#something out of his control—much like the feeling it represents

[stinkylittletoad]

I started writing a bunch in the tags but ultimately decided this was worth a full post response. I have so many thoughts. First, thank you user Felassan for sharing this article via Tumblr. I wasn't going to pay Bloomberg to read it.

This was an incredibly validating read for a number of reasons, but also only furthered my existing anger towards Corporate America (surprise surprise) and EA.

I remember first playing the game, and feeling I had been lied to by the marketing. I clearly remember telling a friend it felt like they were rebranding DA as Fortnite. And then actually getting into the game and.... it was, but it wasn't. It was clearly caught in the crossfire of so many different decisions, and obviously lacked direction and voice, and I'm so enraged for the BioWare team that they were also caught constantly in the crossfire of indecision by higher ups at EA.

It is BEYOND wild to me that EA received criticism early on that people were unhappy with the level of cause/effect and then the DA team was forced to scrape something together that should have been given years more time to work on. Shameful, EA. Shameful.

I still remember seeing critic reviews early on and continually recalling MrMattyPlays' early access review, wherein he said he was hopeful but holding out a true review until he had full access to the game. Wherein he praised the amount of time he got in early access, saying it really was a standalone. And then once the game came out and he gave his full review, saying that the time he was given in early access was so carefully cultivated to only show the parts they wanted you to see. It was NOT a truly representative experience of the full game. That clearly SOMEBODY along the way realized the game was not what it should have been, and cherry picked the way they presented the game to garner better reviews from critics. Well, when you lie to gamers, we're gonna figure it out and be upset!!

Laura Fryer made an incredible video on the Games Industry Bubble that also elaborates on the ways that the industry carefully cultivates critic access to games prior to their release that is well worth the watch. I would rewatch it now and elaborate further but I think I need to set this topic down for a little while.

EA's behavior throughout this development process is the epitome of gaslighting and abuse: yanking them left and right and up and down and then punishing them when they were unable to deliver under impossible odds, holding them responsible for something well out of their control given the circumstances. The failure of Dragon Age Veilguard has NOTHING to do with the IP, the creative and writing teams, or anybody who was actually on the DA team. It has nothing to do, much to the behest of bigot gamers, with the increased visibility and representation of queer and especially trans folx. It has EVERYTHING to do with shitty corporate leadership that prioritizes profit and following trends over allowing creatives to pour passion and heart and life into a tried and true series with millions of eager, passionate fans.

I will never forgive or forget that EA pummeled, bullied, tossed around, and disregarded the Dragon Age series in this way. Thank you to the team of devs that worked tirelessly and under impossible circumstances to deliver the game that this ultimately became. I will treasure it for what it is, remember fondly what it could have been, and dare to hope for a future where this IP can be in the hands of people who will again do it justice from a place of love and passion, and not from a place of rotted corporate greed.

Jason Schreier for Bloomberg reports: 'Inside the ‘Dragon Age’ Debacle That Gutted EA’s BioWare Studio'

The latest game in BioWare’s fantasy role-playing series went through ten years of development turmoil. The failure of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, released in October, led EA to gut BioWare

[note: article is below cut after these tweets]

Jason Schreier: "NEW: What went wrong with Dragon Age: The Veilguard? Why was the writing so tonally inconsistent? Why did it feel so shallow? Why were there so few choices? Really, after ten years of turbulence, it was a miracle that anything came out at all. This is the story [link]:" [source]

Jason Schreier: "The fatal flaw for Dragon Age: The Veilguard wasn't just that it pivoted from single-player to multiplayer and back again. It was that after the second pivot, the team was forced to keep going rather than hit the reset button and take the time to create a new plan." [source]

Jason Schreier re: this old tweet from Casey Hudson: "Fun fact: when I first reported at Kotaku in 2018 that Dragon Age 4 was rebooted to become a live-service game, BioWare studio head Casey Hudson wrote this on Twitter. But it was not entirely truthful. In reality, the game was being designed around cooperative multiplayer, replayable missions, etc" [source] Casey Hudson's old tweet from 2018: "Reading lots of feedback regarding Dragon Age, and I think you'll be relieved to see what the team is working on. Story & character focused. Too early to talk details, but when we talk about "live" it just means designing a game for continued storytelling after the main story."

Rest of post/article under cut due to length.

(bold in the text below is mine for emphasis)

"In early November, on the eve of the crucial holiday shopping season, staffers at the video-game studio BioWare were feeling optimistic. After an excruciating development cycle, they had finally released their latest game, Dragon Age: The Veilguard, and the early reception was largely positive. The role-playing game was topping sales charts on Steam, and solid, if not spectacular, reviews were rolling in. But in the weeks that followed, the early buzz cooled as players delved deeper into the fantasy world, and some BioWare employees grew anxious. For months, everyone at the subsidiary of the video-game publisher Electronic Arts Inc. had been under intense pressure. The studio’s previous two games, Mass Effect: Andromeda and Anthem, had flopped, and there were rumors that if Dragon Age underperformed, BioWare might become another of EA’s many casualties. Not long after Christmas, the bad news surfaced. EA announced in January that the new Dragon Age had only reached 1.5 million players, missing the company’s expectations by 50%. The holiday performance of another recently released title, EA Sports FC 2025, was also subpar, compounding the problem."

"As a result of the struggling titles, EA Chief Executive Officer Andrew Wilson explained, the company would be significantly lowering its sales forecast for the fiscal year ahead. EA’s share price promptly plunged 18%. “Dragon Age had a high-quality launch and was well-reviewed by critics and those who played,” Wilson later said on an earnings call. “However, it did not resonate with a broad enough audience in this highly competitive market.” Days after the sales revision, EA laid off a chunk of BioWare’s staff at the studio’s headquarters in Edmonton, Canada, and permanently transferred many of the remaining workers to other divisions. For the storied, 30-year-old game maker, it was a stunning fall that left many fans wondering how things had gone so haywire — and what might come next for the stricken studio. According to interviews with nearly two dozen people who worked on Dragon Age: The Veilguard, there were several reasons behind its failure, including marketing misfires, poor word of mouth and a 10-year gap since the previous title. Above all, sources point to the rebooting of the product from a single-player game to a multiplayer one — and then back again — a switcheroo that muddled development and inflated the title’s budget, they say, ultimately setting the stage for EA’s potentially unrealistic sales expectations. A spokesperson for EA declined to comment."

"The union between BioWare and EA started off with lofty aspirations. In 2007, EA executives announced they were acquiring BioWare and another gaming studio in a deal worth $860 million. The goal was to diversify their slate of games, which was heavy in sports titles, like Madden NFL, and light in the kind of adventure and role-playing games that BioWare was known for. Initially, it looked like a smart move thanks to a string of big hits. In 2014, BioWare released Dragon Age: Inquisition, the third installment in a popular action series dropping players in a semi-open world full of magic, elves and fire-spewing dragons. The fantasy title went on to win the much-coveted Game of the Year Award and sell 12 million copies, according to its executive producer Mark Darrah — a major validation of EA’s diversification strategy. Before long, Darrah and Mike Laidlaw, the creative director, began kicking around ideas for the next Dragon Age installment — code name: Joplin — aiming for a game that would be smaller in scope. But before much could get done, BioWare shifted the studio’s focus to more pressing titles coming down the pike. In 2017, BioWare released Mass Effect: Andromeda, the fourth installment in a big-budget action series set in space. Unlike its critically successful predecessors, the game received mediocre reviews and was widely mocked by fans. A few months after the disappointing release, the head of BioWare stepped down and was soon replaced by Microsoft Inc.’s Casey Hudson, an alumni of BioWare’s early, formative years."

"Like much of the industry, EA executives were growing increasingly enamored of so-called live-service games, such as Destiny and Overwatch, in which players continue to engage with and spend money on a title for months or even years after its initial release. With EA aiming to make a splash in the fast-growing category, BioWare poured resources into Anthem, a live-service shooter game that checked all the right boxes. One day in October 2017, Laidlaw summoned his colleagues into a conference room and pulled out a few pricey bottles of whisky. The next Dragon Age sequel, he told the room, would also be pivoting to an online, live-service game — a decision from above that he disagreed with. He was resigning from the studio. The assembled staff stayed late through the night, drinking and reminiscing about the franchise they loved. “I wish that pivot had never occurred,” Darrah would later recount on YouTube. “EA said, ‘Make this a live service.’ We said, ‘We don’t know how to do that. We should basically start the project over.’” Former art director Matt Goldman replaced Laidlaw as creative director, and with a tiny team began pushing ahead on a new multiplayer version of Dragon Age — code name: Morrison — while everyone else helped to finish Anthem, which was struggling to coalesce. Goldman pushed for a “pulpy,” more lighthearted tone than previous entries, which suited an online game but was a drastic departure from the dark, dynamic stories that fans loved in the fantasy series."

"In February 2019, BioWare released Anthem. Reviews were scathing, calling the game tedious and convoluted. Fans were similarly displeased. On social media, players demanded to know why a studio renowned for beloved stories and characters had made an online shooter with a scattershot narrative. In the wake of BioWare’s second consecutive flop, the multiplayer version of Dragon Age continued to take shape. While the previous games in the franchise had featured tactical combat, this one would be all action. Instead of quests that players would only experience once, it would be full of missions that could be replayed repeatedly with friends and strangers. Important characters couldn’t die because they had to persist for multiple players across never-ending gameplay. As the game evolved over the next two years, the failure of Anthem hovered over the studio. Were they making the same mistakes? Some BioWare employees scoffed that they were simply building “Anthem with dragons.” Throughout 2020, the pandemic disrupted the game’s already fraught development. In December, Hudson, the head of the studio, and Darrah, the head of the franchise, resigned. Shortly thereafter, Gary McKay, BioWare’s new studio head, revealed yet another shift in strategy. Moving forward, the next Dragon Age would no longer be multiplayer."

"“We were thinking, ‘Does this make sense, does this play into our strengths, or is this going to be another challenge we have to face?’” McKay later told Bloomberg News. “No, we need to get back to what we’re really great at.” In theory, the reversion back to Dragon Age’s tried-and-true, single-player format should have been welcome news inside BioWare. But there was a catch. Typically, this kind of pivot would be coupled with a reset and a period of pre-production allowing the designers to formulate a new vision for the game. Instead, the team was asked to change the game’s fundamental structure and recast the entire story on the fly, according to people familiar with the new marching orders. They were given a year and a half to finish and told to aim for as wide a market as possible. This strict deadline became a recurring problem. The development team would make decisions believing that they had less than a year to release the game, which severely limited the stories they could tell and the world they could build. Then the title would inevitably be delayed a few months, at which point they’d be stuck with those old decisions with no chance to stop and reevaluate what was working. At the end of 2022, amid continually dizzying leadership changes, the studio started distributing an “alpha” build of Dragon Age to get feedback internally and from outside playtesters. According to people familiar with the process, the reactions were concerning. The game’s biggest problem, early players agreed, was a lack of satisfying choices and consequences. Previous BioWare titles had presented players with gut-wrenching decisions. Which allies to save? Which factions to spare? Which enemies to slay? Such dilemmas made fans feel like they were shaping the narrative — historically, a big draw for many BioWare games."

"But Dragon Age’s multiplayer roots limited such choices, according to people familiar with the development. BioWare delayed the game’s release again while the team shoehorned in a few major decisions, such as which of two cities to save from a dragon attack. But because most of the parameters were already well established, the designers struggled to pair the newly retrofitted choices for players with meaningful consequences downstream. In 2023, to help finish Dragon Age, BioWare brought in a second, internal team, which was working on the next Mass Effect game. For decades there’d been tension between the two well-established camps, known for their starkly divergent ways of doing things. BioWare developers like to joke that the Dragon Age crew was like a pirate ship, meandering and sometimes traveling off course but eventually reaching the port. In contrast, the Mass Effect group was called the USS Enterprise, after the Star Trek ship, because commands were issued straight down from the top and executed zealously. As the Mass Effect directors took control, they scoffed that the Dragon Age squad had been doing a shoddy job and began excluding their leaders from pivotal meetings, according to people familiar with the internal friction. Over time, the Mass Effect team went on to overhaul parts of the game and design a number of additional scenes, including a rich, emotional finale that players loved. But even changes that appeared to improve the game stoked the simmering rancor inside BioWare, infuriating Dragon Age leaders who had been told they didn’t have the budget for such big, ambitious swings."

"“It always seemed that, when the Mass Effect team made its demands in meetings with EA regarding the resources it needed, it got its way,” said David Gaider, a former lead writer on the Dragon Age franchise who left before development of the new game started. “But Dragon Age always had to fight against headwinds.” Early testers and Mass Effect leads complained about the game’s snarky tone — a style of video-game storytelling, once ascendant, that was quickly falling out of fashion in pop culture but had been part of Goldman’s vision for the multiplayer game. Worried that Dragon Age could face the same outcome as Forspoken — a recent title that had been hammered over its impertinent banter — BioWare leaders ordered a belated rewrite of the game’s dialogue to make it sound more serious. (In the end, the resulting tonal inconsistencies would only add to the game’s poor reception with fans.) A mass layoff at BioWare and a mandate to work overtime depleted morale while a voice actors strike limited the writers’ ability to revise the dialogue and create new scenes. An initial trailer made the next Dragon Age seem more like Fortnite than a dark fantasy role-playing game, triggering concerns that EA didn’t know how to market the game. When Dragon Age: The Veilguard finally premiered on Halloween 2024 after many internal delays, some staff members thought there was a lot to like, including the game’s new combat system. But players were less impressed, and sales sputtered."

"“The reactions of the fan base are mixed, to put it gently,” said Caitie, a popular Dragon Age YouTuber. “Some, like myself, adore it for various reasons. Others feel utterly betrayed by certain design choices.” Following the layoffs and staff reassignments at BioWare earlier in the year, a small team of a few dozen employees is now working on the next Mass Effect. After three high-profile failures in a row, questions linger about EA’s commitment to the studio. In May, the company relabeled its Edmonton headquarters from a BioWare office to a hub for all EA staff in the area. Historically, BioWare has never been the most important studio at EA, which generates more than $7 billion in annual revenue largely from its sports games and shooters. Depending on the timing of its launches, BioWare typically accounts for just 5% of EA’s annual bookings, according to estimates by Colin Sebastian, an analyst with Robert W. Baird & Co. Even so, there may be strategic reasons for EA to keep supporting BioWare. Single-player role-playing games are expensive to make but can lead to huge windfalls when successful, as demonstrated by recent hits like Cyberpunk 2077, Elden Ring and Baldur’s Gate 3. In order to grow, EA needs more than just sports franchises, said TD Cowen analyst Doug Creutz. Trying to fix its fantasy-focused studio may be easier than starting something new. “That said, if they shuttered the doors tomorrow I wouldn’t be totally surprised,” Creutz added. “It has been over a decade since they produced a hit.”"

Article by Jason Schreier. [source]

[mediumgayitalian]

Will usually wakes up in the dark.

Head Counsellor — and Head Medic — duties, you see. And, moreso, representative of his father (or so the man claims). He must be up to greet the sun, and so he must be awake before it rises.

Pitch black, though.

That’s unusual.

“Do you want to go look at the stars with me,” says the pair of eyes hovering above his bed, which Will assumes are attached to a face, and particularly the face of his best friend.

And Will blinks. And squints. And glances outside, where there is not even the barest hint of sunrise — he can feel, in his chest, that the sun is presently as physically far away from him as it can get at this point in the season.

“Nico,” he croaks, eyes sliding shut again, “It’s two in the morning.”

His eyelids reflect the flash of Nico’s grin. “You sound like a cowboy.”

Will’s eyes pop open, and his face burns. He rockets straight up, shoving his best friend, who is laughing. Crosses his arms.

“I damn well do —” He stops, catching himself. Nico snickers. He scowls, and enunciates his words carefully. “No, I don’t.”

“Like Johnny Cash,” Nico says sagely, because he’s a jerk. “Didja just roll in from town, pardner?”

Will scowls and goes back to sleep.

Except, he doesn’t. Because Nico’s laugh is low and raspy, and the mattress dips by Will’s hip, where he leans against it. Where he rubs his palm over Will’s blanket-covered arm, making him shiver. Where he presses in close. Where the warm puff of his toothpaste-scented breath tickles the curve of Will’s ear.

“C’mon,” he murmurs pleadingly, and without looking Will can see his pout, the roundness of his wide brown eyes. “Please? I’m trying to listen to you. You said I’m not allowed out of camp by myself.” Nico lingers at the curve of Will’s wrist, pressing a cool finger deliberately on his pulse point. Will prays he doesn’t feel it quicken, but he can tell by the smirk in Nico’s voice that he does. “C’mon, Sunshine. I want to watch the stars with you.”

Will practically springs out of bed, he jumps away from that low voice so fast. Nico laughs, muffling it with his hands, and it does nothing for the burn of Will’s face, the writhing and churning in his stomach.

“Nice boxers,” Nico observes, as Will bends over his dresser, muttering to himself. Will freezes, and Nico carries on, voice deliberately controlled. “The Ninja Turtles is a really good look for you.”

Will’s face burns so hotly he ceases to feel anything but his own heartbeat in every square nanometer of skin, and then, to add insult to injury, he begins to glow. In his cheeks, at first, but it spreads quickly to the rest of his face, to his neck, down his chest.

Right down, humiliatingly, past his hips, where it shines through the worn-thin fabric.

“I didn’t know I would have company,” Will hisses, stumbling into the first pair of bottoms he finds. He misses the leg holes four times. The glowing gets worse. “What kind of — sick bastard — drags a man from sleep — and then mocks his sleeping attire —”

“Brave of you to call it attire,” says Nico, seeing as you’re covering much of nothing.”

Will misses the leg holes, again. This time he goes careening forward and lands flat on his face.

He’s still glowing, by the time they finally make it out of the Apollo cabin, and Nico is still snickering. Will is still furious with him. Or trying to be. But he gives up, when Nico offers his hand, because the harpies don’t avoid him like they do Nico, and he has suffered enough. No need for avoidable gauging.

Even if the icy cool of of Nico’s sword-callused hands feels good rubbing against his own sweaty palms, and Nico smells, vaguely, like churned dirt and smoke and a little bit of something fresh, herbal. Something good.

“Okay,” Nico says, somewhere past a row of darkened cabins. Will blinks, dazed. Disoriented, in the pitch-black, except the sheen of Nico’s eyes. “Don’t get mad.”

“About what,” Will asks dumbly, a second too late, too quiet. Because Nico’s teeth flash as he smiles, guilty and daring, and then he loses his footing, and the shadows swirl.

Will throws up the second his feet are on solid ground again.

“There, there,” says Nico after a moment, sounding a little shakey himself. He pats Will’s back. “It’ll fade, so long as you brought all your organs with you.”

