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idkdudethisisntpermanent · 14 days ago

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Over the Limit - pt.iii

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

summary: As Jenna becomes more entwined in your life, you find yourself pulled deeper into the high-stakes world of racing—looks like you've got yourself your first race.

word count: 8.4k

————

The garage is usually alive with the hum of engines, the clank of tools, and the scattered voices of the crew. Everyone has their own rhythm here, groups within the crew naturally falling into place as they work on separate projects. But today is different. As soon as you walk in, you notice the shift.

The crew is huddled around Anton who has his phone out, their laughter cutting through the usual noise. You can't see what's on the screen from where you stand, but whatever it is, it's got everyone's attention. Curiosity pulls you in closer, your brow furrowing.

As you approach, Anton's voice carries over the group, smooth and teasing. "And here she is, looking all serious and focused... but wait for it..."

The guys chuckle, and you stop in your tracks, confused. You can't quite make out what's on the screen yet, but the way they're talking—it feels weirdly intimate. You shake your head, taking a few more steps forward, trying to get a look.

Anton continues, now with a mocking tenderness. "Right there! Look at that—I believe that's what we call young love, folks."

The laughter rises again, and something clicks. A sinking feeling erupts in your stomach. Heart racing, you push through the crowd until you finally see the screen. Your heart skips.

It's you. And her. Jenna.

There it is—your encounter in the garage yesterday. The split-second moment when you locked eyes with her, the subtle smirk she flashed your way. The way your hand wrapped over hers as she was holding the wrench. It all plays out on the surveillance screen, frozen in time, but somehow magnified, more intimate than you even remember.

Shit.

"Awh, my little Y/n's all grown up," Anton coos, not missing a beat as he notices you standing there now. His voice is laced with smugness. "Didn't know you had it in you."

You clench your jaw, "Shut up, Anton."

"Oh, come on! It's cute," one of the guys calls out, nudging you as if this whole situation isn't embarrassing. "A girl like that?" another crew member hollers with a whistle. "She's no Brimstoner, that's for sure. Where'd you find her, Y/n?"

As you look around you notice that everyone is looking at you with curiosity. You let out a breath. It seems like no one was able to recognize Jenna from the race. No one knows she's from Summer Valley—that she's a Viper.

"It's not what it looks like," you mumble, trying to sound indifferent.

Anton lets out a low laugh. "Sure it's not. Admit it, you've got yourself a girl now."

The teasing hits deeper than it should, and you feel your heart pounding. They're all grinning, eating this up, but for you, it's just a reminder—you still haven't texted her. Despite knowing your answer, you weren't sure when it was appropriate to text her, it's only been about 12 hours since you dropped the girl off at her home. And you were dreading seeing her again.

"Alright, alright, enough about Y/n's mystery girl. Everyone, get back to work!" Anton says, half-joking but with a playful edge. "I need a word with my cousin."

The rest of the crew grumbles as they scatter, returning to their tasks. Anton slings an arm around your shoulder, guiding you over to the car you'd stolen the night before.

"Market value on this baby is through the roof," he says, his fingers trailing along the sleek metal. "You probably won't need to work for a while after this score."

"Yeah," you reply, your mind already preparing for the real reason Anton pulled you aside.

"So... who's the girl?"

Who is she? The question lingers, heavier than you'd like to admit. What could you even tell him when you didn't fully know yourself?

"She's just someone I met at a pub a while back," you lie smoothly.

Anton clutches his chest dramatically. "You're hitting up pubs without me now? I thought we did everything together!"

"It was after one of my sales," you say, rolling your eyes. "I needed to unwind, grabbed a drink, and met her. Simple as that."

He raises an eyebrow, grinning knowingly. "I've never seen a Brimstoner that looked like that."

"She's not from Brimstone," you say quickly, the words tumbling out. "She's from... Ridgewater."

"Ridgewater, huh?" Anton mutters, as if that explains everything. "So, she your girlfriend?"

The question catches you off guard, heat creeping up your neck and flooding your cheeks. You'd been battling that blush since you stepped into the garage, memories of the night before playing on a loop in your mind. Everything about her made your pulse quicken. The thought of being her girlfriend... it sent a jolt of excitement through you, one you weren't quite ready to face. It was too early to sort out your feelings, but you couldn't deny she was stunning, and the pull between you both was undeniable. The lingering glances, the teasing banter, the subtle touches—there was a chemistry brewing between you two that you couldn't ignore.

"We're just... talking," you reply, though a small part of you wonders why you didn't just say she was a friend. Too late now.

"Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" you ask, eager to change the subject.

"It's actually about your girl's ends," Anton begins, leaning in. "I've got some friends from Ridgewater in town, and they're looking for a friendly race with our club."

You raise a brow, not quite sure why this involved you.

"I, uh, might've mentioned your name for a race against one of their drivers," he admits, mumbling the last part under his breath.

"Anton, what the hell?!" you snap.

"Come on! It's just for fun—one race, no big deal. No stakes. You don't even have to wear a Sinner jacket."

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to keep calm, but you still end up rambling. "Anton, you know how I feel about this stuff. I... I still don't even know what I want. I've never raced before. I'm going to suck."

"You could lose by an hour, and I wouldn't care," he says with a shrug. "I just want you to give it a shot, Y/n. Like I said, no stakes—just a little friendly racing."

You sigh, unsure but softening. "I'll think about it."

Anton nods, clearly taking your indecision as progress. A week ago, you would've shot him down without a second thought. "Race is in a week today, 7 p.m., same spot as last time," he says, already walking off with a wave.

He stops just before he reaches the other end of the garage, turning back with a grin. "Oh, and invite your girl! Bet she'll find it hot!"

And just like that, your cheeks burn again.

You blame your inexperience with girls for how easily your cheeks betray you. It's just embarrassment, that's all. Now, you're apparently faking a relationship and have a race tomorrow. Perfect.

Needing to clear your head, you turn toward your workbench, ready to lose yourself in modifications to the car you'd stolen. But the moment you pick up the wrench, an involuntary smile stretches across your face.

"Oh, you've got it bad," a familiar voice chuckles behind you.

You groan, not again. Bracing yourself for another round of teasing, you turn around only to feel a sense of relief wash over you. It's just Hunter.

Hunter always seemed out of place among the crew. He was too pure to be mixed up in Brimstone—too decent. But everyone had their reasons for being here.

"You're lucky no one recognized her," he whispers, stepping up beside you.

"W-what?" you stammer, caught off guard.

"I was right next to you at the Vipers' race, remember?"

Your eyes widen, your heart rate kicking up a notch as you realize he knew who—or rather what Jenna was. Although you trust Hunter, it only takes one slip for the crew to find out about your association with a Viper.

"Relax, my lips are sealed," he says with a reassuring smile. "You were practically making heart eyes at her the whole race though—hard not to notice."

"I was not watching her like that!" you protest, maybe too quickly.

"Uh-huh, and I'm not gay. Come on, Y/n/n, let's not lie."

You drop the wrench and face him, unsure of why he was so accepting of this. "You don't think it's weird that she's a Viper? We're supposed to be, like... sworn enemies!"

Hunter smirks. "Please. That's half the thrill, isn't it? And since when have you ever avoided doing something just because it's 'not allowed'?"

You both glance at the car you stole and burst into laughter.

"We're not dating," you start. "I wouldn't even say we're friends. Last night was the first time I saw her again since the race, and that's what you saw on the camera footage." You find yourself admitting more than you planned to, trusting the older guy more than you expected.

"Do you want to date her?" Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" You blurt out, way too fast.

Hunter just narrows his eyes, giving you that look. "I thought we agreed no more lying."

You fumble for words. "I-I mean, I don't even know her! I've known her for what, four hours? Sure, she's beautiful—okay, really beautiful—but that doesn't mean I'm thinking about a relationship." You pause, trying to gather your thoughts. "Besides, I've got a lot going on right now. You know that."

"You and your excuses," Hunter sighs. "When are you going to start living for yourself? I care about you like a little sister, and you need to take chances before you regret it. If you keep waiting for the 'perfect time,' you'll just end up with a bunch of what-ifs. If you don't know what you want, how will you ever find out if you don't try?"

This is the third person to lecture you about your life choices and philosophy in the span of two weeks. Anton, Jenna, and now Hunter. Clearly you were doing something wrong if more than one person has called you out on it.

"Alright, I want to—I want to get to know her," you finally manage to say. "I should probably text her, right?"

"She gave you her number?" Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod. "Yeah, last night. But it's only been 12 hours, I don't want to seem desperate."

"Oh my god, text her, you idiot!"

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pull out your phone, search for Jenna's name, but you couldn't find her number. You go to your recently added numbers and smile at the name she saved herself as: Your Favourite Viper. You send her a text.

"What'd you say?" Hunter asks leaning closer taking a look at your screen.

"Hey? You fucking just said 'hey'?" He looks at you incredulously. "I thought lesbians were supposed to move fast. At this rate you'll maybe get a hug in a couple years."

Before you can fire back, your phone lights up, showing an incoming call.

"Holy shit," you mutter, eyes darting to Hunter in panic.

"Answer it! Oh my god, see what she wants!" he whispers urgently, practically vibrating with excitement.

You stare as her name flashes across the screen with shaky hands. It was just another call. Just another girl. Why are you so nervous?

You take a breath and answer. "Hello?"

"Hey Greaser! You busy right now?"

Even though the phone isn't on speaker, Hunter's glued to your side, frantically shaking his head and mouthing, No! Say no! His exaggerated hand gestures make you laugh.

You laugh at how insane he looks. "No, I'm free. What's up?"

"Great. Meet me at Birch and 49th."

"Why? What's happeni—"

Before you could finish your sentence you're caught off by a beep, indicating the call ended. "Anddd she hung up," you sigh.

"I like her," Hunter grins. "She's got moxie."

"Where even is Birch and 49th?" you ask, frowning.

"Hold on, I got you." He pulls out his phone, tapping around for a moment. "That's weird. It's a shopping mall in Summer Valley."

"A mall?" you echo, confused. "Is she taking me shopping. What the fuck?"

The older guy laughs and shrugs. "No one told you to go after a girl from Summer Valley."

"I'm not going after anything."

"Sure you're not," he teases, smirking. "Yet, you're still heading to this mall. Sounds like you're going after her."

You flip him off with a grin as you walk away.

"Keep me posted, Greaser!" he calls out, teasing.

You shake your head, already feeling the nerves returning. If you're really going to meet Jenna, you need to pull it together.

You decide it's best to meet Jenna with some leverage—maybe some news on Percy.

You spot Anton deep in conversation with Madison, just like the day of the race against the Vipers.

"Yo, Ant! I'm heading out!" you call, interrupting them without a second thought. You weren't in the mood for formalities.

Both of them turn, startled by your sudden presence. There's something off about them—stressed, maybe? Anton looks angry, but whatever flash of frustration you thought you saw vanishes quickly. "Oh, hey. Where you headed?" he asks, casual but guarded.

"Just heading to the Valley to look for some parts," you lie smoothly, keeping your story close to the truth. No need to risk getting caught if someone actually sees you at the mall.

Anton nods, signaling the end of the conversation, but you're not done yet. You clear your throat. "Actually, speaking of Summer Valley, what's the deal with that Percy guy?"

Anton's brow furrows, and Madison gives you a curious look. "I saw him at the race," you explain with a shrug, trying to play it off casually. "He just gave off a bad vibe, like he was up to no good or something."

The tension between them is palpable, but neither of them dives into it. Anton brushes it off, saying, "He's just a dumbass."

At the same time, Madison leans in with, "What'd you see?"

You turn to Madison, sensing she might let something slip. "He was talking to someone. It looked... heated?"

"Georgie," she whispers under her breath, barely loud enough for you to catch. But you do.

Before you can ask more, Anton steps in, commanding the conversation, clearly trying to shift focus. "Look, Y/n, he's bad news. I don't know what those Vipers get up to in their little after-school club, but I don't want you getting involved, okay? Vipers are trouble. Stay clear of them."

"Yeah, don't worry," you reassure him, hiding the fact that you're about to meet up with one very soon.

Suddenly Hunter's words echo in your head again: If you don't know what you want, how will you ever find out if you don't try? He was right. And now, you figure the best way to shift the conversation is by dropping a bombshell of your own.

"I'll do the race," you say, throwing out the unexpected decision.

Anton's eyes widen in surprise, and you can tell that you've just given him the perfect distraction from Percy and the Vipers.

————

As you start your drive, you can't help but notice the streets are teeming with more drugged-up souls than usual. Young, old—it didn't seem to matter; the drug epidemic in Brimstone spared no one. A familiar ache settles in your chest as you watch people you once called neighbors and classmates wander aimlessly, trapped in their addiction. It was an all-too-common escape in this town—a place where ambition had no room to grow, where dreams were crushed before they even started. The further you get out of Brimstone, the fewer of them you see, like the weight of the city's decay is gradually lifting.

You pull into the bustling parking lot of the mall, the engine's rumble fading as you find a spot near the back. It's just past 6 p.m., and the place is alive with activity. Cars are circling for spaces, people weave in and out of stores, and teenagers being obnoxious. You check your phone—Birch and 49th, just like Jenna said.

Your eyes scan the area for any sign of her, but there's no sight of Jenna. You cut the engine, but the adrenaline from knowing you're about to see her again hums under your skin.

The evening air is cool as you step out, leaning against the side of your car, trying not to seem too anxious. You check your phone again—no new messages, no calls. Maybe you should text her and let her know you're here.

Before you can even unlock your phone, the sound of soft footsteps approaching catches your attention. Instinctively, you straighten up, your eyes tracing the sleek black loafers in front of you. Slowly, you lift your gaze, and there she is—Jenna. That same confident smirk that's been etched into your mind since the last time you saw her.

She's wearing a flowy brown skirt paired with a black cashmere sweater, looking almost... harmless?

"You done checking me out?" she teases.

Your eyes snap up to meet hers. Despite her bold words, you catch the faint blush colouring her cheeks, and you can't help but hope it's because of you, not the cool evening breeze.

"Yeah, I am," you shoot back with a smirk, holding her gaze confidently.

She rolls her eyes, but smiles whilst doing so. "Alright Casanova, come on," she starts walking away from you, and you follow with no hesitation.

"Wait we're actually going to the mall?" You ask confused, as she leads you both to one of the entrances.

"Yes? Why else would I call you here. Tonight, I'm taking you shopping."

You didn't actually think she called you to go shopping. You were only joking when you said that to Hunter. Yet here you are.

You blink at her, caught completely off guard. "Shopping?"

"Yeah," she laughs, walking into the mall. "Come on, you'll need to keep up."

You follow her lead, trying to figure out how shopping was part of her plan to one-up Percy. A race? Sure. A late-night coffee run? Maybe. But shopping? This was a curveball.

"You're taking me shopping?" you ask again, almost incredulous.

"Yeah," she repeats with a teasing look. "You need a better jacket. That one's not cutting it."

You glance down at your worn-out jacket. It's not exactly new, but it's comfortable. "What's wrong with my jacket?"

"Nothing," she shrugs, her eyes flicking over you, clearly enjoying this. "But I want to see you in something that fits my vibe. Something that makes you look like you're not from Brimstone."

Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you're unsure how to respond. The idea of her buying you something feels... strange. It wasn't like you needed new clothes—especially not from some fancy Summer Valley mall. Your jacket was fine, and if it wasn't, you'd handle it. But the fact that she wants to spend money on you? It makes your stomach twist. You couldn't help but wonder if she saw you as some kind of charity case—a girl from Brimstone who couldn't afford to keep up with her polished lifestyle.

You didn't want to be a project for her, someone she could mold to fit her world. The thought makes you feel a bit defensive, but you swallow it down, not wanting to ruin the moment. You glance at her again, her playful expression making it harder to argue. Maybe this wasn't a charity thing. Maybe she just liked you.

Still, it felt...weird.

You roll your eyes but can't help the smirk tugging at your lips. "So, what, you're my personal stylist now?"

She grins. "Maybe."

The two of you wander through the mall. The overhead lights cast a soft glow, reflecting off the shop windows as Jenna leads you into one of the higher-end clothing stores you'd probably never step foot in on your own.

She immediately heads toward the jacket section, flipping through racks like she's done this a million times. You hang back, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity. There's something weirdly endearing about how serious she is about this.

Jenna pulls out a black leather jacket, holding it up and inspecting it. "This," she says confidently, turning to you. "Try it on."

You raise an eyebrow but take the jacket from her. As soon as you slip it on, you feel the weight of the leather, the way it fits snugly across your shoulders. It's different—definitely edgier than anything you'd pick out for yourself. It resembled the Sinner's jacket only in that it's a black leather jacket, but something about it was entirely different—it was more you.

Jenna steps back, appraising you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. "Now that," she says, her voice a little lower, "is hot."

You glance at yourself in the mirror, feeling a little out of place but... liking it. You catch Jenna's eyes in the reflection, and for a second, the air between you feels charged, like there's something unsaid hanging between the two of you.

"Alright," you say, clearing your throat, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. "I guess it's not bad."

