish, he could usually be found with his nose buried in a comic book or his laptop, discussing the latest political developments or arguing about LGBTQ+ rights with his friends in the campus coffee shop. He was proudly gay, proudly liberal, and made no secret of his beliefs, often wearing rainbow pins and t-shirts with witty slogans about equality and social justice. His unruly, curly brown hair and round glasses were as much a part of his identity as his progressive values.

He was no stranger to ridicule from the more traditionally minded students on campus, particularly the jocks. But Evan didn’t care. He had his circle of friends, his own nerdy niche, and an ever-growing list of political science lectures he was excited to attend. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was his.

That all changed one fateful night in late spring, when Evan made the unfortunate decision to join a party hosted by one of the most infamous fraternities on campus: Omega Sigma Alpha.

The frat brothers were the quintessential jocks—blond, muscular, straight, and with a penchant for mocking anything that didn’t fit their idea of “normal.” They were, as Evan liked to think of them, the very embodiment of the type of people he didn’t get along with. So, when Evan was invited to the party, his first instinct was to decline. But after some peer pressure from one of his friends, who assured him it was "just for fun" and that he wouldn't have to interact with the jocks too much, Evan reluctantly agreed.

The moment Evan stepped into the house, he felt a strange energy. The music was loud, the air was thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat, and the entire room seemed to pulse with an almost aggressive energy. He tried to stick to the edges of the room, chatting with his friend about politics and avoiding eye contact with the muscled guys who were throwing footballs around and challenging each other to drink shots faster than the other.

But it didn’t take long before he caught the attention of the fraternity's president, Jake, a tall, handsome blonde with a cocky grin. Jake was a textbook alpha—popular, confident, and straight as an arrow. He spotted Evan standing alone by the punch bowl, eyes narrowed in a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"Hey, nerd," Jake called, his voice mocking but playful. "You lost, or just looking for a safe space to hang out?"

Evan stiffened. "I'm fine, thanks," he replied coolly, trying to turn away.

But Jake wasn’t finished. With a confident swagger, he made his way over and clapped a hand on Evan’s shoulder, almost knocking him off balance. "You know, we could use a guy like you," Jake said, nodding to his frat brothers who were huddled nearby, grinning at Evan with barely concealed amusement. "Maybe if you’re willing to take the right steps, we can teach you how to actually fit in around here."

Evan’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what to make of the offer. He’d heard the whispers about the “jock transformation,” a rumor that had been circulating for a while but seemed too ridiculous to believe. No one ever took it seriously. It was said that a group of the frat’s most powerful members had developed some sort of mystical or scientific way of transforming people—changing them into ideal versions of themselves that fit their world. It was all nonsense, of course. Magic wasn’t real, right?

Jake leaned in closer, his grin widening as he spoke in a lower voice. "We can help you change, Evan. You could be one of us. You could be… like me."

The air around them grew colder, the room suddenly feeling very distant. The music seemed to fade as Jake’s words echoed in Evan’s mind. A sharp sensation shot through him—something hot and heavy, like he was being pulled in every direction at once. He tried to step back, but his body didn’t obey him. The room spun, and he suddenly felt incredibly dizzy.

Before he knew what was happening, his clothes began to tighten around him, shifting and morphing to better fit his changing form. His body felt as if it were being compressed and re-shaped—his limbs shorter, his chest broader, his waist slimmer. His once gangly form thickened with muscle, his posture straightened, and his once nerdy demeanor was replaced by an unshakable sense of confidence.

His curly brown hair straightened, growing longer and turning a rich, slightly sun-kissed blonde. His face reshaped—his jawline more chiseled, his features sharper and more rugged. His glasses vanished, replaced by a sharper, more intense gaze that reflected the physical transformation that was happening to his body. He could feel it all happening—his body, his very identity, changing at the molecular level.

Jake’s voice cut through the fog in Evan’s mind. "There you go, buddy," he said with a grin. "You look perfect now. Welcome to the new you."

Evan—or rather, the new person he was becoming—looked down at his hands, now large and calloused. His fingers flexed involuntarily, testing the strength he hadn’t had before. His breath caught as he saw his reflection in a nearby mirror.

The guy staring back at him wasn’t Evan anymore. He was a new person entirely—a tall, muscular guy with dirty blonde hair that was slightly curly at the ends, strong features, and a confident, almost arrogant expression. He was wearing a form-fitting t-shirt that stretched across his chest and jeans that hugged his legs, perfectly fitting the look of a college jock. The shift was total, all-encompassing, and irreversible.

For a brief moment, a flicker of confusion passed through Evan’s—or rather, his new self’s—mind. But it was fleeting. His mind quickly adjusted. The panic, the loss, the identity crisis—none of it seemed to matter anymore. This was who he was now. And he liked it.

"Nice," Jake said, slapping him on the back. "You look like a real man now."

Evan smiled—no, he smiled. It felt natural. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said, his voice deep and steady. It felt good to speak with authority. To feel... in control.

The transformation was complete. Evan Brooks was gone. In his place stood Blake Walker—a straight, athletic, cocky guy who loved playing sports, who reveled in his newfound masculinity, and who couldn’t care less about the political causes that had once consumed his life. It wasn’t that he hated them, he just… didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the gym, his frat, and the weekend parties where he could show off his new look.

As he turned to join the group of jocks, he felt a thrill surge through him—a rush of excitement and belonging. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of this new life. The frat brothers cheered as he walked over to join them, already welcoming him into their fold.

Blake Walker didn’t think about who he used to be anymore. He didn’t care that the change was irreversible. He was happy now—at least, that’s what he told himself. And for the first time in his life, he truly believed it.

Blake Walker had fully embraced his new identity—muscular, confident, cocky—and with that, his political and personal beliefs had shifted drastically. In the span of a few short days, the liberal, progressive Evan Brooks he had once been seemed like a distant memory, a faded echo of someone else's life. He had no use for the old ideals of social justice, activism, or questioning societal norms. The world was simple now: men were strong, women were women, and life was about winning, not about understanding.

It was a Wednesday morning, a few days after the transformation, and Blake was sitting in the campus quad with a couple of his frat brothers. They were lounging on the grass, tossing a football back and forth, and discussing what to do with their upcoming weekend. The conversation quickly veered toward politics, as it often did after a few beers.

Blake wasn’t exactly sure why, but the more he listened, the more he found himself irritated by the mention of any "liberal" policies. One of the guys, Brett, was talking about how his sister was protesting for women’s rights, and the mention of "equal pay" set off a spark in Blake’s mind.

"Equal pay? You mean that whole 'pay gap' thing?" Blake scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted his weight, throwing the football up into the air with a quick flick of his wrist. "That's such a joke. Women have the same opportunities, and they don’t need to keep whining about it. If they worked harder, they’d get paid the same. It’s not about being a woman, it’s about performing."

The words slipped from his mouth with ease, and Blake didn’t even hesitate. His voice was full of conviction, the kind of boldness he’d seen in the more traditional, alpha guys who had molded him into who he was now. The frat brothers around him nodded in approval, some chuckling. "Exactly, dude," said Marcus. "I can’t stand the whole victim mentality. Like, the world doesn’t owe anyone anything. You have to earn it."

Blake grinned and slapped his hands together, feeling a rush of adrenaline as if he’d just made an important point. "Exactly! These people need to toughen up. The world’s not gonna hand them anything. They should be out there working, making their own way, not complaining about what they don’t have."

His words were met with approving nods. But deep down, a part of Blake felt a strange satisfaction in the way the conversation had shifted. The more he spoke, the more comfortable he became in his new skin. It was clear now—he wasn’t just another college student fumbling through his beliefs. He was a man—a man who understood the way the world worked, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

The conversation soon turned to the upcoming election. The group’s mood grew more animated as Brett began talking about a local politician who was pushing for "progressive" policies that Blake knew he couldn’t stand.

"You know, this guy keeps pushing for free healthcare and all this socialist crap," Brett said, his voice growing louder as he leaned in, clearly fired up. "It's like they want to turn the country into one big handout."

Blake’s blood boiled at the very mention of socialism. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Yeah, it’s unbelievable. People don’t seem to get that nothing in life is free. Someone’s gotta pay for it, and it’s always gonna be the hardworking people who get screwed over. You work hard, you get rewarded. You sit on your ass and wait for a handout, you're just part of the problem."

The words felt almost natural to Blake now. It was like he was channelling the very essence of the conservative mindset, and it felt good. The anger, the frustration at what he saw as a broken system—he had been living in that system, but now he understood. There was no place for weakness in the world he wanted. Only strength. Only the ability to succeed on your own terms.

The group around him nodded eagerly. Greg, another frat brother, grinned widely. "Hell yeah, man. You’re right. It’s the hardworking men who keep this country running. These liberals? They just want to hand everything to people who don’t deserve it."

Blake’s smile widened, a deep, satisfied chuckle bubbling up from his chest. "Exactly," he said again, his tone dripping with certainty. "It’s time we took the country back from these idiots. It’s time for real men to step up and start calling the shots."

It wasn’t just politics now. It was everything. Blake could feel the weight of his new beliefs settling into every corner of his life. Even the way he looked at people had changed. The nerds, the activists, the people who still talked about “equality” and “inclusivity”—he couldn’t fathom why he had ever cared about them. In his world, there was no place for weakness, no place for division. There was only strength, unity under a banner of tradition.

His classmates who had once talked about LGBTQ+ rights, feminism, environmental justice—they seemed so... irrelevant to him now. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about those issues. He didn’t want to. Why would he? He was a man now. A strong man. And that meant taking charge, not discussing issues that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. The things that mattered were simple: success, strength, and the preservation of the things that had always made America great.

Later that afternoon, as Blake and his frat brothers prepared to head to the gym, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of superiority over the other students on campus. He looked around at the other groups of people—the arts majors, the environmental activists, the overly polite, overly sensitive students—and couldn’t suppress the sneer that twisted his lips.

"Man, they’re just so soft," he muttered under his breath. "They wouldn’t last a day in the real world."

One of his frat brothers, Jake, grinned. "Yeah, dude. They wouldn’t even know what hit them."

Blake let out a low laugh. "Exactly. If they knew what it took to be a man—if they knew what real strength looked like—maybe they’d understand."

As he turned and walked toward the gym with his brothers, his dirty blonde hair catching the sunlight, Blake realized just how much he had changed. The old Evan would have never spoken like this, never thought this way. But Blake Walker? He was part of something bigger now—part of a brotherhood, a worldview, a system that prized strength above all else. And he knew that he would never go back.

His days of progressive politics and social justice were behind him, along with the nerdy, gay college student he had once been. The new Blake Walker was confident, straight, and unapologetically conservative. He had found his place in the world, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged.

And that was all that mattered.

Blake Walker was becoming unrecognizable. Not just in the way he looked—though his new broad, muscular physique, complete with messy, slightly curly dirty blonde hair, was a far cry from the skinny, nerdy Evan Brooks he once was—but also in the way he thought. The change had been fast, but it had settled deep, like an invasive seed that had taken root in his mind. Blake felt comfortable now, in a way he hadn’t felt before.

He was a jock, an alpha. And to be an alpha, you had to project dominance. You had to push boundaries, show people you were the top dog.

It was Friday night, and Blake and his frat brothers were winding down from a grueling week of tests and workouts. They’d thrown a party at the house—loud music, red Solo cups stacked in corners, and girls swarming around the jocks in an attempt to be noticed. The air was thick with the smell of beer and testosterone. Blake leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand on his beer, the other hanging loosely at his side as he surveyed the room.

The conversation, like most of the night, revolved around two things: who was hooking up with who, and who was the "weakest" link on the football team.

Greg, a tall, lean guy with sharp features, was ranting about some kid in the engineering department who had the nerve to “act like he was better than everyone else.” Blake could already tell where the conversation was going.

"Dude, I swear, I was walking by the student union today and I see this nerd sitting there—one of those guys who's always talking about 'gender fluidity' and all that liberal crap." Greg laughed, shaking his head. "Like, what the hell is that even? You’re either a guy or a girl, dude. Stop trying to make yourself special."

Blake took a long sip of his beer, his lips curling into a half-smirk. He didn’t need to think about it—he knew exactly how to respond.

"I know, right?" Blake said, his voice dripping with that new, self-assured confidence. "It’s like they want attention or something. Just pick a side, dude. You can’t change your whole identity every week."

He threw back his head, laughing with his brothers as they all chimed in with their own jokes about the so-called "gender confusion" they saw in their classes. Blake’s tone was dismissive and casual. He didn’t even feel the need to elaborate. The fact that this kid was trying to “be different” was enough to trigger his distaste.

"I bet he’s just another attention-seeker," Brett added, with a grin. "I mean, dude’s probably just mad no one’s looking at him unless he says some dumb shit like that. Like, just be a normal guy. No one cares about your weird identity crisis."

Blake nodded approvingly, feeling a rush of satisfaction. He didn’t get it—he didn’t care to get it. Who had time for all that? In his world, being a guy was simple. You played sports, you lifted weights, you dated women, and you didn’t apologize for being a man.

"Exactly, man," Blake said, tossing his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin with a clink. "I don't know why people make things so complicated. If you’re a dude, then act like it. Don’t go around talking about all this 'fluid' crap and expect me to give a damn."

The frat boys around him cheered in agreement, their voices loud and drunk with entitlement. The women in the corner seemed to laugh along too, though Blake could tell they were mostly laughing because they had to. It was what the cool guys did, and if they didn’t want to be “excluded” from the circle, they had to pretend to be on the same wavelength.

Blake glanced at one of the girls nearby, a sophomore who had been flirting with him for the past hour. She caught his eye and smiled, a little too brightly. He offered a quick, cocky grin before taking another sip of beer.

"Man, I swear," Greg continued, "people like that are just looking for an excuse to cry about everything. They wanna be all ‘sensitive,’ but life’s not like that. You want respect? Earn it. You don’t get to cry about your ‘identity’ and expect the world to change for you."

Blake couldn’t help but agree. His mind had changed so drastically from the Evan he used to be. The Evan who was afraid of offending anyone, who stood up for people’s rights no matter how difficult the argument. That guy was gone, replaced by Blake, a guy who didn’t just accept things the way they were, but demanded them to stay the way he liked.

"Exactly," Blake said again, this time with a bit more edge. He wasn’t even sure what had happened to him. The old Evan might have felt guilty, might have been conflicted over what he was hearing, but Blake? Blake felt nothing but clarity. "These people think they deserve special treatment just because they’re different. Like, no one owes you shit for being ‘unique.’"

The guys laughed again, but now it was a little more sinister. They were pushing boundaries, making the atmosphere more charged than it should’ve been. Someone mentioned a rumor about a student from another fraternity who had come out as bisexual, and that seemed to set Blake off.

"Ugh, I heard about that dude," Marcus chimed in. "Some guy in the next frat came out as bi, and now he’s all about being ‘proud.’ It’s like, bro, just shut up. Who cares? I’m not gonna sit here and listen to some dude talk about his ‘struggles’ with his sexuality."

Blake’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at Marcus for a moment. He couldn’t help it; he was getting agitated. "Exactly, man. Just keep it to yourself. Nobody needs to know about your ‘struggles’ or whatever. It's not like being gay or bi is some big revelation." He felt a sense of superiority creeping in. "Just stop trying to force it on everyone. The world doesn’t revolve around your sex life."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the conversation shifted, but the damage had been done. The guys had made their stance clear—they didn’t have time for “weak” people, and they certainly didn’t have time for anyone who didn’t fit into their idea of what was normal. Blake wasn’t even sure why it bothered him so much that people were “out there” being different—he just knew that it didn’t sit right with him anymore.

He glanced over at the girl still lingering by the corner. She was staring at him, her smile a little less enthusiastic than before. Blake felt a flicker of unease—an old Evan-like twinge of guilt—but it passed quickly, like a fleeting thought.

"Yeah," Blake said again, feeling like he had the last word on the subject, as if it settled everything. "Just be a man or don’t bother. The world doesn’t need more confusion."

The frat brothers all agreed, and Blake let out a breath. For the first time, he felt like he could finally relax. He had his brothers, his strength, his new identity—and that was all he needed.