“What,” Will croaks, and then after a brief, panicked check — “oh my gods…my spleen…”

Nico pauses.

“Well,” he says, and then is silent. He clears his throat. “Well, that’s not an important one, right?”

Will wheezes instead of answering.

His spleen.

His beautiful spleen…

“It’s okay,” Nico assures quickly. “It’s fine. I’ll ask the shadows to be nice on the way back. They should let you keep up to ninety-nine point four percent of your organry this time so it’ll all be fine and dandy.”

He pretends not to hear the mumbled I hope.

Gods help him.

“Where even are we,” he manages, finally. “Stars not good enough in New York?”

“Correct,” Nico says primly. But maybe he catches sight of Will’s still-green face, or maybe he’s just feeling benevolent. Because he smiles, and cups Will’s cheek. Strokes his thumb over Will’s cheekbone. Graciously ignores how Will’s throat closes. “Too polluted, azzurro. I wanted to bring you somewhere worth your time.”

Will feels his breath catch, his heart thump. Azzurro. He doesn’t know that one. And for a moment there is a flash in Nico’s eyes, something like panic, and his hand twitches — like he moves to snatch it away, but aborts at the last second. Draws it back slowly, instead. Lingers.

“Always worth my time,” Will says, before he can stop himself. “You, I mean.”

Nico’s eyes crinkle as he smiles.

“You’re such a cheeseball.”

He is. But Nico looks down as he says it. Kicks his shoe in the grass. Will exhales, and brings up a hand, wraps it around his wrist.

His pulse races.

“Hike,” Nico says when Will frowns. “Uh, the best view around? Up high. Let’s move.”

He stalks off before Will can say anything, tripping over roots and rocks. They’re in a — forest, maybe, of some kind, a trail; Will stumbles over after him and snags the back of his hoodie, when his outstretched hand grasps it, trying to keep in sight.

“Hey,” he says, quiet. “Slow down. I can’t see like you can.”

Nico slows down, so Will can walk next to him. Swallows. Keeps pace, for a moment. Between them their knuckles brush.

After a moment, Nico turns his palm. Will exhales, long and shakey, and matches it, curling their fingers together.

The walk is — good.

They come to the top of a rocky hill and sit heavily. Nico’s breath comes out in cool mist, and were Will not keeping his locked in his lungs, his would, too. Instead he watched the swirl of the steam, as he crosses Nico’s full lips, traces the dark shape of him in the low light. In the thick, night-heavy air.

“You’re not looking,” Nico says, eventually. He swallows heavy, eyes trained on the sky. “Stargaze with me, Will. Look at the heavens.”

Will swallows, dry. He’s not like Nico but his eyes have adjusted, in the dark, and he can see the dark on his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose. He can see the small, shy smile fighting onto his lips. Can see the careful shine of his hair, brushed, for once. The sheen of his silk dress shirt.

“You planned this,” Will says, not a question. “Being — here.”

Slowly, Nico nods.

“Why?”

“I can’t ask my friend to appreciate space with me?” he defends, but it is halfhearted at best, and he picks at his fingernails. “Just ‘cause, I guess.” He shrugs. “Wanted to sit with you.”

It’s not the truth. Or at least not the full truth. Will can feel it like you can taste rain coming in the air, like you can smell the sea before you hear the waves.

“I thought —” It’s harder, than he imagined, to say it. To put the words, and all they imply, into the wavering space between them, above their still-joined hands. But he swallows, and makes himself. Voice quiet. Voice low. “I thought this might be a date.”

Nico doesn’t say anything for a moment. And then he squeezes Will’s hand, and nods.

“…I hoped.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Nico’s flush darkens in the starlight. “I did so.” He breathes. Quick. Inandout. “Kind of.”

Will inches closer, a little. “When you ask,” he says, quiet. “The word ‘date’. In involved.”

For a long moment Nico says nothing. Nods. Gnaws on his lip. Picks at a loose thread, and another.

“Will,” he says, looking away. “Do you want to go on a —” he stumbles on his words — “date. With me.”

Will nods, once, eyes not leaving his face.

“Yes.”

“Cool. Groovy.” Nico nods, once, and again. Will’s lips quirk up. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

Will leans closer, still. He can feel Nico’s body heat, at this distance. Feel his breathing.

“I’m here,” he says. “We’re under the starlight.”

He doesn’t know how to say anymore. He stares, only, eyes half-lidded. Breathing slow. Close. Waiting, for Nico to look back.

He does.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, quiet. “But I’m nervous.”

Will nods. Squeezes his hand. They’re both sweaty, now, too warm.

“Me, too.”

Nico nods. Will does, too, and he bites his lip, because it is ridiculous, because there is a lot of nodding. But he doesn’t know what else to do.

Nico does, maybe.

He slips his hand free. Wipes them on his jeans. And then, fingers shaking, breathing trembling, eyes drawn close together, he rests his palm on Will’s cheek. Slides his fingers in his hair, around the back of his neck. Angela his head down.

“Stop me, if it isn’t good.”

Will exhales, and nods again. Nico leans in close, and then closer. And there is the brush of his lips. Chapped. Gentle.

There is a spark, passing from his skin to Will’s. It makes them both jump.

Nico presses in, suddenly. Surges. Like live wire, like if he doesn’t touch, he will die. Like he needs the taste of Will’s breath in his lungs.

“Will,” he sighs, and kisses him again. And again.

Will closes his eyes and sees stars.

———

@willsolaceweek day 4 — will in love

[braceletofteeth]

Hira + すき

[whathorselegs]

Dazai through other people's eyes

Inspired by @originalaccountname's post about Atsushi's vision of Dazai being warped.

These are all panels where Dazai either appears as a memory or hallucination for different people. Probably not all of them, but a small collection I literally just gathered in the last hour.

----

Atsushi

I think it's interesting just how lifeless this hallucinated version of Dazai is. He doesn't smile, he doesn't joke. It really does just feel like Dazai's face placed over Atsushi's conscience to guide him forward.

Akutagawa

Scraggly little guy. There's mystery behind his eyes, he knows something you don't. Has never seen a hair brush in his life. Akutagawa's vision of Dazai always looks like he's the one in control and he knows it. But also, he looks so young.

Chuuya

This ones admittedly a little different because the 1st panel is from the fifteen manga BUT I'm counting it because I love the visual and it makes an interesting contrast to how Chuuya saw Dazai when they were both teens, to how he remembers him now. One a mastermind demon, the other a lost looking boy surrounded by demons.

Ango

Bratty, criminal child. Someone who needed to be saved. The handcuff representing Dazai as someone trapped by his past and Ango trying to pay penance by saving him from it. He envisions the boy he was, because his betrayal meant he never got to know the man Dazai became.

Ranpo

Happiest little guy out there! Considering how much Dazai says he admires Ranpo, it's not surprising that when Ranpo envisions the agency he sees Dazai smiling at him. This is the Dazai Ranpo wanted to protect, the smile and joy he never wanted to lose.

[societyfolklore]

Security Clearance

Title: Security Clearance

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Former SHEILD!Female Reader

Summary:  When a long day of political chaos leaves Congressman Bucky Barnes teetering on the edge, the last person he wants watching him is you.

Word Count:  3.8k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Rough sex, aggressive dominants, biting, bruising, possessiveness, Semi-public setting (gym), Mutual physical aggression (consensual, Breathless dirty talk, Workplace-adjacent setting (Congressman x Bodyguard dynamic)

A/N:  Want to get this out before Thunderbolts* 

You hated this suit.

Not because it was tight or unflattering, but because it made you feel like part of the machine again. Like some cog wheeled into place after being discarded years ago. The synthetic fibers clung to your skin like old duty-like expectation. It itched in a way you couldn’t scratch. You weren’t SHIELD anymore, hadn’t been for years, but when the government needed someone with a little edge, a little blood on their hands and a spotless record on paper, your name still came up. So here you were-again. A private contractor with federal strings tied tight around your wrists. They called it security clearance. You called it a leash.

That’s how you ended up here, standing in the corner of a polished D.C. office suite, the walls too white, the air too cold, watching Congressman James Buchanan Barnes slowly come apart at the seams.

He didn’t like you. That much was obvious.

You didn’t blame him. You were a shadow in his periphery, always there. At hearings. At dinners. In hallways with nothing but silence between you. You were the person who never flinched under his stare, the one who didn’t try to smile or play politics. Your job was simple: observe, protect, report. And sometimes, control.

You were a living, breathing reminder that Bucky Barnes wasn’t as free as the country he served.

But truthfully? You weren’t sure he hated you as much as he hated what you represented. The collar he couldn’t shake. The watchdog the state had assigned him in the form of someone with matching ghosts.

Bucky Barnes was a former assassin turned polished representative with a jawline sharp enough to make headlines and a gaze that could still freeze a room. That was before today. Today, his hair was disheveled, his jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. His eyes-stormy, bloodshot, heavy-lidded-burned with something you hadn’t seen since the field: unspent violence.

His tie hung loose around his collarbone, his sleeves rolled up past the elbow. The flash of metal from his forearm caught the light with every furious step he took across the office.

You didn’t need enhanced senses to pick up the tension bleeding off him in waves. It was in the twitch of his fingers. The restless pacing. The way his mouth moved soundlessly before finally giving voice to his thoughts.

"Need to hit something before I hit someone," he bit out, ripping the rest of his tie off like it offended him. He didn’t look at you. Just turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

You gave it two beats.

Then pushed off the wall and followed.

~#~#~#~#~#~

The gym was cold and empty. Just polished floors, the faint smell of leather and sweat, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You stepped inside and paused just past the doorway, letting the door shut behind you with a soft click.

Bucky was already moving, disappearing into the changing room without a word. You stayed where you were, arms folded, leaning back against the wall as you let the silence stretch. A few minutes passed, and then he returned.

He’d stripped down into a plain black workout tee and loose dark sweats. Gone was the suited congressman-the image scrubbed away along with the tie and the tension. This was the man you remembered from field briefings in shadowed corners of SHIELD operations-lean muscle, taut lines, a low-simmering fury barely restrained beneath his skin.

You turned away from him, scanning the open gym floor as he began wrapping his right hand in athletic tape. Methodical. Focused. The sound of the tape unraveling was sharp in the quiet.

You started walking, slowly pacing the perimeter of the space, each step steady. You moved like you were still checking for exits, still measuring threats. It was instinct. Habit. You let your fingers skim along the wall padding. The air smelled like sweat and adrenaline and rubber.

Then the first thwack hit the air.

You stopped walking.

Bucky was hammering the punching bag. Sharp, brutal strikes. The kind that made the chain rattle and the leather creak. The kind that left bruises if anyone got in his way. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still worked up. His grunts came short and clipped, not satisfied. Not eased.

You slowly turned back to watch him. He kept going. Harder. Faster. Each strike was more violent than the last, fists hammering the bag like it had personally offended him. You could almost hear it in his breathing-the way his exhales shortened, the growl that hovered behind each grunt. The bag wasn't working. If anything, it was winding him tighter.

You didn’t need to see his expression to know the storm inside him was getting worse. His punches turned more erratic. Sloppier, even, like control was slipping.

Then came the sharp exhale-a frustrated huff that echoed too loud in the empty space. He dropped his arms, the bag swaying slightly from the abuse, and turned toward you like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

His eyes were fire when they met yours.

"You got anything under that you can fight in?" he asked, voice still sharp, still clipped.

You crossed your arms and raised a brow. "We're not suppose to engage the client, Sir.."

His jaw ticked. "I thought you had to follow directives?"

"Charming." You snorted muttering under your breath. 

Still, you considered it. It had been a while since you’d had a proper spar. The last few agents assigned to Bucky’s rotation had all been too stiff, too careful. The second you got aggressive, they called you 'too much'-like they didn’t sign up to be knocked flat. Bucky, though... Bucky could take a hit. More than that, he wanted one.

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes and slowly began stripping off your blazer. Then your shirt. Underneath, a fitted black tank hugged your torso. "This work for you, Congressman?"

He just turned to dig in his duffel before tossing a pair of grey sweatpants at you.

"Wear those. I don't want to get billed for ruining those pants." 

You rolled your eyes but changed, your slacks hitting the floor before you stepped into the pants he gave you. Slightly too big. Smelled like him. Looking up Bucky back was to you while you'd been changing. 

You met him on the mats, both barefoot. The floor felt cool beneath your feet, the air thickening between you in slow increments. Barnes rolled his shoulders back, the faint mechanical whirl of his metal arm filling the silence like a warning. Then came the pop of his neck as he tilted it side to side, eyes still fixed on you, unblinking.

For a moment, nothing moved. Just the subtle twitch of his fingers, your mirrored stance, the tension coiling between you like an elastic band stretched tight. You studied him-really looked. The way his shoulders stayed high, rigid with barely leashed frustration. How his jaw was still locked, even now. He wasn’t fighting to warm up. He was fighting to keep something inside.

You could see it-every inch of him wound tight like a spring, controlled only by discipline and sheer force of will. He wasn’t here to spar. He was here to unload.

Fine. Let him.

It started controlled-simple drills, practiced maneuvers. The kind of opening movements you’d run a hundred times before. You both circled, feet light on the mat, trading calculated strikes. You blocked, countered. Tested. Pushed. Watched him do the same.

He was sussing you out.

You let it build. Let him think maybe you were holding back, maybe you were just a suit who couldn’t take a hit like you used too. But the second he shifted forward with more speed, you welcomed it. Met it. Matched it. Dared him to give you more.

You weren’t made of glass.

If Bucky wanted a moving target, you’d give him one.

His pace turned aggressive. The precision in his movements gave way to something harder, more visceral. Each strike he threw was faster, heavier-like he wanted to knock the air out of you, like he needed to feel the hit deep in his bones. You answered in kind. Your footwork shifted from reactive to dominant, testing his limits with sharper counters and quicker feints. Hits landed with satisfying thuds, echoing off the gym walls like thunderclaps.

You ducked beneath one wide swing and jabbed hard at his ribs, earning a grunt. His metal arm caught your next strike and shoved you back with enough force to make your heel skid along the mat-but you didn’t hesitate. You recovered fast, twisted low under his reach, and drove a solid kick into his stomach. The contact thudded through your leg and up your spine. He grunted again-not in pain, but with a glimmer of satisfaction flashing through his eyes like you’d finally given him something real to work with.

He grinned.

You hated how good it looked on him. Like he was finally enjoying himself. Like he hadn’t looked that alive in weeks.

You went for his legs. He anticipated it, but not fast enough. He hit the mat with a solid thud that reverberated through the floor, the sound sharp in your ears. Your body reacted without hesitation-knees planted to either side of his waist as you straddled him, sweat-slick and breathing hard. Muscles burned deliciously with effort, your limbs trembling slightly from exertion. You were already flushed, heat rising under your skin, blood thrumming loud in your ears.

Then he moved. A quick twist of his hips and you were airborne for a half-second before he flipped you like a coin. Your back hit the mat, air whooshing out of your lungs.

The fight bled into something else.

Now he was above you, chest heaving, face flushed, dark hair falling loose across his brow. His breath hit your jaw, hot and ragged. Your own lungs worked double time trying to keep up, chest rising and falling with each greedy gasp for oxygen. Your skin was tacky with sweat, the sting of motion and contact still rippling through your body. Every muscle screamed with effort, every nerve buzzing with the high of adrenaline.

You felt alive. On fire.

And you stared at each other, unmoving. That flicker in his eyes-once analytical, maybe even annoyed-had burned down into something molten. Something wicked. Something hungry.

"You wanna fight," he growled, voice like sandpaper and smoke, "or you wanna fuck?"

You didn’t answer.

You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him down into you like you were daring him to find out.

The clothes went fast. His hands were everywhere, rough and demanding. He yanked your top off so quickly the friction dragged hard across your skin, leaving it tender, raw in spots-but you didn’t care. You were already burning, already writhing beneath the heat rising in your veins. His shirt was next, flying across the room like it had offended him. Skin met skin, fever-hot, slick with sweat.

You didn’t even make it upright. You rolled together across the mat, limbs tangled, lips locked in something closer to a snarl than a kiss. You shoved him back with your forearm; he pulled you down by the waist. The padded floor caught your shoulder as you twisted under him, teeth grazing his jaw. You ground your hips up into his like you were trying to fuse with him, dragging a growl out of his throat.

The need had been simmering since day one-and now it boiled over.

He broke the kiss just long enough to push your bra up and out of the way, rough fingers palming the swell of your breast before his mouth sealed over your nipple. He sucked hard until you gasped, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. You arched into it, one hand buried in his hair.

Then his hand was dragging down, fast and possessive, running over your stomach and dipping under the waistband of your borrowed sweats and underwear in one fluid motion. The cold of the vibranium shocked you as his fingers slid between your legs, bold and greedy. 

"Fuck… you’re wet already."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you panted, nails digging into his waist. "Just.. sweat.." 

He laughed, low and dangerous, then sat back on his knees, eyes devouring you like he was already tasting you in his head. In one sharp motion, he shoved your borrowed sweats down. He didn’t hesitate. One rough yank sent your pants halfway down your thighs, and then he was grabbing your hips, dragging you against him like he was starved for it. You grunted, twisting with him as you rolled over, bodies grappling for dominance even now, forcing your pants off to give your legs a full range of motion. 

You clawed at his skin biting down hard on Bucky's neck, marking him, dragging a sound from deep in his chest that was nothing short of feral. He hissed, teeth bared, his hands fumbling with his own waistband before he shoved his sweats down just far enough to free himself.

You didn’t get a warning. No teasing. No buildup.

He shoved into you with a growl, thick and deep and unforgiving. You gasped, the stretch stealing your breath and making your spine arch. He filled you to the hilt, every inch forcing you open until your walls fluttered around him, squeezing back instinctively. The friction was filthy, the burn sublime, your cunt gripping him with a desperate kind of greed.

"Fuck..." he snarled against your cheek, his voice shredded, ragged with the restraint it was costing him not to completely lose control.

You could feel the power in him, muscles tensed like coiled wire as he bottomed out, holding still just long enough for your body to adjust-but it wasn’t nearly enough. Your hips rolled up, instinctive and greedy, chasing the sensation like you needed more of him. Needed him to move, to wreck you. He responded immediately, a brutal snap of his hips that punched a sharp cry out of your throat, the sound swallowed by the thick, humid air.

You dug your heels into the mat, bracing, pulling him deeper as you arched up into every thrust. Your nails raked down his spine, dragging welts along sweat-slick skin. Your cunt clenched hard around him, squeezing tight like you never wanted to let him go, like your body was just as desperate as he was to keep him buried deep inside. He felt massive, every stroke grinding against your sweet spot, slick and devastating.

"Christ..." you gasped, voice wrecked, torn straight from your chest like gravel. You rocked back against him, eyes fluttering, your whole body a raw, trembling thing.

His breath hit your neck, hot and ragged. "You like that?"