"Not bad?" she teases, stepping closer to you. "You look like a Viper that got dipped in ink."

"Is that your plan?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Turn me into one of you?"

"Maybe," she replies, her voice light but her eyes lingering on yours a moment too long. "One step at a time, Greaser."

You laugh, shaking your head, and take off the jacket. "Okay, your turn."

Jenna raises an eyebrow. "My turn?"

"Yeah," you say, grinning now. "If I'm trying on stuff for you, you're doing the same for me."

You have the money to spend, you just don't spend it on clothes, so one high-end purchase wasn't going to be the end of the world for you.

Jenna looks like she's about to protest, but then she shrugs, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Alright, let's see what you've got."

You head toward a rack of clothes, picking out something you think would suit her but also give her a taste of her own medicine—something just slightly outside her usual vibe.

You hand her a dark red bomber jacket. "Try this."

Jenna eyes the jacket before smirking at you. "I see what you're doing."

"Just trying to give you a taste of your own advice," you say, crossing your arms.

She rolls her eyes but takes the jacket anyway, slipping it on. And of course, she pulls it off effortlessly. The red complements her dark hair and pale skin perfectly, and for a moment, you're speechless.

"Well?" she asks, spinning around with a grin. "How do I look?"

"Like you could kick someone's ass and look good doing it," you say without missing a beat.

Jenna laughs, and it's the kind of genuine, carefree sound that makes your chest tighten a little. The two of you continue bantering, trying on ridiculous combinations of clothes, mixing high-end with completely impractical.

By the time you leave the store, both of you are laughing, arms full of shopping bags—most of which Jenna insisted on buying.

As you step back out into the quiet night and you drop off your bags in your respective cars, she turns to you, her playful smirk softening into something more genuine.

"That was fun," she says, nudging your shoulder.

You smile back, feeling lighter than you've felt in a while. "Yeah, I guess it was."

Jenna looks at you closely, searching your face, as if trying to read whether you're on the same page as her—whether you've enjoyed this evening as much as she has, and if you're not ready to call it a night just yet.

"Want to get ice cream?" she asks suddenly, her voice casual but her eyes giving her away. There's a hint of something more in the offer, like she hopes this isn't the end.

You can't help but smile at the unexpected suggestion.

"Why not?" you say with a grin. "This one's on me."

With that, the two of you run back into the mall, a sense of urgency and excitement as you try to beat the closing time. Laughter echoes between you as you race toward the ice cream shop, determined to grab your scoops.

————

"So how exactly does shopping fit into your plan?" you ask, taking a bite of your ice cream.

The two of you ended up sitting on the edge of the now quiet parking lot, legs dangling over the curb as you chatted. Finally, you decide to address the question that's been nagging at you all evening.

"Plan?" Jenna echoes, pausing mid-bite as she swallows her ice cream.

"Yeah, the whole thing with Percy—finding out his secrets?" you explain, slightly confused as to why you even need to clarify.

"Wait, so you're helping me?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah? Isn't that why you asked me out?" you reply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You didn't text me back saying yes. How was I supposed to know?"

You give her a look. "...Then why'd you invite me out?" you ask, still confused.

"Because I could," she says casually, like it's no big deal. "You said you weren't busy."

You blink at her, still trying to piece it together. "So, you just... invited me out for no reason?"

Jenna tilts her head, giving you a playful smile. "Do I need a reason?"

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The girl sitting next to you is a complete enigma. First, she ropes you into some covert mission to gather dirt on Percy, and now she's taking you shopping and out for ice cream like it's a casual hangout.

"Well... I guess not," you mumble, feeling a little off-balance.

Jenna takes another bite of her ice cream, her gaze drifting up to the fading evening sky. "Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you. Ever think of that?"

Your heart skips a beat at her words, but before you can react, she nudges you with her elbow, breaking the tension. "Plus, I figured if I was going to enlist your help with the whole 'Percy situation,' I might as well reap all the benefits."

You frown, puzzled. "Like what?"

She shrugs, smirking at you. "Like seeing you in that jacket. You look good, by the way."

You can't help but laugh at that, shaking your head. "So this was all an elaborate ploy to dress me up?"

Jenna grins. "Maybe."

You shake your head with a blush, a soft chuckle escaping you. "You'll see me in it again next week."

Jenna raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's happening next week?"

"I'm racing."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Wait, seriously? You've joined the Sinners now? And you're just casually dropping that on me?"

You wave your hand dismissively. "Not exactly. It's just an exhibition race. A week today at 7. Same place as where we met actually. I figured it's a good chance to see if it's for me, you know? No commitments yet."

Jenna nods thoughtfully, her expression shifting from shock to approval. "Well, it's about time you took the wheel—literally and figuratively." She smirks. "One step closer to sorting out all your issues, huh?"

"Mhmm, so you coming?"

Jenna looks taken aback by your serious tone. "How would that work? What would your crew think?"

With a sigh, you finally reveal, "They think you're my girlfriend."

She nearly chokes on her ice cream. "What?"

"They saw footage of us last night in the garage and, well... yeah. Thankfully, they didn't recognize you. I told them you're from Ridgewater."

"Ridgewater?" She scrunches her nose in disgust. "Ugh, even I can't stand those snobs."

"You're literally in the same tax bracket," you fire back, amused.

"We're way more tolerable," she insists, clearly offended. "But seriously, how could you let us get caught on camera? Don't you know there are cameras in your club's garage?"

"It's not my club. And yeah, I know, but no one ever checks them. I have no idea why Anton did that day."

Jenna sighs, the sound dripping with annoyance. The noise hits you hard, like a voice inside your head that reminds you that this doesn't mean anything, she hates being seen with you and all she cares about is risking your alliance. It stings, leaving you wondering if she's only hanging around because she needs something from you.

Wanting to shift the mood, you bring up what you overheard earlier. "Is there a Georgie in your club?"

Her eyes narrow with curiosity. "Yeah, there is. Why?"

You explain the interaction with Anton and Madison, how Madison had whispered Georgie's name when you mentioned seeing Percy having a heated conversation at the race. "I have a feeling he could help with your plan."

Jenna hums thoughtfully. "I'll get Emma to work on him," she says, already tapping away on her phone.

"Emma?" you ask.

"Yeah, she's a friend in the club. One of the few nice ones. Georgie's got a thing for her, so she'll probably be able to squeeze some info out of him."

You nod, piecing it together. That must've been the girl you saw her talking to at the race. Still, the earlier sting lingers in your chest. It bothers you more than you'd like to admit that Jenna might only see you as a means to an end.

The mood feels heavier now, so you stand up. "It's getting late. I should head back."

Jenna pauses, clearly wanting to say something more. A part of her seemed to regret driving herself here. If she hadn't, maybe this night could've stretched out longer, and you could've dropped her home like you did the previous night. But she nods, keeping her thoughts to herself. "Yeah. I guess you should."

————

The week flew by in a blur, and before you knew it, race day was here. Your first race.

You and Jenna had been texting off and on all week—mostly about the frustrating lack of progress with Percy, but there'd been some banter too, the kind that was just toeing the line between playful and flirty. At least, you hoped it was flirting.

Your nerves buzzed as you pulled up to the track, the sun starting to dip behind the skyline. The place was already alive with revving engines and the thick smell of burning rubber.

Unlike the Viper race a few weeks back, there wasn't any strict segregation going on. Sure, the Ridgewater crew—the Ravens—hung out on one side, and the Sinners were mostly on the other, but people were still mixing. Talking. No tension, no invisible lines drawn in the sand.

Stepping out of your car, the weight of the moment finally started to hit you. Anton and the crew were scattered around, but your mind kept drifting. You were thinking about the race, sure, but also about her. You hadn't seen Jenna since the mall, and even though she texted you "Good luck" this morning, the thought of her showing up was stuck in your head.

And yeah, you were buzzing to see if she'd actually come.

Hunter appeared at your side, breaking your thoughts with a friendly clap on the back. "Ready for this?" he asked, wearing that usual cocky grin of his.

You took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."

"Good," he said with a laugh. "Because everyone's waiting to see what you're made of." He gave you a little shove, then wandered off to catch up with the others.

With one more deep breath, you walked over to where Anton and the rest of the crew were hanging out. The adrenaline was kicking in, but so was that nagging thought in the back of your mind—Would Jenna show up?

"Sweet jacket Y/n, looks like you finally splurged on yourself huh?" Anton laughs, pulling you into a bear hug.

You grin, knowing full well the jacket wasn't your doing but Jenna's. The rest of the crew were hyping you up, throwing questions your way about the race—how you were feeling, if you were ready—typical racer small talk. You played along, but your mind kept drifting.

The group started to thin out as people dispersed, and your eyes wandered over to the pillars near the edge of the lot, the spot where you first met Jenna. It was hidden, quiet—your secret spot. Was she here?

You started walking toward it, curiosity pulling you closer. That's when you saw them—four Ravens, the Ridgewater crew in their signature blue, standing around in a tight circle, talking to someone you couldn't see clearly at first. But as you got closer, the fifth person came into view.

She did come after all.

Your heart skipped a beat, that giddy excitement rising up. But that feeling was quickly replaced by something else. Her expression wasn't one of excitement or amusement. No, she looked uncomfortable. You could see it in her stiff posture, the way she subtly shifted as the Ravens talked around her.

You step closer, the voices of the Ravens becoming clearer as you approach. One of them, a tall guy with bleach-blond hair, was leaning in a little too close to Jenna, his smirk all too familiar.

"Come on, sweetheart, why don't you ditch the pillars and hang with us tonight? We're a lot more fun," he drawls, eyeing her in a way that made your blood boil.

Jenna's eyes narrow, her body language practically screaming discomfort, though she keeps her cool. "Yeah, I'm not interested," she says flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Blondie chuckles, not getting the hint—or choosing to ignore it. "I don't see any affiliation on you," he retorts, motioning to her lack of a jacket. "You're no Raven, not a Sinner either. You're a free agent, sweetheart. Why stick around?"

That's when you decide you've heard enough.

Stepping into the circle, you make your presence known. "She's with me."

The guy looks at you with an unimpressed raise of his brow, but before he can say anything, you shrug off your jacket—the one Jenna had bought for you—and drape it over her shoulders. "She's mine," you say, locking eyes with him, daring him to push it further.

Jenna's cheeks flush a soft pink, her eyes darting to yours, clearly taken aback by your sudden boldness. She instinctively grips the jacket tighter around her, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the situation.

Blondie snorts, glancing at his buddies before looking back at you. "Alright, alright, no need to get possessive. We were just talking." He raises his hands defensively, but the look in his eyes says he's not completely backing down. Still, they start to shift away, slowly retreating as the tension fades.

Once they're out of earshot, you turn to Jenna, your expression softening. "You okay?"

She nods, her lips curving into a grin. "Nice save," she says, still clutching the jacket. "I didn't know you were the possessive type."

You chuckle, feeling the adrenaline from the confrontation fade. "Just making sure they knew the deal."

"Yeah, well, I could've handled it." She smiles, but there's a twinkle in her eye. "But...thanks for the jacket." Her blush deepens, and you can't help but feel a little victorious seeing her like that again.

"Anytime," you reply, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The race may be on your mind, but right now, it's her that's making your heart race.

You glance over your shoulder to check if anyone can see you, but Anton is deep in conversation with what looks like the leader of the Ravens, drawing all the attention his way. Typical Anton.

"I didn't think you'd show up," you admit, turning your gaze back to Jenna, noticing how your jacket swallows her frame, the sleeves hanging past her hands. Somehow, it looks perfect on her.

"How could I miss your first race?" she teases, her lips curling into a smirk. "You could walk out of this a full-fledged Sinner if you end up loving it."

That thought hadn't really crossed your mind before. What if you did enjoy racing? Were you really going to add "racer" to your list of titles? And if you hated it—what then? Would you leave Brimstone behind for good? Your mind starts spinning with all the possibilities, but you stop yourself before the spiral goes too deep. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

Jenna tilts her head thoughtfully. "You said this race had nothing on the line right? Just a friendly race?"

You nod, though a flicker of doubt lingers.

"Then yeah," she says, her voice firm. "I think it's fair for you to give it a shot. Figure out what you want." Her eyes meet yours, steady and reassuring. "Sometimes, you don't know until you try."

Her words calm the storm in your mind, and for the first time tonight, the weight of your choices feels a little lighter.

"I'm totally making fun of you if you lose though," she adds, giving you a playful wink.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Of course you will," you reply, trying to play it cool, though her teasing still makes your heart skip a beat.

She smirks, leaning back against the pillar with a casual confidence that somehow makes you feel even more jittery. "Just trying to keep you grounded, you know. Can't let you get a big head if you win."

"Like I need help with that," you shoot back with a grin.

For a moment, the banter eases your nerves. But then the reality of the race looming ahead creeps back in, and you glance over to where your car is parked, engines revving in the distance. The scene is alive with anticipation, and you can feel the electricity in the air, building up to something big.

"Seriously though," Jenna adds, her tone softening, "I think you'll do great. You've got the skill, the focus. Just don't overthink it, okay?"

Her words hit deeper than you expected, and you feel a warmth spreading through your chest. "Thanks," you murmur. "I'll try not to."

She gives you a small nod, her eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before flicking to the track behind you. "Go show them what you've got," she says, her voice soft but full of that undeniable spark.

You take one last look at her before stepping back, the jacket still draped around her, fitting like she was always meant to wear it.

She must've thought that look meant you wanted the jacket back, because she started to shrug it off.

"—no, keep it on," you quickly interrupt. "I can't have anyone else bothering you, especially when I won't be there to stop them."

————

Anton stood next to you outside the car, arms crossed, his usual smirk tempered by something more serious. The roar of engines filled the air around you, and the crowd was buzzing with energy as the race time drew near.

"You ready?" he asked, eyeing the car, then looking back at you with raised eyebrows.

"As I'll ever be," you replied, your fingers itching at your side. You tried to shake off the nerves, but it was easier said than done.

Anton clapped you on the shoulder, a rare look of pride on his face. "Remember, this isn't just about winning. You gotta feel it, the rush, the adrenaline. If you're not in the zone, it's game over."

You nodded, knowing he was right. Winning is not the end goal—it was the feeling, the test, to see if this whole world was something you were cut out for. You glanced around, spotting familiar faces from the crew and a few more you didn't recognize. The Sinners, the Ravens, and everyone else, all here to watch and see what you'd do.

"I know," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Just got to stay focused."

Anton gave you a once-over, then grinned. "You're already ahead of the game. You've got your crew, and your girl showed up to watch. Not a bad start, huh?"

You chuckled, though a part of you still didn't fully understand what you were doing here—or what you were trying to prove. But you couldn't deny the thrill of the moment.

"Speaking of which, how's she doing?" Anton asked, leaning in closer. "Saw you two getting cozy earlier."

"Don't start with that," you muttered, shaking your head.

He laughed, stepping back. "Just saying, keep your head in the game. Show them what you've got."

The loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing the final call for drivers to get to the line. Anton gave you one last pat on the back. "Oh—and Y/n? Step on it. Don't stay in your limit."

You watched him walk off with those final words. It was time.

As you slipped into the driver's seat, adjusting your gloves and gripping the wheel, you glanced out the window toward the starting line. The pit of nerves in your stomach twisted a bit tighter when you spotted the racer pulling up next to you. Of course, it had to be him—the blondie from earlier, the one who had been hitting on Jenna.

He threw you a cocky smirk as he revved his engine, clearly more than ready to leave you in the dust. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the sight of him. Typical. He looked the part—flawless car, arrogant attitude, and an ego that seemed to fill the entire track.

Here he was, thinking he'd outshine you, thinking he had this in the bag. The thought sent a new wave of adrenaline through your veins, change of plans—winning is the end goal. It was personal now.

Settling into the driver's seat, you gripped the wheel tightly. Anton's last words echoed in your mind: "Step on it. Don't stay in your limit." But the speed he wants? You'd never gone that fast, and you weren't sure you wanted to.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you glanced at the blond in the car next to you. He was smirking like he already had this in the bag. It The memory of him hitting on Jenna made your grip tighten even more. Then your eyes shifted to where Jenna stood, wrapped in your jacket. She met your gaze for a second, and you had to look away. God, what was I thinking? You cringed internally, remembering how you had jumped in like some hero and blurted out, "she's mine." What were you doing? This wasn't you.

The signal blared. Instinct took over, and you slammed your foot on the gas. The car roared to life beneath you, and you shot forward. The world around you blurred as the race began, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Blondie took the early lead, just as you expected. He was gunning it, probably trying to hit that 200 mark like Anton said.

You weren't even close. And you still weren't half way into the race. The speedometer was climbing fast, but the memory of your father's crash came rushing back. 200km/h—that was the speed he'd hit before everything went wrong. Your heart raced faster at the thought. No way am I hitting that. I can't. But you didn't need to. You weren't trying to match raw speed; you had something better—control, technique, and years of dodging the cops under your belt.