The rest of the night passed with more jokes, more trash talk, and a general atmosphere of “being a man” that felt intoxicating. Blake didn’t think about it much. He didn’t need to. He was on top of the world now, and anything that threatened that world—anything that threatened his new identity—just didn’t belong.

And Blake was more than happy to let them know that.

Blake Walker had fully embraced his new life. The frat, the muscles, the confidence—he was a man now, and everything felt easy. But with that confidence came something even more exciting to him: Stacy.

Stacy wasn’t just any girl. She was the quintessential “valley girl”—the kind of blonde, perky, ditzy sorority girl that every guy in the frat would have killed to date. But Blake? He wasn’t like the other guys. He deserved Stacy. She was exactly what he needed to match his new identity.

It was Friday afternoon, and Blake was lounging on the frat house’s back patio, having just finished another grueling workout at the gym. He was wearing a tight, white tank top that showed off his impressive biceps, his signature messy dirty blonde curls falling over his forehead in just the right way. As he cracked open a bottle of water, his phone buzzed with a text from Stacy. He grinned to himself as he read it:

"Hey babe, totes wanna meet at Starbucks for a little pick-me-up before our dinner tonight! 💅💖"

Blake rolled his eyes, but in the way that made him smile. He’d been seeing Stacy for a few weeks now, and while she was everything he shouldn’t want—a little airhead who lived for shopping, Instagram, and the latest gossip about "who’s dating who"—there was something about her that he loved.

"Sounds good, babe. I'll pick you up in 20."

He shot off a quick reply before tossing his phone down on the table, feeling the usual rush of excitement that came with hanging out with Stacy. She wasn’t just pretty—she was fun. And for Blake, that was all that mattered now. They were a perfect match: his strength and confidence, her bubbly, ditzy energy.

When Blake pulled up to the Starbucks parking lot, he spotted Stacy immediately. She was standing outside, balancing on high heels, looking like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her platinum blonde hair was perfectly curled, and her pink crop top clung to her body, showing off her toned stomach. She waved excitedly when she saw him, a wide grin on her face.

"Babe, like, oh my god!" Stacy squealed, rushing up to him. "I totes missed you! I was, like, just texting my girls about that new hot guy in the bio class. Like, he is SO cute, you have NO idea."

Blake chuckled, reaching out to pull her into a hug, his muscles flexing as he enveloped her tiny frame. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her words, but it didn’t bother him. Not anymore. Stacy was just... Stacy.

"I bet he's not as hot as me," Blake teased, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

"Like, NO way!" Stacy giggled, pressing her lips to his cheek before pulling back to look him up and down, clearly admiring the view. "You are, like, totally the hottest guy I know. You’re, like, so perfect, it’s unreal."

Blake smirked, loving the compliment. He felt invincible, like he was untouchable.

"I know," he said, his tone oozing confidence. "I work hard for it, babe."

They walked inside Starbucks together, Stacy chattering non-stop about everything she had done that week, her voice high-pitched and almost like a sing-song. Blake didn’t really listen to the details—he never did—but it didn’t matter. Stacy wasn’t saying anything of importance, just the usual girly stuff, and for Blake, that was exactly how he liked it.

"So, like, I heard that Brad from Kappa Chi totally hooked up with Jenny from Accounting last night?" Stacy went on, her eyes wide with excitement as she leaned in. "And like, she was wearing this totally amazing dress, but I, like, can't even imagine how they, like, did it in the back of a cab. That's SO ghetto, right?"

Blake smirked and leaned against the counter, pretending to listen. He was starting to feel like a real man now—someone who had it all. A hot girl, a killer body, and a world that was bending to his will. It was a far cry from the shy, nerdy Evan who used to spend hours arguing with people about the importance of social justice and LGBTQ+ rights.

"I dunno, babe," Blake shrugged, his voice low and deep. "I don’t really care about that kind of stuff. I got everything I need right here." He gestured to himself and then to her, giving her a wink.

Stacy laughed, throwing her head back. "Like, OMG, you’re such a bad boy," she said, practically swooning. "I totes love it when you, like, act all confident."

Blake’s chest swelled with pride. This was the life. No more thinking about the struggles of the world or trying to please everyone. Stacy didn’t care about his past. She didn’t care about the "old Evan." She liked Blake, the confident, strong jock who didn’t have time for politics, social causes, or even, it seemed, deep conversation. Stacy wanted someone who made her feel good—and that was exactly what Blake was giving her.

"Yeah, babe," Blake said, his voice dropping into that deeper, more commanding tone he’d learned to use. "You like that, huh?"

Stacy giggled, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "Totes! You’re, like, the perfect boyfriend. I’m, like, so lucky to have you. You're, like, sooo much hotter than all those other guys at the gym. They don’t even have, like, a clue."

Blake’s lips curled into a smug smile. "I know, babe," he said again, taking the coffee she’d ordered and handing it to her. "But it’s not just the looks. It’s about who you are. And I’m one of a kind."

Stacy laughed, nodding enthusiastically. "Like, I KNOW, right?! You’re, like, totally the best."

As they left Starbucks, walking hand-in-hand toward his car, Blake couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride. He didn’t just have the looks, the body, or the confidence—he had Stacy, the perfect "girlfriend" for his new life. She was everything that fit into his new worldview: pretty, ditzy, and obsessed with appearances. And Blake was okay with that. He didn’t need anything else.

They got in the car, and Blake started the engine, glancing over at Stacy, who was already texting someone on her phone, probably telling her friends how amazing her boyfriend was.

As he drove through the campus, past the other students, Blake couldn’t help but feel like the world was at his feet. His life had become simple, uncomplicated, and perfect in its own, jock-ified way. There was no more questioning his identity. There was no more confusion about who he was. He was Blake Walker—the strong, straight, conservative man who had everything he wanted, including the perfect girlfriend.

And nothing was ever going to stand in his way.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Trapped in the freezing sanatorium, Mike notices your body trembling from the cold and takes matters into his own hands-literally. His touch starts out innocent, a way to warm you up, but soon it turns into something far more heated.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Wolfie being a good boy. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

Note: I played the original game years ago, and now that I'm playing the remake, my crush on Mike has come back. He's such a good character with amazing development. I never expected to like him this much. I'm near chapter 7 of the remake, and I'm honestly loving it.

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Words counts: 3000

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥

The cold of the sanatorium was oppressive. It seemed to leech the warmth from the very walls, seeping into your skin and bones, making every breath feel like you were inhaling shards of ice. As you and Mike rummaged through the mess of papers and debris in the dim, decaying room, the chill became impossible to ignore.

You had been at this for what felt like hours. Searching for anything, any clue, any scrap of information that could help you make sense of the nightmare you and your friends had stumbled into.

You wanted to focus. You needed to. But the cold was starting to weaken you. Your muscles ached from the effort of trying to stay warm, and despite your best attempts to keep it together, your hands were trembling as you shuffled through the scattered papers. The torn, thin jacket you'd found earlier did little to protect you, barely covering your torso, let alone insulating you from the freezing air.

Snowflakes continued to drift in from the broken windows, scattering across the dusty floor.

The place felt like a tomb. The smell of decay hung in the air, making every breath feel heavy, cold, and full of death.

Mike tried to stay focused, but even as his eyes scanned the scattered papers on the floor, his attention was pulled to you. You were over by the corner of the room, crouched low beside an old table, sifting through stacks of yellowed documents, your movements deliberate but slow. The jacket clung to you awkwardly, barely covering your arms and torso.

Even from across the room, he could hear your teeth chattering slightly, despite how hard you were trying to suppress it.

You always did that, pushing yourself even when it was clear you were struggling. Mike admired that about you, but it was also something that worried him. He knew you were trying to stay strong for him and the rest of the group, but the last thing Mike wanted was for you to get hurt or worse.

His thoughts raced, that protective instinct flaring up again. You didn't deserve this. You deserved to be somewhere warm, safe... with him.

He had been feeling that way for months now, ever since that night after he broke up with Emily. That night had changed everything for him. You were the one who stayed with him, sitting by his side, listening to him vent as he struggled to process the end of his long-term relationship.

You didn't just offer hollow platitudes; you gave him the kind of comfort and understanding he never knew he needed. He realized then, somewhere between the midnight conversation and the quiet moments of silence, that you were different. You weren't just his friend; you were the one person who made him feel like himself again.

After that night, he found himself constantly thinking about you. How easy it was to talk to you, how you made him laugh even when he felt like shit.

He'd find excuses to see you, call you up for help with college work, or invite you out for something casual. He always assumed you'd catch on quickly to his flirting, but you never did. Either he was terrible at flirting with a guy like you, or you were just completely oblivious.

Without a word, he began to unbutton his own jacket, which was far thicker and more insulated than the pathetic excuse you were wearing.

He held it out toward you.

"Here," he said simply. "Take it"

You shook your head immediately. "No. I'll be fine. You need it more than I do."

Mike narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. "You're freezing, man. You look like you're about to turn into an ice cube."

You tried to laugh it off, though it came out weak and unconvincing. "It's really not that bad. I can handle the cold. And it'd be selfish of me to take your jacket. There’s no way you're any warmer than I am."

With the simple tank top he was wearing underneath, now all dirty with mud and snow, it became even harder for you to stop staring at him. His muscular and strong arms drew your attention.

Mike sighed, holding the jacket out stubbornly towards you. "You're not fine. You're shaking like a leaf." He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over your arm, feeling the coldness of your skin even through the thin fabric of your jacket. "Just take it."

But you shook your head again, more firmly this time. "It wouldn't be fair," you murmured, looking down at the papers you were holding. "You need it just as much as I do. I can handle the cold. We've been through worse than this, right?"

Why couldn't you just let him take care of you for once?

"Come on," he tried again, his voice soft but insistent. "After everything we've been through tonight, hypothermia is the least of my worries. I'm not letting you freeze out here, not when I can do something about it."

You glanced up at him, your eyes softening for a moment, and for a second, Mike thought you might actually take the jacket. But then you shook your head again.

"I'll be fine, Mike."

Mike sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air as he ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, you're stubborn.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to divert the conversation as you continued sorting through the papers. "I've been called worse."

Finally, with a deep sigh, Mike relented, shoving his jacket back on with a grumble.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sounds being the creak of old floorboards beneath your feet and the occasional rustle of paper. Wolfie, the wolf Mike had somehow managed to befriend, lay beside you, his fur brushing against your leg as he occasionally shifted.

Every so often, you'd reach down to scratch behind Wolfie's ears. His fur was soft under your fingertips.

You gripped the edges of the papers in your hand, hoping that somehow, just focusing on the task in front of you would make it better.

It didn't.

It was then that you noticed Mike shifting beside you and before you could react, his body was pressing up against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist in a firm but gentle hold. His warmth hit you immediately, and you couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped your lips at the sudden contrast.

"Mike?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you stiffened in surprise at the closeness.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "If you won't take my jacket, I'll just have to warm you up myself." he whispered, his voice rough and low.

Your heart started to race, not just from the unexpected contact, but from the undeniable heat that surged through your body as Mike's lips brushed against the side of your neck. The sensation was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold this time.

His lips moved slowly, deliberately, trailing soft kisses down the length of your neck, each one sending a wave of heat through your body. Your body was leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he was offering.

This wasn't the Mike you were used to. This was something far more intimate, more personal.

"Mike... I don't..." you began, but your words trailed off as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"You don't what?" he asked softly, his hand sliding up from your waist to rest on your chest, pulling you even closer against him. "You don't want this?"

Of course you wanted it. More than anything, really. You'd been harboring feelings for Mike for so long, feelings you'd kept hidden, thinking there was no way he'd ever see you as anything more than a friend, a study partner, a background presence in his life.

But now, with his body pressed against yours and his lips trailing fire down your neck, it was clear that Mike had been seeing you in a very different light for a while.

"I didn't think..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you felt like this about me."

He hadn't planned on this happening, not exactly. But as he held you in his arms, feeling the heat of your body against his, he couldn't deny how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to you. For years, he had pushed his feelings for you to the back of his mind, thinking it wasn't something you'd ever want. You were smart, focused, always so kind.

He pressed closer, his lips trailing lower along your collarbone, his fingers gently digging into your waist. The torn jacket you were wearing slid down slightly, giving him better access to your skin, and he took full advantage of it, kissing his way down your neck with slow, deliberate movements.

Mike's lips paused against your skin, and he pulled back, his expression soft but intense. "You really didn't notice, did you?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've been trying to get you to see it for months. I thought you'd pick up on it, but... guess I'm not as smooth as I thought."

You blinked at him, your mind reeling. "You've... been trying to tell me?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "I've been dropping hints since we stayed up all night after Emily and I broke up. You were there for me, man. And ever since then I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I didn't think you'd ever feel like that about me," you confessed, your voice shaky with disbelief.

Mike smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulled you a little closer. "I noticed the way you looked at me," he said quietly, his breath warm against your skin. "All those times you'd stare at me, thinking I didn't see. You were so fucking adorable, but it drove me crazy."

You blinked up at him, clearly shocked by the confession. Mike chuckled softly, his lips brushing over your jawline, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist. "You're not that good at hiding it, you know."

Before you could respond, Mike kissed you. His lips hungry, filled with all the emotions he hadn't been able to express before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer.

You responded almost immediately, your lips parting under his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

Mike deepened the kiss, his hands slipping beneath your jacket, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips, your waist, your chest. His tongue dipped past your lips.

After a long moment, Mike pulled back just enough to whisper, his voice low and rough, "You're okay with this, right?"

You didn't even hesitate this time. You nodded, breathless.

Mike's grin widened, and without another word, he kissed you again, even more deeply this time. His hands moved up your sides, tugging at the edges of your jacket as he pressed you against the wall.

You pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as the heat between you both grew.

Mike's lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and back to your neck, his hands roaming your body as if he couldn't get enough of you. Your breath coming in shallow gasps as he kissed his way down to your collarbone, his grip on your waist tightening.

You wanted more, needed more, and judging by the way Mike was holding you with his erection pressing insistently against you, he felt the same.

He pulled back slightly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced over at Wolfie, who had been lying quietly in the corner of the room.

He bent down, ruffling the fur of the wolf who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room. "Go on, buddy," Mike whispered. "Follow me for a second."

The wolf trotted after Mike as he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone for a few moments, heart still racing. You could hear him talking softly to Wolfie just outside the door, something about how you were "the guy" he'd told the wolf about before.

When Mike came back into the room, locking the door behind him, the intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken even more.

Without wasting another second, Mike crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a deep, hungry kiss. His lips were insistent, full of desire, and you couldn't help but melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him back with just as much need.

Mike's hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips, pulling you closer. His tongue teased at your lips before slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

He broke the kiss just long enough to mutter, "God, I've wanted you for so long."

Then, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripping you even tighter, pressing you against the nearest wall as his mouth trailed down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there.

His hands were on you, pulling at your clothes, lowering them to expose just what was needed with an almost frantic urgency, before he gripped your ass, his fingers digging into the soft skin with a possessive intensity as he lifted you slightly, pressing his body against your.

"Relax," Mike whispered, his voice low and commanding as his fingers trailed down, teasingly brushing against your entrance. "Let me take care of you."

He teased you for a moment, his fingers gently exploring before he slowly pushed one inside, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly.

He moved his finger slowly at first, watching your face for every reaction, but as you relaxed into his touch, he added another finger, stretching you carefully.

Mike's other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender.

By the time Mike pulled his fingers out of you, you were trembling with anticipation, your body aching for him.

You heard the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants, and then you felt the tip of his hard cock rubbing against your thigh.

"Ready for me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You could barely nod, your entire body trembling with need. Mike lined himself up, his hands gripping your hips firmly, and then, with one slow, steady thrust, he pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you, filled you completely. He moved slowly at first, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you could do was moan softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"You're perfect," Mike groaned as he began to move, his hips moving with slow, deliberate motions. "You feel so fucking good."

Mike's hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your chest, cupping your face as he kissed you hungrily. His cock filled you completely, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His hands moved lower, his fingers finding their way between your legs as he stroked you in time with his thrusts.