You could barely answer, too strung out on the push and pull of his body-but you weren’t yielding. Not completely. One of your hands wrenched free of his grip and tangled in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to crash your mouth to his. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a challenge. A bite.

He snarled and surged forward, dragging you down to the mat fully, but you fought him for every inch of control-hips rolling up to meet his, mouth dragging along his jaw to nip at his throat, your legs locking tighter around his waist. You bit down hard on the hinge of his shoulder, grinning at the guttural sound it tore from his chest.

His hands found yours again, slamming them above your head, pinning you like a wild thing beneath him. But you didn’t go limp. You writhed, arched, snapped your teeth at his throat like you wanted to devour him.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, voice raw and wrecked. "You want to be on top that bad?"

"And let you have all the fun.." you hissed back, eyes blazing.

When he drove into you again, it wasn’t just lust-it was a challenge met, a battle accepted. A dare between beasts. It was teeth and sweat and the raw scrape of skin on skin. Moans caught between gritted teeth. Fingernails carving stories into flesh. Each thrust came with a brutal rhythm, deep and fast, his hips slamming into you with force that rattled through your bones.

You took it. Gave it back. Your cunt squeezed around him like a vise, greedy, refusing to let him retreat. You met him thrust for thrust, voice hoarse and wild, breath panting out curses and gasps.

"Come on, Barnes. You wanted a fight-fucking take it."

He snarled like an animal, dragging his mouth down your neck as he ground against your sweet spot. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"You should be so lucky," you spat as his teeth meat your skin. 

Your thighs trembled with the effort, but your fire didn’t fade. You rocked up hard, lips dragging along his jaw before sinking your teeth into his neck again, marking him with pride. You felt his cock twitch in response.

"You're not the only one who likes to bite, Barnes," you growled into his ear.

He hissed again, head tipping forward, the movement desperate. His hands fumbled, trying to grab your hips, trying to hold you still as you took control of the rhythm, riding him from beneath with nothing but fury and fire and hunger.

"You’re fuckin’ feral," he panted.

"You love it," you breathed, grinding harder.

"Yeah," he gasped. "Yeah, I fuckin’ do."

You weren’t being fucked. You were fucking him back. And he loved every damn second of it.

His pace turned punishing, hips slamming into yours with an obscene, wet sound. The mat beneath you squeaked with the force of it, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing loud in the gym. You couldn’t stay quiet-not when he was grinding into you just right, hitting that perfect angle with brutal consistency.

Your body jolted with each stroke, every nerve ending flaring as friction sparked raw heat beneath your skin. The stretch had your mouth falling open, your breath coming in faster bursts as your muscles twitched, clenching around him. Heat bloomed at the base of your spine, thick and molten, curling tighter with every brutal snap of his hips until it was all you could do to breathe.

"Fuck-god yes-"

He didn’t stop. Didn’t soften. He just growled, pulled out with a curse, and flipped you over in one effortless move, dragging your hips up until you were on your knees, chest still pressed to the mat.

"Thought you were tough," he rasped, voice scraping hot against your ear.

You barely caught your breath, heart hammering in your chest, your body still twitching with aftershocks, when he grabbed your hips and shoved back inside you from behind in one brutal, claiming thrust. The impact rocked you forward with a gasp, your hands bracing against the mat to keep from collapsing.

"Fuck, Bucky-"

His hips snapped forward, dragging a broken moan from your lips. "Say it again," he growled.

"Fuck, Bucky!"

He was deeper like this-thicker, overwhelming. You choked out a moan as your walls clamped down hard around him, the sound raw and broken. One of his hands wrapped tightly around the back of your neck, keeping you down, the pressure firm but grounding, while the other dragged between your legs with unrelenting purpose. His fingers found your clit and began rubbing ruthless, tight circles that made your entire body jump.

"That’s it. Give it to me," he murmured, low and possessive.

You bit down on your own forearm to stifle the sound building in your throat, but it was useless. The sensation was too much, too fast. The drag of him inside you was merciless-slick and raw, every stroke grinding against your tender walls, forcing you wider with each thrust. The sound of your bodies colliding was obscene, wet and rhythmic, as though he was carving himself into your core with every brutal snap of his hips. He didn’t just fill you-he overwhelmed you, like his cock was made to split you open and stay buried until you forgot anything but the pulse of him pounding into that aching spot deep inside. Your muscles tensed-shoulders, thighs, back-locking up like you were going to snap in half.

"I’m gonna-shit-Bucky, I’m-"

Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train-merciless, sudden, all-consuming. Your vision went white at the edges as stars burst behind your eyelids, a raw scream tearing from your throat. Your body locked up, then convulsed, wave after wave of climax pulsing through you with maddening intensity. You twitched, your thighs quaking, your cunt spasming tight around him as overstimulation clawed at your nerves. A sob caught in your throat as he kept going, dragging every ounce of sensation from you until your muscles gave out entirely.

Behind you, Bucky snarled your name like a curse and a prayer, barely holding on. He slammed into you one final time and froze, his entire body trembling with restraint as your cunt clenched and fluttered around him, milking him with rhythmic, desperate spasms. His head dropped to your back, and for a moment he couldn’t even breathe.

"Fucking-god, you feel unreal," he choked out, hips giving a helpless jerk as he tried not to lose it too soon.

His hips jerked erratically, cock pulsing thick inside you. You felt the twitch and heat of him spilling deep, his release pushing you into another soft, shuddering aftershock. He bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave an imprint, muffling his cry as his orgasm tore through him.

"You’re mine," he gasped, nearly inaudible, more instinct than declaration.

Your body gave out first. You slumped to the mat, arms too weak to hold you up. "You..you think you won that fight?" you panted, half-laughing, half-broken.

He followed you down, still buried inside, both of you breathless and slick with sweat. For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the quiet creak of the gym around you.

He sagged over your back for a long moment, still inside you, both of you panting, sweat dripping from his forehead to your spine.

Eventually Bucky pulled out with a groan and flopped beside you, still catching his breath.

Neither of you spoke.

Not yet.

"Think anyone heard that?"

You let out a dry laugh, turning your head slightly where it rested against the mat. "If they didn’t, they’ll see the marks tomorrow."

He let out a rough sound beside you, one arm flung over his eyes like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "Gonna have to bullshit my way through a morning meeting."

"Not my problem," you said, still breathless but smiling. "I don’t recall you complaining."

"I’m not. But if I stand, I’m going to fall."

You snorted, finally shifting enough to flop onto your back, your chest still rising and falling. "You going to get in trouble?"

He rolled his head toward you, expression unreadable but softer around the edges. "Probably. You?"

You exhaled slowly. "Definitely."

A pause stretched between you, thick with the weight of what just happened. But when he passed you your tank, his fingers brushed yours-slow, warm, deliberate. Like he wanted you to notice.

"Same time next week?" he asked, a flicker of something more in his voice.

You met his gaze, smirking.

"Sooner."

TAGS: @ruexj283, @yesiamthatwierd, @trojanaurora, @hextech-bros

[viinchester]

Shape Of You

Warnings: Mentions of an injury and that it's being taken care of (nothing too graphic), Depictions of Sexual Content (Minors DNI!), Rough/Intense Sexual Content, could be considered Dubcon by coercion (not really imo, but just to be on the safe side), Themes of Possession and Objectification

Fandom: Dexter (TV Show/Series)

Pairing: Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper x F!Reader

Request: by Anon

Summary: Brian takes care of your injury after you've taken a nasty fall, however you can't help but feel like something's off about the situation. Unaware of his dark thoughts and oblivious to the deeper manipulation at play, you clear your mind by focussing on his comforting presence, and things quickly get heated.

Word Count: 3.271

My Masterlist

A/N: For some reason, I really struggled with this.😬 I rewrote it like 3 or 4 different times entirely, I hope it's not too noticable.😅 I was also unsure when exactly to refer to Brian as "Rudy" so I tried to only do it whenever the writing directly represents the Readers thoughts about him.💕 I still had a ton of fun writing this and I hope I could do the idea that anon had justice and that you guys like it!🙏🏼 I would really appreciate reposts/comments with feedback.👀 Feel free to request stuff, I always enjoy getting some inspiration to keep the writing going.💙

Brian knelt beside you, his touch gentle as he pressed the damp cloth to your leg. The sharp sting of the cut made you wince, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the embarrassment of how it had happened.

You had tripped, just like you seemed to always do. This time, it had been over something small, a simple crack in the sidewalk, causing you to suddenly lie on the ground, blood welling up and staining your skin.

Heat rose in your cheeks in frustration at yourself and the fact that Brian now had to take care of you, but he was ever calm and didn't seem the least bit bothered.

Not saying much, he offered you a soft smile and then continued tending to your cut, his focus entirely on the injury itself.

He’d always been good at this type of stuff, fixing things while being composed and so in control — qualities you usually greatly admired in him.

But as you sat there in that moment, feeling the warmth of his touch, something didn’t seem right.

You knew you should be glad.

Here was your boyfriend, cleaning up your mess, like he so often did. You were fortunate, really, to have someone like him — patient and ready to swoop in when you inevitably fell again. So though you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off, you did your best to simply brush it aside.

After all, this was Rudy. Sweet, dependable Rudy, who always seemed to know exactly what to do and was there for you whenever you stumbled — literally and figuratively.

And even if his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary on your skin right now, it likely didn't mean anything. The way in which he inspected your bloodstained leg with a look of concentration reassured you further.

“You really should be more careful,” Brian suddenly said, his voice low and soothing. His gentle words and focused demeanor helped ease your nerves.

You chastised yourself for ever thinking twice about his actions. Your boyfriend was simply trying to watch out for you, that's all. Why were you even doubting him in the first place? Maybe it was just the pain from the cut or the embarrassment of tripping again. Or maybe it was the whole thing with the Ice Truck Killer going on at the moment.

Yes, that had to be it. It had probably made you more paranoid than you'd initially thought.

But you had absolutely nothing to worry about, because the sweet man kneeling in front of you was nothing like that monster.

Forcing yourself to relax a little, you sighed.

"I know," you mumbled, as he expertly bandaged your leg, secretly marveling at how steady his hands were.

It was easy to forget how awkward you felt in moments like this, with him so effortlessly tending to you. You crooked a smile at him then, but Brian didn’t meet your eyes right away. He was too busy inspecting his work, a subtle smirk of his own tugging at the corner of his mouth as he secured the bandage.

To you, he seemed satisfied with his patch job, but inside, something else simmered. He felt an almost childlike joy about the way you sat there, so vulnerable, your leg limp in his hands.

He liked seeing you this way — hurt, but not too hurt. Just enough to need him, to be reliable on him.

It stirred something deep inside of him.

“There,” he said, leaning back a little to admire the bandage. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a split second, something unreadable passed between you, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. “Does that feel better?”

You looked down at your leg and inspected the professionally wrapped bandage. It was not too tight and not too loose. It was perfect. Just like him.

Tension oozing from your body, you nodded and looked up at your boyfriend again, smiling earnestly. “Yeah, much better. Thank you.”

His smile widened just a fraction, not quite reaching his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m here to patch you up,” he said with a lightness in his voice that made you feel a little better. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

The way he said it — his voice smooth and promising — made you smile, comforted by his presence.

Rudy really loved you, didn't he? He was always right there when you needed him.

He stood up and offered you his hand, and despite the slight apprehension earlier, you eagerly took it. His grip was firm and steady as he helped you to your feet, making sure that you avoided putting too much weight on your injured leg.

You pushed past any lingering odd emotions and focused on the fact that you were grateful for him. You had nothing to worry about — not with Rudy, not with the man who never made you feel stupid for being clumsy, who was always kind to you, the calm in your storm.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you said softly, your voice carrying gratitude.

Brian's eyes flicked to yours, a faint twinkle in them. He felt content.

As he held your gaze for a moment longer, he could clearly see the relief and appreciation in you. It had him suppressing a grin, the way you were so easily fooled.

To him, you were perfect in your vulnerability, of course. A doll. Beautiful, delicate, and breakable. He liked you that way — liked the way your clumsiness brought you to him, having to be fixed, to be held together. Every scrape, every fall, was a small gift, an opportunity for him to touch you, to take care of you. To make you his again, piece by fragile piece. You were his creation, something he had molded with care and patience, and he was the only one who could keep you whole.

Or take you further apart, if he chose.

But for now, he was content to play the role you expected — your Rudy, the one who would always keep you safe.

He watched you as your eyes briefly flickered to his mouth and up again, and knew what you were going to do before you had even fully decided on it.

Slowly, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, wanting to show him just how much you appreciated him.

Letting you take control for a moment, Brian allowed you to believe that you were doing something for him, even though he knew better. You were in his hands, for as long as you lived. The thought thrilled him in a way you could never know, in a way he would never let you see.

Keeping his lips perfectly still, Brian decided to act surprised by your sudden gesture, pausing for a few seconds, until he could just about feel you starting to pull away.

He kissed you back then, using every bit of his self-restraint to start softly, and his hand came up to cradle the back of your neck in a tender movement. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, daring to go further by tightening his grip on you slightly, almost imperceptibly.

After a few moments, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your heart beating faster. When you looked up at him, his smile was still there, and he looked as warm as ever to you. As you lost yourself inside his eyes, Brian felt that familiar pulse of satisfaction.

You didn’t know it, but you were already his, caught in the delicate web he had woven around you. He could see how much you trusted him and the unguarded naivety you held had been obvious to him from the very first moment that you two had met.

You were simply too brittle for this world. Too easily shattered by its sharp edges, too flimsy to protect yourself from the falls you constantly took. That’s why you needed him. That’s why you would always need him.

As his thumb stroked the pulse point along your neck, feeling the quickened beat beneath your skin, he smiled at you. It was a soft and loving smile, one he had perfected for you.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Brian now addressed your last sentence, his voice calm and encouraging, with only a tiny hint of something darker that you didn't seem to notice. “No matter how clumsy you are, I’ll always be there to fix you when you break.”

The words, meant to comfort you, immediately had their desired effect. You happily beamed up at him while blushing furiously.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” you told him and then leaned in again, kissing him softly and embracing the moment.

Wallowing in the comfort and warmth he provided you with, you slid your hands up his chest, deepening the kiss. You didn’t want to think or talk anymore, just enjoy the feeling of being with him.

Brian watched you through half-lidded eyes, noticing your movements growing more desperate with every passing second. He could feel the tension in your body — the way you were almost pleading for his control — and it amused him, in a way.

You didn’t even realize how effortlessly you fell into this role, how naturally you let yourself be pulled into his world.

Moving his hands down to your waist, he squeezed them a little tighter than usual, but you didn’t seem to notice the extra strength in his grip, too absorbed in your need.

When you grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it up to pull over his head, he lifted his arms and let you, suppressing a smirk.

It was obvious to him that you needed this physical closeness. Your skin pressing against his, fingers now fumbling with his belt in a frenzy — you were letting go of any lingering doubts and focusing solely on him.

Feeling a sense of smugness, he guided you with quick, assertive movements, prying your clothes away with a roughness that seemed to match your urgency. You gasped as he yanked off your shirt and then dug his fingers into your skin, his touch simultaneously gentle and commanding. Leaning further into him, you longed for release already and how he always made everything else seem insignificant when you were together like this.

Brian’s lips determinedly traveled to your throat, kissing you with an insistent fervor now. You shuddered under the ferocity, but didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. His teeth grazed your skin, causing your head to fall back in an open-mouthed moan, arching your body against him, desperate for more. The heat of his passion overwhelmed you, pushing any thoughts of discomfort aside. Hands roamed your body, his traces both prodding and tranquilizing.

He could feel the way you were giving in to him and letting him take over, allowing him to guide you, and that’s exactly how he liked it. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging in even more, and when you winced, he knew you felt it — though you never pulled away.

You wanted this. You needed him to be in charge.

When he led you into the bedroom, your discarded clothes left in the wake of his deliberate actions, his movements were filled with a raw intensity.

You shortly cringed at the sudden pain shooting through your injured leg when his weight pressed down on you as he pushed you onto the bed, but his lips crashing against yours with hunger made you almost immediately forget about any hurt. Kissing him back just as frantically, you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling onto him. He slipped his tongue between your lips almost forcefully, licking over every hidden crevice in your mouth with purpose. His hands roamed over your body and you moaned into Brian's mouth, his touch both a source of solace and pleasure for you.

Deep down on the inside a part of you noticed a subtle shift — Rudy was not being as gentle and careful as he normally was — but that part was swiftly drowned out by the sensations of everything else going on. All you could truly acknowledge in that moment was the incredible desire for him to make you forget everything but the feeling of him against you.

As if he somehow knew about what you’d felt, Brian interrupted the sloppy kiss and moved once more with intention and a vigor that sent your heart racing. His hands, bruising but controlled, pushed down the last bit of garment left between the two of you and you gasped as fresh air hit your intimate zone. You hadn't even realized how wet you'd gotten and now felt slightly ashamed at the way your body obviously liked the way he handled you and the way he'd been — and still was — pushing you and testing your limits, teetering the edges of breaking them.

He was still Rudy though, still the man who you trusted most in the world, so you didn't give it much more than a passing thought and decided to just roll with it.

Even though it would probably give you pause if you properly questioned it — the fact that he didn't usually act this way and only when you were injured or reliant on him in some way — for more than two seconds. But you didn’t question it for more than two seconds, couldn't, as your body deliciously responded and distracted you instead.

When Brian finally pushed into you, you cried out, your fingernails digging into his shoulders and leaving half-crescent-shaped moon indentions in his skin. He allowed you to adjust to his size for a short while, pushing his forehead against yours with his mouth hanging open in a silent groan as he relished in the feeling of being inside you.

After enough time passed for you to become used to him, you patted his shoulder and nodded ever so slightly, not capable of words.

Brian understood though, and immediately began to move, quickly setting a pace that was fast and demanding.

Pressing your eyes shut, you clung to him, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him impossibly closer — entirely missing the way his eyes were filled with something completely wild and dark. Focussing on the feeling of your boyfriend pushing and pulling inside of you, he soon began to hit that delicious spot deep in you, and you moaned loudly.

Brian leaned down then and you could feel his hot breath against your ear, his voice low and rough.

“You need me, don’t you?” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine. You frantically nodded while gasping for air, unable to answer anything. “Whenever you need me, I am — and will — be there, every. single. time.”

He punctuated each word with a sharper and deeper thrust, angled directly at your sweet spot, leaving you choking for breath with tears in your eyes at one point. His words, though assertive, felt like a promise of security and care to you.

The room was heavy with heat, your breaths mingling, the sound of your bodies crashing together filling the space. Each push sent a jolt through you that made your head spin. You lost yourself in it all, in these repetitive motions, his touch, the feeling of his skin against yours.