The first stretch was relatively straightforward, and you stayed just behind Blondie, pacing yourself. He was fast, sure, but he was reckless. You could see it in the way he took the turns, wide and messy, eating up his speed. You kept to the inside, handling each corner with precision, hugging the pavement like you were born to do this. Blondie kept glancing in his rearview, probably wondering why you weren't trying harder to catch him. He didn't get it. He didn't know you didn't need to reach that ridiculous speed to win.

The track began to curve—the finish line in sight, and you knew this was your moment. There was a sharp turn ahead, one that Blondie was approaching too aggressively. You could already see it. He wasn't going to slow down enough, and when he hit the curve, he'd either lose control or slide wide, giving you the opening you needed.

Now, you thought, pulling back just slightly as you hit the turn. You feathered the brakes, hugging the inside of the corner while Blondie flew into it way too fast. Just as you expected, his car swerved wide, giving you the perfect opportunity. You floored it, slingshotting around him with precision. He was still fighting to regain control when you shot past him.

Your heart raced, the finish line right there for the taking. The engine growled beneath you as you pushed forward, ignoring the urge to check the speedometer. It didn't matter now. You were in control, and that was all that counted. The crowd blurred into the background as the finish line rushed toward you.

You crossed first.

The roar of the crowd engulfed you like a tidal wave. Cheers erupted from every corner, your name ringing in your ears like a victory anthem. "Y/N! Y/N!" they chanted, and the excitement surged through you, igniting every nerve ending. You felt invincible, a high unlike anything you had ever experienced. The adrenaline coursed through your veins.

In that moment, you understood why people chased this feeling. It was intoxicating, addictive even, and a part of you hated that you were reveling in it. The thrill of victory mingled with the elation of having just pushed your limits. But then your eyes found her in the crowd—Jenna. She stood there, a radiant smile lighting up her face, and all at once, the adrenaline surged anew.

It was a reckless desire that ignited within you, overwhelming and raw. You wanted to kiss her, right there in front of everyone, to pull her close and celebrate your victory together. The image flickered in your mind, vivid and enticing, and suddenly, all you could think about was her. You remembered reading an article once about bank robbers who, after cracking the vault, had sex right in front of the safe due to the adrenaline. A story you once thought stupid, in that moment, it made sense. The adrenaline, the thrill of accomplishing something audacious, the heat of the moment—it was all a cocktail of desire that was too intoxicating to resist.

But as your heart raced for both the victory and for her, a small part of your mind pushed back. You couldn't deny it any longer; you wanted Jenna. You wanted her bad. And you didn't care if the crew found out who she was or if they learned she wasn't from Ridgewater. You didn't care if your alliance crumbled under the weight of it all. But as quickly as the thought ignited, a flicker of caution settled in. I can't jeopardize it for her, she's in trouble.

The cheer of the crowd faded momentarily as you wrestled with your feelings. Was this thrill rooted in the race itself, or was it because she was watching you? The two sensations intertwined, leaving you breathless. You wanted to close that distance between you—you at the finish line her at the pillars.

You leaned against your car, grinning widely as you took in the moment, the reality of what you'd just accomplished. The rush of adrenaline, the celebration of the crowd, and the promise of what was to come. With Jenna smiling back at you, you knew you were fucked. You thought with this race now over some of your questions would be answered, but now you are left with more.

————

The celebration continued long into the night, the energy of victory electrifying the air around you. The next hour unfolded in a blur of races, laughter, and clinking beer bottles. Your heart was still racing from the earlier adrenaline, but now it was fueled by the heady mix of joy and the shared exhilaration of the crowd.

As you mingled and celebrated, your eyes continuously searched for Jenna, hoping to catch a glimpse of her amidst the people. But luck was not on your side; you couldn't spot her anywhere. It was only once everyone started leaving, and you were getting ready to leave, did you spot the girl.

"Mind giving me a ride home?" she asked, knowing you won't say no.

And so there you both were, on the highway to Summer Valley. "I knew you would win," she broke the silence. "How did you like it?"

"It was...nice." you answer, eyes straight on the road. After finally admitting to yourself your growing attraction to Jenna, you found it hard to look her way; the adrenaline was still coursing through you, making your thoughts a tangled mess.

"Nice? All you're going to give me is nice?" she fires back with sass.

You laugh, "I'm just confused. I don't know if I enjoyed racing, or the attention that came from winning."

The attention that came from you.

Jenna tilted her head, studying you with a curious expression. "Come on, don't play coy with me. You know you loved it. That rush, the speed, the crowd cheering your name—it's addictive. You can't deny that."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you kept your eyes on the road. "Yeah, I guess it is. But it's more than just that. It's everything that came with it. The energy, the victory...and yo—." You cut yourself off before you regret your words.

Her brow furrowed slightly, "And what?"

You bit your lip, debating whether to dive into your feelings now or keep it light. But decided to can the idea as a whole. "Nothing, anyways was your friend able to make Georgie or whatever spill?" You ask trying to change the subject.

Jenna seemed upset about the change in topic, but didn't press it any further. "Actually yeah. He didn't give much context, but Percy's meeting someone tomorrow, and we are going to spy on that meeting," she smiles proudly.

"Sounds like a plan. Do we know anything about who he's meeting or what it's for?"

"Georgie just said something about Ghost Smoke. I don't know what that is—a new racing crew maybe? That name mean anything to you?"

"Ghost Smoke?" You parrot, making sure you heard her right. She nods her head.

From what you knew, Ghost Smoke was the latest drug that was being pushed out onto the streets. The one that's been causing the latest drug epidemic in Brimstone. If what you're thinking is true—then Percy is not someone that should be fucked with. You consider telling the girl in your passenger seat about what you know, but decide to keep quiet. Not tonight.

Before you knew it, you found yourself on the brown-eyed girl's street. You instinctively slowed down, stopping about twelve houses away—probably out of habit—but she didn't seem to mind. As she turned to you, her intense gaze pierced through the dim light, leaving you wondering what she was thinking. Was she going to lean in for another kiss on the cheek? Just as that thought flickered in your mind, it was swept away by the sound of her opening the car door.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Greaser," she said, her voice playful yet filled with a hint of mystery, before walking down the road, still wrapped in your jacket.

You remained parked in the shadows of the dimly lit street, your thoughts racing as wildly as your heart had during the race. That uneasy feeling nagged at you, refusing to fade. You had thought Jenna was the answer to your questions, a beacon guiding you through the chaos, but she also seemed to be the source of many new ones. Just what was this girl pulling you into, and why couldn't you bring yourself to walk away?

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lurkingshan · 4 months ago

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The Miracle of Teddy Bear Saved the Gays

Last weekend, both @twig-tea and I had time off and were in the mood to binge something, so Twig suggested we finally watch The Miracle of Teddy Bear. Both of us had missed it while it was airing live (because it didn’t have international distribution) and had been given the impression by others that it had a sad ending that included some anti-queer messages. It was also very long, so we were not exactly rushing to get to it. But we are stubborn and like to judge things for ourselves, so we decided since we had the time and the show was now available, we should jump in. And imagine our surprise when we found out everything we had been told about it was wrong (we have our theories about why). This is one of the best queer dramas we have ever seen, with phenomenal acting, writing, and direction, and we have so much to say about it. The post that follows is co-written by the two of us. Strap in, folks, because it’s a long one.

If you haven’t seen this show yet and don’t want any spoilers, stop reading this right now and head over to YouTube, where international fans can now watch it for free with English subtitles. We’re going to go deep on the show below, and because this drama is designed to slowly reveal information in a very deliberate way, nearly everything counts as a spoiler. We’ll try not to give too much away in the early sections, but be warned!

The Story

The Miracle of Teddy Bear is the tale of a deeply traumatized gay man in desperate need of healing, and the teddy bear who comes to life to help him. In the process of taking care of his person, our bear uncovers deep family trauma and many secrets and lies, accidentally solves crimes, makes lots of friends, heals a family, and saves several lives. He is a very good bear, and through this adventure he contemplates his own existence, learns how to be human, and discovers what it means to truly love someone.

This is primarily a family drama with important things to say about queer truth, and while it includes several bl storylines, it is not a romance. Intertwined with the family drama is a bl show within the show and a series of interrelated mysteries that slowly get unraveled as the story goes on. One of the things this show does best is parcel out information from various perspectives at the perfect time to keep the viewer one step behind—we found ourselves constantly almost guessing what the show was going to do next, but it always chose a direction a little to the left and surprised us in the best way.

In the end, every question we asked was answered, and every time we thought a character’s motivation felt a little too shallow, we were given more. The experience of watching this show was deeply satisfying and really made us feel seen. This show gets us.

The Characters

The Bear: Tofu

Tofu is the titular teddy bear who comes to life via drama magic and does his best to support his person. He starts the series incredibly innocent, and the show and his actor, Inn Sarin, do an incredible job of depicting the change in him as he lives life as a human, becoming more complex and less naive. Tofu is the heart of the show, and it is his love and kindness that enable the growth of the other characters in this story.

The Core Family: Nut, Na, and Kuenchai

Nut is our protagonist, and his struggles with life as a gay man are the soul of this story. He lives with his mom, Na, and their dog, Kuenchai, and Tofu is his beloved teddy bear. Yes, Nut is a cranky ass grown man with a beloved teddy bear. It will make sense eventually, we promise. Nut is a bl novelist working through old trauma via adapting his work for the screen. Na is a woman who has been Going Through It, and while we start the story with only the vague sense that something is not quite right with her, we spend a lot of time on her history as well as her growth in the present until we get the full picture. The way Nut and Na’s stories are tied together gets to several of the core themes of this show (discussed more below).

The Sides: Gen, Song, Prib, and the nosy neighbors

Our cast of friends and allies who support Nut and Tofu and have romantic trials and tribulations of their own. Without giving too much away, we’ll just say this: all of these characters have satisfying arcs, and some of them may have caused us to squeal in delight.

Specters of the Past: Neung and Tarn

Telling you literally anything about them is a major spoiler so just know they are here and they are important and you will fully understand why and how by the end. Oh yeah, and Neung looks exactly like Tofu (or should we say Tofu looks like Neung?) for Reasons (which are explained! We love this show).

Villains: Saen, Sib, Jan, and Parit

Expect these four to show up often and cause a lot of trouble. Their motives and exact crimes are revealed over the course of the show.

Other Elders: Anik, Juea, Kanya and Sittha

They are mostly here to serve a few key plot functions and represent a spectrum of parental figures (related by blood and not) and acceptance of queerness.

And we cannot forget: The inanimate objects

In this show, inanimate objects can come to life under a certain set of magical conditions, and they are Tofu’s friends and helpers along the way. Some of their stories are shockingly touching! They also add some needed levity to the show, especially the grumpy ones. Special shoutout to the cactus and the spare blanket, our crime solving MVPs. We have to admit, the animation for these took a bit of getting used to, but within a couple of episodes we were cheering these creepy blinking eyes on.

The Themes

And here is where we start to get into spoiler territory about specific character arcs. This show had so many clear and well-articulated themes, and they stayed consistent throughout the story.

Queer people can be happy

This is stated explicitly as well as demonstrated through multiple storylines: gay men can love each other, have good relationships and fulfilling sex lives, and get their happy endings. Those who argue that people should fight against their queerness because it will make their lives harder and keep them from happiness are not just wrong, they have it backwards.

Queer people can only be happy by living their truth

This is perhaps the main thesis of this show, and it comes across in so many ways over the arc of the story. We see this theme exemplified in particular through Nut, Tarn, Song, and Gen, with each of them representing different versions of the queer experience that shape who they are and how they show up in the world. Even before the story tells you, it’s clear what kind of experiences each has had from his relationship to his own queerness and his general demeanor and outlook on life. Nut has survived an abusive homophobic father, and that shows up in his anger, his self-protective rejection of others, and his struggle with emotional regulation. Gen has been raised by loving and accepting parents who support his choices in all ways, and this shows in his good humor, balanced perspective, and confidence to be himself. When we say good media should show, don’t tell us its point, this is a fantastic example of what that means.

Accept and love your queer children or pay the price

Relatedly, this story is very interested in the consequences for parents who fail their queer children, and explores a whole spectrum of acceptance from enthusiastic support to negligent ambivalence to misguided suppression to violent bigotry. We see so many different parents and parental figures react to learning about their gay sons and gain insight into them by how they respond—and only the ones who manage to get it together to love and support their kids get to keep their families. Critically, the adults who fail their queer children are convinced they’re acting in their best interests at the time, and we are along for the ride as the redeemable ones go through the stages of first admitting they were wrong but still thinking their intentions justify the pain they caused to fully acknowledging the damage they have done and making amends.

Be patient with others, you never know what they’ve been through

That said, the show also invites us to stop and consider what might be behind aberrant behavior before judging it. Tofu is unfailingly patient with others, and even with the worst people in this story, he always seeks to understand why they are behaving a certain way before giving up on them. The show slowly and methodically reveals information that recontextualizes things we thought we understood and encourages us to keep digging for empathy and missing context. People in this story behave very badly and make a lot of mistakes, but a lot of it becomes more understandable once you have the full picture.

Unprocessed trauma will prevent you from healing and cause you to perpetuate harm on others

Speaking of bad behavior, so much of what’s wrong in this story is driven by unprocessed trauma of one sort or another. Nut’s anger is at its core a deep hurt from being betrayed by the person he trusted most to be on his side. Na’s refusal to live in reality causes her to continue to hurt herself and her son. Saen’s denial about his own actions leads to far-reaching consequences he could not imagine. And the healing process depicted in the show is not linear; people who have made mistakes in the series make them more than once and advance and regress as the situation around them changes.

People are responsible for their own actions and inactions

And while the show is clear that trauma is the source of the bad behavior of these characters, it is also clear that this is not an excuse. Everyone in this story is held to account for the things they do, as well as the things they don’t, no matter how understandable their reasons are. The people who refuse to heal face serious consequences in addition to seeing the damage their unprocessed trauma causes others.

Noble idiocy leads to everyone being unhappy

One of the biggest sources of said unprocessed trauma in this story is characters making self-sacrificial choices for the ostensible benefit of others and bringing misery to everyone in the process. We love a drama that recognizes noble idiocy for the selfish and destructive act it truly is and clearly says you have to communicate with your loved ones if you don’t want to make a mess of everyone’s lives.

You can’t appease an abuser

No amount of hiding who you are or making yourself small will convince an abuser to treat you better or guarantee your safety. This theme is most obvious in the main storyline between Nut, Sib, and Na, but Jan is another example of a manipulative and emotionally abusive character who other characters continually try to play nice with, to no avail. She takes every opportunity to be cruel, whether the person she’s talking to is kind or combative in return. The show reinforces that abusers will always find an excuse to justify their behavior; changing yourself for them is pointless.

Love is wanting the best for someone, even if that means letting go

This is really the show’s core point where romance is concerned: being with you may not actually be what is best for the person you love, and if your love is true you have to accept that. The people who could not see this—Saen and Jan—were the ones who continued to cause harm to their loved ones and themselves, while the characters who honestly worked towards the happiness of their beloveds even if that happiness was not with themselves—Tofu, Tarn, and eventually Prib—were rewarded by seeing that happiness play out and ended our story truly content. The MVP of this theme is Tofu, whose pure teddy bear love for his person became more complicated and selfish as he became more human. But in the end, he held to the truth at his core that Nut’s happiness was his happiness.

You can have more than one great love, and one doesn't tarnish the others

Which brings us to one of the most beautiful takeaways from this show, and something that dramas so rarely do well. Nut loves two different men, neither more than the other, and he never chooses between them. They both hold important meaning in his life and he honors that whether they are with him or not. When Nut is with Tofu, he remembers his past love with fondness but he is clear that these memories do not make his love for Tofu any less real. A lesser show would have had those moments where Nut was thinking about his past cause him to distance himself from Tofu. But in this show, Nut sharing his past and working through his lack of closure was when he and Tofu had some of their closest and happiest moments together. This show is extremely clear that we can have happiness with more than one person over the course of our lives, and it is not only okay but encouraged!

The Resolution

From here, we will be talking about the ending, and so by necessity will no longer be avoiding major spoilers. If you’re intrigued by the above and want to avoid being spoiled fully, stop now! One of the things that is so brilliant about this show is the way information is slowly revealed, so if you think you would like this show we recommend experiencing it for yourself. If you’re still not convinced and need to know the ending before you decide, read on.

In our view, this story ends exactly as the show signals it will from the very beginning—and the way it should—and the ending is unambiguously a happy one. Tofu realizes that he and Tarn’s life forces are tied together, that it was Tarn going into his coma that caused him to awaken, and that as long as he continues to live as a human, Tarn will not recover. We and the characters have come to love Tofu in his guise as a human, but the truth is he does not belong there—he is a teddy bear, and for him to stay by robbing an actual human being of their life would be wrong. The story took pains throughout to show us how tenuous and restricted Tofu’s existence is, because he is not a real person and thus can’t live a full life (for example, he can’t get a job or safely leave the house because he doesn’t have documentation or any life experience). We also see Tofu struggle so much with the added complexities of the human experience that he becomes ill with overwhelm multiple times. He repeats to us through the whole story that all he really wants is to be a comfort to Nut. While he finds value and joy in being human, it does not change who he is at his core. And so he allows himself to be poisoned by Jan, sacrificing his human existence to bring Tarn back and exposing Jan and Saen’s crimes in the process.