The more his pace picked up, the more his movements became rougher, more desperate. He kissed you again, biting at your lips, your neck, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he pulled you closer with each thrust.

"Fuck," Mike groaned, his voice low and husky. His soft grunts filling the cold room as he moved inside you.

The pleasure built to an unbearable peak as his thrusts became faster, harder. You could feel the heat spreading through your body, your muscles tensing as you teetered on the edge.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, Mike groaned loudly, his hands gripping you tightly as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. The sensation sent you over the edge as well, and you cried out as your own orgasm ripped through you, your voice muffled against his neck.

After a few moments of catching your breath and letting the weight of everything settle in, Mike pressed another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling away slightly, his hands lingering on your hips. You could see the satisfied smile tugging at his lips, that playful, cocky expression you had grown so used to over the years. He gave you a wink before straightening up, pulling his pants back up and adjusting himself as if nothing had happened.

You followed suit, your body still buzzing with the aftermath. There was something so surreal about it all. Being here, with Mike Munroe, of all people. You had known him for years, but you had never imagined things would end up like this.

Once you were both dressed and more or less presentable, Mike walked over to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

"Ready to face Wolfie again? He might be a little upset that we kicked him out." He glanced back at you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, before swinging the door open.

Outside, Wolfie was sprawled out across the floor, his furry body taking up most of the tight hallway. The wolf's ears twitched at the sound of the door opening, and he turned his head to glance at the two of you. His golden eyes scanned you two and then, with what could only be described as a huff, he plopped his head back down onto the floor, letting out a long sigh as if he had been deeply offended by the delay.

"Is he pouting?" you asked, incredulous.

Mike smirked, clearly amused by the wolf's behavior. "What? You jealous, buddy?" he teased as he crouched down beside Wolfie. The wolf, still looking somewhat begrudging, turned his head away, as if refusing to acknowledge Mike.

Mike reached out, scratching Wolfie behind the ears, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone. "Come on, don't be mad. I was just doing my part to keep him warm. You know how cold it is here."

You watched as Wolfie's resolve began to crumble under Mike's touch, his tail thumping softly against the floor as Mike scratched behind his ears. Mike chuckled, his cocky grin growing wider. "See? I warmed him up real good. All thanks to me."

Wolfie responded with a soft growl. He finally turned his head back toward Mike and he ruffled his fur, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face.

Mike stood up, shooting you a wink as he slung his arm around your shoulder. "Damn right, I did." He leaned in to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips.

Together, you and Mike walked down the hallway, Wolfie trotting along beside you. And as Mike gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, you couldn't help but feel grateful that, through all the chaos and terror of the night, you had found someone worth fighting for.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[lunahearts]

Okay I'm doing it. I'm chapter 96 posting.

This is not meant to be a big analysis post this is mostly just me sharing all the little moments that Marcille & Laios show their care for each other because they are SO beloved to me. Join me on the journey if you wish.

(but also the above statement may be a lie. I do have a point here, it turns out, and the point gets at some of my Big Feelings of what Dungeon Meshi has to say about the nature of friendship & living in the world)

So, first of all, the conversation about Laios being king at the start of the chapter. Just in general Laios insisting on presenting himself in his own way here is so good. Character development!!

Before the events of the story he hadn't shared his inner world with anyone but Falin. Now he's like Actually I'm gonna dress up in the discarded remains of my monstersona and that's just how it is.

And even though there are a LOT of parts of the story and bits of character growth that go into this, I think it specifically highlights some interactions from a few chapters ago.

After all, his initial reaction to having been in that monster form & coming out of it was trying to hide from everyone.

And I think everyone helping him put things in perspective here contributes to how he is able to present himself as king. They assure him that he is accepted, despite having just been seen by EVERYONE at his Peak "Weird Monster Guy" mode.

Highlighting what Marcille says here especially:

Going out to "face them with a smile" is EXACTLY what he does. Not right away. He's still pretty stressed in the following scene in this chapter. But he is able to face the crowds with a smile, eventually...

As king. Dressed in the memory of his most vulnerable moments, the most honest expression of his desire.

BUT I'M GETTING A LITTLE AHEAD OF MYSELF. Before the King Laios speech, there's a little moment with Marcille I want to highlight, because...

Did y'all know that by the end of the manga, Marcille isn't like... grossed out by eating monsters any more? Or at least, she's definitely changed her reaction to it. It's Namari who makes the "yeah it smells good despite what it is" comment, not Marcille.

We even get shots later of Tansu, Shuro, and Kabru being kinda grossed out by - but still going ahead and eating - the different Falin foods. Chilchuck also throws out a line about it being surprised that it's good.

But there's no disparaging comment from Marcille, despite the Everything of the situation. I just think that's also a nice little detail. She may not be as far in the monster eating game as Laios, but she's more willing to roll with the weirdness.

So after this little moment, this is when Laios comes out in his new regal outfit. And first of all...

This is such a good contrast to the moment when the group goes to save Marcille in chapter 84. The monsters had stopped attacking, and everyone's reactions to Laios and the others framed him as unsettling. Creepy. Maybe even traitors.

They even use some of the same labels (lord of the monsters/lord of the dungeon, dark lord/demon king)., but the context is that they are disgusted. The parallels in this manga....

Have a tendency to destroy me. What a difference in reception.

Anyway, after this moment, Laios stops to talk to the group... and I'd like to point out again: MARCILLE ISN'T FLIPPANT HERE EITHER!!

Chilchuck is still Chilchuck, of course, and I want to be clear I love that, too. Chilchuck is who he is to his core. His little jabs are very affectionate in this chapter.

But Marcille... Marcille only points to the Winged Lion symbol as being weird, not the monster bits. And like, considering what she's just been through with the lion, being skeptical of that part is... fair.

(don't get me wrong, her "that's fine and all" isn't exactly excitement. BUT the point I'm trying to make is less about her completely changing her feelings & preferences. It's more about how she expresses them, and how she treats Laios and HIS feelings & preferences)

And she continues to be so encouraging!! Wah!! Like, despite, all four of these people definitely caring about Laios, it's Marcille specifically who tells him to relax and just be honest. And you know what? I think that's what Falin would have said, too.

Please also note how cute everyone's little faces are in the crowd:

(see, Chilchuck loves him too!! Look at that fond face, and the cheer. and Senshi! and Namari! They really are such a family)

Laios' short speech actually has a little bit I'd like to highlight as well, since I think it is a nice little reflection of his choice to keep the lion insignia on his new outfit:

"Eat to your heart's content," he says. Not just "enjoy," or "let's eat."

Dunmeshi does such a wonderful job of framing so much about the Winged Lion with nuance, and this is a good example of that. Desire is not bad! Craving and consuming is beautiful. As Laios says when explaining the lion insignia...

It's not just something to get rid of.

So then... on to the feast!

And not only does Marcille not express any grossed out feelings, as I mentioned before... she even helps to gross out Chilchuck!!

Her weird girl powers are only just in their infancy. She will only grow more powerful in time...

As the feast goes on of course we get the group's realization about her hair, and I'd like to point out:

I really feel like they have such similar reactions to finding out about how the other has been affected by the Winged Lion

Just... the quiet concern. Not making a huge fuss, but... worried. Understanding. A little heartbroken for each other.

SPEAKING OF HEARTBROKEN REACTIONS THOUGH. WHAT COMES NEXT REALLY GETS ME.

After Chilchuck braids Marcille's hair for her, the topic of her needing to leave everyone comes up and...

God, these expressions. Every Time I see these panels I think about about what Laios saw in her nightmare. Her fears. The weight of inevitable loneliness, and the way it has marked her. As much as Marcille tries to keep things light when talking about it, he knows what this means to her. And it HURTS.

So he doesn't accept it. But do you notice how he frames this. Do you see. Not "do you want me to fix this." Not "hey I have an idea."

"Would you be willing to stay."

He doesn't know whether she will accept. Whether she will hate the idea, actually, of staying here with him. He's putting himself out there fully prepared for rejection & dismissal, as he has faced many times before.

But his pitch, his proposal to her, it's not JUST an excuse to ask her to stay, either. He's put thought into this. Into what Marcille could mean and do here. Not just to and for him, but for the people of this area. The place he has taken responsibility for.

He's also thinking about Falin. And about all the other little girls, the people of all sorts, just like her. He's thinking about the people who have been killed (burned at the stake???), hurt, shunned. About the people who have been abandoned. The people who are still alone.

He's not just offering Marcille an out from her isolation, he's offering her a new purpose. A new way to continue her work, to do the things she cares about. He SEES her! he understands her.

BUT ALSO HE'S SO NERVOUS OUGH. FIDDLING WITH THE PLATE. UNSURE IF SHE WILL CARE. UNSURE IF HE HAS IT RIGHT.

HE'S NOT GOOD WITH PEOPLE HE'S NOT GOOD AT THIS.

BUT THEY UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER. AND SHE WANTS THIS LIFE HE'S OFFERING HER.

Still... it's not that simple for her, even if for a moment she is swept up in how much she wants this.

Again here, Marcille is working so hard to be chill about the whole 'going west with the elves' thing. She looks absolutely devastated in the first panel, but puts on a smile in the second.

Maybe she doesn't want to bring down the mood. Maybe she doesn't want to burden everyone with what seems like the only option she has. Maybe she had already accepted the cost that might come with bringing Falin back. Maybe after everything with the Winged Lion, she doesn't want to risk letting herself fight for her desires too hard.

But hey. Desires aren't always bad. They aren't something to just get rid of.

A small bit of visual storytelling here... I love that Marcille is confined by the panel, but Laios is stepping outside of it. He's literally pulling her outside of the box she feels trapped in.

Also, I love that his first acts as king are:

1) welcome everyone to a big feast

2) stand by his friend and help her find happiness

It's great stuff and it's so Laios.

In addition to that, I love how this whole act actually plays out. I love that, while getting the elves to let Marcille go, he gets to be extremely cool and protective...

but also like. Not THAT cool and protective.

No really, I mean it! I think it's important! It's important that cool 'suave king guy Laios' is a front he puts up when he needs to deal with these strangers, and one that he completely drops once it's just him and Marcille.

He's not trying to impress her, or convince her he's cool and suave. Why would he? He trusts that she's okay with the messy, often unimpressive, sometimes kinda gross reality of who he is.

And isn't that what Dungeon Meshi is all about? Messy, unimpressive, gross reality. And how beautiful, how wonderful, how very precious it is

Especially when you get to share it with your friends.

[barbs111claims]

You are Universe looking back at itself

(Guys, brace yourself because it is not going to be your usual post.)

I don't know if you guys understand why it is "assumption".

The thing we see, hear, smell, touch, taste. They aren't real. I'm not trying to say the same thing again and again.

I'm not emotional blackmailing you to have faith in imagination in order to have your desires in 3D. But I'm telling you to have faith in imagination because it is the only truth. The source creation.

If the 3D is actually real and vivid as it seems,

there wouldn't be Ageusia, Dysgeusia, Color Blindness, Anosmia, Anaphia and literally tons other mental illness or disorders.

Dysgeusia: A condition where taste is distorted, leading to unusual or unpleasant flavors. Color blindness: A deficiency in color vision, usually involving difficulty distinguishing between certain colors. Dysacusis: A hearing disorder where sounds are distorted or unclear, making them hard to understand despite normal hearing. Anosmia: The total loss of the sense of smell, often caused by damage to the olfactory system Anaphia: The loss or impairment of the sense of touch, often due to nerve or brain damage.

Similarly between them?

"In short, they all relate to disruptions in the way the body processes sensory information."

Now, what proves that our entire lives that what we feel is not a distortion?

our brain? the only thing that distorts?

science? the thing is which is created by human brain?

These disorders happens due to a change in neural pathway in brains or due to medical treatment of which it affects the brain of some people which alters their entire reality.

People with color blindess don't know that their brain cannot see certain colors until other people make that person aware. Only then, the person with the color blindness gets aware of their condition, so till then... That person assumes that is their reality because that's what consciousness does.

So now, what if everyone on earth had color blindness?

It would simply just be the 'true reality'.

Brain provides distortion and consciousness accepts which then repeated becomes a belief in deep subconscious mind.

Nothing is "truth". We don't actually see 3D but the brain repeats us the old assumptions again and again.

That's why 3D is a reflection of our own mind.

The assumptions doesn't affect the 3D but becomes the 3D.

Assumptions are the true reality, 4D is the true reality.

Whether new or old, there is no "true reality" out there. (link)

There is no active 3D existing. Everything is 4D. Your so called material world is just interpreted by your brain through sensory nerves. You were always living in your head.

"Oh but why do need something external like water if we only live in our head?"

Because you exist in a physical body at this moment. Your body needs it. You don't. So you can actually shift to a reality where you don't need water.

Our physical never had to suffer or endure pain, we were provided with abundant water, minerals, trees which ripe fruits, vegetables, human physical and mental strength to power other creatures since the dawn.

"Oh then why do we innovate new physical objects if it already exists in 4D?"

Because we are source of creation. Our imagination, 4D. We don't just create out of no where. Just like how the airplane was a fantasy of the Wright brothers before it came into existence. We imagine something, we drive in creating.

Everything that is existing right now is a fantasy of the creator.

We are a mere fantasy of I am.

We are the I am conceived in human form who then forgot ourselves and became a dream character.

When we are first born, our subconscious develops at 6months. The duty of subconscious is solely to protect and serve you. The baby in the womb knows how to suck milk from the mother. Your subconscious protects you now and forever, you then develop consciousness which has the possibility to change the subconscious belief considering changes in adaptation in surroundings and to mend with the society.

That's why kids are very 'spongy' from 6-8yrs. Their conscious and subconscious both are developing together. This is where their majority life's belief starts forming deep onto their subconscious.

(Your subconsciousness is why you are here, making you able to read this at the moment. Heart beat, lungs functioning etc. It developed long ago and is consciously listening, it can't process every thoughts like consciousness, it just simply takes you as the dominant thought)

You get adapted to 3D and forget about 4D.

So it becomes 3D-> 4D->3D (old assumptions becomes 'true'.)

instead of 4D-> 3D-> 4D (you create assumption, your own reality which then becomes the 'true').

You are only truth, I am.

Whatever state you associate yourself with after that is an illusion that you can choose to be.

Anything is possible to I am.

You were/are/will be void forever.

You are whatever you desire and get conscious of.

[temis-de-leon]

10 signs a cow is happy

Characters: Belphie x gn!MC

Main Masterlist

CW: developing and established relationship. A tiny bit suggestive at one point and there's a mention of rumination (regurgitation) in another one. Otherwise, nothing

A/N: a little different from what I'm used to, but I figured trying something new could help with the writer's block. Hope you enjoy it!

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Inspired by this video and this one <3

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He reacts to his name.

Except it isn’t just his name; at least when the one looking for him is MC.

Most of the time it’s Belphie, although Belphegor comes out occasionally, like those mornings when they’re both running late for class and he won’t wake up. There are also the late nights when MC is too tired to speak and only hums the melody of his name, but the demon still opens an arm and offers the spot beside him.

He frowns when Lucifer yells and continues sleeping when Beel carries him without a care in the world, but, conscious or not, he always smiles when MC is the one calling for him.

He spends time socialising and grooming others.

It’s more noticeable once he’s freed from the attic and he feels the need to spend as much time with them as his brothers had had while he was trapped, although his hate towards humans dissipating might’ve also had something to do with it.

One moment MC finds themselves relaxing in their room and the next, after answering an ominous text message, they are lying down next to him in the planetarium, first admiring the stars and then letting him play with their hair as he unknots it with his fingers.

His touch only grows more intimate as their friendship deepens and eventually evolves into something much less platonic, but the love and care within remain the same.

He likes to play with toys, like balls.

Which is something no one expects; a welcomed surprise.

They’re all sitting in a couple of booths inside a cheap diner in the middle of nowhere, one more time victims of their own misadventures. The smell of meaty grease surrounds them and sticks to their clothes, leaving both Asmo and Beel in tears for completely different reasons, and the mean-looking waitress has enough kindness in her heart to give them an old kid’s toy to entertain themselves.