One of his hands now moved to your clit and his movements became even more resolved and driven. He was controlling the moment, steering it exactly where he wanted, and your body responded accordingly. You could feel yourself being pulled in by the sensation, as he pushed you towards the edge.

“God, you’re so perfect like this,” Brian grunted, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “Come on, it's alright. You’re mine, aren’t you? Just let go.”

Tears rose in your eyes as you felt your body react to both his words and actions, the increasing intensity overtaking everything else and throwing you into a rush of pure ecstasy.

Your fingers dug into his back, your breath ragged, and all at once you fell into the waves, pulled underneath by their impact. You couldn't breathe for a moment, until finally, with a twist from Brian's fingers and a sharp cry from you, you reached the surface again.

The release hit you hard, sending rows of pleasure crashing through your body, and all you could do was lie there and take it, face screwed up in the pleasure of it.

Brian followed soon after, his movements rough and forceful as he found his own release, breath hot against your neck as he groaned, low and deep.

For a moment, the world stilled as the both of you tried to calm your breathing, the overwhelming physical connection between the two of you leaving you in a daze. Your heart pounded in your chest, your body trembling beneath the weight of his body on you.

After what felt like ages, but was likely only seconds, Brian lifted himself up and out of you, leaving you feeling strangely empty at the loss of him.

He collapsed beside you then and the room fell into a heavy silence in the aftermath of what you'd done.

As he lay beside you, Brian's mind was a whirlpool of satisfaction and dark pleasure. He reveled in the way you’d clung to him, completely oblivious to the extent of his control. The contrast between your dependence on him and his calculated dominance over you joyed him immensely.

Lifting his head, he turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush your hair back from your face, his caress tender again and a stark difference from the intensity of the moments you’d shared just before. His fingers grazed over your skin, his touch so feather-light and soft, it immediately erased any lingering concerns in you.

It was an act, of course. A way to further embed his influence. The compassion was a calculated gesture, a way to reinforce the illusion of care while keeping you bound to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked carefully, his voice carrying a tone of worry that felt comforting, and you nodded, reassured by his touch.

He always knew how to make you feel cherished, and you clung to that sense of security.

He noted the way your body relaxed against his, your breathing steady and calm. The pretense of concern came naturally to him, a mask he wore so well.

His hand now rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly as he leaned in closer.

“I love you,” he whispered, the final nail in the coffin, as always, his gaze lingering on you and studying your relaxed and smitten features. To him, you were more than just a partner; you were a project, a creation he had formed. The sweetness in his voice was a facade that masked his true intentions.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you felt another wave of affection and safety. Any fleeting worries were overshadowed by his sedative presence. You knew he was there for you, providing the care and support you needed.

“I love you too,” you responded, wrapping your arms around him and drawing him closer, feeling his warmth envelop you.

And as you nestled closer, Brian’s thoughts were filled with a dark fulfillment. The control he wielded was subtle, deeply woven into the fabric of his relationship with you.

And you, in your innocent trust, had made it all too easy.

With the quiet settling in, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of his presence and fell asleep.

[prael]

Day 6: Revenge Or Fate

IOI/Gugudan Sejeong x male reader smut

words: 5,611 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"What's that look for?" you ask with all the whimsy you can muster. "I only said that I bought your favourite popcorn. Why are you staring at me as if I just got down on one knee and proposed?"

"You did say you'd marry me someday," Sejeong jokes. Then she does that thing she always does when she's nervous—tugging at the lobe of her ear.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah. I mean when we are both in our sixties. When you have become the crazy cat lady and I the bachelor with a penchant for wine and cigarettes. It's not even close to that time yet."

"Why would you be smoking?" Sejeong wrinkles her nose. She knows you can't stand the smell.

"Because I'll be an ageing bachelor, duh," you answer with a dismissive wave of a hand as you sit by her on the couch. She's got her legs curled up against her chest, the way she always does when it's cold outside. You'd know—she's been sitting like that on your couch every winter since the beginning of time.

She lets out the softest of laughs before it quickly dissipates into silence. She's staring across the room, but not really looking at anything. Her face is painted in melancholy. You know her well enough to know that look, and you hate it. Hate everything it represents. You sigh. The first time you saw her like this was back as teenagers, after the dog she grew up with had been hit by a car. It still hurts your chest.

"You've got that look again," you tell her. "Like there's a million and one things in your mind and none of them particularly good."

"I'm okay. Just tired." Sejeong's smile doesn't quite convince you.

"I wasn't going to say anything. I thought you'd tell me if you wanted me to know, but it's been months since you asked me to come over on a Friday night, so something has happened. I haven't seen this much annoyance behind your eyes since the end of Game Of Thrones. What is it?"

"I'm just feeling overwhelmed, that's all. I wish you weren't so observant."

"You should be used to it by now."

Sejeong flashes a half-hearted smile and takes hold of your hand as she used to do when you were kids. You feel guilty for the way your stomach flutters.

"I guess we have always known each other better than anyone else," she admits, her hand still clasped around yours. It's warm and familiar. You feel the urge to push away, but how can you? It would give far too much away. She has always had this effect on you—you could never distance yourself from her warmth. "He's an asshole."

"You don't need to tell me twice," you chuckle. Then: "Tell me what happened."

"I think he might be cheating."

The air escapes from you at once. The way Sejeong said it is so casual, almost as if she'd resigned herself to this fate a long time ago. And here you are, trying your best to keep your anger under control, like always. But not for her sake—rather, for yours. You know where your feelings belong, and they have no place in the situation at hand. Not today, and definitely not ever. You take a deep breath and look her square in the eye.

"What did he do?"

"I shouldn't have mentioned it," she laughs nervously. She doesn't want to put any more weight on your shoulders than she already has, because that's who she is, you suppose. But how can she expect you to ignore it when she looks like a sad dog staring into the rain on someone's front porch?

"We're best friends. I want to hear everything," you insist.

"He's been acting differently lately." Sejeong pauses. "Distant. Like there's something he isn't telling me."

"Do you think there might be?" you ask carefully.

"It's always something with work. Or a friend that really needs him. Or a family member or—fuck. I don't know."

"I'm sorry."

Sejeong sighs and runs a hand through her hair. There are unshed tears in her eyes. This bastard is making her cry. You want to smash something, preferably his head.

"I don't wanna bother you with this shit," she whispers. She sounds exhausted.

"Don't say that," you retort softly, squeezing her hand in yours. It's clammy. "Don't ever say that again."

She gives a curt nod.

"God knows I've told you enough about my romantic misadventures over the years," you joke. Your chest tightens when Sejeong lets out the tiniest of laughs. Maybe you can still make this right, whatever this is. "Misery loves company."

"You know," she begins, pausing to look at you properly. There is something unreadable in her gaze, something that you've never seen before. It makes you hold your breath in anticipation of whatever is to come. "If there's one person I could choose to be miserable with, it would be you."

For a brief second, you forget that time exists.

"Well, I'm very honoured," you reply eventually. There's another pause where you ponder what to say next. Then, simply, because that seems like the easiest answer: "Do you want me to go beat him up?"

Sejeong laughs and punches you in the arm.

"I thought you were a pacifist?"

"Yeah, but exceptions must be made sometimes."

She raises an eyebrow at you. You can't tell what she's thinking. "For me?"

"Yes."

It feels like standing on a cliff. You want nothing more than to jump, to feel freefall in your whole body. The only problem is that you'll most certainly die. The ground below is made of jagged rocks and bad ideas. Yet, here you stand, willing to do anything in the world for the beautiful girl next to you. Even if it means lying broken beyond repair.

Sejeong breaks your trance when she explains, "There's this girl he works with. We had dinner together with some people from their office two weeks ago, and... I don't know. They just seemed off. She kept looking at him. You know that look? The one where they linger on someone just a bit too long."

"So that's what gave it away?"

"Well, that and the rumour. They had a thing before he met me. It's over now, or it was." A single tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, seemingly irritated at herself. You frown. Sejeong has no reason to be ashamed of being hurt. She should be allowed to shed tears, even buckets full if necessary. You wouldn't judge. "At least that's what he said. He promised me it was over. But... God."

You reach forward to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her lips tremble, so you quickly move your eyes back up. Staring at her lips is dangerous territory.

"You don't deserve this shit," you say resolutely.

Sejeong chuckles sarcastically. "Then why do I keep ending up here?"

That question stings. Not because it's directed at you—it isn't—but rather because you know the answer. Sejeong has been in this kind of position too many times to count. She attracts guys like honey does flies; every single time, with no exceptions. Only the worst seem to make it past the rest. Sejeong gets caught in their deceitful net time and time again, only to inevitably break her heart after months and months of manipulation disguised as devotion.

"Want my honest answer?"

"Yes."

"I think it's because you're the sort of person that believes the best in everyone. And that is a beautiful trait. I love that you do that. I really do. But sometimes..." you trail off, not quite sure how to continue without sounding accusatory.

"Sometimes I get screwed over," Sejeong finishes. You nod in response. "You're right. I guess it's my fault for trusting too easily."

"No," you shake your head. "It's not your fault. That part is absolutely wonderful. It's just..." You're suddenly hesitant. What if Sejeong takes this the wrong way and shuts you out?

"What?" she probes.

"Have you ever heard the expression 'you can't see the tree for the woods'?"

"Sounds stupid."

"It means you can't see what's right in front of your nose," you explain.

Sejeong stares at you for a long time. You think she understands, but it's impossible to know. It would probably be better that way—if she understood and did nothing about it. You aren't supposed to feel this way about her. How many times haven't you imagined what it would be like if things were different? If circumstances were perfect, if her current guy hadn't appeared out of anywhere and swept her off her feet before you'd even realised what was happening.

But that's just your luck.

"Thank you," Sejeong whispers. "Can we, um, watch something? I don't wanna think about this right now."

You let out an awkward cough. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you remember when you forced me to watch Twilight, and I spent the entirety of the movie complaining about how terrible it was?"

"You still watched all of them with me." A tiny grin appears on her face. Thank God.

"That was truly the highest form of torture," you joke. "I hope you brought something better today. Please don't tell me you downloaded another movie about sparkly vampires."

Sejeong punches your arm. "I'll have you know I am extremely cultured nowadays."

"Yeah? Show me then."

A couple of hours pass and everything feels decidedly normal. You rest against the arm of the couch and Sejeong rests against you. You make jokes at the expense of the film as you always do and she laughs that soft, carefree laugh of hers. The credits roll and Sejeong sits up, stretching her limbs like a cat after a nap. You smile at the familiarity of it all. For a moment it doesn't matter what she has—or hasn't—been crying over.

"I'm tired," she says. She blinks slowly as if to prove it to herself. It's quite endearing, actually.

"Yeah?" you ask nonchalantly.

"Will you let me stay here tonight?" Her voice is small, unsure. But why? It's not the first time she has stayed here. This place is practically a second home to her.

"Like you need to ask," you retort lightly as you stand up and look down at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but that's when her phone rings. When she sees his name flashing across the screen, she visibly freezes. Annoyance seeps into you like acid rain. His nerve—to call at such an hour, and expect her to pick up. Sejeong just watches, almost paralyzed, until eventually, she does pick up.

"Hey," is all she says. The reply is much longer. You can't make out the words he's saying but the tone tells you all you need to know.

"I was going to," Sejeong replies tersely. Silence. Then: "I told you already, I went over to—" Pause. She swallows thickly. "You didn't tell me you were going out." A longer stretch of silence, during which his voice gradually increases in volume. Suddenly Sejeong sits bolt upright. Her eyes grow wide with confusion and disbelief.

"Me!?" She shouts. "He's my best friend! I wouldn't—" Another pause. She takes a deep breath. "No. No, that isn't fair. You can't—"

It sounds like he hangs up. Sejeong doesn't move. Her hands are shaking violently.

"Do I even wanna know?"

"I should go home," she murmurs flatly.

"To him? To the guy who's probably just fucked his co-worker?"

Sejeong turns to glare at you, eyes cold as ice. You immediately regret your words.

"I'm sorry," you quickly amend. "That was uncalled for. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said that."

"Why?" she asks bluntly. Your heartbeat picks up in a hurry. There's anger in her eyes. Anger that could turn against you so quickly.

"Why what?" you reply defensively.

"Why don't you wanna be with anyone? You've rejected every single person who's tried to get close to you since we were sixteen. There's got to be a reason."

The world grinds to a halt. Time, space, and life itself stop existing for a minute while you consider your options. On the one hand, you could lie; come up with a suitable excuse and maybe she won't push for more. On the other hand, you could simply admit to the truth that's haunted you for years.

You open your mouth. Close it. Fuck.

Sejeong stands up, wading in the silence towards you. You can't help but take a step backwards. In that split second, you're sure she knows—and yet you cannot tell.

"Have you ever loved anyone?" Sejeong demands to know.

Your heartbeat roars in your ears. "I don't understand why you're asking me this," you choke out. A part of you wishes you were back there on the cliff. At least then you could've jumped off of your own accord, with a little dignity left intact.

"I need to know," is all Sejeong says. Her gaze is relentless. You hate it. It makes you want to claw your own skin off—and there are truths under there that you plan to take to the grave.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know if what I'm going to do next is the right thing."

She stands beside you now. On the edge of that cliff, though it's starting to feel more like you're on the roof of your car. Staring up at the stars on some forgotten summer night. The jump seems more like a flight.

"I have," you admit. Somehow it seems easier than to try and fight whatever force is controlling the both of you. It feels strangely liberating.

"But you won't allow yourself to do anything about it." You know her well enough to discern a question from a statement, no matter how carefully she might try to veil them as the latter.

"It's complicated," you say quietly. She's so close to you now that you can hear the hitch in her breath. Why is she pushing this? "Why are you doing this?"

Her eyes flit from yours to your lips, then back again. So quickly. One, two. But you saw it. And your entire body tingles in anticipation. You'll dare move away—not now, not when the leap of faith feels more like a hop.

She doesn't say anything else. One more small step and her body collides with yours. Lips press against lips and suddenly, all thought scatters. Sejeong tangles her fingers through your hair and pulls. A gasp escapes you before you regain control and kiss her properly. It's frantic, rushed. Years of pining bleed out with every touch. You grab her, pull her as close to your body as possible, and lose yourself completely. Something is swelling inside you. A feeling so large and uncontainable that you think your chest is going to explode any second.

It is indescribable.

All of it—the sensation of kissing her, holding her—surpasses description. You're falling from that cliff, but she's holding you, and before you can hit the rocks she's dragging you to the couch and climbing on top of you.

It feels unreal. The entire world disappears as your lips find hers again and again and again. You don't care to question what happens after. This moment is yours, forever branded in your memories, and nothing can take that away from you. Even if it ends here—even if she were to walk away now—it would've been worth it. Completely and irrevocably.

When you finally part to catch your breath, you can't help but stare at her in awe. She's so beautiful. A masterpiece. Your hand moves to her cheek almost automatically. Sejeong lets her head fall against it with a soft sigh.

"Wow," she whispers.

"Yeah," you croak.

"Please don't regret this in the morning." Her voice is so quiet, filled with so much pain, that it breaks your heart. Your own fears are secondary.

"I never could," you breathe. Then you lean in to kiss her again, slower this time, savouring every sensation as if it might be the last. By some miracle she responds eagerly, fingers wrapping around the collar of your shirt as she holds you steady. You have no idea where this leaves the two of you, but you want her closer—now. You reach around and slide your hands under her thighs, pulling gently upwards. She follows your lead, settling against your lap in a way that makes the situation undeniably real.

As you kiss, her hips start moving back and forth. Soft, shallow movements. Little whimpers escape her throat and fall directly into your mouth. Fuck. She moans—actually moans—into the kiss and a violent shiver travels through your whole body. You break away momentarily to look at her face, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes staring back at you.

"Do that again," you whisper against her lips.

"Make me," she pants.

The next kiss is searing, open-mouthed, and accompanied by Sejeong grinding her hips against you. Harder now. Unrelenting. Your hands travel up her waist, slipping beneath her blouse to feel warm skin underneath. You feel every tremble of her body when your fingernails drag lightly across her flesh. A gasp—then she leans backwards, with her arms outstretched and clinging behind your neck, to look you dead in the eye as she continues moving her hips against you.

"Sejeong... What are we—"

"Shh."

Your hands snake further up her shirt. Her back arches in response as she grinds down hard, moaning loudly. Your eyes flutter shut briefly to enjoy the sensations—the sounds—coming from her. You force them open once more because you can't miss this show for anything. You push the shirt up and over her chest. Her hands slip from behind your neck momentarily so that you can get the garment over her head. And then she is there before you, bra and sweatpants-clad, panting softly and waiting.

"Sejeong—"

"Fuck me." It is barely more than a whimper, but it rattles the very core of your being.

"What?"

She lunges forward and kisses you forcefully. There are tears in her eyes—tears you didn't notice until now. Her desperation bleeds through.

"Please," she whispers into your mouth, her voice breaking slightly. "Please."

You can't deny her. How could you? You're unfastening the clasp of her bra and your hands are everywhere on her. Pulling her closer, exploring every inch of bare skin you can get your hands on. Her fingers start unbuttoning your shirt—clumsily, but getting the job done. Once open, her nails dig into your bare shoulders, as if testing out whether you're really here, tangible and real. As if you could disappear at any moment and leave her stranded. A loud groan escapes her when your fingers brush against her nipples.

"You're so fucking beautiful," you murmur into her ear. She whines at the words, nails digging deeper into your skin.

The friction between your legs is driving you mad. You've got the burning urge to pick her up and slam her into the nearest wall, but you savour what you have. First, you kiss her neck, then it's a trail down her collarbones. Your teeth nibble playfully at the skin until she moans, begging you to do something. You obey, leaning in to flick your tongue across a nipple before swirling it around the bud. Her fingers fly into your hair and hold you against her breast.

"Holy shit."

Your mouth latches on tighter. Sucking. Biting. The heat pooling between you grows more intense. Eventually, you detach and move on to the next, eliciting more delicious sounds from the girl above you. All those nights spent fantasising about exactly this don't come close to the real experience. You're supporting her, around the waist and the small of her back, while she leans back in your lap, presenting herself to you.

You appreciate every inch of her slender figure. By eye and then by tongue. You draw constellations along her skin, your touch is feather-light. Across her toned stomach to her hips, then right up the side of her body. She throws an arm above her head and giggles lightly as you lick all the way up underneath it. You follow a path to her armpit. Sejeong giggles more when you begin to nibble there too. When you raise your eyes to meet hers she blushes fiercely.

"Weirdo."

"Just appreciating you," you murmur, pressing soft kisses against her shoulder and up to her neck.

"Mm. I like it," she replies hoarsely.

So you spend some time like this. Appreciating her bare body and making her squirm. Kissing, licking, and biting everything that you can possibly reach until her writhing becomes borderline violent. Then she grabs a hold of your jaw, looks you deep in the eyes, and utters the most sinful words you've ever heard her say.