With this decision, the other characters get the chance to mourn him and move on. Nut grieves, finally makes the connection between human and teddy bear Tofu, goes to therapy (!), makes peace with his mother, and writes his love story with Tofu as his next show. Tarn wakes up and begins his recovery, and he and Nut slowly reconnect and rekindle their relationship over time. Na finds joy in her lucid moments and enjoys time with her family, finally free of the hell Saen and Sib unleashed on her life. Gen and Song get their happy ending with acceptance from Song’s dad, and Prib’s fixation on gay men becomes clear when her new female love interest enters the scene (let’s go, lesbians!). We get confirmation that the nosy neighbors are, in fact, an elder gay couple. Even Kuenchai and some of the inanimate objects have character arcs! Kuenchai is instrumental in making sure Nut is reunited with bear Tofu, and we get to see a slipper gain some independence from her other half and a grumpy bolster cuddle in to comfort her people when they need it.

We end our story with several happy families who love their gay children and a call for marriage equality via Nut and Tarn deciding to marry whether it’s legal or not. Tofu is a bear again but his human life is very much not forgotten—Nut speaks to him every day, honors the love they shared, and talks about him openly with Tarn. And we even hear from Tofu again, see a final moment between him and Nut in a beautiful dream, and are reassured that Tofu is happy to still be with Nut in his original form and to see him living so well. It’s everything he wanted, and he made it happen. He truly is the very best bear.

The Purpose

We wanted to take some space to get a little extra meta and talk about why this show matters so much in the broader queer media landscape. First, it was a landmark queer television event in Thailand—please read this post by @flowerbeasblog to get the background on its significance in the cultural landscape. This show was broadcast very intentionally to educate and send a message to a broader audience in Thailand than is typically reached via bl dramas. And that’s why understanding and taking its themes seriously is so very important.

This is a story that is deeply rooted in queer truth, written by a queer man who wants people like him to be seen and understood. The show puts forward an unapologetically pro-gay message on broadcast television (on a major national network! during primetime! that does not shy away from the sexual component of queer love!) and embeds important political commentary in a fantastic and engaging story in a format familiar and comfortable for the Thai audience. It’s not meant to be received as a romance, and its nuanced and mature take on love and relationships is certainly not designed for ship wars. The writer even turns directly to the camera and underlines this in the final episode: while he respects the importance of bl in the media landscape, he has a bigger agenda in mind for this show and important things to say.

And that’s why some of the discourse around this show is so frustrating. A small portion of international fans who watched this show live seemed to misunderstand it deeply and created such a false impression of it that it caused others to stay away. Contrary to some of the takes out there, this show does not have a sad ending, Tofu’s resolution is not remotely anti-queer, and there is no woman who ends up with Nut (we are so confused that this was anyone’s interpretation; Nut at every age and several times within the show explicitly shouts about how very extremely gay he is). To see this story as a tragedy because Tofu “dies”—which he doesn’t; his human body disappears but he returns to being a conscious and content teddy bear—is to misunderstand Tofu’s character journey, his narrative purpose, and his agency. We can only assume that shipping got in the way of comprehension here, and people who wanted to see human Tofu and Nut end up together focused on that to the exclusion of pretty much everything this show was saying and doing.

At the end of this story, Tofu is happy. To think that Nut was better off with Tofu than with Tarn is to not allow for the complexities of human experience; Nut did love Tofu, but he loved Tarn, too, and their relationship was a positive force in his life both before and after Tofu entered it. And Tarn was an actual gay human man in a coma who could not wake up while Tofu existed. Tofu was the creation of Tarn’s love for Nut; his existence was limited, and he found being a human extremely difficult. All Tofu wanted was to be Nut’s teddy bear and stay with Nut forever. He wanted Nut to be happy, because Tarn wanted Nut to be happy, and during his time as a human he worked to enable that happiness. He was instrumental in moving forward several stuck characters and uncovering many secrets, all of which were necessary for Nut to get to where he ends up at the end of the show. Being in a relationship with Nut was a bonus. He enjoyed the experience of being in love with Nut, but in the end he chose to sacrifice his human life so that Nut could have a permanent, lasting happiness with someone who was real. Tofu’s human death is not an example of the bury your gays trope; in fact, it is a total rebuke of it. Tofu, and this show, saved the gay men in this story and gave them full and happy lives. We cannot recommend watching and supporting this show enough.

#the miracle of teddy bear #thai drama #thai bl #long post #intergenerational trauma challenge

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novantinuum · 6 months ago

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Pink Onyx AU- An Analysis and Theory Post, Part 1

[Part 1- You are here!] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5]

Howdy! Those of you who have followed me for a while have probably been seeing my reblogs of the @pink-onyx-au comic made by @ceephorsshitshow. Well, today I wanna share with you something a little different than my usual SU meta… because today I’m gonna analyze this really cool fan work with the same level of seriousness as I do canon. (Like. Seriously. This first post alone is really, really long. I put most of it under a cut.)

This particular comic is a very special one for me to watch unfold, because it’s evident that a lot of deep care and attention to detail has been poured into its creation. There’s fascinating bits of expanded character development to chew into here, as well as plenty of mysteries and lingering questions for us readers to muse and theorize over. If you follow me for Steven Universe and haven’t read this AU yet I highly recommend you check it out. The most basic pitch is that it explores what a fusion between Steven and Jasper might look like, and does a LOT of deep-diving into the similarities and differences of both of those characters’ psyches.

Here’s the episode masterpost on tumblr.

And you can find it on Tapas, too!

(Note: For the purposes of these posts, I was given permission by the comic artist to post screenshots of various pages where relevant in this discussion. For each frame used I will list the episode and page number for easy reference. Additionally, this post and all future ones on the topic will contain full spoilers for the comic thus far.)

Now with all that introductory stuff out of the way, here we go!

So, on the final page of the most recent update, we get one hell of a visual plot bomb for Steven as ol’ Onyx unfuses:

(Episode 9: Page 22)

He’s now visually expressing remnants of his corruption, where before he was not.

And it’s this mysterious plot point in particular that got me wanting to analyze this comic more deeply in the first place. This is completely new for him in this story. Thus far, he’s never expressed any of these remnants when he’s just himself- not in the way Jasper does. So it made me wonder… how might this shift in his appearance play into the ultimate trajectory of the plot? How does Steven suddenly showcasing corruption scars integrate into the larger story that is being spun here about him and Jasper and how they relate to each other?

Well, there’s a lot of comic details and story lore we need to unpack first before I can take my best theorizer’s stab at this. Let’s dig right in.

Prelude: The analyst’s treasure is in the speech bubbles

Anyone who’s been a fan of this comic for a while has probably noticed these fun visual details already, but I’m going to take a moment to break down what I believe each speech bubble style signifies for folks who may not have context. It’ll make some of my analysis later a bit easier, too, ahah.

So. Speech bubbles. What kinds do we have here?

(Episode 1: Page 6)

Style number one: Solid with black text

This style is standard for non-fused characters, and is also utilized when a fused character is speaking whilst in a state of internal harmony.

Steven is pink and Jasper is orange, of course. Onyx’s speech bubbles are a distinct darker pink, and the main three Crystal Gems get their own colors as well. More minor characters get white bubbles.

(Episode 1: Page 10)

Style number two: Scribbly pink lettering overlaying black text

Whenever you see this type of speech bubble, it’s a sign that there is some level of internal discord going on within Steven or Onyx that is related to their diamond side. It usually shows up when one of the two is in pink mode, but from what I can tell this is not a solid rule.

(Episode 2: Page 12)

Style number three: Pink/orange mixed bubbles

This is how we see Onyx talking for a good portion of the early comic. Their speech bubbles are a clean mix of Steven’s pink and Jasper’s orange. And most vitally, the color on the top and the tail signifies which of them is “fronting” at that moment.

(Episode 3: Page 11)

Style number four: White bubble with solid pink text

So far, this style has only been used to represent dialogue that is being spoken by Steven’s gem half exclusively. Which makes things very interesting, as in Steven’s own remembrances of shattering Jasper on the very first page of the comic, the line “I have been holding back!” is shown in this specific style, instead of the scribbly pink lettering that signifies internal discord.

There is one additional sub-style here- and this is the one moment where we get Onyx’s mixed bubble but WITH the solid pink text.

(Episode 3: Page 11)

I believe these two styles pretty much mean the same thing… only, the white/pink text is either viewed within memory or a metaphoric fusion mindscape where we the viewer are actually “seeing” Steven’s instability, and thus can “see” his gem half as a separate entity there. While, in reality, this is an argument Onyx is having with the disparate pieces of themself.

(Episode 4: Page 9)

Style number five: Pink/orange tye-dye mixed bubbles

When you see that darker shade of pink start dappling into the standard mixed bubbles, this indicates that there are small whispers of Onyx’s true personality beginning to surface, instead of them constantly being wrested back and forth between Steven and Jasper’s conscious control.

(Episode 4: Page 16)

Style number six: Pink/orange mixed bubbles, but with a darker pink tail

From this page onwards, Onyx’s speech bubbles always have their darker pink shading the tail no matter who is fronting. Sometimes there are little lines of another color etched out of it, and sometimes the tail is solid dark pink. I like to believe that when it’s solid, it means that Onyx is just a little closer to reaching a fully harmonious state than when it’s not.

(Episode 9: Page 6)

Style number seven: Onyx speech/thought bubbles with a hint of pink/orange underlying

This style seems to signify moments where it’s still Onyx fully in control of themself and their actions/words/thoughts, but they’re taking subtle influence from their components or accessing their memory a bit.

These are all of the distinct styles I have caught so far, but quite honestly, it would not surprise me if I am missing something. All of this to say… pay close attention to the speech bubbles. They can tell you a lot about Onyx’s state of mind throughout the story.

Now with all this established, I’d like to finish off this first post with my first big discussion point.

Question One: What does Jasper actually know about Steven’s “meltdown,” if anything?

The AU author recently solidified this comic’s placement in the SUF timeline in an ask response, saying that the first episode takes place just a week after Steven’s corruption event.

I’m glad this point was clarified, because it was super vital information which deeply influenced the way I analyzed Steven’s actions and responses in my recent re-read… it means this experience is still super raw for him. This is VERY important and we’ll get back to this in more depth later in future posts. But first, let’s explore what Jasper knows of this event.

The full extent of her knowledge is unclear-

(Episode 1: Page 6)

In Episode 1, Steven briefly alludes to his corruption as seen above… referring to it as “[his] meltdown.” Notably, Jasper does not seem to ask any questions about this stray comment. This COULD suggest that she knows what happened to him a week prior via hearsay, but given the context of the rest of the scene and the fact that she’s as isolated as she is out here I genuinely wonder if she thinks Steven’s so-described “meltdown” is his shattering of her.

This idea would make a good deal of sense, as she doesn’t start to make any commentary on the topic of corruption at all until they’re actually fused- with Steven bringing it up first.

(Episode 2: Page 14)

On this page, Steven takes note of Onyx’s very visible spikes (which are Overtly in the same placement as his own when he was corrupted), and initiates the musing upon his own corruption himself.

With the way Jasper phrases her response, the vibe I get is that she somehow gleans a bit of ambient shared knowledge about what happened to him through their fusion.

(Episode 2: Page 15)

“That human form you wear must have been hiding your markings.” This quote is SUPER vital. We’ll come back to this later on in this post series, too.

(Episode 2: Page 15)

It’s clear that Jasper doesn’t REALLY understand what he went through or what caused it, since she then outright mistakes the casual woes and body pains of organic life as corruption. (As seen above.)

(Episode 8: Page 4)

But later on, she outright relates to him over their shared experience of past corruption, so she must at least know enough from mere ambient thought-sharing by this point to recognize it happened.

It’s obvious that she’s barely scratched the surface on fully understanding her fusion partner, though. Neither of them have. It’s gonna take a lot of fusion, comedic mishaps, and genuine conversation to get there. All in good time, I’m sure.

Please do join me tomorrow at 7am PST for the next post in this series! This has been a blast to write up and muse upon.

#su #su future #steven universe #jasper #pink onyx #su meta #pink onyx au #my post stuff

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hsr-texts · 1 year ago

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find your cinderella

꒰‧₊˚✩彡‧꒱ ┊ ━━━━ prologue

꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ streamer!reader x mystery hsr character ꒱

꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ otome event ꒱

꒰ ☰ WORD COUNT ┊1.4k ꒱

꒰ ☰ DESCRIPTION ┊ ━━ When you do an unboxing livestream for your subsribers, you find an invite to an exclusive event called the "Find Your Cinderella" masquerade gala where you are guaranteed to find your supposed true love, as a rather enthusiastic manager told you. ꒱

꒰ ☰ NOTES ┊HIII omg you guys THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT!! Getting 1k followers is so crazy for me because I've never had a blog be received with this much love and support before so I've decided to make an extra special otome game style fanfic! ꒱

“Guys, look! The package just came in!”

You rushed into your studio, holding a sizable metal box. Inscribed on the sides was a logo of two masks, resembling a certain Aeon. Placing it down on the floor, you gave a sigh of relief. “Aeons, that was heavy!”

Your eyes glanced at the live chat and saw all the messages, curious about the package.

“Seems like you guys are more excited than I am,” You couldn’t help a small chuckle leaving your lips. “It took me quite a lot to get a hold of this limited edition package from LumiPro. Like, do you guys know how much it cost?”

A few comments popped up trying to guess the price.

You shook your head. “100,000 credits.”

The chat then flooded with shocked emotes and comments. It was more than a fair reaction. You found yourself silently thanking the stars that your current occupation as a streamer granted you a steady income. Otherwise, you probably would’ve had to eat the same type of cup noodles for months.

“Anyway!” You clasped your hands together. “Let’s open it up already! I’m dying to see what’s inside. What could possibly warrant such a steep price?”

Your index finger pressed on the button at the top and heard a voice.

“Vocal identification. Please state your name.”

You uttered your name. It was a good thing you added an auto-censor to your setup so that any sensitive information that could get you doxxed would be redacted in the stream. You didn’t want stalkers showing up at your home after all.

“Permission granted.”

Faint clicks of metal against metal could be heard as the mechanisms worked to unlock the box. A hissing noise came from it as the lid opened. You watched, feeling anticipation and eagerness bubble within your chest.

A hologram was projected from the box, showing a person wearing professional attire. They smiled.

“Thank you for purchasing from Luminous Productions. We’ve curated a package that we believe would be of most use to you. For further questions, you may contact support on our site. We hope you enjoy it to the fullest.”

You took a peek and gasped at the sight. “Guys, oh my god, they just gave me a new PC!”

They must’ve done their research because you did mention in your stream a month ago that you were looking for a better PC.

The chat seemed to be as excited as you were, knowing this meant you’d be able to go back to your regular streaming schedule.

You could tell this was a real high end PC after seeing the graphics card and CPU model. Not only that, but it came with a new headset, keyboard, and mouse. You took out the stuff and gently placed them on the floor, letting the viewers see it.

After noticing that there was more in the package, you rummaged around for the other objects. Your hand made contact with some sort of fabric so you pulled it out.

Your eyes widened as you realised that it was a fancy outfit. Upon looking, you could estimate that it was your size too. Was this tailor made?

“Holy shit…”

It seemed like it was for a real special occasion, not even just your run-of-the-mill party that regular people go to. This outfit would probably fit right in with a red carpet event for rich folks or celebrities. Well— One may say, “Hey, aren’t you a celebrity too?” but you weren’t cocky enough to claim the same status as those with inter-galactic levels of fame.

A slip of paper fell out of the outfit’s pocket and you turned to see what it was.

You squinted in confusion. A ticket…? After picking up, you couldn’t help but notice the holographic shine to it first. How pretty.

“Find Your Cinderella Masquerade Event?” You mumbled in confusion. Who was Sugo? You couldn’t recall knowing anyone that went by that name.

Suddenly, the screen flickered for a moment and a new window popped up next to your stream.

A person showed up, wearing what you could only describe as a pink clown outfit that somehow combines cuteness and gaudiness in one. They grinned at you with amusement.

“Heya to all those viewers watching at home!” Even the way they spoke seemed to have a theatrical ring to it. By the way the chat was going insane, the people watching the stream could also see them.

“My name is Sugo and I’m the event organiser of the Find Your Cinderella Gala, or the FYC Gala for short,” they introduced themselves with a flourish. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh… hi?” You didn’t know how to respond. This was quite a bizarre experience to have someone hijack your stream to introduce themselves. Was this legal…?

They chuckled. “Yeah, sorry for the sudden appearance but I figured that it would shake things up a little. I’m sure your dear fans appreciate having two exciting things happening at the same time. You can bet that this’ll go viral too~”

“Right… So what exactly is this Find Your Cinderella Gala?”

“Glad you asked, dear anomaly!” They beamed. Eh? Why were they calling you anomaly?