It goes first to MC, the favourite in the family, and then to Belphie, who never gets to give it to anyone else. He throws it, catches it and bounces it against any surface available until Lucifer gives him a warning look and threatens to confiscate it, to which he pouts.

A couple of minutes later, he throws it in MC’s direction, so they throw it back to him with a smile.

Five minutes later, the ball is neatly kept in Lucifer’s pocket.

He has zoomies.

Another surprise, although not as sweet as the last one.

There’s a primal fear in the depths of their mind, the one that yearns for survival, that begs MC to run and hide the very few times Belphie looks at them with those dilated pupils. They suppose it makes sense, even if they’re not afraid of him anymore.

He doesn’t look dangerous or aggressive, just unsettlingly alert and active for a demon who’s supposed to be always tired; shockingly fast and agile each time the sudden bursts of energy make him run through the house jumping in unfiltered glee, going past MC close enough to almost tackle them to the ground.

Satan suspects it’s a consequence of his long periods of rest and, while MC finds it fascinating, they can’t wait for Belphie to go back to normal.

He’s enthusiastic about treats.

A feature he shares with his brother, no doubt, is their twin telepathy proving its existence yet again; and even though they’re strikingly different, they still share some mannerisms as well, like the way they smile or look up at MC whenever they enter their room.

And that brightness in their face only increases if there are goodies involved.

MC sometimes jokes about Beel being more like a goat, trying to eat anything and everything whether or not is edible. Fortunately, Belphie’s stomach is not that demanding, so a simple sushi platter is enough to leave him happy.

However, MC can’t help but wonder if being the one who brings the treats is part of the reason for his enthusiasm because if so, every market near them will have a sushi shortage very soon.

He chews cud.

Which serves to remind MC of his non-human, half-ruminant nature.

With the middle of March approaching, the twins’ birthday is celebrated as much as possible. The amount of food at the table is tremendous and it even reaches Diavolo’s height; a perfect example of the word variety. There are dishes, appetizers, snacks and desserts for everyone’s taste, fruits and meats and vegetables and whatnot. Fortunately, Beel eats half of it in the blink of an eye before it can get overwhelming.

But for some reason, there’s also a medium-sized bowl full of what looks like grass. It’s hidden amongst other things, probably because of the oddity of its presence, but Belphie finds it quickly enough.

The sight that follows is morbidly captivating and equally disgusting, especially when the chewed food comes back to his mouth for more chewing.

At the end of the day, the important thing is that he’s happy.

…right?

He initiates hugs.

Usually when he wants cuddles and, bratty as he is, his requests often sound more like demands.

He opens his arms, brings MC to his chest and breathes in. There’s a hand wrapped around their waist and another cradling their head, softly scratching their scalp, and their body is already relaxing against his before they can even think about what they’re doing.

Sometimes, when he looks too grumpy to be taken seriously, they like to tease him, laughing at the shocked and offended expression he wears when they playfully ignore his attempted embrace.

They suppose it’s sweet, the idea of always being close as a given fact.

He exposes his tummy for belly rubs.

While lying in that position might be seen as vulnerable for some, it doesn’t seem to be a problem for Belphie; although being a powerful demon probably gave him a good sense of security.

MC would never complain about it, anyway. Seeing him so at peace around them and not only letting, but asking to be pet? A perfect evening if they’ve ever seen one. They let themselves enjoy the feeling of his stomach trembling under the tip of their nails and the small puffs of air that come out when their fingers threaten to travel lower.

It’s a type of intimacy that he wouldn’t mind bragging about in front of his brothers, but he still stays quiet to keep it private and uninterrupted.

He licks his lips when you hit the right scratch spot.

The boredom is hefty enough to kill the whole classroom. Some are painting their skin, others are painting their seatmate’s skin and MC is wondering how soft Belphie’s hair is. He is sitting in front of them during the last period of the day and the temptation is too strong to avoid.

For once, he isn’t carelessly dropped on the table, but rather leaning back and letting his head rest on the back of the chair; he is conscious enough to pay attention to their professor in his sleep but not to his surroundings, so MC takes their shot.

At first they think it’s a coincidence and pay no mind to the subtle movement of his tongue wetting his lips when they scratch his nape, but then it happens again and again and they find themselves unable to stop and forget their little discovery.

Thankfully, when the bell rings and Belphie wakes up to go home with them, MC has the perfect excuse.

He drools! Such things happen!

He purrs.

It takes MC some time to figure out what is the deep rumbling that follows them for months, mainly because it sounds like a creaking door and, while the House of Lamentation is old, the structure and the furniture are kept mostly intact.

Just like white noise, once they turn it down, it’s impossible not to miss it and the realisation is enough to turn the sadness of returning to the human realm into a full crying meltdown.

It was there the whole time: when they woke up Belphie and they were the first person he saw; or when they laid together and played and simply enjoyed each other’s presence and existence.

It’s there again when MC can’t deal with the loneliness anymore and calls him.

The rumbling, a purr, peeking under his low voice.

If that isn’t enough reason to keep loving him, then what is?

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[lightleak007]

~ The Legend of How You Disappeared ~

Storyline: Kokushibo thought that people with rare blood are the only ones who can make him feel the excitement of consuming them. But you—you are awakening his humanistic urge that is supposed to be long forgotten.

!! SMUT ALERT !!

!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK !!

PS. Hi, reader! I'm making my tumblr debut with one of my favorite Demon Slayer Character x Reader stories that I made. Hope you enjoy reading~

During the Taisho period, it is part of the culture to be married at a young age. The age of sixteen is the appropriate age to have a husband through an arranged marriage. That’s why learning how to be a good wife is much more important than learning how to be intellectual.

You had prepared yourself for the day to be chosen as a bride, but your life wasn’t the same as everybody else—no one wanted you.

If only you were chosen and got married by the age of sixteen, you wouldn’t be seen as bad luck by your own family and everybody else in town.

As you live your life for two decades, you are seen as a disgrace, and everyone who knew you always looked at you with pity in their eyes. Even work does not come easy since everyone believes you’ll only attract misfortune to their business. It got you thinking that maybe life isn’t hard, it’s just you finding it hard to live because the people around you make it so.

It feels like you’re just breathing, but not living—you feel empty and unwanted. The only thing that gives you peace of mind is an evening walk, and you developed a habit of doing it every night without a miss.

Even with the rumors about a demon who hunts humans for food being the only talk in your town lately, it doesn’t stop you to take a late-night walk. More like, you don’t care if you encounter the demon and he puts an end to your life—or maybe the demon won’t even choose you to be their prey in the first place.

You scoffed at the thought of encountering a picky demon as you continue to walk towards the riverside. When you got to your usual spot, you put down your lantern on the grass before sitting beside it. The moon is unusually bright tonight and its light is reflecting on the calm water that is flowing in the river in front of you.

“Ah~ It feels a little chilly tonight,” you said to yourself as you felt the night breeze, and put on your haori that you brought with you. Nighttime is the only time you are free—from judgments and the pitiful stare of everyone you know. It feels nice to have solitude and the gentle flow of wind against you is adding to your relaxation.

The cold air of the night keeps brushing against your skin and as the wind blows, your scent is being flown with it—reaching the nostrils of the rumored demon in the area. He can feel his senses tingle upon smelling a human nearby.

Kokushibo moves swiftly to your location, his hunger beginning to rise within him. Just by your scent, he could tell you are a woman in her younger years, and the closer he gets to where you are… his sixth sense revealed much more.

Without you noticing him, Kokushibo stands a few feet away behind you. He couldn’t believe what he could see with his sixth sense, but he knows that his eyes are not lying to him.

Kokushibo can tell without a doubt that you are a virgin.

A thrill runs in his veins and an unfamiliar urge is igniting within him upon knowing this. Kokushibo thought that people with rare blood are the only ones who can make him feel the excitement of consuming them. But you—you are awakening his humanistic urge that is supposed to be long forgotten.

Being a demon, Kokushibo did not think that it was possible for him to feel any sexual urge, especially, toward a human. For demons, humans are nothing but food and power source. Yet when your scent penetrated his nostrils, a tingling sensation runs through under his skin, and his instincts told him to have you.

Kokushibo unsheaths his fleshy sword from his side. Thinking to himself that after he absorbs you, he'll be back to his usual self—being composed and reserved. In just one slash, he knew he could end your life and he won’t be bothered by his humanistic feelings anymore.

You only became aware of someone else’s presence behind you when you felt a sharp tip pressing at your back. A gasp left your lips and your mind wondered who could it be. Your heart races its beat as you slowly turn your head to see who it is.

A louder gasp escapes from you upon realizing that the person who pointed his sword at you, is in fact, a demon. You tilt your face away to see him, he has three pairs of eyes that can’t go unnoticed by someone. His face has flame markings on the left side of his forehead and on the right side of his chin. He stands tall in front of you and his spiky hair is tied in a ponytail behind his head. He’s wearing a purple kimono with beehive patterns on it and partnered it with black hakama pants that are tied with a white cloth belt on his waist. Somehow, you felt admiration for his majestic features.

“W-Who are you…?” You asked as he pointed his fleshy sword at your face this time. Well, you guess this is where your miserable life ends.

Even as a demon, he’s polite enough to answer your question. “Upper Moon Rank One of Twelve Kizuki,” he saw how your face looks puzzled at what he said, “Kokushibo.” He was a little surprised that you did not run away screaming.

As someone who’s tired of living, you don’t feel scared anymore of getting killed by him. It’s not your wish to spend your time growing old in a world that only gives unfairness to you.

“Don’t worry, I won’t run away,” you said as you get up on your feet, “You can do anything to me. I’ve been ready to throw my life away anyway, Kokushibo.” You flashed him a genuine smile—something you haven’t done in a long time.

Kokushibo’s eyebrows twitch, “Do…anything to her?” He thought as he felt the shivers that run through his body, and the smile that you gave him only made his heart fall. He pointed his sword to your chest and he watches as you anticipated the slash.

You waited with eyes-closed, heartbeat racing but there’s no regret creeping into your chest. Then, you felt the sword swing across your body and the breeze of the night penetrated your skin. Slowly, you opened one eye to see what happened—only to see Kokushibo sheathing his sword back to his side.

When the wind flew again, it felt too cold against your body. Realization slowly sank in you as shredded pieces of clothing swayed in front of your eyes. You look at your body and found yourself…naked.

“I have permission to do anything to you right now,” Kokushibo catches your waist and pulled your naked body closer to his. His face inching closer to your neck and his other hand already caressing one of your breasts.

“A-Aren’t you—hng!” The feeling of his lips kissing lavishly on your neck made you hold off your question. You weren’t aware that a demon like him could be a pervert and would do sexual advances on his prey—this wasn’t what you expected. His sharp nails grazing against your back made you elicit a shuddering breath and caused you to push your chest closer to him.

Kokushibo slathers his tongue from your shoulder blade to your neck and it reaches until the back of your ears. “Your taste is addicting….” He paused upon the realization that he doesn’t know your name.

“Tell me…” Kokushibo pulled your chin to tilt your head and made you look at him, “...your name, human.”

“_______,” you answered without hesitation as you hold onto his shoulders and felt your heart flutter at his compliment. Your naked body presses close to him and you can feel a hard tent poking on your thigh.

“_______,” Kokushibo repeated as if your name is something he won’t ever want to forget. His hands ran all over your body as his mouth started working on your neck again. Your scent and taste against Kokushibo’s senses are enough to make him moan. He ran his fangs on the veins of your neck and the urge to bite you is so strong but his sexual urge for you is stronger.

The feeling of Kokushibo’s lips against your skin is ticklish and sensual, both feelings are something you never had before from someone else. You felt your body being guided to lay down on the grass where your shredded clothes are. As soon as your back hits the ground, Kokushibo hovers on top of you and seizes your lips.

“Hmng!” The sudden kiss caught you off-guard, making it hard to respond as his tongue invades your mouth. You can only release puffs of air and let him eagerly suck on your tongue—the sensation is electrifying.

Kokushibo keeps himself busy as he savors your taste in your mouth, not really minding all the saliva he’s been slurping from you. It has been so long since he ever kissed someone and he’s well aware that not even with his wife from before time, had awakened a such desire he’s been feeling for you. He doesn’t want to stop and his tongue pushes deep into your mouth—nearly reaching your throat.

You almost choked and your eyes filled with tears as you find it hard to breathe. With all the strength that you have, you pushed him away and moaned, “Ko-Kokushibo…”

There’s a trickle of saliva on the side of his mouth as he pulled away and the way you moaned his name made him feel a throb in his aching length. Kokushibo wiped off your stained cheek with his cold hand as gently as he could. He’s feeling too much ache between his legs that his clothing is making him feel more uncomfortable.

You watch as Kokushibo undress between your legs, he has pale skin but a muscular body, and your eyes were interrupted from lowering down your gaze when he hoists your legs in his arms. The dripping of your arousal in between your legs is being reflected by the moonlight, and the embarrassment snaps in you as Kokushibo leans in closer to your wetness.

Kokushibo inhales deep your arousal scent—too inviting for him. He felt your hips squirming away in shyness but he had no problem firming his hold on your thighs. His hands spread your wetness open and his sharp nails dug into your inner thighs at the sight of your tight hole. Every breath that he takes is heavy as he keeps himself in control.

You started to feel more embarrassed and insecure as Kokushibo stay in a daze with your virgin hole. But, every puff of air from his mouth feels too hot against your wetness that it’s taking effect on you too. Your soft hand reaches for his hand that’s holding into your inner thigh, “What’s… wrong?”

“I want to taste what’s dripping from you here,” Kokushibo’s knuckles caresses your folds and gently prod your clit unconsciously.

Before you could answer, you felt his flat tongue lathering on your wetness back and forth. The tip of his tongue rubbed on your clit and licking on your slit—causing your legs to spread further apart. Your hands hold onto his head as Kokushibo let himself drown in your wetness, and your voice sounds high and lewd from the sensation.

Kokushibo’s mouth works with hunger and your arousal coating even his chin as he pushes his tongue inside you. He slurps loudly and sucked on the nub his mouth had found—causing your legs to tremble against his hold.

“Ahhh~!!” You cried out in pleasure as you tug on his hair, “Kokushibo~! Your tongue—haa~!!”

The way you pulled his hair is not having any effect on Kokushibo, it only made him groan against your clit, as his tongue penetrates your insides. He can feel the soft pleats of your insides squeezing around the wet muscle of his mouth.

The further his tongue reaches inside you, the closer you felt yourself convulsing. Your legs shake around his head and your body gave in to the newfound ecstasy. You came undone in his mouth and your insides wetter than ever.

Kokushibo gulped all the secretions left in his mouth and he stare down at your heavily breathing state. He presses his shaft on your abused clit and you flinch away in sensitiveness. He had to hold your hips still as he started penetrating your tight insides.

You whined at the sensation of getting stretched apart, he felt hard inside you, and it feels impossible to take all of him. The brush of his pulsating veins in your slick walls is making your eyes roll in the back of your head.

“I can’t— ‘s too much.”

Kokushibo pulled your body up on his lap, to help you sink on him as he was just halfway in, “Don’t run away from me, _______.”

You felt his hands on your ass and your body swiftly pushed down to his length. You let out a cry of his name and felt a searing pain as you fully take him inside you. Tears freely fell from your eyes as you feel the pain—his length feels too hard and your insides still adjusting from his wide girth.

"Please..." You can feel the sting in your eyes as tears continue to trickle down and stain your cheeks, "Stop... Please, stop."

Unbeknownst to both of you, spots of blood from your torn hymen are freely dripping from your joined bodies together and staining the ground.

"I can't.” Kokushibo started to thrust, “This can't be over now, _______."

You cried out louder and had to bite on his shoulder to distract yourself from the pain. Your teeth sink into his pale skin and your fingertips scratch his back, as Kokushibo keeps your body moving on top of him.

Kokushibo groaned internally as he felt you bit on his skin… and he almost prayed to a god just to keep the mark that you made. But, it wasn’t possible, his healing ability already made your bite vanish.

“Kokushibo,” you sniffled on the crook of his neck.