"Enough teasing. I want to ride your cock now."

Every inch of you lights on fire. From your forehead to the tips of your toes, you feel flames lick at your insides. Sejeong climbs off you without another word and starts pushing her sweats from her hips. You watch, spellbound, as she wiggles out of them. Her panties follow suit.

Then she turns to face you. Standing fully nude, absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word. A goddess. Every bit as perfect as you had imagined. Even your fantasies weren't this good; nowhere near as intoxicating as this moment right now.

"You have ten seconds before I sit on your face instead," she deadpans, you both laugh. At least she hasn't lost her humour.

You unbuckle your belt and shuffle them down as best you can while still seated. Enough that she can reach down and pull your cock free from its confines. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull when she wraps her slim fingers around it. Pumping up and down. You're hard already, unbelievably so, and when she drags her thumb across the head of your dick it actually twitches. You suck in a deep breath, willing yourself to focus.

And then she sits on your lap, sliding along the length of your cock. Fuck. She repeats it a few times. Back and forth, slicking your cock with her wetness.

"I always pictured this," she admits.

"Really?" you croak.

"God yeah, I remember back in college. I must have rubbed one out to you more times than I can count." She smirks at you then—a wicked smirk that makes your entire body shiver. A filthy admission to you and you only. She does it again, drags her wetness along you. How on earth are you supposed to remain composed when she says things like that and does things like this? You wrap an arm around her back and pull her closer, staring at her as if seeing her for the very first time.

"You can't say things like that, I'm gonna—"

She cuts you off with her tongue in your mouth. Kissing you like it's the last thing she'll ever do, and your lips the only form of sustenance she'll ever need. It gives way to her frantic little moan, desperate and unrestrained. For the life of you you can't comprehend what is happening, only react, and fuck if it isn't the most incredible experience you've ever had. Her skin is burning against yours, hungry and yielding to your every touch.

Sejeong shifts slightly and grabs a hold of you properly. Your eyes widen when the tip of your dick brushes against something wet, warm, and soft. The very centre of her. She repositions herself, now holding you carefully against her, and then... slides down the length of your cock, pausing halfway down. The pleasure is so acute that you cannot control the way your back arches off the couch, and neither do you control the profanities that spill out from your lips.

A sinful grin spreads across her face. As her legs are pinned around your waist, you cannot move, but Sejeong certainly can. And boy, does she know how. She starts bouncing herself up and down, riding you so expertly and looking so good doing it. You've thought of this so many times—having sex with your best friend, of all people—but you did not picture it like this.

"This okay?" she murmurs in your ear. You hear the smile in her voice.

You utter the only word you can muster: "Yes."

She laughs airily, placing a kiss on your temple as she continues her rhythm. When she moans—a long, drawn-out moan, half-pained, half-pleasured—and throws her head back, you stare up at her, eyes drinking in the beauty that is in a position so incredibly vulnerable yet completely in control. How you long to capture this moment and keep it somewhere safe forever. She looks down at you now. Her heavy-lidded eyes pin you to your spot as much as the physical manifestation of her pinned against your skin. She traces her fingers down your jaw, your neck, and the top of your chest.

"I wish he could see me now," Sejeong hisses, anguish evident in her voice.

"You look so fucking good."

"He doesn't know what he had," she laughs bitterly. "Fuck him."

"Fuck him," you echo. Sejeong smirks and moves her hips more fluidly. Goddamn. Her tight little cunt feels so perfect clenched around your cock.

She watches your face closely as she keeps riding you. As you keep clutching her hips and help her along, grinding deeper. Groaning when she throws her hips forward faster and faster. Her cunt is so hot and tight. She sucks at the life seeping out of your pulsating cock and squeezes it with her inner muscles in ways that no one has ever done before. Sometimes she pulls completely off you, her breath shuddering as you twitch, only to take you deep inside her again.

Your hands have a mind of their own, sneaking upwards to grip her neck. You give it a gentle squeeze, just enough to get her attention. All the while you're staring intensely into her eyes. They've become glassy, intoxicated, more than just wanting but longing for it. Her voice is hoarse, strained, as she says, "How have I been so stupid? All this time—you're right here, and I never—"

"It doesn't matter. None of that matters."

"You're so—fuck."

Her body trembles and she falls forward onto you. She's gripping your arms, nails sinking into your flesh. Sejeong's breath grows increasingly laboured. After a long string of expletives, she lets her head rest on your shoulder as you snake an arm around her back and support her. Her whole body is rigid, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

"Never felt this good," she forces the words out amid moans as you buck your hips up into her, picking up the slack as she begins to falter. The rhythm is quick now, urgent, filled with unbridled passion and everything left unspoken for too long.

When Sejeong cums, you feel it all around you—her pussy quivering, leaking her arousal around you, dripping down your thighs and saturating you, almost drowning in the intensity. It makes her moan into the crook of your neck and rock her hips, fucking herself while trying desperately to quiet the sounds of her ecstasy against your body. But that is unthinkable, to silence someone like that, and you tell her so. Whispering the filthiest things in her ear as she throbs around your cock, dragging out the last tremors of pleasure of her orgasm as much as you possibly can. She spills everything out into your shoulder, every word, every whimper. Until at last, you can feel her sagging in your lap, breathing heavily and spent.

"Keep going," she pants, tightening her grip on your arm. "Don't stop."

She throws herself to the side, pulling you with her, and somehow lands flat on her back with your body on top of her. You wince at the sudden shift. But not for long. Because Sejeong opens her legs wide, hooks her calves around your hips, and tells you again not to stop.

You smirk and lean forward, trapping her beneath your body and capturing her lips in a sensual kiss. It is deliberate, lingering. Her arms fly up and tangle themselves through your hair, locking you together. When your tongues meet, you sigh deeply against her. There is a warmth settling over you. Languid, dream-like. Like you're both floating through clouds, carried away by the sweetest of breezes.

There is nowhere else in the world that you would rather be than right here, between her legs.

You rock into her, once, then twice, each time more intense than the last. The angle is entirely different. You grab a hold of one of her legs and hitch it up a bit, allowing yourself to thrust deeper inside her.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm. Move slower. Nice and slow," she instructs.

And you do. Eventually, a hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck. Sejeong stares into your eyes and your breath catches. Then you're kissing, again and again, but there is not so much desperation and anger anymore, but something else. It is the feel of her hips meeting yours, the way you press your bodies together, the softness of her lips and the taste of her mouth. Her breaths rush from her lips to yours, from hers into you.

Sweat starts to bead at your temples as you rock into her. Slow, deep, patient strokes. It is not desperate fucking anymore, or an attempt to pour all of your heartbreak into some meaningless action. It's almost reverential—the way you're holding each other, soft and sure. A sweet torture, a sublime suffering, for as long as time allows.

You don't talk. Your mouths say nothing, at least. With your bodies, however, your fingertips whisper praise against her skin. Spirits float free and serenade each other. Sounds escape her that you haven't even dreamed of. Broken, wanton, as if wrenched out of her. They rise above and meet in a higher plane of reality, where two minds are one.

It takes time. A slow build to the crescendo. You know when you've struck the final note by the way she cries out, over and over again, her pretty little hole convulsing, spasming around your cock. She wants to squirm away but has nowhere to go. You refuse to let her. You smile against her neck and sink your teeth into the skin there.

Soon you follow, groaning her name into the warm flesh. It's a flood—your insides are melting, pouring out from your loins and into her heat, her insides contracting, trapping every ounce inside. Hot, sticky, yours. This feeling. It is as if your heart has grown wings, a phoenix born anew from the ashes of who you used to be. You don't have to be lost anymore. She will carry you, always, her fingernails tracing patterns in your damp skin. There is nothing to fear.

Sejeong whines and moans softly as you fill her. One more careful thrust and you still, collapsing on top of her as the waves subside. All the while she is there, stroking the back of your neck and quietly reciting every piece of filth that she can think of.

You wonder whether this will last longer than the night.

God. Would you be okay with that?

When you eventually move back to look at her, to make sure she's okay, there are tears in her eyes. Uncertainty overwhelms you. Before you can react, before you can ask what is wrong, Sejeong cups your cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. This girl. All these years. All the wasted time. It feels right being with her; everything is finally where it should have been all along.

"You were worth the wait," you breathe. You place a kiss against her brow before rolling off and settling next to her.

"Do you..." Her voice fades. She runs a finger along your collarbone, eyes anywhere but yours. "Do you want this to be a one-time thing?

"No," you answer without hesitation. You catch her hand in yours, entangling your fingers, willing her to understand everything that you're unable to tell her.

Sejeong smiles. Genuine, unapologetic. For the first time in months, she looks happy. Fuck him, indeed. "Good," she says with a soft laugh that evaporates any of her lingering doubts. Her eyes flick to your lips and she whispers, "So, uh, we've got some lost time to make up for."

"Yeah?" you whisper while rolling her back over and climbing over her. "If there's a debt to be paid..." You start trailing kisses down her neck, down her sternum, grinning at the tiny shivers it elicits. "What better time than now?"

Your kisses lead you over her toned stomach. Once you reach the juncture between her thighs, you pick up her leg and set it over your shoulder. Sejeong is already squirming, anticipating what is to come. You take a look at her—mussed hair and flushed cheeks, mouth slightly open, beautiful, tempting. It feels almost gratuitous—that you're able to see her like this. It makes you pull her even closer, and stick your tongue into her center. Her upper body lifts almost immediately and her eyes fly open. A shaky whimper leaves her lips.

She's right. There is a lot of catching up to do. Luckily for her, there's still the whole night ahead of you and a lot more you'd like to show her.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Yes, Konig

👑Pairing(s)👑→Yandere Konig x male reader ⚠CW (DEAD DOVE WARNING INCLUDED)⚠→ gay, gay-sex, yandere Konig, possessive behavior, possessive Konig, obsessed Konig, stalking, NONCON smut, dubious content, top Konig, bottom male reader, dildo play, fingering, kidnapping, size kink, bondage, handcuffs, Konig forces you to ride a dildo, and he jerks off to it. He is really fucked up in this.  👑Rating👑→ Explicit 👑Requested👑→ Yes

👑Word count👑→ 4.1k

👑Summary👑→ Konig has had feelings for you since you were both children. His crush turned dark after you stopped communicating with him. After he retired from the military, he was ready to bring you home with him. He wasn’t going to tolerate your disobedience.

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! DEAD DOVE IS INCLUDING! NONCON AND DUBIOUS CONTENT IS IN THIS!

This fic may not represent how Konig is in the game or follow the in-game timeline! The English-German dialogue is trash. 

Konig loves you, he does. He would do anything for you, protect you from the ravages of the world and care for you. However, something changed in him, something you never expected from the man you considered to be your best friend. 

xxx

You were Konig's foundation, a rock on which he could lean and a safe haven. You were the only one who understood him, gave him emotional support when no one else did and protected him from others. Truly an amazing person.

Konig remembered that day perfectly. If little people in his brain controlled his emotions and collected memories, like from that one movie, then you were a core memory. You had your own island completely devoted to you and everything about you. 

He was being bullied. The other kids were poking fun at him and humiliating him, teasing him for something he couldn’t control. Konig could only cry and hold himself as he endured their abuse. But that all stopped when a prominent voice ranged through the heckling. 

“Leave him alone! I’ll get the teacher!” you said as you approached the group of boys, pushing them away from the whimpering body. The boys ran off, fearing they would be tattled to the teacher. Konig could hear the footsteps leaving and another pair approaching him. He looked up and saw you peering down on him, your face forever engraved in his memory. Then your voice spoke to him, soft and angelic, causing him to calm down. 

“Are you okay? Here,” you said, reaching your hand out to Konig, gesturing for Konig to grab on. When Konig’s hand made contact with yours, he felt electricity surging through him. His eyes widened with something he couldn’t explain as he looked into yours. Konig was in a daze as he lost himself in your eyes, enamoured by you until your voice snapped him out of his trance. 

“My name is Y/n! What’s yours?” 

xxx

You and Konig became the best of friends. After you saved him that day, he began following you around and talking only with you. You would invite him over for sleepovers or to play games. Konig felt complete; you were the missing piece. Whenever he needed emotional support, he would go to you in a heartbeat. He would do everything with you. 

Being a child, Konig didn’t understand the feelings he had towards you. It was only when he turned the ripe age of fourteen that he realized two things: he’s gay and he loves you. He didn’t know if you were gay either, but you told him a couple of days later. Konig was ecstatic! Now he knows you would accept him if he were to confess his feelings! Yet, the fear of rejection prevailed and Konig hid his true feelings. 

Konig was a teenager when he realized his feelings, but his growth spurt happened. He grew taller and gained muscle mass, outgrowing you by a long shot. His hormones were also out of control. He would find himself jerking off to thoughts of you, wishing he could touch you and hold you in his arms. Konig wanted to do so much with you, but you were oblivious. 

You were also oblivious to other suitors. Konig would find himself staring or glaring at anyone who spoke with you. He often used intimidation tactics, and given how he was much bigger than everyone else, it often worked. He didn’t want you to have other friends! Only he can be your friend! Only he was worthy of you and everything to do with you!

Things changed when he turned seventeen. Konig wanted to join the military, hoping you would follow in his path, but that wasn’t the case. You wanted a career in [insert random career] and already got accepted into your dream university. When Konig heard those words, he felt his world shatter. The large man hid his emotions, but on the inside he was in turmoil. His heart was racing and his mind was flooded with reasons why you were straying away from him. You two were meant to be together! Together through everything! You gave him that promise. 

“Y/n... I was thinking we could go to the military together! Du musst nicht auf diese Universität gehen… (You don't have to go to that university…)” Konig begged as he tried to convince you to join him. He didn’t want to be separated from you. Why couldn’t you see that? You remained firm in your decision and struck down any attempts Konig made trying to convince you otherwise. 

“For the last time, I really wanna be [insert random career]!” You said, getting up and looking directly into Konig’s eyes. An awkward silence fell over you two, tension that was unseen ever since you both met. The only sounds were Konig’s annoyed breathing and your sniffling. After a couple of minutes, Konig left without a word. You watched as his larger frame disappeared into the distance. 

This was the first real argument Konig has had with you. He left as he didn’t want to harm you or make himself look bad in front of you. Once he returned home, the large man slammed the door to his room and began yelling, even punching a hole in the wall. He only saw red as he released his anger and frustration before calming down. Konig was breathing heavily, collapsing onto the ground as he cried. 

He rambled on that he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be away from you. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. His parents were gone for the day and wouldn’t be back for a while. Konig assumes it's you at the door. He made himself look proper, not wanting you to know he had an outburst. The large man opened the door to see you standing before him, his eyes softened as he admired you. 

“Hey… sorry about what happened. I promise I’ll always stay in contact with you,” you said, smiling at Konig. You planned on sending him letters every week while the large man was deployed. Konig felt his heart melt and flutter. It was a good compromise. “Versprechen Sie das? Sie werden in Kontakt bleiben?” you nodded, giving Konig your word. 

As long as you stayed in contact, it’ll all be fine.

xxx

You broke your promise. 

Konig thought you forgot, not bad, he’ll wait until next week. But the next week turned to another week, then another week. Weeks turned to months, then a year. Konig was livid. Did you forget he existed? Maybe something happened? Not possible, he would’ve found out some way if something were to happen to you. Once he realized you cut contact with him, he became more aggressive with recruits and messages. He became more bloodthirsty, something his comrades thought wasn’t possible. After everything you and Konig have been through, did you discard him like trash? No, that can’t be. 

He did make new friends while being in the military, but none of them were at your level. You are very special to him and more than a friend. They could never understand what he was feeling. Konig came to terms with it after a year, but you’ll always be in his mind. 

You sent Konig messages a week after he left and continued for the next five years. However, life got rough and you found yourself consumed by work. You forgot to send Konig letters due to the workload of the university and your side job. You hoped Konig wasn’t crashing out… you’ll message Konig after things calmed down. 

xxx

For the past few months, you have felt uneasy. It feels like someone is watching or stalking you. As time goes on, a sick feeling forms in your stomach. You find your things missing, only to find them a few days later with a thick white substance on them. Some objects in your house have also been moved, and a distinct cologne smell wafts through the air; a strong and familiar smell. 

The last straw was when you awoke in the middle of the night. Your eyes were distorted, and as you adjusted your sight, your peripheral vision picked up something: a large male figure, shrouded in darkness. He was wearing a military uniform and a hood. Your body was frozen as you stared at the figure, but suddenly it dashed towards you. 

Whoever the intruder was, he was fast and strong. You didn’t have a chance before you were put into a hold and a rag placed on your nose. The chloroform flooded your senses as it slowly put you to sleep. After a couple of minutes, you were knocked out. 

Konig smiled devilishly as he looked at your body, puny in his grasp—all the more reason to protect you and bring you home with him. After twenty years of military service, he could finally touch and hold you. His thumb rubbed your lips. You looked older but still the same as when he left. 

He forgives you for cutting contact with him and forgetting him! After returning home, Konig used some military connections to find your exact location. Modern technology is truly a blessing. He found out you were experiencing a rou

gh time—more reasons for you to be with him! He can use his military salary to satisfy all your needs and desires, and of course, you won’t have to work anymore. 

He stalked all your social media accounts, watching everything that was going on in your life. He even hacked into your private messages with other people. In his absence, he saw that you had some suitors. Using some good ol’ intimidation tactics and other methods, he scared them away. 

When the time came for him to bring you home, he didn’t anticipate that you would wake up so suddenly. Thankfully he carried a rag and chloroform with him. He still had to wait five minutes before you succumbed. It was either that or giving a direct blow to the head, and Konig didn’t want to hurt you.

„Mein Liebling... ich bin hier. Hier, um dich zu beschützen und zu lieben.“ ("My darling... I'm here. Here to protect and love you.") Konig mumbles as he lovingly strokes your head. He pulls his hood a little and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

It was going to be smooth sailing from there! Surely you were gonna accept this.

xxx

It wasn’t smooth

When you awoke, you found one of your hands chained to a bedpost. You were still disoriented from last night, but now you know it wasn’t a dream. Your eyes dashed across the unfamiliar room as your breathing quickened from panicking. The clanking and rattling of the chains bounced off the walls as you desperately tried to free yourself, but the metal dug into your skin. 

“W-what’s the meaning of this? Why am I here?” you spoke to yourself as you tried figuring who would do something like this to you. Your answer came when the door opened and a familiar face walked through. 

Konig leaned down and walked through the doorway. He was wearing a mask and civilian clothing. You could see the large man was smiling underneath his mask. “K-Konig…? Is that really you?” you said with hope in your voice. You start to control your breathing, thinking the man was here to save you. 

Your friend looked different, but you still recognized him. You thought he was already large and muscular, but you guess being in the military heightened that. Konig was double your size and height, truly a beast of a man.