“See, I’m doing a collaborative project with LumiPro. I proposed to them a large-scale event with celebrities from all over the galaxy, which would be broadcast to every streaming platform out there. The premise is simple, all attendees are there to find their one and only, their true love, their Cinderella, you get the idea.”

“So it’s a speed dating event for rich people?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It sounded like a stupid idea. And yet, a part of you was intrigued.

“Right on the money! What a clever streamer, it’s no wonder you got such high compatibility ratings with the other attendees~”

“A what?”

Their eyes gleamed with amusement. “So, we didn’t just pick the celebrities at random. I bet you’re wondering why a small time streamer is getting an invite to such an exclusive event, right?” They tilted their head, leaning on their desk.

You nodded slowly. It was still a mystery to you why you’d be invited when there are far more famous people in the galaxy.

“Behind the scenes, we’ve been developing an advanced algorithm that can find your best match in a group. How it works is that we pick a participant, feed it available information on said participant, then it calculates how well the person would get along with those within the group,” they explained, “What’s interesting for your case is that your average compatibility score with the group is 90%. Most folks that got tested only came up with a 60% average compatibility rating.”

You raised an eyebrow at this in skepticism. “Don’t you think that’s just a bug or something?”

They shrugged. “It could be, but we’ve done several tests and it always came out the same. We were hoping to add you in to act as an outlier to our pool of data.”

“So I’m just a guinea pig for your weird little experiment?” You gave them an unamused look.

“It’s just to see if your results were really true or if it was just a mistake on the algorithm’s part.” They shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be a fun time for you regardless of my motives. A win win for all parties involved, don’t you just love that kind of thing?”

“I guess but doesn’t this come with strings attached?”

Sugo whined. “Ughhh, you’re gonna make this way less fun if you go in already knowing what you’re getting!”

“What kind of sane person would do something without knowing the full details?!”

A groan came from them. “Booo, that’s so boring! Life needs a special surprise factor that keeps things fun and interesting.”

They sighed after. “But fine. If you’re so skeptical, then I can throw in a 500,000 credit compensation if you end up not enjoying it. So even if you do lose, you still gain something!”

You stayed silent, trying to figure out if this was really worth the trouble of dressing up and going to a party.

“Anyway, that’s all the information I’m contractually allowed to give out. It’s your choice whether you want to go or not.”

“Can I have some time to decide this?” You asked them.

Sugo nodded, smiling in amusement. “Of course! It’s not good for a show to spend too much time on exposition, after all. Let’s give the player some time to shine, hm?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

They giggled, ignoring what you said. “Bye bye! I’ll see you at the gala!”

Their window disappeared, leaving you with your viewers again.

You sighed. What a strange person. Did you really wanna go? It’s not like you had much to lose. Plus, you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to find out what that compatibility rating was all about.

“What do you think, chat? Should I go?” You turned to the screen, waiting for their input.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #sampo x reader #blade x reader #welt x reader

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foggyfrogss · 11 months ago

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⋆ HIEMAL ₊˚.

tf! Sukuna x f! Reader | Warnings: MDNI, Sexual Content

Chapter Two - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist | ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 7.7ᴋ - Discord 18+

Though in a wistful daze, tucked away in the depths of your comfortable blankets… you think of him even now as your eyes barely open.

The blur of sleep sticks to your tired eyes as you slowly blink it away; a yawn erupts from your lips.

You wondered why he had left without telling.

His absence twists a deep feeling within you. It’s heavy, settling mostly in your stomach as you look at the empty futon beside you. Was this what it felt like to be hurt?

Of course not physically, though your body ached in places they hadn’t before; your chest swam with this melancholy emotion. Its melancholic ache fought along with the other euphoric emotions. Though they clashed as complete opposites it felt… right.

You hadn’t noticed when your hand moved to clutch the fabric of your yukata over your beating heart. The pounding of your chest could be felt vibrating into your clenched fist.

It was cold. That hadn’t changed.

Your face tingled from the exposure after pulling it from the depths of your futon. Only hours before you had it safely tucked away in the comfort of his chest. His large arm swung around your body to keep you there. You wondered how you hadn’t felt him leave.

In all honesty, you weren’t sure if your face was tingling due to the cold or your blush. It didn’t matter; no one could see you.

When you felt the thick fabric of his haori hugging your body again; it relit the smoldering fire inside of you. The heartbeat in your ears came to life as your tucked your face into the fabric of it, breathing in his earthly scent.

The strong notes of smoke, hinted with something sweet, had drawn you in without restraint.

He’d always smelled so divine.

Your wandering mind had slipped to the image of his healed shoulder. The wound you had expressed concern for being nothing but a mere scratch the last time you saw it. His forbidding gaze telling you it was of no concern to you.

His intimidating aura had caused you to back off.

Of course it was your concern, you thought. It had healed on its own in such a short amount of time. Bear in mind how deep it had actually been. Him refusing any further care on it had worried you.

It was a miracle it hadn’t continued to bleed through the night. Perhaps it had started to heal then; after cleaning.

A mystery it was. You wanted to get to the bottom of it.

The mystery that was now Ryomen Sukuna.

He’d always been rather isolated the many years you’d known him. As children playing in the green meadows by the village, even then he’d pull away at certain times. His walls blocking you from seeing.

The reinforced walls that surrounded his inner self towered in height matching his own.

You wanted so badly to tear them down. To know more about the man… and you could see how they crumbled only slightly as he took his place above you just last night.

Only slightly.

It was something. It was a start.

The small taste you had been gifted of his innermost feelings had driven you mad. You were pining for me; primal urges ate away at your morals.

What if he had gained access to certain techniques? Though sorcerers weren’t abundant in your village, there were some. Sukuna included.

He actually ranked above most of the military in strength. His overwhelming intensity had gained suspicion. Village folk felt like he’d be more of a danger rather than a help.

It displeased you, seeing the people around you shove such hostility towards someone they simply didn’t understand. It was nauseating.

Especially when you were expected to do the same. Your father disliked him probably more than the common village folk. His status playing an important role in his hatred towards Sukuna.

One slip up and he would banish him.

You were certain if your father had known of what you’d done… he’d banish you along with him.

Uncomfortable with your thoughts, you shake your head free of them. You need to prepare for the day. At any time your usual servant, Aiko, would come to help you dress yourself.

After removing yourself from the comforting warmth that kept you from the low temps, you’d quickly cleared your quarters of Sukuna.

The extra futon had been rolled up and placed back into the cabinet where it always sat.

The last thing that would gain suspicion being the heavy fabric that sat over your shoulders. You were reluctant to remove it. It’s sensation almost as if he’d left his own heavy arms behind.

When you remove it to place it behind the futon, you’re left feeling extremely bare.

Cold chills immediately take advantage of the new skin to harass as you fold it neatly and place it down. His smell lingers for a bit before it’s ultimately swept away by the shivers running through you.

A slight knock upon your door startles you, causing you to quickly shut your cabinet. Your eyes widen slightly. “My lady,” you hear the faint voice of Aiko behind the paper thin door. “I’ve come to ready you for the day.”

“You may enter,” is all you say.

When the door slides open, you’re met with the curious brown eyes of your favorite servant. One who feels like more of a sister rather than someone forced to serve you.

Aiko presents herself with a short bow before entering the room. You smile as she shuts the door behind her.

“Has the storm passed?” You ask her and she nods. “It has. The sky is a radiating blue this morning,” Aiko explains.

As Aiko further enters the room towards you, she immediately raises her eyebrows in alarm. A look of disturbance takes over her usual soft features. “Were you attacked!?” She exclaims with worry. Her hands grab at your wrists as she nears you, glancing you up and down.

You are bewildered. Her sudden outburst had come from nowhere.

“What are you speaking of?” You ask her, furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance and also confusion. “There are bruises all over your neck and chest!”

You let out a squeak, immediately tearing away from Aiko in embarrassment. The apples of your cheeks had burned red. “I just stumbled last night after I put out my lanterns is all,” you speak quickly as you try and come up with a good excuse to explain the marks. Yet, when your back faces her you look down towards the exposed part of your chest.

It had looked like someone had beaten you.

Purple bruises cascade into the depths of your chest, presenting themselves like a painting. Your body the canvas and Sukuna’s lips the brush.

Your heart thumps.

The familiar heat you felt before reawakens inside of you.

“My lady if I may,” you hear Aiko speak. “You don’t have to hide that from me.” It’s when you turn around after hearing her words, you find her smirking childishly. Her childish look radiates a comforting warmth as you look back at her. It causes your face to heat up even more, gasping. “It’s not what it looks like!” You exclaim, doing anything to convince her otherwise. “It is. I can see the after glow from far away,” she says chuckling in a joking tone and you touch your warmed face.

“It’ll be difficult hiding the ones under your jaw line, but I have my ways.”

You hadn’t even realized the extent of Sukuna’s doing. It was exciting but also annoying. Who knew how long it’d be until they’d disappear. “Love marks,” Aiko suddenly says as she approaches your cabinet. “Any normal person would know what those are even from afar.”

“That’s wonderful,” you say sarcastically.

“Lucky for you it’s cold out. Gives the excuse to wear more layers than usual,” Aiko says as she pulls fabric from the shelves. You’re already dreading the weight of it but as you feel the iciness of your fingers… you also can’t wait to be covered. You’d endure the pain today.

You really wished to just put the black haori back on.

“Perfect,” you mumble. Your voice lacked amusement.

It had not taken long but Aiko was always thorough in her work. As she patted away at your face to place the little bit of makeup you would allow; you thought of Sukuna. He had made himself at home in your mind. No plans on leaving.

You’d hoped that Aiko couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks as she dabbed the concealing mixture onto your fevered, bruised skin.

“Aiko,” you say, causing her to hum in reply. “You haven’t asked who…?” You ask her carefully; awkwardly.

“I know who.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to fully look at her. Her brown orbs lock with yours. “I don’t care who you choose to be by your side my lady,” Aiko says quietly. The walls were thin.

“I follow you and only you. You are my lady.”

You smile; warmly. In which Aiko does the same.

A silent agreement. “Thank you,” you whisper.

She nods as she continues back to her work, hiding the evidence of him. “Quite scandalous to do it here of all place-“ you cut her off. “Alright! Enough!” You groan. Aiko laughs.

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. That’s all I’ll say.” Aiko mumbles.

Upon your body rests at least five layers of fabric. Each fabric extravagantly vibrant in color and shine. “What have you put me in?” You ask Aiko in distress and she sighs. “You realize most women in your position wear a lot more. I know your preference and spared you…I also forgot to mention that I was to retrieve you for the Lord. He’s summoned you.”

You’re looking at her in terror.

“Don’t worry! You can’t see anything. Once you’re done with him you can come back and I’ll change you into your preferred clothing,” Aiko explains and you nod. The nervousness swells deep inside you.

Usually when your father summoned you, it was for something trivial. At least in your eyes.

“The Lord was sat with an exceedingly decorated man. Perhaps a military officer?”

Your heart drops at her words.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before your father threw another possible suitor in your face. You dreaded his complaints after you would routinely turn this one down.

You’d lost count of how many suitors you’d been presented.

It was only a matter of time until he forced you to marry too. Refusal would only work so many times. At the age of 24, being unmarried was seen as taboo amongst the village. Well, in your case it was due to your status. Aiko was forbidden to marry; her job was to devote herself to you. Though you hated that, it was nice having her around. Friends were a hard thing to come by when you were sheltered like you were.

As you look at Aiko, you think about how you’d dismiss her from her duties when you could. She deserved a fulfilling life doing what she loved.

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” Aiko says as she stands. You follow, straightening your back up. The heaviness of the clothing fights with you as it pulls down at your body. As you suddenly yawn, it catches Aiko’s attention; a smirk and eyebrow raised on her smug face. “Shall I say you’re feeling under the weather so you can rest up?” She teases as she places the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”

Your face is steaming. The embarrassment showing fully.

“Cease this,” you warn with a hushed hiss, hearing her chuckle as you exit the room.

Within minutes you’re sat amongst your father in the main room. The Irori separating you slightly but you were grateful for its warmth. A servant had been placing twigs inside of it to keep it alive.

“This is Michizane Sugawara,” you hear the gruff voice of your father. Your eyes are on his face, seeing the hopeful look he holds on his aged features. You swallow nervously.

From the introduction your wavering eyes flicker to the man beside him. The copious amount of energy that bled off of him would make any normal person tremble, yet you sat still.

When you meet the man’s gaze; you feel your chest clench. A wave of unsettling feelings flutter through you.

Blue.

His eyes reflect in an unnatural shade of blue. The way they seemed to glow even from afar had finally sent a wave of unexpected chills down your back. Your hands felt clammy as you clenched them in your lap.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” Michazane greets. He says your name, which you find unbearable. “I’ve been told a lot about you.”

You’re silent.

“He’s the head of the Gojo clan. I’ve invited him here to-“ you cut your father’s words off. “I will not marry you,” you state in a calm, collected tone. The room grows thick with tension. Though you don’t regret speaking over your father, you should not have done it.

Your father sighs loud enough for you to hear. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else,” he mutters as he shakes his head. “What can I do to change your mind?” He asks you and you’re looking back at your father. “I do not want to marry. Why is it so important that I do?”

“You are pass the normal age,” he argues. “I think it’d be in your best interest to consider marrying Michizane. He technically outranks us, making him the important one in the room.”

You’re looking back at the man next to your father. His blue gaze settled upon you; it doesn’t feel threatening. If anything, it was a warm presence. Though icy his eyes are.

“I apologize for my unbecoming attitude,” you sincerely release. “It is not in my plan to take a man’s hand in marriage. I’m unsure if you’ve travelled far to meet me but if you have, I’ll have you reimbursed for the supplies used.”

Now you’ve done it. The atmosphere of the room feels unbelievably thick, making your mouth dry. You swallow nervously again.

Your father says your name in a warning tone, which makes you flinch. Michizane raises a hand to silence your father, a small smile on his features. “It’s quite alright. The last thing I’d want is for her to feel pressured into anything. What good would that do for any relationship?” He says and your father is looking over at him dumbfounded.

You silently thank the man.

“Now,” he begins, directing his unnatural gaze back to you. “I’d like for you to reconsider. I’ve been offered many suitors and I must say you by far are the most enthralling.”

You’re uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Your words are flattering… but I still decline. I apologize,” you say quietly, looking away from him now. You find it hard to continue looking him in the eyes. It was as if he had been draining your energy.

“That’s quite alright. I’ll be in the area for about two weeks. You were correct, the journey was quite long so to prepare my men for another we shall stay to recuperate. I hope that is alright?” Michizane says as he looks over to your father.

“Be my guest. My estate has many rooms and your men can stay among mine in their living area.”

Your father’s words make your heart drop into your stomach. He’d be staying in your home?

“You,” your father says as he points a finger to the servant standing by the door. “See that Michizane is taken care of and that his needs are met.”

You hear your father say your name.

“As for you,” the sternness of his voice makes you flinch. “You have time to reconsider.”

You understood what that meant. He’d be expecting you to accept Michizane Sugawara as your husband or else he’d force you. It was finally that time.

“Yes father,” you say quietly, not looking at him. Your attention is fixed on the flames of the fire in front of you.

So be it, you thought to yourself. What good would it be to retaliate against it. After all, your father was kind enough to put up with you for this long. You were his only child, solely due to the fact your mother became unable to bear any more children. Though you weren’t a son, a nobleman’s daughter was also highly looked up at.

Being the sole child meant a lot was expected of you. Especially when it came to furthering the blood line.

After he’d dismissed you to leave so he could further discuss topics with Michizane, you stand.

You bid them farewell with a short bow, walking towards the door. Yet, before you step into the hall; blue eyes catch your own. It sends a mixture of fear and warning through you. Michizane projects his emotions to you in one look; determination.

You’re met by Aiko in the hall. Her wide eyes showing you she’d heard every word. She held her combined hands to her chest as she approached you.

You don’t speak until you hear the sliding of the door, signaling that it’s closed.

“It’s quite alright,” you inform her, still quietly to be careful. “It was eventually going to come to this.”

“Well,” you hear Aiko say as the two of you venture back to your quarters. “He’s not all that bad to look at.”

You’re staring at her as she walks beside you, one of your eyebrows raised. “That man was probably the most handsome suitor I’ve seen here. I mean did you see his eyes?” She gushes as she holds her cheeks. “Oh please,” you say, rolling your eyes as you look ahead.

“He’s average.”

“I wouldn’t say that… while you were in there one of the kitchen maids had walked by and said Michizane Sugawara possessed a rare ability. Unique to his clan. It’s probably why your father insists you marry him. How that maid knew that… I have no idea,” Aiko rambles on and you sigh. “Great. He wants to use me for breeding. Why else would I marry into the clan? Having children and marriage are the last thing I ever wanted to do…” you groan and you hear Aiko chuckle.

“Well, like I said… at least he is handsome,” she tells you with a warm smile. She’d always known how to lighten the mood. You appreciated her charm. “If you’re so intrigued maybe you should marry him,” you suggest and she scoffs. “That’s cruel. You know I can’t,” she says as she rolls her eyes.