“It will feel better, _______,” Kokushibo kisses your shoulder blade and continue to gently guide your hips in moving. He couldn’t focus on feeling the pleasure as you cry, but he knew that he couldn’t stay still as your insides grip on his length too hard.

Your insides adjusted fully as he keeps thrusting, soon enough, the pain you were feeling was replaced by a ticklish yet sensual sensation. You can feel that it became easier to take him in as you move above him, and your voice lets out erotic moans.

Kokushibo has his six eyes closed as he lets you move on your own, the pleasure in his body is getting stronger and stronger. His hands squeeze on your soft ass and his sharp nails unconsciously left scratch marks on your skin, due to his eagerness. He’s letting out deep groans and sighs as he lets himself be consumed by the pleasure.

You felt like a knot is getting twisted inside you and the more you move, the tighter it gets. “Kokushibo~ Hnngh!”

Kokushibo caresses your face after hearing his name, your face distorts beautifully for him as the pleasure intoxicates you. He wrapped one arm around your waist and move his hips, taking the lead with speed. He can feel your nipples brushing against his face as he bounces you on top of him.

Your hold on his shoulders tightens and it’s hard to keep yourself steady. You couldn’t think straight as the pleasure gets in your head. You felt your body giving up as another wave of surprise orgasm surged throughout your body.

Kokushibo felt your insides squeeze around him repeatedly—forcing him to pull out. He felt your body falls on him and your ragged breathing is apparent. He took in a deep breath, he had almost reached his high, and he intended to pursue it.

You felt being flipped to your back and Kokushibo from behind is pushing his shaft inside you again. A loud whine escaped your lips as you feel being full again, and he felt bigger in the new position. Your legs already shaking as soon as he started to thrust.

“Kokushibo~!! Unghh!!” Your hands gripping the grass and making marks on the ground as you take in his pounding. This time, he felt forceful and relentless—as if chasing something.

Kokushibo’s mind got clouded by the pleasure that he’s spitting out a proposal near your ear in between his moans, “Let’s live together, ________.” He moaned deliciously again, “Live together with me.”

Without thinking about it, “Yes! Kokushibo, yes~!!”

Maybe it was the pleasure you’re feeling that took your sense of logic away, but you know you won’t regret the choice you made.

Kokushibo dragged his hips once more before unloading thick strings of his warm cum and it painted your narrow insides white. All of his kept seeds bursting out inside you and making you full—literally overwhelming your womb.

You can still feel Kokushibo pumping inside you and your body could only take in all that he gave. Eyes rolling at the back of your head, hands gripping the ground, and your voice sounding lewd can be heard from a far distance.

Kokushibo stared at your limp state, while his desire is barely satiated. He took you in his arms and brushed away the strands of your hair from your face, “Take my blood and I’ll keep you, _______.”

You obliged. Finally, you have found someone who wanted you.

Before sunrise, you and Kokushibo are off to spend the rest of your demon life together. Leaving your shredded clothes on the ground and pieces of evidence of you losing your virginity. The marks on the ground and the spots of blood from where you were last night were founded by a man who’s out to fish in the river.

Since then, a legend of how you disappeared arises in your town based on the traces that you left. People believed that you were eaten by a demon as it was your fate for being unmarriable.

The legend of your disappearance was told to many young girls through generations and they feared having the same fate as you.

[hochmvt]

The past hours seemed like days that had never existed. Most of the time, Isaiah had walked silently alongside the stranger, spending most of his time looking at the ground. “Go on, kid. Lead him to Baldur's Gate and make yourself useful. We do not have any use of your kin here,” the guard had said to him as he packed up his things from the tent he shared with seven other refugees. There wasn't much more than his robe, his notebook and the compass his father had left him anyway.

Reluctantly, he had looked at the man behind him as he nervously twirled his ring to calm his own nerves. The white-haired man had arrived at the refugee camp near Athkatla less than an hour ago, and although Isaiah hadn't quite caught on to what he wanted at first (the mob that had formed around the pale elf within a matter of moments had simply prevented him from doing so, not to mention that Isaiah had stayed in the background most of the time anyway), it hadn't taken long for one of the guards to push him forward and tell him he was from Neverwinter. Baldur's Gate was lying on the way and he would certainly know the route. Even though Athkatla didn't feel like home—the city wasn't necessarily well-disposed towards those who practiced arcane magic and Isaiah simply failed to understand the decadence and opulence—he didn't want to leave. It seemed as if the population was filling voids within themselves that would result an awful lot of pain if left untouched. Numbing oneself had always been the method of choice for most people. And still, Athkatla's refugee camp felt more safe than whatever was out there.

His mother had told him back when he was a kid, that the world wasn't waiting for him in the books of the library. And as much as he enjoyed listening to the stories of the courageous adventurers—especially the stories about Ad Honorem, with the ranger Faelyn, a young, blond elf Isaiah had always admired; he knew her, but she didn't know him—he still respected the world outside. Feared it, almost. Fighting dragons, Beholders, Liches or even a Tarrasque sounded truly fantastic in lore and heroic legends, but the thought of Isaiah taking part in such a battle was far beyond him and his capabilities. And now he was supposed to lead a stranger he didn't even know if he was well-disposed towards—not to mention the fact that he didn't even know why the city guard was helping the stranger at all; there was gold involved most likely—over miles to Baldur's Gate. Marvelous.

Absentmindedly, he eyed the shadow play on the ground as he led Astarion (a brief introduction was pretty much all that had happened, before both of them eventually headed towards the Gate) north through the outskirts of the City of Coins, as he had involuntarily traveled before. The incidence of a sunbeam is enough to turn light into shadow and shadow into light. Perhaps all it really needed was a nudge in the right direction. Maybe he would become something after all.

Isaiah's words weren't entirely true, but they weren't entirely lies either. He didn't have to make anything right, maybe he really only had to bring the stranger to Baldur's Gate and learn something about the shadow creatures he had read about in books in the process. Shadow creatures that had haunted the village where he had grown up and changed it. Not devastating it, but infiltrating it so deeply that he no longer recognized any of its citizens, no matter how deeply he had grown to love them. They had all become shells of themselves and Isaiah—whom his mother had hidden while she and the others tried to fend off the approaching catastrophe—fled, defenseless, homeless and alone. He was six at that time. In Neverwinter, his father's side of the family had taken him in and given him little care and attention. He had been born a wizard into a family of sorcerers, and while his mother—who still wandered the field paths of his homeland, a lost soul he had left behind, helpless, different and probably disappointed, because he had failed them—never made him feel less worthy because he was different. Unlike his family in Neverwinter. He hadn't found a home in the Jewel of the North either. It had to be out there somewhere: the feeling of home. Perhaps it was still wandering along remote country roads, eyes clear but apathetic, as if the other person wasn't really there. He missed his mom. 

“Efficent and creative,” the blonde repeated with a nod, glancing fleetingly at Astarion. His clothing was as evident as it was contradictory: it hinted at a certain wealth and aristocracy, just as it had small holes and blemishes that were neatly patched. As if there was more hidden behind the obvious, trying to keep composure in front of strangers. Hm. Just as the stranger made a rather unapproachable impression and Isaiah didn't quite know where to place Astarion (let alone whether the wizard was annoying the pale elf), his words were contradictorily reassuring. Perhaps, the possibilities that life had thrown at him, actually led him to his goal in several ways. Maybe one of those possibilities was walking alongside him right now. Maybe it was waiting for him in Baldur's Gate. He caught up the last few steps to his companion. It took a great effort for the blonde not to ask Astarion about everything imaginable (frankly, there was a lot he wanted to know about him); especially as someone who always asked a lot of questions. So he chose his questions carefully for the time being. After all he didn't want to annoy him. That'd be his death sentence out here. “You said you were separated from your companions... Do you mind if I ask what happened? And what do you want in Baldur's Gate? Are you a Baldurian?”

❛  i need to make this right.  this is my only chance.  ❜

They had been walking alongside each other no problem during their conversation so far, but that statement made Astarion stop in his tracks. He turned toward Isaiah and looked at him with equal amounts of confusion and dissaproval in his eyes. His immediate worry was that of inconvenience. While all the other companions he had gathered around himself, the ones he was now seperated from for the time being, were undeniably useful, he couldn't help but be bothered about the fact that he could be making the mistake of picking up another righteous, altuistic companion with a savior complex. It put hurdle after hurdle between him and his goals. Of course all those qualities also benefitted him, but he didn't realize that. Nor would he admit to it if he had.

He looked at Isaiah with a raised eyebrow as he replied, “While you might be hard pressed to resolve whatever pickle you've found yourself in, let's be efficient and creative about this, yes?” Astarion was sick of codes and honour. Or people diving head first into danger for anything else but the goal of surviving. And while he could've steered that frustration towards those companions that were actually responsible for wearing him out to this point, Isaiah was here now. Hoping to nip the possibility of him joining the others and their fixations to ‘do this the right way’ in the bud he said, “There's never only one chance. Not when we take every opportunity into consideration.” He softened a little bit. What good would it do to irritate Isaiah when he knew this was a time when every person in his corner could be an advantage to him? His gaze turned understanding. Of course he did not understand, not really, not empathetically, but he could act the part. “Let me help you and you'll do more than ‘make things right’, darling.” To drive his words home and add some authenticity Astarion winked at him before turning back towards the path ahead. Was Isaiah a useful person to bring along? He didn't know. But he was certainly willing to take the risk and maybe reap the rewards for it. And if he turned out to be a hinderance or a bother that was a problem easily dealt with.

[yuujispinkhair]

Cold Case, Hot Detective

When the police declare the mysterious disappearance of your husband a cold case, you hire a private detective to discover the truth. Shiu Kong says he is the best man for this job, and admittedly, he is not just excellent at investigating cold cases but also at heating things up when his discoveries lead to you looking for comfort in his arms.

Pairing: Shiu Kong x Reader (female) Genre: smut + fluff Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: 18+ smut, fingering, praise, mentions of masturbation, smoking, sharing a cigarette. A bit of forbidden romance trope, reader develops a crush on Shiu during the investigation but only acts on it after discovering her husband left her. All characters are of age. This story is 18+ Minors don't interact.

You stop in front of the small private detective agency, eyeing it warily. It looks exactly like you imagined a place like this to look like. As if you are in some film noir. A small office on a shady side street crammed between a takeout shop and a dry cleaner's. But the small room you step into a moment later is surprisingly clean and tidy. Just like the man greeting you with a raised eyebrow.

Shiu Kong was recommended to you by a close friend. Apparently, he is the best at finding lost things and people. He sits behind his polished desk, a neatly stacked pile of case files in front of him, looking much more handsome and posh than you imagined a man in his line of work to be.

He is wearing an immaculate-looking black suit with a white dress shirt and a black tie. His short hair is styled in an attractive modern way. If you had to guess his age, you would say he is in his late thirties. A pair of intelligent-looking, narrowed dark eyes meet yours across the room. His lips are wrapped around a half-smoked cigarette, explaining the smell of smoke you could already sense before entering his small office. In here, your nose also picks up another scent. An expensive, fresh, and masculine smell, probably his aftershave. Sexy.

You smile politely at him, introducing yourself and explaining your concern shortly. You tell him about your husband, who disappeared without a trace six months ago. About the police telling you they found no new leads and would stop investigating. Declaring the disappearance a cold case and telling you with a pitiful look that sometimes people just leave and don't want to be found.

Mr. Kong watches you interestedly, taking a slow drag from his cigarette as you finish your story. He blows out the smoke and straightens up in his chair, looking amused when he says,

"Ah, I see. You want me to do the police's job."

You feel your face heat up and quickly scramble to explain that no, of course, you trust the police to do their job right... It's just that... But he interrupts you politely,

"Please, don't worry. It is my job to do things like these. No shame about it at all. The police tends to drop cases like these too easily. However, I have certain connections that allow me a better assessment of the situation. So, let me summarize it. Basically, we have a typical case of "Honey, I'm getting some cigarettes," only for the husband to never be seen again. Is that correct?"

His gaze is intense, brown eyes with gray flecks, looking at you as if he is trying to read your mind. A detective's gaze. You avert your eyes, feeling shame flood your veins once again. It's embarrassing to admit it out loud. But he is right. Your husband just left one day and never came back. No signs of a crime, no indication that something happened to him.

You nod as you watch his long elegant fingers tap his cigarette on the glass ashtray standing on his desk,

"Yes, that is correct."

"Then you came to the right man. I am experienced, thorough, and discreet. If someone can find your missing husband, it is me."

He smiles reassuringly at you and points at the wall behind him that is lined with thank you letters from former clients. You nod and smile gratefully at him.

You leave his office half an hour later with a copy of a signed contract in your pocket and a good feeling in your gut. Yes, Shiu Kong seems like the best man for this job. Experienced and professional.

And, as a small voice in your head whispers to you, it also doesn't hurt that he is incredibly charming and sexy. A true gentleman. A private detective that could have stepped out of a noir romance novel. Tall, dark, and handsome.

You are back in his office two days later, delivering the additional documents he requested. He smokes his obligatory cigarette, going through the case file with you and explaining which steps he plans to take.

You nod gratefully at him,

"Thank you so much, Mr. Kong."

A smile plays around his lips,

"Please call me Shiu."

Your pulse flutters at that, but it gets even worse when his narrow warm brown eyes look at you inquiringly,

"Let me ask you something: Why do you want to find your husband? Is it out of love? Or is it because you need him to provide for you? Or is it for revenge?"

It catches you by surprise, and you squirm in your seat,

"Um...is this relevant to the case?"

He laughs, low and soft, his eyes glittering amusedly as he shakes his head,

"No, I am just curious. It comes with the job. I am constantly confronted with people's dark side and their deepest secrets. That makes you develop a certain curiosity, I guess. You don't have to answer."

But before you can think twice, you find yourself confessing everything to him, all the things that were obvious to everyone around you but no one ever dared say out loud, not even you. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you spill all your darkest secrets, all the things you are ashamed of.

"It's a marriage of convenience. I was young and needed the money, and he liked having a young wife he could parade around and who depends on him."

You cringe at those words, sounding like the biggest cliche. But Shiu just chuckles good-naturedly,

"Please, don't be ashamed. It makes perfect sense. A lot of marriages exist for that reason."

He winks at you, making your heart skip a beat at how attractive he looks. He leans closer, looking deeply into your eyes when he continues,

"I already suspected something along those lines. A guy like him could never pull a woman like you otherwise."

You feel your heart flutter at his words. At the apparent flirty nature of his comment and the way his gaze trails slowly over your body. You know you should be offended. You know you should get up and leave. You should tell him his behavior isn't very professional.

But you don't. Instead, you can't help but feel flattered at his comment.

When you leave an hour later, he accompanies you to the door with a hand on the small of your back, gently steering you toward the exit. You can smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes and his sexy aftershave. You even imagine you can feel his body heat when he is standing so close to you, his body just shy of pressing against yours.

You lift your head to look up at his handsome face, noticing how tall he is and how incredibly attractive he looks in his fine suit and the confident little smirk on his face.

He opens the door for you like a true gentleman, telling you to get home safely.

Shiu keeps you updated about his investigations at all times.

He calls you in the evening when you are already in bed, apologizing for the late call, making you feel strangely flustered because you are only wearing a flimsy lacy nightdress, and his low voice sounds almost seductive over the phone. It makes you picture sitting on his lap while he trails kisses over the low neckline of your nightdress, the stubble of his thin mustache scratching lightly over your sensitive skin.

You feel guilty for the sound of his name falling from your lips when you come undone on your fingers a while later, hiding your burning face in your pillows.

You should get him out of your mind. You really should. But it's hard when he is so charming and caring. When he is the first person in over six months who really takes you seriously and is willing to help you.

You meet him in a fancy restaurant for lunch, where he shows you pictures of a surveillance camera of a casino, clearly showing your husband. Shiu tells you about his contacts in dubious places. Tells you about illegal gambling, the Yakuza, and big money. When your eyes widen in worry, his hand lands on yours, his thumb caressing your wrist soothingly.

He insists on driving you home, making your pulse flutter nervously because he looks so sexy next to you, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting casually on the open window, a cigarette between his fingers.