“Yes, mein Schatz.” You didn’t waste a moment and began begging him to save you. “Konig! Somebody kidnapped me–” you were cut off. “Shhh, Liebling. I didn't kidnap you! I'm just... protecting you!” Konig said, trying to convince you he was doing a favor. To him, this wasn’t kidnapping, it was protection and love. He didn’t want evil people to put their grubby hands on you or for anyone to taint you! No, he was protecting from the ravages of the world and corrupt people! 

Yet Konig was the corrupt person he was talking about. He intended to corrupt you and make you his submissive little house husband. However, the Austrian man didn’t see it like that. 

You looked at Konig confused and shocked. The way he was looking at you, a crazed look. It's something you've never seen in him. This wasn’t the Konig you knew! Was he always like this? Why didn’t you notice this before? Your mind was flooded with possibilities until the large man's voice cut through your thoughts. 

“I'm sorry about the chains, darling. Just a... precaution... if you're a good boy, I'll let you roam freely,” Konig said with his thick German accent. You need to escape. Yet, you have to consider how Konig might react… 

Six months later.

That’s how long it's been. You wondered if your loved ones were looking for you, but Konig quickly crushed that. Using some connections he made during his time in the military, your workplace mysteriously suffered a catastrophe. Tons of casualties, you were one of them, your body wasn’t recovered. 

While Konig was sleeping beside you, his large muscular body was pressing against you as he nuzzled into your neck. You could feel him inhaling your scent, it was stomach twisting. You softly cried to yourself, you were considered dead to your loved ones. There’s no one you could turn to. Konig was the only one…

You obeyed Konig like the good husband you are– you say husband because the Austrian man forced you to sign marriage documents, legally making you his husband. Konig was good… he spoiled you rotten, but if he sees any signs of disobedience, he lashes out. Sometimes punishing you with ass slaps, no food for a day, or forcing himself on you. 

It was hell. 

Konig freed you from your bondage, thinking you learned to behave and learned your lesson. While freed and able to walk around the house, you looked for ways to escape. The man had this place fortified: secured locked windows, security cameras, and movement detection systems. You were going to find a way out. 

xxx

„Liebling! I've returned from the market!” Konig's thick voice echoed through the empty spaces as he walked into the kitchen and dropped off the groceries. He waited for you to come down the stairs, but nothing. He didn’t hear shuffling, suspicious. The Austrian man walked upstairs, his loud footsteps sending quakes across the wood as he approached a door. 

Kicking the door open, breaking the wooden door off its hinges, Konig examined the room, his breathing and anger starting to rise. He threw everything onto the floor, trashing the room until it looked unrecognizable. “That little… Hure!” (Whore!) Konig roared as he raced out of the bedroom. 

“No… NO! This can’t be happening!” Konig yelled as his breathing hitched and cracked. „Warum solltest du mich verlassen? I thought you were finally warming up to me." Konig's voice got louder as he punched the wall repeatedly, his knuckles bloody before turning and wrecking the living room. He rampaged for a few minutes before collapsing. 

"I can't lose you darling… einsam... Ich will nicht allein sein!” (Lonely... I don't wanna be alone!)” Konig said as his voice broke. The pain of being alone when he was a child was resurfacing. He had his parents, but he wanted someone else. You just so happened to come along and gave Konig what he wanted. His sadness and grief were replaced by determination to get you back, and anger for leaving him. His younger self disappeared. 

„Nein... er gehört zu mir! ("No... he belongs to me!) Only me! He can't leave me... I'll drag him back! Show him who he belongs to!" Konig says as he gets up, pulling a tracking device from his pocket. He had the bright idea of putting a chip in all your clothing– just in case you got the idea of escaping. 

Bingo– he found your exact location. 

He was gonna teach you a lesson. 

Your lungs were burning as adrenaline coursed through your body. Every ragged breath felt like it was burning you from the inside. Your feet were burning with pain and agony– every part of your lower body was on fire. Your body and clothing were dirty from being scratched and falling over rocks in the forest. None of that deterred you– not when he was coming. 

The taste of freedom was sweet, but it was short-lived. 

The sounds of your ragged breathing and footsteps became overshadowed by heavier footsteps swiftly closing in on your location. A booming voice that cut through the empty forest. “Liebling… why must you run from me?” His voice sent shivers down your spine as your body went into overdrive. Your heartbeat hammered in your ears, attempting to drown out any other noise except his pursuit. You didn’t look back and kept running forward, but didn’t pay attention to the uneven terrain. 

You slipped and fell, your head slamming against the ground. Your vision was becoming disoriented as you tried getting back up. Pain surged through your body as you looked to see your leg bent in the wrong way. You screamed in agony and cried in pain as you still attempted to get up. 

A large shadow overshadowed yours. Your eyes widen, turning around to be met with the disapproving look on Konig’s face. Pulling whatever strength you had, you dug your fingers into the dirt trying to pull your body away. Konig scoffed at the pathetic sight and took a few steps, his large hand grabbing and snatching your head. 

“Poor little schlampe… (bitch…)” Konig mumbled with fake sympathy. He coos teasingly as he soothed you. He was mocking you. You soon found your body being lifted into his strong arms as he carried you back to hell. All the adrenaline and rebellion in your body dissipated as your soft cries filled the air. 

xxx (THE NONCON SMUT STARTS HERE!)

You were in a daze, staring at the wall as Konig’s large rough hands cleaned your body. Patching all your wounds and cuts, even dealing with your bent leg. The soft sound of the running water filled the quiet room before the Austrian man cut it off. Your body remained tense and on high alert– something was off. 

Konig dries you off, but doesn’t give you clothing and takes you to the bedroom. Suddenly, your hands were forced behind your back. You could hear the sound of handcuffs being pulled out of Konig’s pocket, then the piece of metal locked around both of your wrists. You tried to struggle, but the Austrian man controlled your movement. 

When the door opened, the bedroom was still trashed, but there was a large thick dildo standing up right. Your eyes widened with fear as Konig pushed you forward. “On the bed.” his voice rippled with authority as he stared down at you. Not wanting to defy him, you followed his command. 

Your naked body pressed against the soft sheets, but you didn’t bask in the feeling. The dildo stood intimidatingly, you can guess what Konig is gonna make you do. You looked at the man with fear as he sat on the chair.

“Smart Junge (boy). You already know what to do. Go ahead, unless you need some motivation.” Konig said with a grunt. He leans back, pulling a knife out and dancing it around his hand. His blue eyes staring into yours with a dark glint and a hint of arousal swimming around in them. The Austrian man dared you to disobey him. 

You gulped as you nervously grabbed the dildo; it felt heavy in your palms. You can tell that this was an exact replica of Konig’s dick. Holding it in place as you positioned yourself over it, the feeling of the silicon touching your bare skin sent shivers through your body. Soft sounds of whimpers and whines escaped your mouth as you tried to get it inside, but you were failing. 

Konig watched and sighed with annoyance as he got up from his seat. “Is it that hard”, Konig thought to himself as he grabbed your trembling body, laying you down on the bed. You started panicking as the strong Austrian man held you down. “N-no! I-I can do it! Stop!” you cried and begged, but Konig didn’t care. 

„Warum musst du mich auf die Probe stellen, kleiner Junge?“ ("Why must you test me, baby boy?") Konig said as he frowned under his hood. Why must you be resilient? He’s only teaching you a lesson! Why can’t you see that? No matter, he’ll just keep doing this until you learn to love! He’s gotta break any type of rebellious thoughts. 

After some struggling, the Austrian man shoved the large, thick dildo inside. Your screams filled the room as your hole was stretched to its limits. The searing pain coursed through your body as your nerves were lit on fire. Tears rolled down your face as you tried moving away from Konig, which led to the man slapping your thighs until they turned red. 

“See? Wasn’t that hard.” Konig said sickly as he grinned manically under his mask. He began thrusting the dildo without letting you adjust. You began crying and begging for the Austrian man to stop. The silicon rubbing and burning your anal walls, the cockhead ramming into your guts. No matter how loud you screamed, nobody was coming to your aid. 

Konig could feel his cock hardening in his pants. Your voice– cries of agony– were music to his ears. His free hand rubbed his bulge as he released a deep groan. „Verdammte Scheiße... du bist so heiß, Liebling.“ ("Fucking hell... you're so hot darling.") the Austrian man mumbled as he unzipped his pants, whipping out his large, thick cock. He stroked it to full length as he watched you cry underneath him. 

“P-please! I’m sorry… I’m sorry! Please stop!” you begged, gripping the bed sheets. The pain slowly transitioned to pleasure as the dildo’s cockhead rammed into your prostate. The bundle of nerves being repeatedly abused caused your brain to send blood to your cock. You felt ashamed that you were getting hard from this. 

Konig didn’t listen to your pleas, stroking his cock faster and thrusting the dildo faster. The sounds of your cries and screams died down as your vocal cords were sore. Fapping and the balls of the dildo slapping against your cheeks replaced that sound. Konig groans as he fucked his hand faster, his heavy balls slapping against his hand as he could feel his orgasm approaching.

You look up at Konig with eyes lidded, red with tear stains running down your face. You couldn’t believe this was the same man you’ve been friends with since childhood. Your mind was flooded with what happened, and why did this happen? That dark corner in your mind spoke, suggesting that you were a catalyst. Maybe you were the catalyst, maybe not.

The Austrian man's breath hitched as he gave a final thrust. Thick ropes of pearly white cum spurted out his cockhead slit, painting your face and hair with his load. Konig gave a deep grunt, looking down at your disheveled body. He looked at your body with satisfaction as he pulled the large dildo out. Konig grinned wickedly as he looked at some droplets of blood staining the silicon toy. 

“Have you learned your lesson, Liebling?” Konig says as he forces you to look at him. Wiping away his cum as he waited for your answer. Maybe he broke you enough so you would no longer disobey him. You gave your final answer with a broken and raspy voice. 

“Yes… Konig.”

THE END

A/N: Wow… this was a lot. I do NOT endorse this type of behavior! Well, this is my first time writing noncon smut.  TAGLIST: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @geminiflanagan69 @starboye @boypied Very special thanks to my proofreader; @sagethegaywitch Join my taglist!

[elllisaaa]

SUCH A WHORE - L. MINHO FT. H. HYUNJIN

KINKTOBER DAY 28 - FREE USE

SUMMARY : you really liked it when hyunjin came over to spend some time with your boyfriend, but today wasn't the good time because minho was needy. but luckily for him, you only want to satisfy him, no matter if hyunjin is still here.

-> pairing : bf!minho x fem!reader ft. hyunjin

-> words count : 1.7k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : dom!minho x sub!reader, free use, voyeurism, use of 'kitten', 'slut', 'whore' & 'good girl', dirty talk, fingering, teasing, praising, biting, begging, spanking, unprotected sex

+ the way i'm depicting minho & hyunjin does not represent them, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | skz masterlist | kinktober 2024

Your relationship with Minho was a secret to absolutely no one. Both of you had always been very open about it, and even if he wasn’t the most demonstrative boyfriend in public, he often had one hand on you or reminded you of his presence by kissing your lips or your temple tenderly from time to time. Thus, your friends weren’t really used to Minho’s big public display of affections, always leading to them gasping or fake gagging whenever he would kiss you or slip his arm around your waist. But you both liked it that way, preferring to keep the love for your private sphere, when it was only the two of you, alone. 

Though you had a contract - an agreement - that whenever Minho wanted you, he could get you without asking for it. He thrived on making you cum when you were having dinner with all his friends around and neither of them suspected anything. He loved knowing he could just make up an excuse to leave a party early and then fuck you in the car without you complaining about it because you loved it just as much. And most of all, he craved this feeling of belonging : it made him feel like you were completely his, like you let him think for you and use you whenever he pleased because you had that much trust in him. He loved that and it never stopped him from getting your pussy. 

So Hyunjin’s presence wouldn’t be disturbing him. Yes, maybe he had forgotten that he had proposed that he came to your apartment to watch a new movie the three of you liked. Yes, maybe that what was supposed to be only a few kisses turned into an intense makeout session that made him hard and wanting more. And yes, maybe that he had much more self-control usually, but there was just something about you, about the way you looked so cosy and so… So wifey today that made him want to mark you, be deep in you. And yes, he did groan in defeat when he heard Hyunjin knocking at the door. But you just chuckled as you got off his lap, as if your panties weren’t damp as hell right now. 

“- Don’t be a baby, he’s only gonna be here for a couple of hours, that’s all. And after that, I’ll be all yours.”

Minho mumbled out a yes, but in the back of his mind, his plan was already forming. After all, he was really close to Hyunjin. He had known him for years and he knew he would never steal his girl. Never. And Minho had enough trust in you to know that you wouldn’t leave him, that you loved him as much as he loved you. Moreover, he knew that Hyunjin was a freak, if his drunken confessions about his sex life and fantasies were anything to go by. So what was the harm in fucking you in front of one of his closest friend ?

Hyunjin noticed right away that Minho seemed to be much more handsy than usual with you - he was all cuddled up to you on the couch, his hands slipped under your oversized shirt and caressing your skin, his lips on yours every two minutes. It was unusual, but maybe he was trying to make up for something he did wrong by being extra sweet ? And anyway, it wasn’t any of his business. However, it started to be when Minho wouldn’t stop licking into your mouth. And he seemed so shameless about it too. Hyunjin turned his head away to focus back on the movie, trying to ignore the slurping sounds and your hums of pleasure. 

“- Minho… 

- What ? Didn’t you promise to let me use you whenever I want, kitten ?”

Hyunjin could see you biting your lips in his peripheral vision and then nodding eagerly. He could see Minho’s smirk as he pulled you to sit on his lap, his mouth immediately returning to yours and his hands finding their spot on your ass that he didn’t hesitate to squeeze, the action making you whine against his mouth. Hyunjin desperately tried to stay focused on the movie still playing on TV, but his throbbing erection was really distracting. 

Maybe he should've left the two of you alone when Minho laid you down on the couch and got rid of your shorts and underwear. Maybe he should have found an excuse to run away and leave you alone. But something was holding him back, something was telling him that he should stay right where he was. His cheeks were burning red, but he didn’t dare look at what was happening, even if your moans and Minho’s dirty speech was enough for him to understand what was happening. 

“- You’re such a nasty girl, kitten… You love my fingers don’t you ?

- Y-Yes, so much Min.”

Minho’s smirk widened as he heard your whimpered and breathless answer. He loved to have you squirming underneath him only because of his fingers or his mouth, and he loved it even more knowing you were willing to let him do all of this while Hyunjin was there - hearing and maybe also watching everything. It wasn’t so much about the exhibition or showing you off, it was just the trust you had in him to let him finger you in such a situation. 

“- So dirty but so pretty…”

He was teasing you by murmuring the words right against the sensitive skin of your neck, blowing off air on it but never kissing, never licking, never marking you. You whined as Minho licked a path from your collarbone up to your ear, chuckling at how sensitive you were, at how tight you clenched around his fingers at the actions. 

“- You’re literally dripping, kitten. Do you want to cum.”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes closed shut because the pleasure was overwhelming - his dirty words, his fingers hitting your sweet spot like it was a second nature, his thumb circling your clit in calculated motions to make you lose your mind and the whole situation - everything was getting too much. But Minho didn’t seem to be satisfied by your answer as he bit down on your neck. 

“- Words kitten. You know what to say if you want to cum.

- Please, Min ! Please, I want to cum, need it so bad, please…

- Much better. Good girl.”

Minho kept his path going, adding just a little bit more pressure on your clit that was enough to make you moan out his name and clench hard around his fingers, your thighs trembling on each side of him as he looked at the way you unravelled with an insatiable hunger in his eyes. At this point, Hyunjin was unable to follow the plot of the movie anymore, your sounds of pleasure overpowering whatever the characters were talking about on the screen, and his length leaking and drawing a damp spot on his grey sweatpants weren’t helping him to stay focused either. 

He could hear the lewd sounds again as Minho came up to your mouth to french kiss you after having licked your essence off of his fingers. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, bringing him closer to you, his clothed boner pressing against your bare cunt, the friction making the both of you sigh in relief. 

“- Need me in you kitten ? Does your greedy cunt need more ?

- Please… Please, I need your cock, Min…

- Fuck… You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Upon your approval, Minho didn’t waste a second to push you down on the floor, your forearms resting on top of the coffee table, your back arched to present your exposed ass and cunt to Minho’s  avid eyes. He playfully slapped your cheeks, making you jolt forward and yelp in surprise. And now, Hyunjin couldn’t pretend to not know anything, to not see anything as your head was resting on your arms, your face turned his way and your eyes boring into his as Minho pushed his length inside of you. Your ecstatic face made Hyunjin gulp down the saliva pooling in his mouth at the view. From his half-turned position in the armrest, he couldn’t see the way his friend was pounding into you, but the way you were sliding forward with every thrust, and the way each one of them had you moaning was more than enough for his imagination to go wild. 

“- You’re so tight kitten… You’re enjoying this, don’t you ?”

Only a moan answered him, and his smirk widened at your desperate state. He loved it when he rendered you unable to do something other than whine and beg for him. And he loved it even more when you were so shameless about it. He could see Hyunjin’s boner deforming his sweatpants, and he could see the way his gaze couldn’t help but drift to you every so often. Minho landed another slap on your ass, making you get even louder in response.

“- What did I say, slut ? Words. 

- Y-Yes ! F-Feels so good, so good Min !

- You want to cum, don’t you ?

- Please, please let me… Please, I need it…”

You were almost cross-eyed, but you didn't stop looking at Hyunjin. And you didn’t know if it was the whole situation getting to your head or the pleasure overtaking your brain, but you enjoyed watching Hyunjin’s desperate state. He was too shy to fully touch himself, but he couldn’t help the way he was moving around, the way his cock was brushing against his clothes barely providing friction and making him grow even needier. 

“- Go on. Cum on my cock like the whore you are.”

And maybe Minho was right, maybe you truly were a whore because his command paired with the way Hyunjin couldn’t seem to look away did it for you. Your moans elevated in high-pitched cries of pleasure as you came, your thighs trembling and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. And maybe that Hyunjin was a bit of a whore too, because when you opened your eyes again, you saw that the damp spot on his sweatpants had drastically increased. Your gaze crossed his, and as Minho shot his load inside of you with a deep grunt, you both sighed in pleasure. Maybe you were a whore, but your boyfriend liked it that way.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

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[xo100]

Shifting gears - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando and you, childhood best friends, discover a deeper connection during a drive in his new Porsche. After discussing his playboy image, the conversation takes an unexpected turn, leading to a realization of long-hidden feelings and shifting your relationship from friendship to something more romantic and intimate.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2250

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall trees that lined the road, casting dappled shadows over the sleek Porsche as it cruised effortlessly along the winding asphalt. The roar of the engine was almost hypnotic, a perfect blend of power and control, much like its owner. Lando Norris gripped the steering wheel with ease, his fingers drumming absentmindedly as he glanced over at his passenger—his best friend, someone who had been by his side since they were kids.