It’s quiet the rest of the way back.

Lost in your thoughts; you think of Sukuna.

His face floats around in your mind as you let Aiko undress you from your formal clothing.

What would he say about Michizane? In all honesty, would he even care?

Sure Sukuna showed you respect, at times… but it wasn’t like you were automatically together now. You weren’t even sure there were legitimate feelings on his end anyways. What he had- what you two had done… it felt like that was what had been building up for some time. At least on your end.

Sukuna was a difficult person to read.

All of the countless petty arguments where tension would be so high you felt like you could explode… it finally bubbled to the conclusion.

The way he had held you and took care of you hours ago… it left a permanent heat raging inside of you. Your knees feel weak as you remember the mere ghost feeling of his lips against your neck. For someone so large and brute; he handled you softly.

His large hands holding you like a small wildflower, careful not to bruise the bright petals.

“My lady,” you hear Aiko’s soft voice break you from your scandalous thoughts. “If I may recommend… you should seek Sukuna out.” She looks nervous as she tells you that. Her hands balled into fists in her lap as she sits in front of you. You’re both sitting in the floor of your room. “I feel like he should know,” she adds.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say.

You think about how he’d left his haori with you.

In the back of your mind you see him walking across the village without it in the fresh snow. He’d willingly left his barrier from the cold with you. The gesture had warmed your heart and you really tried to keep yourself from looking too deep into it… but it was too late. Why else would he have done that if he didn’t care for you deeply even just a bit?

You told Aiko that he’d left it, explaining to her how great it made you feel.

“It’s cruel,” you hear her mutter. “I can see how deeply you’ve cared for him over the many years I’ve known you. Seeing you now, I can definitely see it plain as day. You hold deep affection for Sukuna. The many times you’d have me help you sneak him in to care for his training wounds and the times I’d help you sneak out to join him to train… It isn’t fair.”

Her words touch your heart and you drop your head, staring at your hands in your lap. “Aiko,” your voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to marry that man.”

“I know.”

“What do I do?” You ask hopelessly.

“Get over it.”

Her tone shocks you, making you glance back up at her. “What?” You ask, confused by her sudden sternness. “What else can you do besides your father’s demands? Unless you run away now, you’re stuck here.”

You’re shocked, but she’s right. What else could you do? This was your fate.

Running would only prove useless as you didn’t know how to survive on your own. You weren’t even sure Sukuna would go with you…

“Accompany me across the village so my father doesn’t gain suspicion. I will say it’s to see Itsuki… it’s believable,” you say to Aiko. She nods, running one of her hands over her face, “I’m not allowed to say no.” Her words make you frown. “Yes you are. You’re not my slave,” you tell her and she removes her hand. “I technically am, my lady.”

“You’re allowed to refuse me.”

“As you wish.”

After readying for the outer elements, you’d gone to your father to inform him of your future whereabouts. Itsuki’s estate. Though a lie, you didn’t care.

Itsuki was your cousin, daughter of your father’s younger brother.

All you wanted was the heavy feeling in your chest to subside. You wondered if seeing Sukuna again would put it at ease.

“My lady,” you hear your title being called as you step out into the snow of the courtyard. It’s incredibly cold out. Though sunny, the ground that was covered in powdery snow. It reflected the sunlight from it, making it unbelievably bright out. “Wear this.”

As you turn to her, you’re handed the black fabric of Sukuna’s haori and your eyes widen. “You found this?” You ask her shockingly and she nods. “I organize your things almost daily. Of course I did. You’d also mentioned him leaving it behind and it was nowhere in sight.”

When she helps you slip it on you are immediately granted immunity from the cold. The warmth spreads through your body like wild fire and you smile.

The many layers don’t bother you as much now.

The both of you make it across the village, seeking out Sukuna’s home. It had been quite a long time since you’d seen it; you’d forgotten what it looked like. You were pretty certain the last time you’d visited was around your teenage years.

“Aiko,” you catch her attention as she walks ahead of you. She glances over her shoulder. “Yes?” She asks, looking back ahead. “How do I even bring it up?” You ask her. The nervousness was obvious by the dread that laced itself within your voice. It made Aiko stop in her tracks.

“I’m not sure. If I’m being honest… I’ve never been in a situation like this,” she snickers as she turns around to face you and you groan. “You’re the least helpful person I know,” you say and she crosses her arms. “We all know that’s a lie-“

The two of you freeze at the sudden sound of a rich, resounding voice. It says your name and your arms prickle with goosebumps when you realize who the voice belonged to. You forget the chilling snow as your stomach flips.

The intense presence stood behind you, radiating his energy towards your form.

“If you may excuse me I’ll be off to run some errands,” Aiko quickly lies as she bows. Your eyes widen, watching your friend scurry off. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour!”

Of course she’d abandon you now. You felt betrayed as you watch her disappear into the crowd of merchants that lined the street. Even in the snow they were busy to sell.

Your heart beats rapidly and you feel your body buzzing with embarrassment.

It’s when you turn around that you’re faced with the man you’d been searching for. He was standing a few feet away; a bag of some sort slung over his shoulder. It looked heavy.

“Ryo-“ he cuts you off almost instantly. His sharp eyes locking with your own. “Why are you here?” He asks you, voice the usual bluntness. It makes your insides twist uncomfortably. He hadn’t said it harshly but you weren’t expecting it. “I…” you’re at a loss of words. Completely hopeless in explaining why you had sought him out.

Yet, you were stuck. Aiko had left and you didn’t want to leave her behind if you walked off now.

“To see you,” you told him boldly. You weren’t lying. He isn’t effected by your words; face holding the usual stoic expression.

On the inside you felt like a mess. Your hands were clammy as you stared over at the large man, clenching them inside your clothing as you hid them from the cold. “Alright,” he huffs, walking past you.

You hear the crunching of the snow under his heavy footsteps.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you watch him walk by, wondering what- “Come with me,” he adds. It puts your thoughts asides Your expression drops as you nod, swiftly following behind him. His longer legs make it easier to trek along the snow, but your clothing had proven quite difficult to move in the first place. With snow added, it was tremendously more challenging.

“We can talk here,” he says as he stops in front of a small building that hadn’t been far from where he found you. It resembled that of a farmer’s home, a lot more bare and smaller in size than your own… you assumed it was his.

Perhaps it’d been his family home, passed down to him.

As you step inside after him, you notice how simple it was. Not much cluttered the single room. A single, but much simpler, irori sits in the center.

When he shuts the door; he places the sack he had down. The contents inside shuffling about as it rests on the wooden floor. He removes his shoes, which you do the same.

You’re uncomfortable where you stand. You finally found him and now you weren’t sure what to do next.

All you do is watch as he immediately goes to light the fire for warmth. You selfishly assumed it was for you, considering how he’d acted just last night. His back is facing you as he sits, striking his flint and steal to strike at the dry contents.

“Sit,” he suddenly says, nudging his head towards the empty spot next to him. He doesn’t look at you but you nod anyways.

As you settle beside him, leaving about two feet of room; you take in a deep breath. “I apologize for the sudden visit,” you start. “I hope it didn’t bother you.”

For a few seconds it’s grown quiet. Only the sound of the growing fire cackling as you ponder on what to say next. You were just glad it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you thought it would.

You hear a slight shuffle of fabric which makes you glance over at the large man beside you.

He’s looking down at you, sitting crisscross as he rests his left elbow on his knee. His face is in his hand.

The sight is ungodly attractive, you think to yourself. As the irori’s fire grows, it projects the orange glow across his features. He looked just like he did before… it makes you nervously swallow. Your mouth felt dry.

How dare this man be as handsome as he was. It felt sinful to look at him. As if being in his presence would damn you to hell.

He extends his free arm, reaching towards your face with his hand. His fingers grasp at your chin, tilting your face to look at him better. “I was wondering when you’d show up today,” he mutters, a slight smirk on his features. Through his touch on your chin you could feel the sparks that shoot through you.

You sigh, closing your eyes in relief from his words. He wasn’t upset and you were glad.

“Last night,” you started, staring at the back of your eyelids. It was easier than looking him in the eye. “What does that mean for us?” You ask; your voice barely a whisper. You wondered if he was even able to hear your shaking voice. In your lap, your fists clench.

“What do you want it to mean?” He replies with a question. You open your eyes, finally looking into his. Almost instantly you find the cracks in his wall where it shows in his eyes. The deep, longing look you’d seen him look at you before right in front of you once again. You notice the way his eyebrows furrow together as if he’s thinking hard himself. It makes your heart flip anxiously but excitedly.

Yet, as you search your thoughts for the answer to his question… you think about Michizane. You dread bringing the news up to him.

Ashamed, you turn your head away from him; his fingers falling from your chin as you now stare at the fire.

The feeling in the room immediately turns, becoming insufferable. It’s now uncomfortable.

“I am to be married,” you let out. There was no point in keeping it inside. “His name is Michizane Sugawara.”

With a deep breath, you look at Sukuna again.

He’s in his same position, but his hand that he had on your face is now tucked away in his lap. It’s almost comical, seeing how relaxed he was. “The name is familiar,” he huffs out as he finally looks away from you only to add fuel to the fire. “Good for you. You’ll be taken in by some big shot.”

His words hurt. Your face twists as you watch him poke at the Irori with a stick.

“You don’t care.”

He’s now looking at you again, a bit of shock on his sharp features as he registers what you had just said.

It’s then when you see a bit of his walls crumble; a look of pure amusement shining on his face. As his expression twists into that of a smirk; In the glow of the small fire you see how his white teeth reflect the light. His canines are sharp, you notice.

You vividly remember the way they felt latched onto your skin. The spot on your neck burns.

Your chest twists longingly at the golden sight of him.

The expanse of his broad shoulders and chest lure you in as you drink in the sight. You wanted so badly to just fall into his lap, tangling yourself into him.

In the many years you’d known Ryomen Sukuna you could count on one hand how many times you’d seen him smile. Did this even count as a smile? He looked genuinely amused from what you could tell.

“Stupid girl…” you hear Sukuna mumble as he raises his hand once again to reach towards your face. “You could have anything,” he tells you as his large hand takes hold of the side of your face, “but your eyes are yearning for the one thing you can’t have.”

His thumb rests softly against your cheek as he holds it. Your heartbeat quickens in a burst, thumping against your chest. The heat from his hand instantly absorbs into your pining skin. You lean into the touch.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper honestly. Sukuna sits up straight as you speak, leaning towards you. “I’d marry-“ he cuts you off, “I would think about what you’re about to say.”

“It’s unattainable. I can see it in your eyes and what you want simply won’t come to be. At least, not here.” Sukuna is incredibly close as he says it all. His towering form leaning over you as he gazes down. The deepness of his voice rumbles into your ears smoothly.

His words are like a kick to the stomach, making your teeth clench together. “What do you mean ‘not here’?” You ask him. “As long as you’re part of this village, under the rule of your father; you are to obey his requests,” he says and you sigh. “Are you saying I should leave?” You ask him; confused. “That wouldn’t be smart,” he tells you and you’re beginning to grow annoyed by his responses.

He speaks as if he doesn’t yearn for you as you do him.

“Where would you even go?” He asks you, looking down at you intensely. You think about his question, searching your thoughts, but you find it’s only plagued with him.

“I would go anywhere you go,” you answer him truthfully, raising one of your hands to grasp at the wrist of the hand on your face. Your fingers clench around it.

When you search his eyes, it’s like looking into an abyss. The fire illuminates parts you hadn’t seen before, showing the rich brown that could be mistaken for black from a distance. He was mesmerizing.

“Don’t say such foolish things,” he mumbles.

“Don’t call me a fool,” you retort; scowling. Sukuna sighs before speaking, “I never said you were, but a fool you would be if you were to follow me.”

It’s silent now; all that could be heard was the faint crackling of the flames beside you.

Sukuna’s free hand raises to take hold of something. Your eyes glance down to see he’d grasped at the fabric of his haori, looking at it with furrowed brows. “If you want it back I can leave it before I leave,” you suggest and his eyes glance back up to yours. “It’s yours,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen as you cheeks heat up.

“I can’t have you returning home without something equivalent. You’d freeze to death,” he says further and you sigh. He was probably right; you got cold easily. “How dare you perceive me as some helpless child,” you joke and he’s moved his hand that was latched to the haori to the curve of your waist. His long fingers hook into your flesh even through your layers.

You gasp when he pulls you closer, causing you to basically stumble into his lap. His size swallows you, having him effortlessly pull you in as he sits straight. He extends his legs, letting you sit atop one of his large thighs as he pulls you flush against his chest. Both of his hands hold at your hips now.

Your clothing prevents you from sitting comfortably, so you pull up the fabric of your gown to the tops of your knees. You plant a knee on either side of his leg, sitting flush to his thigh.

You feel his warmth radiating directly into you.

“A child needs someone to take care of them,” he says as soon as you’re settled. “You wouldn’t know the first thing to do if you were to leave here. Without your help, you’d be helpless.” He means your servants. Your estate.

Though reluctant to admit it, even to yourself, he was right. You frown, taking hold of the kimono he was wearing. It’s soft in your hands.

“You’re insulting me now,” you say quietly. One of his hands moves from the curve of your hip to the expanse of your back. “I only speak the truth,” he tells you as he presses your further against him. It causes you to take in a deep breath, feeling the way your body heats up by his touch. You’re trembling now.

His face is inches from your own. You can smell his intoxicating scent as it attacks your senses. It almost makes you drool, feeling him so closely and basking in his presence.

It’s when you feel the tension inside of you running directly to spot between your legs. The heat that bubbled in the bottom of your stomach had grown unbearable at this point. On instinct, you move yourself against the top of his thigh to relieve the pressure.

In the back of your mind you were glad you decided against warm under clothing.

The movement makes Sukuna groan when he realizes what you’re doing.

“You got one taste and now you’re aching for more?” He asks, dipping his face down to press his lips against the exposed part of your neck. His lips press a soft kiss to your skin, almost as if they were making their presence known before attacking. You let out a shaking breath, moving your right hand to the back of his neck.

“Filthy,” he mumbles into your skin before he nips lightly. You whimper, pressing your chest further into his as you shift atop his thigh eagerly. The sensation has you breathing heavily, leaning your head into the side of his as he indulges himself in your neck.

He’s so close to you. It’s driving you mad that you simply can’t crawl inside of him; stay there forever.

“How can such a filthy thing taste so sweet?” He says. It’s muffled as he licks the spot under your ear.

His hand on your hip takes control as you try and grind yourself against him again. He’s guiding you, putting more pressure against your core. You gasp, clenching your shaking fingers into his pink hair as he chuckles.

Even through his clothing you could feel the well defined muscles of his thigh. The ridges acting as a tool to further bring you over the edge.

You feel hot. Your body throbbing in rhythm with your erratic heartbeat as you grind hungrily into his thigh.

Sukuna pulls his head back from your neck to look at you, gazing into your eyes with his own lustful gaze. He looks hungry.

He’s now removing the haori, placing it in a pile beside you away from the fire. Yet, when he glances down at your outfit; you can see he immediately gives up. It almost makes you laugh but when he flexes his large muscles underneath your aching clit, you’re moaning.

Whimpers follow after the surprised moan, which make him release a pleased grin.

You can feel the warm feeling building up. The same one you’d chased with him before. Its addicting sensation was heavenly, causing you to squint your eyes as you felt tears begin to form.

In his hair your fingers twitched, having trouble staying latched as you tried to ground yourself. He used both of his hands to press your hips further into him once more. “Keep singing for me,” he grunts into your jawline as he presses light kisses along it. You’re gasping a moan when he takes one hand to squeeze at your ass.

“Just like that,” he says into the corner of your mouth. Your lips are parted as you pant, feeling your hips twitch and lose rhythm as you almost reach your limit. His guiding hands help keep you in pace.

Your clothes feel restricting and you want them off. Yet, when you think about how difficult it would be to put them back on… you decide against it.

You feel his wandering lips finally brushing over yours. His warmth breath fanning against your skin as he speaks, “you close?”

Close to what? You weren’t sure what you were feeling. It was euphoric. Your mind radiated a white light as you closed your eyes. It grew as it built itself up. “Y-yes,” you gasp into his lips.

He’s pressing his lips to yours, hungrily stealing your breath away as his tongue connects with yours. You whimper into him, clutching his hair into a fist as you clutch his kimono in your other. It earns a hungry grunt from him that comes from deep within his chest.

Your eyes roll back into your head behind your closed eyelids. You suck in a breath through your nostrils between kisses, feeling your lungs ache at the lack of oxygen.

He clenches the muscles in his thigh again, making you gasp into his mouth.

It’s when you suddenly tear your lips from his, feeling your body jerk into his as the climax hits. It’s an uninhibited release of control, of self-consciousness, of everything. As you let go, you’re sticking your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent with each heave of your chest.

A heat radiates its way through you in waves as you move against him sloppily.