You can't remember the last time someone gave you butterflies just from driving in a car with them. You don't know why this man makes you feel like a teenager on your first date.

But when he turns his head to look at you and offers you a small smile, you can't deny how attracted you are to him. How much you want him, even if it is wrong.

He parks his car in front of your apartment and walks over to the passenger side to hold the door open for you and offer you a strong arm. Does he know that he makes your knees go weak with this? Does he know his charming smile and politeness make you feel light-headed?

You don't know what's gotten into you when you step closer to press your body against his side and kiss his cheek, muttering a thank you before you quickly walk to the entrance of your apartment complex, practically fleeing the scene with your heels clacking loudly on the pavement and not daring to look back.

You lie awake in bed for hours that night, haunted by a sexy grin and the smell of cigarette smoke.

Unbidden, the same thoughts repeat in your head over and over again: What if Shiu finds your husband? What then? Do you even want him to come back? Wouldn't it be better if he just stayed missing?

A week later, you find yourself once again in Shiu's private detective agency, wringing your hands in your lap as you listen to him explain gently how your husband won a lot of money in one of his illegal gambling events, how he booked two plane tickets afterward, leaving the country with a young woman on his arm, with no intention of returning.

You feel nauseous. Part of you wished your husband wouldn't come back, but you can't help but feel crushed anyway. Hurt, anger, and worry wash over you.

Hurt that your husband just replaced you. That you weren't enough. Maybe not young enough anymore? Not attractive enough? Anger that he just left without a single word. Why didn't he just file for divorce if he didn't want you anymore? Worry how you will fare now. You are dependent on your husband's money. What will happen to you now? You need to get a divorce to make sure you get alimony. But the thought of everything you must do for this overwhelms you. You feel tears gather in your eyes.

Shiu stops in the middle of his report, grayish-brown eyes watching you worriedly. His voice is gentle when he asks,

"Are you ok?"

Your lips tremble, and you shake your head, unable to form any words. The first tears run down your cheeks. You can see Shiu's handsome face soften as he looks at you.

He reaches across the desk to cup your cheek and gently wipes your tears away. His hand is soft and warm, feeling so comforting on your skin. It's a touch so gentle that you instinctively lean into it, so starved for affection. It has been years since someone touched you like this.

Shiu looks deeply into your eyes, watching you closely, his voice soft like a caress,

"Please don't be sad, sweetheart. That man didn't deserve you."

More tears well up in your eyes, not even because of your husband's betrayal but because Shiu is so nice to you. And a moment later, you are out of your chair and practically fling yourself at Shiu. He catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you onto his lap.

He smells so good when you bury your face in his shoulder and cry into his suit jacket. His arms feel so comforting around your body, holding you securely and gently, one hand slowly caressing your back. His low voice is gentle and soothing when he murmurs,

"Please don't cry, sweetheart. Tell me what I can do for you. Tell me what I can do to make it better."

Your voice doesn't sound like your own when you say,

"Just make it go away, please. Make me feel good, please. I just... I just want to be held and feel...feel loved."

You cringe at how dumb you sound. So naive. So pathetic. Begging this guy, your business partner, for affection or sex, or whatever it is you want.

But Shiu doesn't laugh. He doesn't mock you or turn you down. Instead, his hand that was rubbing soothing circles on your back is suddenly on your thigh, warm fingers sprawling over your skin.

The touch of his skin on yours is like an electric jolt, buzzing through your body, making your pulse race and your head spin. Rekindling a fire in you that you never thought you would feel again. It has been years since someone's touch did this to you. And you know you need more of it. You need more of this sexy man who was so nice to you all those weeks.

You press yourself against him, your right hand coming up to run up his neck and into his hair, lips breathing a soft "more" against the side of his neck.

Shiu's warm hand caresses your inner thigh, slowly moving higher. Your breath hitches in your throat, but you open your legs for him, showing him this is what you want.

"Shiu..."

"Yes, let me take care of you, darling."

His voice sounds husky as his warm fingers slip under your skirt. You whine when those fingers reach your panties and brush over them, making your pussy twitch with a need you haven't felt in years. Shiu's thumb finds your clit and teases it lovingly, rubbing it slowy through the thin fabric, making your legs open sluttily as a shaky moan falls from your lips.

You bury your burning face in his suit jacket, inhaling his sexy scent, cigarette smoke, and expensive aftershave, clinging desperately to him. And he keeps massaging your swollen clit through your now wet panties, sending you higher and higher, head spinning and heart racing.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

You are putty in his hands, nodding wildly and sobbing an embarrassed,

"Y...yes...Shiu."

Your hips buck uncontrollably, and you push against his hand almost desperately, rubbing yourself against his thumb, craving his touch, needy for more, jerking when his thumb prods your little sensitive bud so good that your whole body feels on fire.

His voice is gentle, laced with desire when he says,

"Look at me. Let me see your pretty face. Please don't hide from me. I want to see how you like what I'm doing to you."

Something about his tone, the mix of gentleness and dominance, makes your toes curl, and you do as he says, lifting your face off his shoulder and looking straight at him.

Letting him see your face, letting him see the need in your eyes, letting him see the obscene way your mouth opens as a loud moan falls from your lips when he rubs more slow circles around your clit, filling the small office room with the wet sound of your arousal.

It sounds naughty. It feels forbidden what the two of you are doing. But it's the hottest thing you have ever experienced. Sitting on this sexy man's lap in his office, with his hand under your skirt, his fingers caressing you through your panties, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

And suddenly, you find yourself being bold, letting go of your former shame. You reach down to grab the silky fabric of your panties and pull them to the side, exposing yourself to Shiu, whining his name when he grins at you and gently flicks his thumb over your clit again, this time skin on skin, spreading your cream over your puffy needy bud, massaging it thoroughly. You buck against his thumb as if you are in heat, nails digging into his back as you chase after what you know will be a mind-blowing orgasm.

All thoughts of your husband's betrayal have left your mind when Shiu pampers your pussy like that, so loving, so good, taking care of you in a way you have never known in your marriage.

His middle finger teases your creamy hole, slipping in and out slowly, just the fingertip, until you mewl loudly and push onto his finger needily, begging him for more.

And he gives it to you. Warm gray-brown eyes watch you intently as he pushes his finger deep into your wet heat, making you gasp loudly and spread your legs even wider. You ride his finger unashamedly, moaning shakily when Shiu rubs against that sweet spot inside you.

A second finger joins the first one, making you cry out in pleasure. Your eyes close as you give yourself completely to him, letting his strong arms hold you while he fucks you with his middle finger and ring finger, and his thumb caresses your clit.

Your needy moans and the wet sounds of your pussy getting fucked fill the small office, and Shiu's lips trail soft kisses over the side of your neck, murmuring against your skin in that sexy low voice,

"Hmm, yes, like that, sweet thing. Let go, baby. Just let go and cum all over me."

It's his words that make you tumble over the edge, crying out shakily as your orgasm washes over you, strong and deep, your cunt clenching around Shiu's fingers, your juices flowing down his long fingers and his wrist.

He fucks you through it, his fingers gently massaging the spot inside you that makes you see stars, rubbing every last wave of orgasm out of you while whispering sexy encouragements to you,

"Yes, you're such a good girl. Cumming so sweetly for me. Yeah, my sweet thing, just like that."

You collapse bonelessly against him, sobbing and whining from the overwhelming feeling of cumming so hard. And Shiu slowly lets his fingers slip out of you, but his thumb stays pressed against your swollen clit, massaging it tenderly, making your body twitch from the overstimulation.

It's you who grabs his handsome face with both hands and pulls him into a passionate kiss, licking hungrily into his mouth, tasting whiskey and cigarettes and chewing gum on his tongue, moaning into his mouth while he keeps playing with your sensitive clit, and your pussy pulses hotly with the aftershocks of the orgasm he gifted to you.

He kisses you like you haven't been kissed in years, tongue flicking tenderly against yours, deep and slow, his lips moving firmly but gently against yours, making your head spin and your heart race. His thumb rubs a few times more over your clit before he lets go and pulls your panties neatly into place again.

His lips remain close enough to brush against yours when he whispers huskily,

"See, you don't need your loser of a husband. I can take very good care of you, too, darling."

"You have already taken better care of me today than he has in all those years of our marriage."

Shiu raises an eyebrow, a handsome smirk lighting up his face,

"Oh, is that so? Well, in that case, you'll be surprised what else I can do for you. Will you give me a chance to show you?"

His gray-brown eyes observe you carefully. You smile and nod, filled with joy that he wants to see you again, that he wants more than just a short fling.

"Of course. I would love for you to show me everything you can do for me."

Shiu laughs softly and lets go of your thigh to reach behind you and grab his cigarette pack from his desk. He brings one cigarette to his lips, lighting it while he looks at you,

"So my new case will be to mend your broken heart and take proper care of you. It's a pro bono case, of course."

He exhales the cigarette smoke slowly into your face, never averting his gaze as he watches you through the smoke with a grin on his handsome face. Does he know how fast your heart is beating when you imagine what your life with him will be like?

A smile spreads over your face as you reach out and steal the cigarette from his mouth and slowly bring it to your lips. You take a long drag, grinning when you return the favor and blow the smoke into Shiu's face.

"You are hired, Detective Kong."

AAAHHHH I REALLY WROTE SOMETHING FOR HIM!!!

When I read that Shiu used to be a detective, I immediately pictured him as one of those cool private investigators, and yeah, I HAD to write him in that role. Thank you so much to @blueparadis for encouraging me to write this! I had a lot of fun, and I am happy to contribute to the love for this man!

I listened to Taylor Swift's "Reputation" album on repeat while writing this story, and I think the vibe and the lyrics of those songs fit Shiu and this story very well. My heart was definitely beating faster :)

I hope you enjoyed this sexy little story! Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Winter's Victory

Cigarettes in this world were different. Odd, I guess. I had never really paid attention to the smell of cigarette smoke, before I ended up here, but I knew it hadn't been? Exactly... well, pleasant? I guess? Not to say that all the ones that existed here WERE, mind you. It was still smokey. The cheap ones an overwhelming incense. They called it "stepping out to pray" for a reason. You ended up smelling like you spent hours in a temple during prayer.

But the smell that lingered here? Clung delicately to cloth and the walls? It was more of a... warm spice. I could never place which ones. There was, yes, a smokey undertone, but? It more or less added to the complex almost taste scent of spices and tea. Dark and rich. Lingering. The sort of thing that takes time to develop.

The entire house was like that. Well, compound really. Austere and ageless, time did not seem to touch the inside of these walls. Did not seem to dare try. It was a blessed relief. A place of respite. All soft, dream-like edges and beautiful gardens. Meandering halls and tasteful, understated art. Peaceful company. Good food and tea.

A lingering smell of smokey spices.

My sister was up to her Protagonist shit again. It was... exhausting. I knew, intellectually, I should be back home. Playing my part. The ever supportive Big Sister archetype. Endlessly kind. Endlessly patient. Supportive to a fault. Smiling and smiling no matter WHAT bullshit nonsense that child pulls. No matter HOW she shames our house or causes trouble I must undo.

But honestly? I can't. I just... can't.

The idiotic little shit SLAPPED A PRINCE. Thank the heavens it wasn't one of the Emperors favorite sons or we'd all be dead, but still! Who the fresh hell taught her that was acceptable?! No. Just.... No.

Let Father deal with this for once. If he insists on spoiling and infantilizing that child? HE can reap the rewards. Her MOTHER can parent for once, instead of sitting around being generically "perfect". I am not there. This is beyond my pay grade. Frankly? I don't even HAVE the power to smooth this over. I could, technically. But not at any cost I'm willing to PAY.

Not for my sister's "she not like other girls", "oh? How interesting", fucking MOMENT.

No WONDER the Elder Sister character disappears in the later half of the royal route, only to turn back up in the palace. She's a freaking Consort! To a letch! Powerful one, yes. But STILL! And all just to protect a sister who not only doesn't notice? But doesn't even attend her wedding?

No.

ABSOLUTELY Not.

I lift the (frankly beautiful) cup of tea I was served to drink while I wait. Breathe in it's rich, soothing scent. Let the steam curl against my face as I stare out the open sliding doors at the fall garden. It borders on too cold for this... but not quite.

The tea is warm. The snacks are warm. I was brought a beautifully embroidered blanket to rest across my lap. Have a robe draped over my shoulders. It is... meditative, almost. Just me and the quiet sigh of vibrant leaves on the breeze. The world muffled. Warm dispite the cold. Ah... the garden really is... so beautiful....

I let it soothe me. Drain away my anger and frustration at the world. Running water, birds in the trees, insects. The silence is so wonderfully full. Alive. I have to keep my mind from bitterly comparing it to constant dramatics filled mess of the gardens at home. Focus on the here and now. This is NICE. Focus on this.

Quiet, near silent footsteps approach. Gait even and steady. Most men his age meander or shuffle, but like the home he keeps? Kaito seems almost untouchable by time. As though not even the Gods dare. I honestly don't blame them. He can be quite commanding when he wishes. Good thing he's rather laid back.

"Come to escape the treasonous?" A modulated voice teases. Wry and dry as salt mines. "Your fool sister is aware that actions have consequences, yes? Or has that idiot father finally succeeded in spoiling her back into infancy? Traditionally, we do not let such young children wander."

Kaito's voice isn't terribly high or husky and low. It is... smooth. Controlled. Like running your fingers across fine fabric. I could honestly listen to him read a phone book and be pleased. He would have made a killing as a voice actor, in my first life. Or reading audio books. Something.

"No retort? Witty defense? Oh dear. You are exhausted, aren't you, my friend?" He noted, dropping the teasing edge. Stepping inside the viewing room and calmly sliding the door shut behind him, I could almost feel him observing me. "When was the last time you slept? Properly. You're a mess, my friend, look utterly exhausted. Has it become that bad?"

Worse actually. They keep doubling down. Doing stupid "girl power!!!1!", poorly thought out, works in a 21th century DEMOCRACY but sure as shit NOT HERE, so called "power moves". I was? So, so fucking tired. Legitimately scared for the servants at this point. Because, honestly? Let stupid reap it's own reward. I TRIED. I was dismissed and ignored. Taken for granted.

Accused of JEALOUSY!

Like? Oh, HELL NO. I know exactly where THAT train of thought ends. I've read enough of the Genre to cut THAT shit off at the pass. Not Today, Satan!

So? Fuck um. I Tried. But I REFUSE to set myself ablaze to keep the ungrateful warm. Especially when they have both coats and just want to roast marshmallows. But... the SERVANTS? They are innocent. Wrong house, shit masters. Half are basically indentured! Much to my outrage.

We HAVE the funds to pay them better. But do I control those funds? Dispite doing ALL THE WORK? Managing the House? No. Of course not. THAT would be Protagonist's mother. And we really need that money for more jewelry and pretty outfits for her daughter. Fuck the household, I guess.

Things are... likely to get bad.

Because I have made the painful, painful choice? To let GO.

I can't keep holding up the house. I am NOT Atlas. Was not granted a second chance, just to throw it away. But at the same time? The servants. Not the enabling, vindictive, lapdogs that circle my family like vultures. The ACTUAL servants. Gardeners, cooks, maids. The no one's that they will not remember.

Somebody has to protect THEM. It must be me. Or no one else WILL.

I'm hoping Kaito will help.

Please, heavens, let this be enough to help. Then... THEN I can figure out how to protect myself. Hopefully. Maybe. Though I am probably running quickly out of time.

"Dear one, are you with me? You are drifting. I need you to come back. Focus on me. The sound of my voice. Can you hear me? Do you see the leaves? Focus on their color. See the reds and yellows beyond them. Like fire, is it not? Can you smell the tea? Dear one, what kind is it? Come here. Back to your body. That's right..."

Smooth and soothing. Closer then what felt like a blink ago. Huh. Yes. The leaves are quite lovely, aren't they? And... and this is red cliff, first harvest, right? Ah. I'm still so bad at telling certain types of tea apart. How mean. He knows this.