While Lando had built a reputation for himself as a playboy—charming, confident, and always with a new girl on his arm—you were the complete opposite. Introverted, quiet, and shy. But that’s what made your friendship so special. You balanced each other out.

Today, though, something felt a little different. Maybe it was the car, the air of freedom and luxury it represented, or maybe it was the conversation you were having that shifted the mood. Either way, the usual playful banter between the two of you had taken a slightly more serious turn.

“So, who’s the flavor of the week this time?” you teased, your voice light but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity as you shifted in the leather seat.

Lando chuckled, a low, throaty sound that seemed to vibrate through the car. “Not sure yet. You know how it is,” he replied with a smirk, his eyes never leaving the road.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no judgment in your expression. “Yeah, I know exactly how it is. You with some random girl, one night, maybe two if she’s lucky, and then you’re off to the next. It’s like you’re collecting trophies or something.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that bad. I’m just… having fun. Life’s short, you know?”

You snorted softly. “For you, maybe. I can’t even imagine doing that. Just… being with someone like that, without any meaning. Doesn’t it get old?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, finally glancing over at you. “Why, you thinking about trying it out?” he teased, though his tone carried a hint of something deeper, something that wasn’t quite a joke.

Your face flushed, and you quickly turned to look out the window, trying to hide the sudden rush of heat that crept up your neck. “No,” you muttered, “I’m not like that.”

Silence filled the car for a moment, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. Lando’s eyes flickered back to the road, but his expression was thoughtful now, less playful than usual. “You don’t always have to be so… sweet, you know,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter, almost serious. “It’s okay to let loose sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less… you.”

You blinked, surprised by his words. He wasn’t wrong; you were the “sweet” one, the one who always cared too much, worried too much. But hearing Lando say it so bluntly made you feel strangely vulnerable, like he could see right through your carefully crafted exterior.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who’s constantly in the tabloids for having one-night stands with half the population,” you shot back, the words harsher than you intended.

Lando laughed, though there was a sharpness to it. “Touché. But you know, it’s not as glamorous as people make it out to be.”

You frowned, turning back to him. “What do you mean? You always seem like you’re having the time of your life.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s fun, I guess. But it’s not… real, you know? It’s just… I don’t know. It’s easy. I’m used to it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You had never heard him talk like this before, so openly about the lifestyle he had embraced. It wasn’t like him to get deep, not about this.

“Then why do you keep doing it?” you asked quietly.

Lando glanced at you, and for the first time, you saw something different in his eyes. Something almost… uncertain.

“Because it’s easier than thinking about what I really want,” he said softly.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, your heart suddenly racing for reasons you couldn’t quite explain.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled the car off the main road, slowing down as he drove into a secluded spot overlooking a lake. The car came to a stop, and the silence that followed was deafening. He turned off the engine, and the two of you sat there, the tension in the air thick and palpable.

“I mean…” Lando began, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I’ve been with a lot of girls, sure. But none of them were ever you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “What?”

He turned in his seat to face you fully, his expression serious now, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “You. You’re different. You always have been.”

Your mind was racing, trying to process his words, but all you could focus on was the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“But we’re… friends,” you stammered, your voice shaky.

“I know,” Lando said, his gaze never leaving yours. “And that’s why I’ve never said anything before. But… I don’t know. Lately, it feels like things have changed. Like maybe we’ve changed.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had always been close to Lando, but you had never let yourself think about him like that. He was Lando—the charismatic, carefree playboy who was always with someone else. But now, sitting here in the quiet of his car, it was hard to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest, the way his words made your stomach flip.

“I…” you started, but you didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Lando leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on the edge of your seat, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer, some kind of sign. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “And I will.”

But you didn’t tell him to stop. You couldn’t.

Instead, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was slow at first, hesitant, like neither of you were quite sure if this was really happening. But then something shifted. The kiss deepened, and suddenly it was like everything that had been simmering under the surface for years had finally come to a head.

Lando’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with more urgency. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his heart was racing just as fast as yours. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and before you knew it, you were climbing over the center console, straddling him as the kiss grew more heated, more desperate.

You had never done anything like this before—never been this close to someone, never let yourself be this vulnerable. But with Lando, it felt… right. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Lando,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looked up at you. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough, barely controlled.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes.”

The next few moments were a blur of tangled limbs and heated kisses, the world outside the car fading into nothing as you lost yourself in him, in the way he made you feel. It wasn’t rushed or careless like you had imagined his one-night stands might be. It was slow, deliberate, and full of a kind of intensity you had never experienced before.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. You found yourself lying in his arms, the cool leather of the seat beneath you, your breathing still ragged as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Lando’s hand stroked your hair gently, his touch comforting, grounding. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

You nodded, snuggling closer to him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The sun had begun to set, casting a golden glow over the lake, and the quiet between you was no longer filled with tension, but with a kind of contentment you hadn’t expected.

Finally, Lando broke the silence. “You know… I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he said, his voice low. “But I’m glad it did.”

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “Me too.”

He shifted beneath you, turning slightly so he could look down at you. “So… what does this mean for us?”

You thought about it for a moment, your mind still spinning from everything that had just happened. But when you looked up into his eyes, you knew the answer.

“It means… maybe we’ve changed,” you said quietly, echoing his words from earlier.

Lando smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart

skip a beat. He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“I guess we have,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. It was such a simple gesture, but it held a weight of everything unspoken between you. Years of friendship, of shared memories, of teasing and laughter—all of it led to this moment. The line you’d been dancing on for so long had finally blurred, and neither of you could deny it anymore.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the comfortable silence that followed. The world outside the car seemed distant, irrelevant. It was just you and Lando now, and that felt right.

Eventually, though, the practicalities of life started to creep back in, and you couldn’t ignore them forever. You shifted slightly, sitting up in the seat, the reality of what had just happened slowly settling in.

“So… what now?” you asked, your voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly would break the fragile newness of what had just formed between you.

Lando sat up too, his hand still resting on your thigh, a small, reassuring gesture. He looked at you thoughtfully, as if considering his words carefully. “I don’t want this to be some random, one-time thing,” he said slowly, his voice steady. “You’re not like those girls. You’ve never been. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You smiled softly, feeling your heart swell at his words. “I don’t want that either,” you admitted. “I’ve never thought of us like this before… but now, I can’t imagine it any other way.”

His eyes softened as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender, as if sealing the promise between you. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your lips.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” Lando confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Your heart skipped again, but this time it wasn’t from nerves—it was from the overwhelming realization that you felt the same way. Maybe you’d always felt it, buried somewhere deep down.

“I think I’ve always liked you too,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly at the confession.

Lando’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of relief and joy. “Good. Because I’m not letting you get away now.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt simple. No more games, no more hiding behind jokes or casual flings. Just you and Lando, finally facing what had been there all along.

The sun was almost set now, casting a soft orange glow over the lake as the two of you sat there, side by side, in the quiet of the Porsche. The future felt uncertain in the best way possible, full of possibilities and new beginnings.

Lando gave your hand a squeeze, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You know,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye, “I think this Porsche might be my new lucky charm.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Of course you would say that.”

He grinned, that familiar cocky smile back in full force, but this time it was softened by something else—something deeper, more real. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll take you home. But tomorrow… maybe we can go for another drive?”

You nodded, your heart light as you leaned over to kiss him one more time. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As Lando started the car and pulled back onto the road, you couldn’t help but glance over at him, your best friend—your something more now—and feel grateful for every twist and turn that had led you here.

And as the Porsche sped down the road, the two of you heading into an uncertain future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

[princepinkart]

"Finally. Mine."

I have a lot to share about this drawing. I've detailed all my thought-process under the cut below :]

The idea is simple: I wanted to draw Magolor getting his hands on the crown, but surrounded with symbolisms of regret.

About the color palette:

Purple is the main color of regret in occident

It is complementary with yellow, the crown's color

Everything that is yellow has a connection to the crown

For the crown, it is obvious, its own self

For Magolor's eyes, they are the same yellow as the crown, as if you could see it reflected in his eyes. It represents his obsession, his ambitions, and most of all, the eyes are the soul's window. The moment Magolor put his hands on the crown, his soul wasn't his to control anymore.

The roses and the sand are detailed below

The roses:

From my research, I found that yellow roses were a symbol of regrets and asking for forgiveness in ancient greek mythology

It stuck with me, firstly because the color yellow is important to my drawing

But also because Magolor isn't a character represented by flowers

He's represented through magic or technology (like gears)

However, those roses do not represents him as a character, but his wish to be one day forgiven for all the wrongs the crown forced him to do.

Magolor is a liar and a traitor. In order to show his sincere apology, it had to be something that did not mirror his usal image (like magic and trickery and technology), but instead something that mirrored his feelings.

Thus, yellow roses.

The hourglass:

The hourglass symbolises time, by nature

Here, it represents the unforgivable nature of time. Mistakes cannot be erased, pain cannot be forgotten.

No matter how strong Magolor may regret his actions, he will never be able to take them back.

The last grain of sand falling means that he cannot go back on what he is about to become.

He sealed his fate, touching the crown signed the contract.

Overall composition:

The yellow roses and the crown follow a fibonacci curve

The crown resting at the apex. The most important point of the composition is the crown, because in this picture, Magolor is not the one in charge.

The hourglass is in the exact middle of the frame, disregarding the rest of the composition.

The houglass, time itself, represents balance, something eternal and abstract, perfectly symmetric

A mechanical beauty surrounded by a flower field

The stars of the galaxy in the background.

The very same stars Magolor wished to rule over, with the power of the crown.

He may have looked so close to accomplishing his ambition, however, much like the stars, there were still a billion miles more to go.

And lastly, the title:

"Finally. Mine." is meant to be ironic. Because there wasn't a single instant where the crown was his. As I said multiple times already, he is the one bowing to the crown.

Ok that's all I had say about what I thought about when creating this piece!!! XD

Now let me show you how I turned a quick doodle on a notebook into the finished drawing!!!

It started with simple notes I took while at work today, with a quick thumbnail.

Did a quick sketch on my pc as soon as I got back home, just to have a rough idea of the composition with all the elements

I went over everything now that I had the composition in order to have a better sense of proportions and perspective

I cleaned the lines. Those roses were so tedious to draw XD Originaly I wanted to do a very clean, sharp line art, but I changed my mind and settled with this as my line art

I added the flat colors. I didn't use a palette from somewhere, I went with my gut feeling all the way through XD I really like how Magolor's colors turned out!

And finally, the finished product. Added more vibrance to the yellow, added the light rays and the details in Magolor's eyes.

Extras of the finished drawing with the fibonacci curve on top of it :D

A job well done if you ask me :]

[vaguely-concerned]

for what it's worth I personally don't believe spite had anything to do with the pantry near-kiss experience at all. I think that was a 100% lucanis naturel disaster no supernatural additives present or indeed required. at most spite was watching that whole situation go down with mild puzzlement about approximately every part of it, I don't think he'd have much interest in it one way or the other. the explanation seems much more mundane and grounded and in some ways much sadder to me.

if your nervous system has never been in a place where any surge of emotion, even -- in fact sometimes especially! -- a good and exciting one makes you feel like your soul just touched a hot stove it can't get away from, then sincerely, from the bottom of my heart and without a trace of snark, thank goodness and I hope you never experience it. For the rest of you... fistbump of solidarity it's rough out here but *grits teeth* we stay silly etc. In the place lucanis is in during that part of the game, feeling like you're losing control (again even for ostensibly good happy reasons) can feel an awful lot like you're dying, or worse. on top of everything else going on for him -- again going only with non-supernatural elements and not even comprehensive: a year of non-stop horrific trauma added to pile of previous mountain of childhood and attachment trauma. chronic sleep deprivation. apparently dead grandma doubling as mother figure. cousin-brother aggressively fucking around and in real danger of finding out. fucked up the ONE thing he thought he knew how to do that's been the central pillar of his identity. the world might be ending even more than it already was because of it. keeps faceplanting with barely any dignity and having to get up again with alarming regularity GOD how could I ever not save treviso this man desperately needs a W (just one!!) like few people in the history of the world have before him. he's more caffeine than man because the alternative feels worse. it's bad in here. and ON TOP of all that he's in the process of falling just. appallingly soul-shrivingly in love, which can notably be playing on hard mode even when you're in a mostly functional place, that shit routinely rocks people to the core under the best of circumstances.

so I'm not surprised it's too overwhelming for him to handle when he tries to throw himself in head first -- in fact I'd have been more surprised if it weren't lol. he clearly wants it so much, which only makes it so much more painful that he can't actually bear to touch it when it's offered to him freely and eagerly. this is the tantalus-level awfulness of this kind of attachment trauma; food seems to be right there, you can see it, almost smell it sometimes, but no matter what you just can't seem to reach it. seemingly not for any flaw in the existence of the food, but because of something broken in you that can't or can't bear to actually eat. his deliberate flirting routine is kind of deeply dorky tbh lol (in the most endearing way possible let's be perfectly clear) and I don't think it's entirely natural to him -- that's a hastily cobbled together 'oh god I am getting the vibes here it is happening for some reason they like me for my personality quick what would illario do' approach if ever I saw it, supported by the fact that it never really makes a return after this --

BUT I do think his obvious near-unbearable delight with rook's existence and person that shines through in that scene is entirely real and unfeigned. he likes them so much. he wants so bad to be able to be close to them. he's so hungry for the reprieve and release and relief they represent to him, just for one moment, just one break from all the awfulness to have something uncomplicatedly good. and it's here, it's been offered, he's welcome!!! and he has to flinch away at the last minute anyway because he's an exposed nerve of a human being. there's a point at which every sensation including joy becomes indistinguishable from agony. he's pretty much exactly at that point. for the love of god have some mercy on him people. the feeling that salvation is right here but you're too broken a vessel to hold it is one I wouldn't wish on anyone. let him have a few moments to stare into the void before he's ready to get back up and try again surely we all deserve at least that much lol

[mysterymachine67]

I have a request if that's alright.

Bottom Steve Rogers x Top Male Reader.

Male Reader is a new avenger who's in love with Steve, he thinks Steve doesn't like him until one day at the avengers gym (only the 2 of them are in the gym) Steve notices reader staring at America's ass and decided enough is enough so he decides to tease him using his greatest ASSet, then they have sex bottom Steve.

Can you make this one long, I love your fics I just wish they were always longer.

Pairing: Steve Rodgers x Top M!reader

NSFW. Minors DNI.

Here you go. So sorry this came out late and if it’s out of character 🙏🏻

The first few days went by smoothly. You got everything that needed to be done, done. There were a few…difficulties, but you got through them. All that mattered was that you were learning things that needed to be learned, and that you were doing great. Back to the ‘difficulties’. That consisted of love at first sight. Which you never believed in but once you met this man you couldn’t help it. He was perfect, perfect in so many damn ways you couldn’t explain.

But you couldn’t talk to him. Well, couldn’t get yourself to talk to him. You think he doesn’t like you, nor wants to do anything involving you. Why do you think this? There is no ‘main’ reason to it. Only that whenever you’re around him you swear you can feel some type of hatred toward you. So you leave him alone—minding your own business. And your sure as hell he noticed how distant you were from him.

—

Currently, you’re at the gym. You’re focused on yourself—the weights you’re lifting, and how many more lifts you need to do. You were the only one there and you enjoyed it. But that only lasted a few more minutes before the guy you have a little crush on walked through the doors. Steve Rodgers. The man who you swear on everything hates you. You swallowed as your face twisted with slight irritation. The look you gave him was with pure…jealousy? You’re not to sure what the correct word for it was, but all you knew was that it annoyed you how in love you were. You brushed it off—taking your gaze away from him and regaining back your focus.

Yet, every few minutes you found yourself stealing another look. You couldn’t help it, you practically admired him. You fought to draw your eyes away from him. It only got worse. Your gaze went lower, and lower, and lower till it got to his ass. See, now, you were a respectful man. You were not a creep, nor anything under that category. It was just accidental.

But it kept fucking happening. You’d look over at him when he wasn’t facing you—watching how he handled the gym equipment. Then your gaze would shift, but only for a moment. Not that it made it any better. He did eventually end up catching you. You forgot to look away quickly once he turned back around and you both made eye contact. And you thought he must’ve brushed it off. Hopefully, and not think you’re a creep because that’s the last thing you need to be represented as. But no. Steve did not brush it off, nor let it slide.

You noticed how he started to do more things involving his ass, and how he somehow got closer to you. Hell, he even asked you to help him with something. In which you put your self-control to use. His ass brushed against your front when he moved. You didn’t know what to do; so you kept your hands at a reasonable position and helped him with what he needed to be helped with.

What were you helping him with? That’s a good question. Well, it was a type of workout you’d never heard nor seen before. Was he doing this on purpose? Most definitely. Were you aware? Not so much.

This continued for a lot longer than you thought it would. Not that you…minded, but you’d think it’d be a few minutes tops. Nope. Things…escalated. And by escalated he finally confronted you—getting out of whatever position he had you guys in, and asking so many damn questions about you and why you were so distant. You answered. It’d be disrespectful and rude if you didn’t.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve asked.

“You’ve asked plenty so far. But hit me.” You answered.

“Do you like me?”

Well shit.

You cleared your throat. Adjusting your clothes and rubbing the back of your neck. “If…I say yes?” You stammered. You’re not even sure he heard you. But then Steve spoke up.

“Then,” He started, locking eyes with you. You nearly looked away, nervous for what’s to come. Did you just fuck up? “We can call it a day. Go hang out, or do something cheesy. How’s that sound?” He offered.

Oh.

Well, except doing any of those things listed. On the way out of the gym Steve mentioned something very suggestive. In which you turned around, dropped your things and made your way to him. Obviously agreeing with what he said.

—

Your hands gripped his ass while crashing your lips against his. It hurt from how hard you did it, but it soon faded away once you heard a sweet sound from the man you’ve liked since the day you met him. The both of you moved toward a nearby wall. When you got close enough you pushed Steve against it; hearing a faint noise come from him. Maybe you pushed him a little too hard. Your lips touched his again while your hands roamed his body. This time, the kiss was more sloppy than the last.

You pulled back and whispered against his lips. “I don’t think you get how much I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.” And oh, the way he looked at you. You kissed him again before he could even respond.

Soon enough you were helping each other take off clothes. They were being thrown somewhere in the gym, a future problem. As soon as Steve got his shirt off your hands were on him yet again. Gripping his flesh and kissing where you could. Steve’s quiet whimpered and soft moans were one of many things that kept you from stopping. His hands stayed on your hips, gripping you tightly and keeping you close. When your lips met his neck he let out a gasp. It got even better when your hand trailed down Steve’s chest. All the way to his hard cock.