“Ride it out,” he purrs softly into your ear, holding your trembling hips slow their dragging movement. His words make you whimper again, which gets a grunt from him. He’s helping you and you finally stop, slumping into his form without shame. Your hand falls from his hair to lay flat against his chest.

All you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and your labored breathing. You dig your face into his fiery skin even further.

It’s when he shifts, moving his leg just slightly, you release a pained whimper. The overstimulation has you clenching your teeth as he chuckles.

As you come down from your high, you’re noticing the way his chest heaves. The muscles in his neck tense under your touch as you press a short kiss to the area below his sharp jawline.

“What would your husband say if he found out you were riding another man’s thigh?” He asks quietly, taking your chin in his hand to make you look up at him. “He isn’t my husband,” you say instantly and he grins. “Not yet,” he adds and you sigh.

When you shift your knees, only because of the ache they shoot through you from sitting on them; you feel the hardness between his legs with your right leg. Your shifting makes his breath hitch, which you eye him questioningly for.

Of course he was hard, you’d just came undone on his thigh.

“It’s your turn,” you whisper, moving your right hand to take hold of his face. He hums, leaning into your touch. “Don’t you have to meet that girl soon?” He asks, helping you to remember. You nod, shrugging, “she can wait.”

Your words cause him to take in a deep breath before he basically pounces on you. In his movements he shares his hunger, showing you how badly he wants you.

His lips are on yours once more as he moves to take hold of your kimono at your hips, moving it up further to expose yourself completely. It has you sighing into his mouth, pressing your body back to his.

Lost in his lips, kissing him like it would be the last time ever… you hear a soft rasp of a knock on the door. It has you tearing away from him, staring at him in shock. He’s looking at the door, not at you. You catch the feral look in his eyes; anger radiating off of him.

In a daze, you blink.

When the knocking continues, Sukuna looks back towards you, sighing. “It’s her,” he says lowly and you raise and eyebrow. Her?

He removes himself from you as he stands, which makes you frown. He’d taken his warmth with him, leaving you in disheveled mess. Dark eyes glance down at you and he turns to help you up.

As you stand, your kimono returns back to your ankles as it falls.

You’d also noticed the way his erection shows through his clothing. Impressive in size that it shown through that many layers. It made you lick your lips.

“Your servant girl,” he adds, noticing your confusion. Your eyes widen. “Oh!” You gasp, walking to the door but you feel a hand grabbing your upper arm. “Hold on,” he says, pulling you back to him. His deep voice sends electricity through you as you feel him pull you to his body. Large arms envelope you, holding you close. You could feel his cock pressed against your lower stomach.

“I’m not finished with you,” he says, “I can come by tonight?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes in disappointment. “You can’t. That man is staying in my home until he leaves-“ he cuts you off, squeezing his arms firmly around you. Almost warningly, but when he speaks, “if I find out he so much as touches you… I’ll kill him.”

Your eyes widen. The unhinged gaze he’d look down at you with convinced you he was telling the truth. Every part of you burned with desire from his frightening words… relighting the fire within you. He was warning, but you weren’t sure if it was directed towards Michizane or you.

“You are mine and mine alone,” he adds, taking a hold of your chin. “I don’t share.”

He kisses you deeply, marking his place.

You fully accepted his words. His declaration.

If any other man had declared you as their’s you would have laughed in their face… but as you let him lick his way into your mouth; you fully give in. You were his. In all ways possible.

When he releases your lips from his, he pulls away. His form walks away from you, retrieving something from the floor. Your eyes catch the black fabric and you smile, walking towards him to take it.

Yet, he places it on you himself.

The haori envelopes you in a permanent hug, acting as the pair of arms you wished to be wrapped in forever.

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sudokuplayer · 1 year ago

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MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)

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1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.

2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.

3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.

4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.

5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.

6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.

7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.

9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe.

10.BODY My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.

— Sufjan Stevens

#sufjan stevens #javelin

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therainscene · 11 months ago

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Since The First Shadow has folks talking about Henry’s queerness (or lack thereof), I wanted to share my take on it as someone who tends to interpret him as gay.

I’m not going to be talking about his relationship with Patty, though -- I can’t afford to see the play and don’t want to rely on secondary sources for this, so I simply can’t comment on it. (I’m sure they’re lovely together, though.)

To me, Henry’s queer-coding isn’t a question of whether he’s literally gay -- it’s a question of what role his villainy plays in the story.

The biggest non-Patty-related criticism against queer interpretations of Henry is that it would carry an uncomfortably homophobic implication: that queers are dangerous predators.

This was a common belief in the 80s, and the show references it by having Troy chuckle at the idea of Will getting "killed by some other queer" -- a prediction that comes symbolically and unpleasantly true when Joyce finds him with one of Vecna’s vines literally shoved down his throat.

It's tempting to try and solve this problem by interpreting Henry as straight -- the homophobic implications of his child-assaulting villainy will disappear if he's not queer, right?

Well... in my opinion, no.

A key aspect of Henry's character is that he's different. Whether you interpret that difference as queerness, neurodivergence, or simply that he has powers -- the fact remains that he is fundamentally the sort of person whom society looks down upon with fear and suspicion.

If he’s not a predatory queer, then he's a remorseless psychopath. If he's not a remorseless psychopath, then he's a vessel for an evil alien. There's no way to escape the implication that he’s dangerous because he’s different.

Eddie’s character resonates with this principle too. Indeed, our introduction to him is a monologue in which he complains about being treated with suspicion just because he’s different.

Given their similarities in this regard, I think it’s interesting that the show endears us to Eddie in the same breath it makes us fear Vecna. It almost feels like a test--

We know you’ll sympathize with a weirdo who sells drugs to troubled minors when you get to see things from his perspective, but can you sympathize with a weirdo who hurts troubled minors when you don’t get to see things from his perspective? Will you jump to unfair conclusions about Henry in the same way the town jumps to unfair conclusions about Eddie?

My point here isn’t that Henry did nothing wrong or that his villainy is justified -- I’m pretty sure he did commit the murders Eddie was scapegoated for and I’m pretty sure that’s a bad thing -- but he’s always held at arm’s length from the audience. The show plays the role of Jason, encouraging us to blindly hate him on gut instinct instead of giving him a fair trial.

It’s an easy test to fail, because it does seem like we get to see Henry’s perspective -- he has a whole villain speech, after all.

But the trouble is, this speech takes place within NINA. What we’re watching is footage that has been curated by his abuser and shown through the eyes of a traumatized girl who barely understands what happened -- secondary sources who are invested in viewing him as a threat.

Consider that Henry’s hairstyle mysteriously changes during the massacre. It’s one of those subtle costuming choices that isn’t meant to be consciously picked up on, but which registers at the back of our minds and leaves us feeling unsettled -- this Henry isn’t like the Henry we were looking at before.

The obvious way of interpreting this is that the mask has finally slipped -- the “nice” Henry was fake, and now we see him for who he “really” is. But I’m not inclined to interpret it that way, because of all the hairstyles they could have chosen... they just so happened to opt for one that resembles Brenner. (Pun intended.)

This isn’t Henry with his mask off -- this is Henry as Brenner wants him to be.

Fear-mongering over the existence of queer people has long been a useful tool for those in power -- in the 80s, fear of AIDS did the job nicely -- and so too has Brenner forged Henry into a tool to further his own goals, no regard given to the harm he causes in the process.

Like the “predatory queer”, Henry is defined on his oppressor’s terms, and like Eddie, it makes him a useful scapegoat. He only became what he did because of an unethical institution, and treating him as the problem is just as short-sighted as blaming gay men for the AIDS crisis.

That isn’t to say Vecna hasn’t become a genuine threat, though. Will makes a prediction as to how S5 is going to end--

--and while I’m not expecting things to end as violently as Will implies here -- that’s not Will’s thing -- I do believe that Vecna is going to be defeated by his hand. As tragic as Vecna’s origin was, he still made his own choices once he was free from Brenner, and he’s likely too far gone at this point to be capable of earning his happy ending.

But that’s what makes it so important that Will gets his happy ending.

Queer characters have been exclusively cast as villains or tragic sadbois for so long that I can completely sympathize with people’s hesitance to embrace Henry as a tragic queer villain.

But villains only exist within the context of the heroes who challenge them... and in a show about a queer-coded villain who personifies the anger and despair of being abused for what you are, a loving gay boy who breaks the cycle of abuse by learning that he has the right to be the hero of his own story is the perfect foil for him.

#stranger things #the first shadow #byler #henry creel #eddie munson #martin brenner #will byers #my analysis #tfs spoilers

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doumadono · 1 year ago

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I just wanna know why so many adult mha smut creators say they age up minors as if it justifies their attraction to them. Would you say it's okay to age up Eri too?

Ah, aging-up fictional characters, my favorite controversial topic! ♥ You know, I was low-key anticipating an anon to drop this kind of question, sooner nor later (what a pity you didn't have balls to come off-anon tho!). I've had my fair share of childish anons before, and trust me, those went straight into the digital dumpster. But hey, this time, I've decided to lay it all out on the table, crystal clear 🙅‍

You know, I've done it all – murder, rape, summoned demons, even glorified Satan and had several children killed in my stories. But guess what? Not a single pair of handcuffs in sight! 😎 And don't get me started on the horror section at any bookstore - it's like a buffet of dreadful deeds.

Let's be real, the purity police can take a hike. There's something oddly fishy about the fact that fanfic, mostly crafted by awesome writers, gets the brunt of the criticism or some ridiculous accusations, especially the smutty bits, while the gruesome stuff gets a free pass 🤷

Look, folks, it's all about context. Fiction is a realm where creativity knows no bounds, right? So, if I want to age-up a character for a mature storyline, I'll go for it 🤷 Look, it's all a part of the creative process. Fiction is like a playground where we can swing from the monkey bars of imagination, right? Aging-up fictional characters is a common practice in creative communities, and it's important to remember that these characters exist solely within the realm of fiction - they are not real, so it doesn't hurt them in any single way. It allows creators to explore different scenarios and relationships without crossing any ethical boundaries :) Also! Aging-up characters isn't some sneaky scheme to write "inappropriate" content about youngsters. It's about taking characters you adore or find fascinating and giving them a new lease on life. It's like those college AU fanfics for characters in their late 30s or kidfic for full-grown adults. It's all about exploring different phases of their lives. So, whether it's smutty or not, the essence remains the same 😎 You see, the whole "aging-up" thing in fanfic/fanart is just common sense. We're not into the whole "let's sexualize kids" scene, so we gracefully turn our characters into adults. It's all about creating content featuring responsible, grown-up folks. And let's get real, if reading about something meant you were all in on it, then every mystery novel reader out there would have to be either an undercover detective nor a murderer 😎 So let's dial down the judgment and just enjoy our creative freedom, shall we?

But you know, trying to equate aging-up with things like grooming/pedophilia is like saying eating a banana is the same as piloting a spaceship because they're both hands-on activities. Let's keep our perspective here, folks, and not get too carried away with the terminology 😂

If you don’t want to read those stories (containing aged-up characters/dark content/smut with aged-up characters) - then don’t read them - problem solved!

Oh, how times have changed, my friend! Back in the day, I used to let all those comments and anonymous hate bring me down. But guess what? I've evolved, and I've got news for the critics: I write what I want to write, and nobody's gonna tell me otherwise. I've got this little thing called free will, and I'm not about to hand it over to anyone who thinks they can dictate what I should or shouldn't put on paper. If that means ruffling a few feathers, so be it. I've shed my tear-soaked days and embraced the fact that I couldn't care less about those sensitive souls who can't handle a bit of fiction. So, to all you "snowflakes" out there, if you're trying to stifle my creativity, good luck, because I'm just going to crank up the heat and write even smuttier storylines with aged-up characters! Thanks for the encouragement, dear Nonnie – you've only fueled my fire! 🔥😎 I might even consider writing some very dark-themed fic with aged-up Eri, why not! 😈

Oh, hey Anon! Quick question for you. Have you ever picked up a Stephen King book? You know, the master of horror and suspense? Well, if you have, you might've noticed that he doesn't shy away from some pretty explicit content, and not just with adults. Sometimes he writes about kids too, and they're sometimes off legal age as well! Surprise, surprise. You can stroll into a bookstore, grab a book off the shelf, and guess what? There's a good chance that some of those books contain content that would make a sailor blush! Yet, the world isn't collapsing because of it. The point is, even in mainstream literature, you'll find situations that might make you raise an eyebrow. So, let's not throw stones at age-up fiction creators when the literary giants sometimes walk on the same edge, right? 😏

In the conclusion, if you've got a problem with aging-up fictional characters, dear Nonnie, you might want to take a chill pill and remember that it's all just a bit of fun in the end ♥ Well, you know what would truly make my day? If you took the liberty to hit that "block" button with glee and gracefully vanished from my interactions. And if, by some chance, you decide to stick around, don't hold your breath for a response. I'll be too busy conjuring up some fiery, smutty tales featuring Bakugo or Shoto or any other character I like to bother with your, shall we say, less-than-enlightening queries. But hey, chin up, pal – here's a little nugget of wisdom from your "older and wiser" friend: go get a life. It's an absolute game-changer 😜 I'm tagging some content creators who write dark fics or use aged-up characters and might face similar anons/anon hate: @mrskokushibo @ectologia @kyojurismo @bakubunny

#aged up characters #asked and answered #anonymous #go get a life #your ask made my day though #I'v been waiting for so long for an anon like you! ♥#i'm being sarcastic

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talesofadragon · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader

Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.

Word Count: 12K

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away.

Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it.

“What in the name of God are you doing?”

Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.

You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.

“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?”

You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.

“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought.

Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt.

“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.”

He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street.

“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.”

“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes.

Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.”

“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.”

“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.”

Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.”

“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.”

It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.

You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.”

“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.”

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie.

“You mean like right now?”

“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.”

Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge.

“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“…I hate that house.”

“The nice house down our street?”

“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.”

“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.”

“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted.

You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”

Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you.

“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.”

“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.”

“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist.

“It was one time!”

“For five days.”

“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.”

Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got, he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.

Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.

Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly.

“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”

“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?

“It looks like it,” Steve answered.

Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”

The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.

Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”

“For what?”

“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing.

You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud.

We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.

To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows Join the Halloween Feast Tonight

And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM

“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.

Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?”

"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."

The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.

“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.

“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something.

“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.

Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window.

And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet.

“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”

He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.

“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?”

The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side.

“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.

You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy.

“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.

Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.”

“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.”

“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.”

“I’m the Head of the Avengers.”

“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.”

You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.”

“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?”

“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.”

“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.”

“That’s too dangerous.”

“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?”

“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.”

“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.”

“And you judge me about my common sense?”

“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”

It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house.

The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.

Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.

“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.

“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”

With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.

You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.

"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"

You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness.

“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.”

“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied.

“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”

You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.”

“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said.

Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.

Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?”

The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.”

With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.

The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.

“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?”

Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan.

“Steve!” you called apprehensively.

“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented.

You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air.

You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve.

“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one.

“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.”

The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp.

The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster.

One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied.

You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash.

“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer.

“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.”

Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.”

You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs.

Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.

You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.”

“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced.

In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?

Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault.

You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground.

The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms.

You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf.

“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.”

Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!”

The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh.

“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”

“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”

Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer.

“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?

Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!”

“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys.

Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit.

Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls.

Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise?

As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.

“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.”

You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright.

A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”

You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.

“How are we gonna get out?”

“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”

The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers.

“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door.

The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements.

The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy.

“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head.

“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace.

“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”

“What question?”

You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,

“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts,

Within the breadth of darkness, I reside.

Devoid of soul, I grasp control,

In my distorted mist, your will subsides.

I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes,

Tell me, soldier, who am I?"

“Son of a bitch!”

“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”

Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.

“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is a nightmare.”

A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.”

The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind.

“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”

“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak.

The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”

“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees.

As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into.

“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”

Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic.

“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.

“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”

“Tony!”

“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”

“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”

“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”

“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”

“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.

Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!”

When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume.

Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf.

“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension.

Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”

“Like who?”

“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”

You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”

Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him.

“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"

At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”

You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance.

Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different.

“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”

Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”

The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks.

“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.”

Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.

You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.

“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”

The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.

You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.

His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.

“Steve.”

He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.

It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.

“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”

“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.

In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.

“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”

Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.

Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”

You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.

He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.

Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.

Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.

Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.

Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.

Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.

“St—?”

“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”

It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.

When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.

Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”

Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.

And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.

You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock.

Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”

You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”

Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life.

In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.

The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.

And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.

He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.

“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”

You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.

“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.

You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.

“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”

“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.

He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.

“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.

You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”

You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.

Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.

He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.

You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.

Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.

A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.

You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face.

Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer.

You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.

“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp.

You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.

“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”

Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”

He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.

“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”

“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”

“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”

“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”

He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.

Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”

You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”

Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”

“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.”

You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once.

Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.

“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.

“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”

And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions.

“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.

“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”

You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.

You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.

“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.

Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Pepper. No, I swe—”

“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”

“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”

“Then, why are we in this room?”

“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”

“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”

“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”

“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”

“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”

Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”

“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.

“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”

And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”

“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”

“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.