.....my brain feels mushy. But back in my body. I manage to scrounge up the edges of a smile. Gods, I am so tired. Worn so thin. But I... I can't rest. Not yet. Kaito kneels beside me, too dignified and reserved to show the full weight of his concern. But it practically howls from his body language. The sheer closeness he has allowed. I must have truely scared him there.

I would tease him, about using my notoriously bad memory of frankly near identical teas against me... but I just... just can't.

There isn't enough energy left in me. I think the soothing nature of his home, his company, has been my undoing. My brain has finally declared me safe enough to break down. Ha ha... perhaps that is why I've been avoiding coming here for so long. I knew I would break down. Would not want to leave.

Unspeakably rude of me.

"The rumors have not done the situation justice, it seems. You seem at your wits end. My dear, you cannot continue like this. Please, let me help. I realize it is overstepping any number of boundaries... but..." the weight of his concern; the words he was struggling to find, to phrase the unkind more palatably, hung between us. "Please, my friend. You are struggling. I can not bear it."

I felt exhausted tears well up. Days of being overwhelmed. Threatened on all sides. Wondering if today would be the day, that the royal gaurds kicked down our gates and executed us all. Struggling against the blindly arrogant and willful actions of my family. The very SAME family that treated me as more of a secretary then as any kind of kin.

Where would I be? If I had not met Kaito, all those years ago? Visiting his cousin, who was marrying a friend of my cousin. Even then, I was desperately trying to keep the name of our family from being filth. My father could not tear himself away from the whims of my sister or his pretty new wife. My grandmother somehow uncaring, tyrannical and doting, indulgent and yet strict.

I was the ONLY ONE who could and WOULD bother to represent us.

Was called frivolous and silly for it. For "seeking parties" to go "play at". As though it was not stressful. As though it was not far beyond my training and skills. Only the concerned eyes of cousins from other houses and guidance of matriarchs from BETTER houses, let me survive at ALL.

Grandmother still does not understand why she no longer gets invitations. Why her name is mud in the eyes of other elders. They did not take kindly, to her abandoning her granddaughter to do HER and HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW'S job for them. But... there I was. Doing my best. Decorated like a little doll, uncomfortable and quite.

Kaito didn't even need to speak to me. Would never have approached such a nervous, unchaperoned child. Forget being simply a young unmarried girl. I was quite LITERALLY a girl. A child. He never would have so much a acknowledged my existence normally. It simply wasn't done. He was after all, an unmarried man of considerable power.

Still is.

But he needed to speak with his cousin. Who, quite rudely, would NOT take a hint. Too wrapped up in his new bride. Thus forcing Kaito to come over. Bless him, he still tried to politely ignore me. So as not to put pressure on a nervous child. But, once again, Cousin Dense As A Brick struck. Introduced us before merrily swanning off to go talk with friends, taking his wife, my cousin, and ONLY CHAPERONE with him.

We were both baffled and aghast. Horrified. It was the sort of gods awful that somehow found its way back around to being funny. Granted, only because we were in a highly visible location surround by other part goers. But still. Why don't you just? Pick me up and dump me in his LAP next? Good gods man.

Needless to say? The roasting was merciless and immediate. He escorted me to a friend of his. Terrifying woman. We had a grand time roasting terrible behavior and I learned SO MUCH. They were Hilarious. Clearly appreciated having an audience who could actually grasp their sense of humor. I left with letter buddies.

Acquaintances that became friends.

Kaito became my single BEST friend. A refuge, a mentor, a confidant. I trusted... TRUST, the man more then any single soul I've ever met. It helps, I guess, that he meets me where I AM not where he assumes I SHOULD be. Doesn't baby me. Infantalize me. Nor does he treat me in any way that would set off a "creep" alarm in my head. He's just... Kaito.

All cunning eyes and slight smiles, dry humor and cutting wit. Ever the rougish yet refined strategist. Bad boy of the highly polite. All the high court ladies still sigh over him.

Grey eyes that bordered on black filled my vision. That whisp of soft silver hair that never wanted to stay put, forever falling across his brow. My view of the garden cut off. When had he moved? Had I drifted back into my head again? It seemed so.

This close, I could not help but notice his eyelashes were still the rich dark of his youth. Few strands of silver yet touching his eyebrows. He'd had a beautiful shade of black hair it seems. It was rather striking....

A pinch on the back of my hand. Bright pain lancing through the fog. Kaito's hands cupped mine, kept me from jostling my cup. Stopping me from dropping now cold tea into my lap. Taking it from me gently, he set it aside. Thumb rubbing the skin he had abused. His face was apologetic.

"And that marks the second time you've drifted away on me, dear. I'm afraid I'm no longer asking. I'm will be helping. This is entirely unacceptable. What in the gods name have those idiots done to you?" His voice was soft. Attention focused on me. I felt... felt so very fragile.

Not weak. Fragile. Like glass under strain. Bones near their breaking point. That final support beam struggling with weight beyond its abilities to bear. He was treating me like I was wounded. Was I? Perhaps I was. I certainly felt that way.

I just... just wanted someone ELSE to take care of it all.

Just for a bit.

Was that so wrong?

I was TIRED. Felt the tears coming back. Here I was, coming to a dear friend, about to ask him to take on a burden for me. Risk enraged royalty just to protect the innocent. Being unspeakably emotional and RUDE. And I... and I... I just....

"Shhhhh. None of this. You've done so much. Have been so, so brave, my girl. No more. It's alright. I'm here. I'll take care of everything." He soothed. Soft and unbearably kind. All I could do was nod. Agree. "There we are, good girl. You'll stay here for now, all right? No more stressful journeys to that house. I'll send someone to gather your things. We can have everything dealt with after a rest."

His hands, boldly, came up to cup my cheeks. I found I didn't care. It felt nice. His palms warm and dry, gently cradling.

I wouldn't be able to stay. He knew that. I knew that. It simply WAS. We weren't related, weren't married. I had brought no chaperone. I... gods, I wanted too. Badly. But I couldn't. I just needed help with the servants. Told him as much. Words rambled disjointedly between us as I struggled to get them all out.

"Ah, but the solution then is simple, isn't it?" He said, looking almost amused. "You just need to marry me."

Blinking, the thought didn't quite process. My confusion clear enough on my face for him to continue.

"Every time I see you, you are suffering some fresh new indignity from that house. Some brand new insult. Isn't it better here? I know you enjoy it. The servants adore you. I adore you." The hands on my cheeks shifted, just slightly, barely daring to let their thumbs stroke just slightly."

"I would give you everything, dearest."

This... did not feel political. Nor some ploy to just protect the servants, offered by a dear friend. When... when had things changed? I knew for a fact, he held no such interests in me as a child. I'd seen him kill a man over the mere suspicion of such things. Yet... it's also not like I'd grown UP in front of him. We talked mostly over letters.

It was harder to remember my physical age through those. Since I didn't exactly talk or write like the child I had appeared. And talking to each other, being friends with each other, for going on a decade... certainly WAS a good foundation for a relationship, wasn't it? I didn't know any more. How old... how old even was I?

His hands were so warm.

Felt strong and reliable, cupping my face. A reserved and refined (if a bit mischievous), pillar of strength that I could finally lean on. Offering up a tempting dream world where I wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to deal with troubles or reality. Just... just endless, beautiful, painting-like peace and serenity.

No more drama... ever again.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Didn't I deserve to rest?

Who else, really, could I even see myself marrying? Realistically? Some untested lout? Character suspect and temperament unknown? What prospects, what LOYALTY, could they even offer? Would they even respect my boundaries? Could they ever hope to match his knowledge of my likes and dislikes? Could... could I ever hope to TRUST them? Like I did, Kaito?

I felt my expression soften. Decided to be a little bold too. Leaning forward, I let my hands come up to lightly grip his arms. Still so corded with muscles. The man never did skip out on his training, be it archery or swordsmenship. My forhead rest lightly against his, that wayward strand tickling my skin just a bit. His breath smelled of those smokey spiced cigarettes while his skin, which I had never dared take note of, smelled of daily things.

He held so perfectly still, as though afraid to spook me. Seemed startled by my boldness. How cute~

I couldn't stop the grin if I tried.

"Yes, yes, mock the old man. Impertinent minx. So scandalous!" He teased, finally unfreezing after gathering his thoughts. That plotting spark back in his eyes. "Whatever shall I do? My guest takes advantage of me! Oh dear, oh no~ I fear for my honor! You will have to make an honest man of me, I'm afraid."

The laugh burst out of me, feeling a lot like relief. Gods, I'd missed this. Just... just sass and light hearted teasing. Droll humor and wit. No nightmare politics or angry royals. No trying to manage the unmanageable. Not responsible for any but myself. Yes... yes this was exactly what I needed, wasn't it?

Honestly? FUCK the Plot. FUCK the Protagonist and her nightmare social blunders! I was gonna get OUT of that house. Live for ME. Marry a nice, reliable man. Have a beautiful home. Maybe get some pets. Eat snacks! Laze about and enjoy the gardens! Have some gods damned PEACE for once! It sounded perfect.

I told Kaito there were no take backs. Congratulations on the terrible idea! I was HIS problem now. Have fun with your new, future in-laws!

Laughter was the best thing I'd felt in weeks. One of the maids I liked was already on standby and ready to lead me to a guest room. We bickered light heartedly, him groaning in exaggerated ways about his TERRIBLE fate of having to deal with IDIOTS! Oh, Darling, how COULD you?! Ha! Suffer.

It... gods, it was beautiful. Dreamlike. A perfect, story book solution to my woes.

Really, if I did not TRUST Kaito so much? I would have been suspicious.

But I did.

So I left with the maid, a smile on my face. Relieved. Happy. Engaged to a "good man". The most TRUSTWORTHY man I knew.

Thus, did not see, like a mask, his expression slide away. His open body language close off, like then slamming of a crypt door, locking the dead back inside. The warmth draining from the room as I left it, as though I had taken every trace with me. Leaving only the cold, cold THING behind. One that wore the face of a man.

A handsome man, yes, but an empty one.

One that was Not Pleased.

"I distinctly recall," his voice cutting the silence like an assassin slitting a throat, sudden and violent yet just as impersonal. "That I ordered her not to be bothered. For you to get rid of that... thing, in a timely manner."

Shadows dropped from the roof. Then too their knees. Kneeling, loyal unto death, before the one that commands them. Many are injured. They do not shake, for all that they have failed. Will likely die for it.

"Give me one good reason to let you live. A single one." The empire's spy master, the Winter Ghost, asks the room at large. Picking up his beloved's tea cup, considering it as he talks. He almost wants to destroy it. So no one else can ever use it. Touch it with their filthy hands. "Well?"

His assassins continue to kneel. Silent. There is no defense for their failure.

Three die instantly, the rest are not so lucky.

He decides to keep the cup.

Running his thumb along the rim where her mouth touched it, he steps out, closer to the garden and slides the door shut. It truely is a lovely view. Behind him, his servants behind the familiar work of cleaning up. Kneeling in the dirt before him, the next set of assassins.

"Let me make my self clear this time. I don't care how you do it, how painful or how slow, but they are to be gone by the time I am wed, understood? If that useless chit or her idiot father darken my door, you will long for the mercy that is death. Get out. And do not DARE fail me."

A quite chorus of confirmation, then like leaves... scattered on the wind.

He was named winter victory. For his mother's success in seizing control of her poor, late, husband's house. Born into the cold, it has always remained. Is it any suprise he covets warmth? In any form he can have it. Every form.

A pity though... that he won't be needing his plans.

She would have made a beautiful widow.

[delicatebarness]

barnes' girl | chapter two

Summary: Attending a party with Yelena, you encounter an old fling, Harley. As the night progresses, you grapple with your feelings. Leading to a morning filled with tension and unspoken emotions.

Warning: Alcohol Consumption. Drug Use (Not Reader, or main characters.) Sexual Situations. Intoxication. Emotional Distress. Aggressive Behavior. Power Dynamics.

Word Count: 2890

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A/N: I'm poorly and I wanted more of these two okay :( - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Barnes' Girl: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this series. | @im-alestan | @carrotlove | @scott-loki-barnes | @mrsstuckyboo

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived. Packed with people– music, chatter, and the faint smell of alcohol and weed filled the air. You grabbed Yelena’s hand, letting her lead the way as she navigated the crowded rooms. 

“Let’s get drunk!” Yelena shouted over the thumping music, pulling you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen. Filling your cup with something sweet, and strong, you felt a warm buzz rush through your body, taking effect within minutes.

The day's worries melted away as your night wore on. You danced and laughed with Yelena by your side. Making everything seem brighter and lighter, the alcohol helped you enjoy yourself. And, it wasn’t long before you and Yelena noticed Harley standing across the room, his eyes fixated on you, his familiar face sparking a flutter of old feelings in the pit of your stomach. 

With a sly grin, Yelena nudged you. “Go talk to him,” she urged, giving you a playful push in his direction. 

For years, Harley had become a constant presence at these parties, and the physical attraction between you was undeniable. The many nights you found yourself exploring each other’s bodies, tangled in strange beds together, was a testament to that connection. Yet, unbeknown to anyone as to why, the relationship never evolved beyond casual hookups. 

You had harbored a quiet hope that something more might develop, but it never did. 

Approaching Harley, the alcohol mixing with the atmosphere seemed to amplify everything. Glancing up at you, his face brightened with his familiar, charismatic smile. 

“Hey, you,” Harley said, his voice low and inviting. “It’s been a little while.” 

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s good to see you.” The alcohol gave you a little more courage, but you couldn’t help but focus on the flutter of nervousness. 

His hand lingered a bit longer than necessary, brushing your arm as he spoke. “You look amazing tonight,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. His gaze filled with warmth and with an intensity in his eyes causing your pulse to quicken. “How about we get out of here?” 

Before you could process what was happening, his lips found yours, kissing you with an urgency that surprised you. Pulling you close, his hand slid around your waist, lifting you slightly. Your heart raced as you felt the heat radiating off him. 

The kiss felt familiar, and at first, almost like a comfort. But, as the kiss deepened, something unsettling began to come into realization for you. The excitement you once felt seemingly began to fade, a growing sense of discomfort replacing it. His hand roamed up your chest as his lips moved against yours, pushing you against the wall. 

As you tried to focus on the kiss, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right, something had changed. The heat that would usually course between you fell distant, cold. Flashing in your mind like a film reel, images of Bucky appeared, and the words that fell from his lips earlier that day echoed loudly in your ears.

Your spark for Harley was no longer in sight, your mind had chosen another.

Gently pushing him away, you broke the kiss. His eyes were half-closed, still caught up in the moment. It didn’t take long for his expression to shift to confusion as he took in your sudden withdrawal. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “I thought we were having a good time?” 

You tried to steady your racing heart, taking deep breaths. “Harley… I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is right.” 

Furrowing his brow, he searched your face for an explanation. “What do you mean? This is our thing.” 

“I know,” you said, your voice steadying as you spoke. “But tonight, I… I just don’t feel the same way. It’s as if, what we had isn’t there anymore.” 

Harley’s face fell, disappointment and frustration crossed his features. “You’re serious? After all these years, you just don’t feel it?” 

You nodded, a strange feeling of regret mixed with relief coursing through you. “Yeah, I guess… Maybe, I’m just not in the same place anymore.” 

He was taken aback, staring at you for a moment. “Alright, if that’s how you feel,” he said, stepping back, and raising his hands in defeat. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 

Watching Harley walk away, a mix of emotions coursed through you. The kiss had been a reminder of how much things were changing. You couldn’t shake the feeling of disillusionment as you turned to find Yelena. Even though the night had brought clarity, it was leaving you with a sense of unresolved feelings and a newfound determination to confront the person who had recently occupied your thoughts– James Barnes. 

~

Stumbling onto the patio, the cool night air hit your flushed face as you fumbled with your phone. The distant sound of the music and laughter from the party seemed to fade as you scrolled through your contacts, the city lights blurring in your vision. You leaned against the railing for support as you came across Bucky’s number and hit call with trembling fingers. 

“Hello? Doll?” Bucky’s voice came through, groggy but with an instant concern. 

“B-Bucky?” you slurred, hiccuping slightly. “Why aren’t you asleep? Isn’t it late?” 