You fished his cock from his boxers. Then brought your hand back up to his mouth. “Spit.” You said simply. So he did.

When you finally wrapped your hand around his cock he let out a sigh. Leaning his head back against the wall. He bucked his hips into your hand—seeking more. With the mix of your mouth on him, and your hand on his cock, he was starting to get close. A moan fell from Steve’s lips. A hand of his moving its way up to your shoulder.

“Fuck..’m close.” Steve muttered, sucking in a breath once he felt your thumb rub at his tip. Just a few more thrusts into your hand and he’ll—

“Sorry, pretty boy. But we’re just getting started.” You say, as you remove your hand. Hearing as he let out a groan.

—

You slowly aligned your cock with his hole. Hearing a soft groan and a thud of his head going back against the wall. You cursed under your breath, feeling the tightness of his heat around your cock. Once you were bottomed out you stayed still for a moment. Giving Steve a moment. Well, that was until he urged you on. You had one of his legs on your hip, it helped made your cock dive deeper into him.

You pulled out slowly, watching as his face scrunched up. Before shoving your cock back inside, you gripped his leg tighter. Soon, you started a good pace and rhythm. Steve let out a few small whimpers and moans. You leaned in close, capturing his lips in a kiss. Meanwhile, your free hand started to move to his cock. Wrapping around it and started to stroke. The added pleasure and stimulation caused him to moan into your mouth. In which you tried not to smile. You soon broke the kiss, moving to kiss neck instead.

“Oh, God!” He moaned. Moving his head back against the wall with a thud. Many sounds echoed throughout the gym. Pants, moans, groans, whimpers, etc. all coming from the both of you.

Your orgasm came quick, Steve’s too. Just as you went to pull out he clenched and groan from the loss.

“No, no, just—inside.”

So you shoved your cock back in. Hearing a moan in response to your action. Not that you were complaining. Soon enough you came, painting his walls white while he coated your hand in his own cum. A mix of moans and pants echoed in the gym. But he felt so good, so you kept going even though your hips stuttered. You worked yourself up to a second orgasm in a matter of minutes. Completely ignoring Steve’s whines. But he enjoyed it. A little pain mixed with pleasure is something he didn’t know he’d be into. Your hips came to a halt—not pulling out and staying buried inside of him.

But you put your hand back on his cock and started to jerk him off again. You weren’t gonna let him cum only once. That wasn’t fair. Back to Steve, he groaned then soon let out a whine. Jerking his hips back but then moving them back forward. You heard him curse under his breath before, without a warning, cumming into your hand.

Both of you were breathing heavily. Chest raising and falling with how heavy you were breathing. Once your breathing went back to normal you finally spoke up. “So, you don’t hate me?” You asked. Such a random question after just getting done fucking him.

“Why the hell would I hate you?” Steve replied, stilling trying to get his breathing regular. In which you shrugged, a conversation for a different time.

[technovillain]

further talking abt my prev post mentioning sasha's brain, i think it's interesting how his mind doesn't seem to cover his adult life at all. i feel like this is an easy further hint that he isn't showing his true full mind, that the shooting gallery is more of a puzzle box for the advanced campers to try. he limits it to his childhood because it's certainly all more age appropriate, and there is more that they will be able to relate to as they navigate the puzzle. the fact that he spends much of his time popping in and out into the... vague orange void, i like to imagine that's to another, more adult part of his brain. it does seem like the sasha way to compartmentalize parts of his life.

i'm conceptualizing this version of his mind that is very neverending-fractal-expanding matryoshka.

at his core is his childhood, the part of his mind that we see, turned into the shooting gallery as a testing area. it isn't as perfect and cleaned up a puzzle as he'd like it to be, with a few nasty details certainly still slipping their way through, but it adds a sense of reality to it all. contained in this cube is the mega-censor, which is perhaps the childhood id, it's like a big nasty baby, it's got dead flesh, it's like a big angry man. it's throwing a tantrum, and is also the punishment for throwing a tantrum. in short, it's likely reflective of his messy, detached childhood.

what if the whole of his mind that we see is not an extending void, but instead also contained within a much greater cube. the childhood cube/shooting gallery is the center point of the next, more complex room, still a rotating geometric shape, maybe now one with more facets, a black and white metropolis, with extending tableaus presenting his teen to young adult years, when he was doing odd jobs, taking classes, interning and learning, all of the pre-agent era.

this little world is all packed away inside a little box which is at the center of his current world, (maybe one with an orange sky? where he keeps popping in from?) and represents his current life as a psychonaut.

managing impulses/censors is something that he uses as a lesson, but i imagine it is also something that his brain naturally does. inside his own mind, he is constantly present, doing maintenance.

i think of the scott campbell exhausted handyman sasha popping in through the orange doors. he takes pride in his mind being something that is fastidious and clean. he speaks from experience when he says that bottling up your impulses puts your brain under a lot of pressure. it is something that is easier to acknowledge within your childhood. if you do it too much, you'll likely have a meltdown. but when we talk about years of doing constant impulse control, which is likely extreme at times, it will manifest in other, more complex ways... like compartmentalizing your entire brain into boxes that require constant maintenance.

[yanyandam]

Hi there !! I've had an idea in my head for some time, in fact it's one of the members of the bonten who has to sleep with reader because he must have information about her but ends up gradually falling in love with her. (I like all of them except mochi) ( I’m sorry my English is so bad Unfortunately, it's not my native language. ) thanks love have a good day bye bye !!

How dare you exclude my glorious king mochi? (I said, after using this as an excuse to not write for him nor takeomi out of laziness.) Here are small scenarios, myb if u were expecting a long oneshot, did my best. (yall can check out my bonten koko fanfic if interested btw its fiye I swear) ps: your english is perfect dear, im not native either

STAY PROFESSIONAL -BONTEN and how they handle the situation

You were supposed to be a job. Just a stepping stone in a long list of necessary evils. Manjiro needed leverage on a politician, and you were the perfect way to get it: beautiful, easy to manipulate, unaware of the world you had stepped into. That was the plan. It should have ended there. So why the fuck is he watching you from across the bar, his cigarette burning between his fingers, as another man leans in too close, his hand brushing your thigh? He tells himself it’s not jealousy, it’s business. That’s what he tells himself.

But when you finally glance up and see him, your face pales. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights. You know. You know exactly what happens to things Mikey can’t control. He doesn’t make a scene. He simply nods toward the door, a silent command, and watches as you hesitate. In an instant, he’s pushing off the bar, moving toward you with slow steps. By the time he reaches you, the other man has already sensed the danger and slunk away. Smart choice. You open your mouth to say something, but his fingers brush against your wrist, just for a second. A silent claim. A warning. "Outside. Now." His voice is low, steady. But inside, something inside him is burning. He should let you go. Should end this. But for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to.

You were supposed to be temporary. A means to an end. A tool. You had connections to a rival gang, and he needed your secrets. Getting them was easy, Sanzu had patience, persistence, and an unshakable loyalty to Mikey that meant no one was beyond sacrifice. Not even you. You were a night of indulgence, nothing more. He doesn’t form attachments. It’s too risky. So why does his stomach twist when he hears someone mention your name? Why does his hand twitch toward his gun when someone laughs about using you the same way he did?

He wasn’t supposed to care. But when he sees you again, he steps in before he can think. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t even explain why he’s there. Just pulls you behind him and gives the guy a look that promises death. You don’t understand. "Why do you care?"

He doesn’t have an answer. But he does know one thing: he’ll kill for you, if it ever comes to that.

You knew too much, that was your mistake. Kakucho needed to know what this 'too much' you knew represented. He didn't want to go down the murder route, you looked honest as a citizen, and Kakucho hated hurting civilians, let alone women. So he opted for the first option he could find to win you over. It was just one night. One moment where he let himself feel something other than exhaustion and cold detachment. He should forget you. But weeks later, when he sees you again, he realizes he can’t. You smile when you recognize him. "Small world." He almost doesn’t respond. Almost walks away. But instead, he sighs and mutters, "You always smile at strangers?"

"Only the ones who look like they need it."

He should tell you to stay away. Should warn you that getting close to him means trouble. But when you offer him a place to sit, when you don’t look at him like a monster, he sits down. And he doesn’t leave.

You thought you were in control. That was cute. You were a journalist, digging too deep into gang affairs, and Kokonoi seduced you to shut you up. It worked, for a while. Until you found out the truth. And now? You’re broke. Blacklisted. Your career is in ruins. You were nothing more than a distraction, something to pass the time. That’s what he tells himself. Until he sees you again, working some miserable job, looking exhausted, and he feels an unfamiliar urge. He wants to fix this. He wants to fix you. It pisses him off. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t help people. But the next time he sees you, he slides an envelope of money across the counter.

You blink at it. "What’s this?"

"A favor. Take it or don’t, I don’t care."

You don’t take it. You just look at him, arms crossed. "You feel guilty?"

He scoffs. "Don’t flatter yourself." But when you smile, his fingers twitch. He leaves before he does something stupid. But the next time he sees you? He doesn’t walk away.

You were just another night. Another meaningless body tangled in silk sheets, another face he wouldn’t remember after collecting what he needed. That’s what Ran told himself. Until he sees you again. It’s been weeks, maybe months, and yet there you are, laughing, talking, not thinking about him. It shouldn’t bother him. But it does. Maybe you’re working at one of his clubs, maybe you’re just passing through, but the moment his eyes land on you, something ugly stirs in his chest. You notice him. Of course you do. Who wouldn’t? He’s rich, powerful, untouchable. You should feel lucky he even remembers you. But you don’t act lucky. You just tilt your head and smirk. "Didn’t think I’d see you again."

"Neither did I." His voice is smooth, unreadable. You nod, take a sip of your drink. You’re not fawning over him. You’re not desperate for his attention. And that’s the problem. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t need you. So why does he lean in just a little closer? "Tell me." His fingers brush against your wrist. "Did you forget about me?" You raise a brow. "Should I have remembered?" For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t have an answer. And it pisses him off.

Rindou is not supposed to care. That part of him is dead, buried beneath years of cruelty, power, and the weight of the life he chose. But then he sees you again. After that one night. That night night, which was supposed to end with your bloodied body once he'd had enough information about your boss.

Maybe it’s in one of his clubs, maybe it’s on the street, but when your eyes meet his, something in his chest tightens. You smile. Not forced, not fake, just a real, casual smile. Why weren’t you afraid? Like he’s just some normal guy. Like he’s not someone to be feared. And for a second, he wants to pretend.

"Didn’t think I’d see you again." He leans against the bar, acting casual. Acting like he doesn’t care. You shrug. You don’t ask for anything. You don’t beg for attention, don’t try to use him. And that’s when it hits him. That night wasn’t a game to you. You didn’t want his money, his power, his influence. You just wanted him. The him that doesn’t exist anymore. His jaw clenches. He should walk away. Should kill whatever feeling is rising in his chest before it becomes a weakness. But instead, he mutters, "You free tonight?"

And when your smile widens, when you nod…He realizes he’s already lost.

[owenwillsons]

"if byler is endgame, why are they not canon yet?"

honestly, it's not a bad question. if they are going to be endgame, why wouldn't they have been made canon in season 4? or, at least, why wouldn't they have made mike's feelings explicit earlier? after all, mike's feelings for will, while obvious to bylers, remain subtextual even at the end of season 4. what is the point of making m!leven last for so long despite their obvious relationship troubles only for them to be broken up in season 5?

el and mike lasting for that long is meaningful - and it's not just for the sake of slow burn. each season represents a different facet of their relationship.

season 1: "m!leven is like a first love!"

season 2: "m!leven can survive through long distance!"

season 3: "m!leven is a classic teenage relationship!"

all the above is purposefully deconstructed in season 4. let me explain.

let's not go in order and start with my favourite season - season 2.

season 2: "m!leven can survive through long distance!"

i was clocked into byler from season 1 episode 1, but i can admit when a ship was cute, and m!leven was the cute as hell in season 2. not a coincidence that it's also the season where they spend virtually no time together.

the struggle throughout season 2 is that mike and el are separated. mike tries to reach her every single day - el wants to tell him that she's alive. that very simple tension makes their reunion genuinely heartwarming and one of my favourite scenes in the show.

season 4 has the same problem that is out of their control - distance. you would assume, having seen what distance does in season 2, that we'll see a similar thing play out in season 4.

of course, this doesn't happen. mostly because in season 2, when el is hiding something from him, it's not her choice. in season 4, when el hides the truth from mike, it is entirely of her own will.

in season 2, distance makes the heart grow fonder. el and mike don't spend all that much time alone together in season 1, and most of that time is taken up with trying to find will rather than spending time together. they kiss, of course, but after that they don't have time to find footing on what their relationship really is. all of that is to say that although mike wants el to be alive, more than that, he wants the idea of her to be alive. ignoring the glaring heteronormativity, he likes the idea of having a girlfriend, and he invents a narrative in his head for her.

no need for him to do that in season 4 - el invents the narrative for him! but this has entirely different consequences. unlike mike, the lies in el's narrative has consequences, and we see it play out in unfortunate high definition.

mike isn't exempt from this - he also invents a version of el in his head which is different from both the real el and the el that she invents for him, and it is of her being a superhero. before they reunite, mike talking about el references her powers - and during their fight about 'i love you', mike references it again, which turns out to be a mistake.

so a fact about m!leven established in season 2: the two can survive long distance. the subsequent dismantling of this so-called fact in season 4: the two cannot, in fact, survive long distance.

season 3: "m!leven is a classic teenage relationship!"

milkvans clown on bylers for saying that a teenage relationship is genuinely "toxic", and i will say that for season 3, this critique of byler analysis is valid. why do i say this? because in season 3, the "toxicity" of m!leven is compared to lumax, who we are supposed to take seriously in season 4.

both couples are mostly played for comedy in season 3 - teenage relationships that are not taken seriously for a reason.

their "breakup" isn't real. max compares it to her several breakups with lucas, and we're supposed to laugh it off.

the most serious tension between mike and el's relationship is the fact that mike hasn't said 'i love you' to her face yet - something which is not that serious in a teenage relationship, and is, in fact, played for laughs.

the only time it is truly taken seriously is at the end of season 3 when el says that she has heard mike say it, and she kisses him. leading him to make this face of absolute delight...

...leading into season 4, which deconstructs all these dismissals of m!leven's relationship.

firstly, mike's inability to say 'i love you' to el's face is no longer played as comedy - it is one of the primary tensions within their relationship. he can't write it in a letter and he can't say it to her face, even when el pretty much explicitly asks for it.

i think another layer of tension between the two is that mike still treats it as a teenage relationship, but el needs more than that. mike can sit down and seriously apologise - we see him do it with will. but in this scene, mike's approach to el lacks any subtlety that we know he can have (and we know finn can do as well).

to me, that is the biggest juxtaposition between lumax and m!leven in the jump from season 3 to season 4. lucas and max have a serious conversation from the get-go. despite their miscommunication, both of them take the relationship seriously, even if it makes them act differently. they switch between being silly teenagers into taking their relationship seriously - mike and el can't.

until...

ah yes, the love confession. let's talk about it.

on the surface, that completes the arc, right? he said 'i love you' to el to her face and we can all go home now? even if we take the love confession at complete face value, ignoring what i believe are lies and straight up piggybacking from will's monologue, i have two problems with that.

firstly, as many have pointed out - where's the conversation after? the two of them barely interact after this scene, except for when el is leaning her head on mike's shoulder in the hospital. if they are endgame, you would normally get this big, dramatic scene, and then a quieter, more private scene with the two of them with mike confirming everything he said with apologies, and a kiss between the two of them. instead, we get mike telling will that she's barely talked to him since they got back to hawkins. the arc is not over.

secondly - and this may be more of a personal opinion - but weird time for that arc to end. within the season, sure, but within the show?if i was writing the endgame ship, i would save the dramatic love confession for the final scene of the show, not the season. have the troubles last for one more season, and get that satisfying resolution in el's final fight, and make the first 'i love you' mean that much more. you get me?

all of that to say... it isn't over yet. we have proof that mike can say 'i love you' to el in the dramatic moments, but can he say 'i love you' and mean it in the quiet moments too?

overall, season 3 presents m!leven as a classic teenage relationship. season 4 shows that they can't be anything more.

let's go back to the beginning.

season 1: "m!leven is like a first love!"

season 1 is the best stranger things season because, unlike the other seasons, it had nothing to prove. the fact that it works as a standalone season allowed it to become a cultural sensation almost overnight.

that is also why it is harder to talk about when discussing intentional overarching arcs. while i'm sure the duffers had a plan for the show's potential renewal, they also had to keep in mind that it could've been a one-season wonder. that being said, there were things established - and there is no better place to look than the montauk show bible - aka, the pitch booklet for the original show. so from the beginning, were they established to be like a first love?

"if mike is the elliot of our show, eleven is our e.t."

obviously, this comparison isn't exactly the most romantic. while an initial pitch, this parallel is seen in the final product with mike hiding el and eventually dressing her up. but maybe this is unfair, because the booklet also says...

"he has never had a first kiss, much less a girlfriend...he will discover a courage he didn't know he had. by the end, he will even kiss a girl."

i do think that even within a potential one-season show, there was an intention of portraying an awkward but cute first kiss and first relationship. i will note, however, that nancy's description explicitly says, "with [jonathan's] help, she will experience love for the first time", saying the l-word that mike's description is missing.

in season 4, the love confession begins with references to season 1.

"i feel like my life started that day we found you in the woods...and i knew right then and there, in that moment, that i loved you"

this feels like a complete retcon of reality - which is crazy because in season 1, there are other better m!leven moments that can be referenced? their first kiss, mike giving his watch, mike doing el's makeup, el coming out in the dress and mike calling her pretty for the first time...

then they show the moment - and mike does not look in love.

this is the only flashback they show. compare that to max's several flashbacks with lucas when she is trying to escape vecna, and that seems purposeful.

your first thought might be "well, it was easier for mike to say the first time he saw her because love at first sight". but that's exactly it - he said what was easy to say. he didn't actually put the most effort into thinking of the real first time he fell in love with her - which is also a problem, because that shouldn't be an effort. he should just know.

i don't think mike was deliberately lying. el clearly needed someone to say something, and will was encouraging him to say something. love at first sight is a well-known trope...and that's the problem. if he's inventing a narrative for what their relationship looks like, it's an easy thing to sprinkle in because it's his idea of an ideal relationship.

max didn't fall in love with lucas at first sight, and neither did nancy and jonathan or joyce and hopper. it's okay if el and mike didn't fall in love at first sight - but the fact that mike says it when it is factually untrue is meaningful.

so, unlike the other seasons, season 4 is the season that tells us that mike and el are each other's first loves, fated at first sight - but if we go back to season 1, it shows us that they did not fall in love at first sight. if mike isn't telling the truth there, what else is he lying about?