“I was sleeping until you called, babydoll. Where are you?” His voice was a mix of worry and frustration, but mostly worry.

“At a party with Yelena, but I can’t find her,” you mumbled, your words blending as you glanced around the patio, seeing only strangers smoking. 

“I told you to get an early night,” Bucky said, his tone stern but not unkind.

“I know,” you whined, pouting as you leaned your forehead against the cool metal of the railing. “But, I wanted to see if there was anything still there with Harley. But, there isn’t.” 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then Bucky’s voice was firm and resolute. “Send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”

“I thought I wanted him,” you hiccupped again, tears threatening to spill over. “But I don’t. I want you.”

“Doll, send me your location,” he repeated, his voice steady but more insistent.

You ignored his request, continuing to babble incoherently, telling him facts about hydrangea flowers and how they get their color. Bucky’s tone shifted, becoming more commanding. “You have five seconds to give me your location,” he said, beginning to count down. “Five… four…”

"Um, I’m not sure,” you whispered, your voice small and sad, glancing around the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Alright, baby,” he softened, “go outside for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, pushing through the crowd and out the door, your steps unsteady. The night air was crisp, and the sound of traffic and city life enveloped you. You shivered slightly, both from the cold and your anxiety.

“What do you see around you?” he asked, his voice a calming presence in your ear.

You looked around, struggling to steady your gaze. "I see... a streetlight flickering and a corner convenience store with a red awning. There’s a mural on the wall next to it, and the street’s lined with parked cars," you managed, your voice shaky.

“Good girl, stay there. I’m coming to get you,” he reassured you. The promise of his arrival brought a sense of relief, and you clung to it, waiting for the familiar sight of his car to appear.

~

Pulling up to the curb, Bucky emerged with a concerned expression from a black SUV, its dark windows reflecting the city’s neon lights. His intense gaze scanned the street before locking onto you. He approached you swiftly, as always, his presence was both commanding and a comfort, his arm wrapping around your waist steadying you on your feet. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” he murmured with a low rumble. Guiding you gently toward the car, his grip firm yet tender.

Once inside the SUV, the seats were cool against your skin, and the dim lighting offered a relaxing contrast to the chaos of the party. The scent of leather grounded you as if mixed with the spice of Bucky’s cologne. Settling beside you, Bucky’s body was a solid and reassuring presence. 

The driver navigated the streets, and you leaned into Bucky’s side, feeling the exhaustion and alcohol catching up with you. “I’m hungry,” you mumbled, your stomach growling softly.

“Did you eat before going out?” he asked, his tone gentle yet concerned. He watched you with worry as his head tilted slightly.

You shook your head, pouting slightly. “No.”

Bucky sighed, glancing at the driver. “What do you want?”

“Chicken nuggets,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. Your childlike request lightens the mood of the night.

Making eye contact with the driver, Bucky nodded. The SUV diverted its route to a nearby fast-food place, the lights casting a warm glow as you pulled into the drive-thru. Not long after, you were handed a bag of chicken nuggets and a strawberry milkshake. You happily devoured the nuggets and drink in the back seat, a smile spreading across your face as you played with the rings on Bucky’s fingers, humming along to the low sound of the radio. 

When you finally reached his penthouse, your eyes widened in awe. The spacious, modern design with floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline– far from your shared apartment. The sleek furniture, soft lighting, and overall luxurious atmosphere left you momentarily speechless. The vast elegance of the space was overwhelming, making you feel small yet safe.

Bucky guided you to a guest bedroom, helping you settle into the plush bed. Softly lit, the room held a sense of comfort. “Get some rest, little doll,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, your eyes already drifting closed, the softness of the bed and the warmth of his presence lulling you into sleep.

~

Walking up in an unfamiliar bed, the soft silk sheets and plush pillows only slightly eased your confusion. The room was luxurious, a far cry from your modest apartment. Panic began to set in as you realized you had no clear memory of how you’d ended up here. Quickly sitting up, the room spun slightly as you tried to piece together the events of the previous night.

Heart racing, you scrambled out of bed and stumbled toward the door. The thick carpet muffled your steps as you cautiously made your way through the penthouse, your anxiety growing with each passing second. The memories of the night before were hazy, and the unfamiliar surroundings heightened your sense of disorientation.

Finally, you reached the kitchen, the smell of food, cooking, guiding you. You peeked around the corner, and there he was—Bucky, clad in nothing, but sweatpants, standing at the stove. Flipping pancakes with easy confidence, his movements precise and rhythmic.

Relief washed over you as you saw him, though you still felt uneasy. “Bucky?” you called out, your voice trembling slightly.

He turned to you, his face lighting up with a warm, reassuring smile. “Morning, doll. I was just making breakfast.”

You nodded, though your expression was still one of confusion. “I… I don’t remember much from last night. How did I end up here?”

Bucky’s smile softened. He set down the spatula and walked over to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You called me late last night, and I came to pick you up. You were pretty out of it, so I brought you back here to know you were safe.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Oh, right. I’m sorry for causing any trouble.”

He shook his head, dismissing your apology with a gentle smile. “No trouble at all. How about some pancakes? I made a batch just for you.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the aroma of the pancakes was comforting. “I’d love some,” you said, offering a small smile in return.

Bucky guided you to the kitchen island, pulling out a chair for you. You sat down, still feeling slightly disoriented but grateful for the familiarity of Bucky’s presence. He served you a stack of pancakes, their golden-brown surfaces glistening with syrup.

As you began to eat, the atmosphere in the kitchen grew quieter. Bucky took a seat across from you, his demeanor shifting subtly. His usual warmth and easy confidence were replaced by a slight stiffness. His eyes, which normally sparkled with kindness, were now clouded with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place.

You noticed the change, feeling a pang of anxiety. “Bucky, is everything okay?”

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he said, but the words felt forced, lacking their usual sincerity.

The silence stretched on, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. You took another bite of your pancakes, trying to find something to say. “Thank you for looking after me last night. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Bucky nodded, his gaze distant. “It’s no problem.”

You could sense the tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The warmth of the pancakes and the comfort of the penthouse felt almost suffocating now. “Bucky, please, tell me what’s going on. Did I do something wrong?”

Bucky's silence was punctuated only by the occasional clink of cutlery against plates. Finally, he broke the uneasy quiet. “Do you not remember what happened last night?”

“No…” you admitted, your voice small. “It’s all a blur.” Your heart raced, a mix of confusion and guilt flooding you. “Bucky, what did I do to make you so pissed with me?”

“It’s not– it’s not what you did,” he snapped, frustration evident in his tone. “It’s the fact that you don’t remember a damn thing and now I’m left questioning if it was all just the alcohol talking.”

You felt a surge of defensiveness but also deep regret. “I’m– Bucky, I have no clue what you’re talking about!”

Bucky's face reddened with a surge of anger, flaring his nostrils as he clenched his jaw. His fingers gripped the edge of the kitchen counter so tightly that the knuckles turned white. His gaze was locked on you, eyes blazing with a fierce intensity that made the air feel electric.

His voice rose, sharp and unyielding, slicing through the heavy silence. “You told me last night that you didn’t want some guy named Harley, whoever the fuck that is!” His hand slammed down onto the counter with a loud thud, the sudden motion causing your body to flinch. “And then, you told me that you wanted me!” His shoulders were tense, rigid with frustration, and he took a step closer, his body language exuding a mix of fury and hurt.

He paced for a moment, his movements jerky and agitated, as if trying to contain the turmoil within him. “But you don’t remember that because you’re a little brat who cared more about intoxicating your mind than resting!” His voice cracked slightly, revealing the strain in his words, and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his face contorting with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Your breath caught at Bucky’s outburst, his anger palpable and raw. For a moment, you sat frozen, processing his harsh words and the intensity of his emotions. Yet, as the seconds ticked by, something unexpected began to stir within you. The way he’d called you a “little brat,” the sheer force of his frustration– it was unnervingly exhilarating.

His anger was like a spark igniting something deep inside you. You found yourself drawn to the power in his voice, the way his eyes darkened with intensity. The tension in his body, the rigid set of his shoulders; it was all somehow captivating. You bit your lip, trying to mask the shift in your feelings.

Instinctively, you stepped closer, lowering your gaze and giving him your most sincere, tear-filled eyes. You let your lips form a small, apologetic pout. “I really am sorry, sir,” you said softly, your voice filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at you, a mixture of frustration and reluctant amusement flickering in his gaze. He folded his arms across his chest, his posture still tense but his expression softening.

“Do you have any idea what would be happening to you right now,” he said, his tone carrying a blend of frustration and an odd, stern amusement, “if this discussion was within an agreed arrangement?”

You nodded slowly, your heart pounding at his words. The idea of facing his consequences, of navigating through this complicated emotional journey, was both intimidating and strangely thrilling. You could sense that Bucky was struggling with his emotions, trying to reconcile the feelings of frustration with the undeniable connection between you.

“I understand, sir,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. “And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I just want to understand where we stand and how we can move forward.”

Bucky’s gaze softened further, though a hint of his earlier sternness remained. He stepped closer, reaching out to gently cup your cheek with his hand. The touch was both tender and commanding, a reminder of the complexity of your relationship.

---

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[simonisferal]

view me as a god — self aware (yandere) wanderer x gn reader

warnings: self aware au, reader is viewed as the player, reader is obsessed with genshin in the beginning, codependency (aether and wanderer), wanderer develops a victim mentality, traveler is a goat, aether is he/they (you'll know what I'm talking about)

notes: wanderer lore spoilers to those who haven't read, that one event in 1.6 spoilers to those who haven't played; if my account were self aware, i'd actually kms — the characters don't need to see my bio 😭 / i didnt know what team to put him with so i used my own / congrats king on your second rerun 🙏

it was never intended to be taken this far. this little game you've played for years without end had begun to take your social life away and left you in the dark, the only light you saw was the one on your screen.

the sweet voices of the characters , the beautiful scenery and designs, and the story of the fictional world was so alluring you barely slept. thank god your career had the option of working at home so no other potential coworker could've said something about your disheveled hair or your unpleasant smell.

your life was as perfect as can be as long as you see a picture or anything related to your video game! codependency? what is that? shh, you can survive an hour without it!

fuck. once in his many lives, he had never felt so cold. what was wrong with him?

with every name he gained, another tie to his joints tightened its grip on the wanderer, trapping him from the pleasant feel on calmness but the name the traveler gave it felt so pure and warm like a toasty fireplace during the snow. the puppet hadn't felt any warmth in his body since niwa's irreversible death as his still-beating and bleeding heart has been put inside the chest of wanderer. but now it was gone, just like the other feelings of happiness and sweet childish dreams.

"traveler? why'd we stop?" xiangling asks as she helped bennett sit down beside the anemo statue of seven in windrise to heal his injuries as quickly as possible. layla helps the poor boy eat something she packed into her inventory.

the traveler could only stay silent before letting out a small whisper as the wind slows down, the statue of seven only shining so dimly, not like it does when it feels something — someone greater. "i don't feel it anymore." they sit down on the broken stone steps leading to the statue.

"feel? feel what?" layla mutters, laying her head on the globe she keeps near as she rests her eyes. the traveler doesn't respond as they look through their bag for something. they obviously panic, their chest falling down and rising up quicker than a rabbit's. their golden chest plaque dims ever so slightly, just as the windrise statue's light. "the, uhh... uhm, the wind."

of course the idiots fell for it, wanderer thinks as he hears the collective agreement from his party. he doesn't bother setting down his hat as he sits beside a totem near the staircase, not bothering to show his respect to the anemo god or his peers. they're just there to help him please them, to eliminate any obstacle in the traveler's way as their form of appreciation for what they've done for their accounted nations. but they, not the traveler but they weren't pleased.

is that the reason wanderer couldn't feel their warmth? he didn't attack fast enough, hit hard enough, dodge quick enough? was he not enough for the person behind the stars? the dweller who called "earth" their home?

"why are we in windrise, if i can ask?" layla sits beside the traveler. her curls curl around her while her golden accents let out small hymns. "to... to uhh...heal bennett. i do feel very bad for him with his bad luck and all..."

wanderer knew it was a white lie. sure, bennett had been hurt badly even with layla's shielding and guoba's defensive demeanor towards the poor child and his bad luck was only getting worse with the amount of constant traveling the party did but really, all the traveler wanted to do was rest and wait for that feeling.

the feeling of being monitored, not as a prisoner but as a fragile thing, to be cared for and used as a hollow doll—no need to lift a finger unless told to and loved for their hard work—the work they didn't even do. to be drowned in affection, suffocated with praises, and shot with care and pity. something that the wanderer despised so much but craved so badly.

not by anyone, no. no one, no mortal or god could make him feel this way, but something hidden, someone hidden behind a mask, the stars, and celestia itself was waiting for him, wanting him, caring for him like he was.

when he couldn't dodge an attack, he was healed instantly. when he had no energy, it was replenished right before his eyes. when he wanted to be stronger, he became just that. it was a complicated choice between his morals and integrity or his selfish desires and temptations.

bennett didn't heal as fast as he does when the greater person behind the screen is there. he blames it on his bad luck but both the traveler and wanderer know what's really wrong. his pale face slowly turns back to his tanner complexion as time moves forward and everyone decides to rest up a bit before the night ends.

it's been too long since the feeling went away.

"[wanderer]! is it okay if you're on watch duty?" that name. it felt like a childhood lullaby, something the elderly women of tatarasuna would sing him to sleep when he was awoken by nightmares. that name was his, something he held to with genuine pride, not like his other disdainful names that were given by cruel people or joking jesters.

"alright." there's no sigh, groan, or remark afterwards to everyone's surprise. it only happens once in a blue moon and you know damn well that they took it to heart.

layla and xiangling slept beside bennett while aether sat where he was with his eyes closed. there was a moment of silence where it was just beautiful.

the crystalflies didn’t hide from the characters, an anemo one landing on layla’s nose and on the top of the wanderer’s hat. the wind blew ever so softly and for a moment, the wanderer could feel that warmth again.

“what’s up with you?” the traveler asked. his eyes stayed close but they were attentive like always.

“nothing.”

“liar.”

wanderer frowns and slightly turns his head to see them. a smile grew on their face and they sat up, opening their eyes and looking directly at him. “you felt it, didn’t you?” the wanderer looks away.

“do you always ask dumb questions?”

the traveler beside him stifles a laugh. “they’re not dumb,” they pause. they have a visible frown painted on their face now. “you know, don’t you?”

“what? that there’s some being out there controlling us, that the world shifts to their liking, or that you can practically see their face written in those damned stars?”

they stay silent. how’d he even know? was it that meteorite from long ago? “yeah, i guess.”

the wanderer scoffs at his companion's vagueness. “i’m tired of being a vessel.” that was obviously a lie. he can’t remember the last time he actually enjoyed serving someone, let alone helping if it wasn’t for his own personal gain. it felt nice being used (which is something he never thought he’d ever think).

aether sighs, leaning on the totem. they closed their eyes, "wake me up later then."

the wanderer scoffed. "i'm not your alarm," he says but he doesn't complain any further, simply watching over his teammates, the ones you assigned him, with a faint frown on his face. just where were you?

you quickly sweep your phone off of your desk once you come back from an errand. it was only a few minutes but still! you need your game to thrive at work, remember?

it had been days to them. they were at windrise, where you left them, your whole team. thank the gods. everyone was awake and ready to be used as characters.

you continued what you were doing prior to your errand, collecting crystalflies and flowers for your characters' ascensions.

wanderer didn't tell anyone he felt your warmth.

he shouldn't, he couldn't—wouldn't. no one else had suffered like him, it was unfair for those who didn't deserve it to bask in the sweet feeling of your muse. everything bad happened to him; nothing ever bad happened to anyone else.

nahida was right; he needs help!

your help. you were the only one who could help him, help the poor wanderer who had cried and groveled at your feet centuries ago, begging for a god greater than the gods to take care of him and help him—you!

you put him through all this pain to help him in the end, right? to free him, make him truly himself and not part human or puppet but himself again.

his salvation wasn't leaving him; he wouldn't let it happen.