I'm going to hell for this.

You can also find my work on AO3. 🤍

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #kinktober 2023 #marvel kinktober #steve rogers kinktober #halloween fanfic #JamiesHalloween2023

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radioactiveradley · 5 months ago

Text

By popular (???) request, based on the outcome of this poll.

A WARNING: you guys really did pick the most complex one. This is loooooong. A DISCLAIMER. This is a silly little lesson aimed at folks who know sod-all about MRI. There are memes. There is (arguably) overuse of the term ‘big chungus’. If you are looking to delve deeper into the mysteries of K-Space, this is not the Tumblr post for you.

So, without further ado...

Today I am introducing you to my one true love. The legend. The icon.

Ferromagnetic material loves him. Claustrophobic people fear him.

Yeah, that’s right – we’re talking about the big boom-boom sexyboy magnet machine, hereby known as Big Chungus.

Aka...

MAGNETIC RESONANCE IMAGING

First off, though? Let’s start small.

Very, very small.

Meet HYDROGEN.

The nucleus of this element is made up of a single proton, which has a magnetic dipole – i.e., it acts like a tiny bar magnet.

Hydrogen is also a component of water. As we all know, we’re basically walking sacks of goop – meaning that Hydrogen is abundant throughout our bodies.

Therefore, when we stick you in a strong magnetic field… say, within our friend Big Chungus… we can manipulate all those tiny Hydrogen atoms in a variety of fun ways.

Under normal conditions, all your Hydrogen protons are pointing every-which-way.

But in Big Chungus, there is a strong longitudinal magnetic field that travels along the Z-axis of the machine. So, all your teeny tiny Hydrogen protons swivel to align with that field!

If a proton’s energy is LOWER than that of the longitudinal magnetic field (a majority), they will align PARALLEL with the field. If their energy is HIGHER (a minority) they will align ANTI-PARALLEL.

As most of the protons align with the longitudinal magnetic field, the net magnetisation vector within the human body is also longitudinal! This is called the thermodynamic equilibrium – the resting state for all those li’l protons when your body is within Big Chungus.

(You won’t feel any different, btw! We’re flipping a bunch of teeny-tiny bits inside you, but you won’t feel a thing!) (You might do later, when we activate the Gradient coils. We’ll….. get to that)

But, while all of this is very cool, it gives us no actual information. We gotta play some more with your protons - which brings us to arguably the most important concept in MRI. I mean, it’s literally in the name!

Let’s go back to our Hydrogen protons.

We’ve established that they’re all pointing in different directions. But they’re not just sitting still. They’re spinning and wobbling all over the shop.

We call this rotational wobbly movement precession.

In their natural state, these protons all precess at different speeds. When we subject them to Big Chungus, as well as all lining up neatly with the magnetic field, they all start to precess at the same speed.

However, their magnetic North will be pointing to different points at any given moment. Imagine two clocks, both of which are ticking at the same rate, but which have been set to read different times.

This is where magnetic resonance comes in.

In addition to the homogenous longitudinal magnetic field provided by Big Chungus, we also create an oscillating magnetic field in the transverse plane by using a radiofrequency (RF) pulse. We can tune that oscillation to the ‘resonant frequency’ of Hydrogen atoms.

Every molecule capable of resonance has its own specific frequency. We use a funky equation called the Larmor Equation to work this out, or, as I like to call it, W, BOY!!!

(The weird ‘w’ is the resonance frequency; the weird ‘Bo’ is the magnetic field strength, and the weird ‘Y’ is the gyromagnetic ratio of each particular element.)

So, we know exactly at what frequency to apply that RF pulse to your protons, to achieve resonance!

But what is resonance?

In acoustics, a ‘resonant frequency’ is the frequency an external wave needs to be applied at in order to create the maximum amplitude of vibrations within the object. Like when opera singers shatter glass with their voice! They’re singing at the resonant frequency of the glass, which makes it vibrate to the point where it compromises its structural integrity.

A similar concept applies in magnetic precession, with, uh, less destructive results. We’re not exploding anything inside of you, don’t worry!

(We do explode your innards accidentally in Ultrasound sometimes, via a different mechanism. But you’ll have to ask me more about that later. >:3)

To put it simply, magnetic resonance is the final step in getting those protons to BEHAVE. Now, the clocks have been corrected so their hands move at exactly the same time, in the same position. The protons are precessing ‘in phase’. Yay!

This creates transverse magnetisation, as the magnetic vectors of all those protons (which, remember, act as bar magnets) will swing around to point in one direction at the same time.

But the cool thing about resonance? It also allows the protons to absorb energy from the RF pulse.

(Do NOT ask me how. Do NOT. I will cry.)

And remember how the higher-energy protons flip anti-parallel to the longitudinal magnetic vector of Big Chungus, while the lower-energy protons are aligned parallel? And because we have more low-energy protons than high-energy protons, our body gains a longitudinal magnetic vector to match Big Chungus?

Zapping those protons at their resonant frequency gives 'em energy (a process known as ‘excitation’, which I love, because I get to imagine them putting little party hats on and having a rave).

So, loads of them flip anti-parallel! Enough to cancel out the net longitudinal magnetic vector of our bodies – despite the best efforts of good ol’ Chungus!

(Keep trying, Chungus. We love you.)

Our protons are as far from our happy equilibrium as they can possibly be. We’ve lost longitudinal magnetisation, and gained transverse magnetisation. Oh noooo however can we fix this ohhhh noooooo

Simple. We turn off the RF pulse.

Everything returns to that sweet, sweet thermodynamic equilibrium.

Longitudinal magnetisation is regained. I.e., the protons realign with Big Chungus’s longitudinal magnetic field, with the majority aligned parallel rather than anti-parallel.

This is called SPIN-LATTICE RELAXATION.

‘T1 time’ is the point by which 63% of longitudinal magnetisation has been regained after application of the RF pulse. A T1-weighted image shows the difference between T1 relaxation times of different tissues.

And, without that oscillating RF pulse, we lose resonance – the protons fall out of phase randomly, due to the delightful unpredictable nature of entropy, and Transverse magnetisation reduces.

This is called SPIN-SPIN RELAXATION.

Or, if we’re feeling dramatic…

‘T2 time’ is the point by which 37% of the transverse magnetisation has been lost. A T2-weighted image shows the difference between T2 relaxation times of different tissues.

(Spin-spin is objectively a hilarious phrase to say in full seriousness when surrounded by important physics-y people. However, a word to the wise: do not make a moon-moon joke. They are not on Tumblr (present company excluded). They will not understand. You will get strange looks.)

But remember how resonance lets our protons shlorp up that sweet, sweet energy from the RF pulse? Well, in order to get back to thermodynamic equilibrium and line up with Big Chungus again, they have to splort that energy back out.

This is why we stick a cage over the body part we’re imaging. That cage isn’t a magnet, or a way of keeping you still – it’s a receiver coil.

It picks up the RF signal that’s given off by your innards as they relax from the intense work-out we just put them through. How cool is that??

The amount of time we wait between applying the RF pulse and measuring the ‘echo’ from within your body is called the ‘ECHO TIME’, or ‘TE’ (because we didn’t want to call it ET).

(yes, we’re cowards. Sorry.)

We also have ‘REPETITION TIME’ or ‘TR’ – the amount of time we leave between RF pulses! This determines how much longitudinal magnetisation can recover between each pulse.

By manipulating TE and TR, we can alter the contrast (i.e., the blacks and whites) on our image.

Areas of high received signal (hyperintense) are shown as white, while areas of low received signal (hypointense) are shown as black. Different sorts of tissue will have different ratios of Hydrogen-to-other-shit, and different densities of Hydrogen-and-other-shit – ergo, some tissue blasts out all of its stored energy SUPER QUICK. Others give it off slower.

A T1-weighted image has a short TR and TE time.

Fat realigns its longitudinal magnetisation with Big Chungus SUPER QUICK. This means, on a T1-weighted image, it looks hyperintense. However, water realigns its longitudinal magnetisation with Big Chungus slooooowly. Therefore, on a T1-weighted image, fluid looks hypointense! Ya see?

A T2-weighted image has a long TR and TE time.

The precession of protons in fat decays relatively slow, so it will look quite bright on a T2-scan. But water decays slower, and therefore, by the time we take the T2 image, fluids within the body will be giving off comparatively ‘more’ signal than fat – meaning they’ll appear more hyperintense!

If we have a substance with intrinsically long T1 and T2 values, it will appear dark on a T1-weighted image and bright on a T2-weighted image, and the same in reverse. If a substance has a short T1 value and a long T2 value, it will appear relatively ‘bright’ on both T1 and T2-weighted images – i.e., fat and intervertebral discs.

As every tissue has its own distinct T1 and T2 property… we can work out precisely what sort of tissue we’re looking at.

When we build in all our additional sequences, this becomes even clearer! This is why your MRI scan takes sooooo long – we’re running SO MANY sequences, manipulating TR and TE to determine the exact T1 and T2 properties of various tissues within your bod.

There is, however, a problem.

The RF signal given off by each proton doesn’t shoot out in a handy-dandy straight line. Meaning, we have no idea where the signal is coming from within your body.

Enter our lord and saviour:

THE GRADIENT COILS.

(Shim coils are also very important – they maintain field homogeneity across the whole of Big Chungus. While Big Chungus wouldn’t need them in a perfect theoretical scenario… reality ain’t that. Big Chungus’s magnetic field is all wibbly-wobbly, so we use Shims to keep everything smooth! That’s all you need to know about them. BACK TO THE GRADIENTS.)

There are three of them, wrapping around each of the three planes of your body. When these activate, they cause those epicly eerie booming noises, characteristic of a Big Chungus ExperienceTM.

youtube

The Gradient coils are also what causes those weird tingling sensations you get in an MRI machine – which, don’t worry, aren’t permanent! Your nerves just go ‘WOAHG. THASSALOT OF MAGNET SHIT. HM. DON’T LIKE THAT.’ But they’ll calm down again once you’re freed from Big Chungus.

The gradient coils cause constant fluctuations in the magnetic field across all three dimensions. They activate sequentially, isolating one chunk of your body after the next.

As these fluctuations cause variation within the signal received, we can look at how much THAT particular signal, received at THAT particular number of milliseconds after an RF pulse, varied when THAT particular gradient was activated, in comparison to when THAT OTHER gradient was activated.

For every single bit of signal output.

That gives us A WHOLE LOTTA DATA.

^ imagine this, but the cupboard contents is just. data.

Way too much data, in fact, for our puny human brains to comprehend – so obviously, we feed it to an algorithm.

K-space is a funky computational matrix where all this info gets compiled during data acquisition. Once we’ve finished the scan sequence and have all that yummy raw data, it can be mathematically processed to create a final image!

Just like that. Simple, right?

TL;DR

You are full of Hydrogen.

Hydrogen nuclei (protons) are basically tiny magnets

These tiny magnets are orientated completely randomly, with ‘North’ pointing in all directions

We stick billions of these tiny magnets (i.e., you) into a mahoosive magnet (i.e., Big Chungus)

All the tiny magnets flip around to align with the longitudinal magnetic field of Big Chungus

High energy protons = antiparallel Low energy protons = parallel

As you have more low energy protons than high energy protons in your body, the net magnetic vector of your body is longitudinal – just like Big Chungus!

All your protons are spinning and wobbling (precessing) at random rates

We use an RF pulse, tuned to the Resonance Frequency of Hydrogen, to make ‘em precess in phase (wobble at the same time, all pointing in the same direction at once). This creates a Transverse magnetic vector.

This in-phase precession is ‘Magnetic Resonance’

Magnetic Resonance means the protons can absorb energy from the RF pulse

Now there are more high energy protons within your body! They flip antiparallel, and the net longitudinal magnetic vector of your body decreases.

We measure the time it takes for the high-energy protons to release that energy and return to alignment with the net magnetic vector of Big Chungus (Spin-Lattice Relaxation / T1 recovery)

And the time it takes for the precessing-in-phase protons to Quit That Nonsense and all start wobbling in random directions again (Spin-Spin Decay / T2 recovery)

Each tissue within your body has a different composition & density of Hydrogen atoms – which means each tissue within your body has a unique T1 & T2 recovery time

By measuring the signal at different times (TE) and by varying the frequency with which we apply RF pulses (TR), we ‘take pictures’ that show variations in the amount of signal these tissues are giving off. The signal is caught by the large radiofrequency receiver coils we put over you when you enter the machine.

Because the signal given off during recovery/decay blasts out in all directions, we don’t know exactly where it originated within your body.

Gradient coils are arranged across X, Y, and Z axes throughout the gantry of Big Chungus. They cause tiny fluctuations in the magnetic field, in sequential chunks throughout space. This is the booming noise you hear when you’re in the machine.

These tiny fluctuations cause variations in the signal we receive, depending on how close the signal is to the activated gradient coil. All this data is compiled in a magical computational matrix called K-space. A funky algorithm then decodes those variations and couples them up with the strength of the signal to give us 1) How much signal is being blasted out at that particular moment 2) Where exactly that signal comes from within your body, according to the 3D map produced by the gradient coils

It then represents these values with a pretty picture!

Tl;dr tl;dr:

#mri #magnetic resonance imaging #medblr #studyblr #physics #medical imaging #radiography #radiology

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psicheanima · 27 days ago

Note

You might be too busy to see this, but I'm curious about your writing process. How were you able to come up with your poems and short stories? :0 Do you search for some inspirations as well? Writing poems and stories are something that I'm kind of struggling with but it's a skill that I wanted to master, I would like to practice it again sometime :')

Love lots!

I just love to write, so its mostly easy. But I like to write an idea down first let’s say — “A cold heart in an electrical outlet.”

Then I imagine a tone. Who is talking about this cold heart in the electrical outlet? Am I phrasing it like an angry wife? Is it an ad? Somber? Abstract? Infantile?

A infantile abstract ad could be something like → someone selling the sensation of the cold meeting the electricity? Or saying that the best way to stay warm (for cold hearted folks) is to do that action? So it could be like:

“Plug that cold, mean heart into a socket— feel the buzz-buzz-buzz of the mystery-wonder! Of excitement within. Feel sparks in the air as you give your chest, your love, your life to an unknown hole in the wall…..!”

That connects the emotionality of “heart”, is also abstract, but keeps the schlocky speech of advertisements, while also feeling a little infantile in its descriptions.

If it’s angry wife who’s also somber— why’s the wife angry? It’s with her husband, right? Does she feel he has a cold heart? Is it her heart that’s cold? Is she so mad he keeps bugging her to clean up after him, she just wants to take him and shove him into the fucking electrical socket—!!!!!!

“My dearest, that cold heart of yours is a barren wasteland, not even the spark from a thousand electrical outlets could ignite the embers of warmth inside you…. If such things even exist.”

:) I hope that makes sense

#answered ask

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muiitoloko · 6 months ago

Text

The Princess

Summary: He becomes obsessed with you, forgotten princess.

Pairing: Rasputin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, violence, Black magic and obsession.

Author's Notes: Buckle up, folks, we're diving into another adventure! And can I let you in on a little secret? I might have gone off the rails a bit with Rasputin's character—oopsie! So, if I've strayed too far from the path of Rasputin-ness, let me know! Your feedback is like the GPS for my writing journey, guiding me back on track! 🚀🗺️

Request made by @eccentricchick here

In the kingdom of Czarist Russia, nestled in the heart of the vast Russian Empire, the halls of the royal palace echoed with whispers of intrigue and betrayal. It was a kingdom steeped in tradition and hierarchy, where bloodlines determined destiny and the pursuit of power knew no bounds.

And within the walls of the palace, hidden away from the prying eyes of the courtiers and nobles, lived the second princess—a forgotten soul cast aside by her family, deemed unworthy of the throne due to a cruel twist of fate.

Unlike your younger sister Anna, the heir to the throne, you, the second princess was unable to conceive children. In a kingdom where lineage was everything, your inability to produce an heir was seen as a fatal flaw, a stain upon your honor and your worth.

Dismissed from your rightful role as heir apparent, you was relegated to the shadows, overshadowed by your sister's brilliance and beauty. You was a mere footnote in the annals of history, a forgotten relic of a bygone era, your existence deemed inconsequential by those who held the reins of power.

Resigned to a life of solitude and obscurity, you had long accepted your fate as the forgotten princess, destined to languish in the shadows while your sister basked in the glory of her position as heir to the throne. With no prospects for marriage and no hope of ever bearing children, you had resigned yourself to a life of loneliness and isolation, your existence deemed worthless by those who held the reins of power.

But fate had other plans in store for you, as one day, the king made a fateful decision that would change the course of your life forever. Hearing tales of a mystic healer named Rasputin, renowned for his purported ability to commune with the divine, the king saw an opportunity to bring spiritual guidance to the palace and hired him to serve as the royal spiritual advisor.

Initially intended to provide guidance and counsel to your sister Anna, the king surprised everyone by decreeing that both princesses would receive instruction from Rasputin. And so, the enigmatic mystic was summoned to the palace, his arrival heralding a new chapter in your life.

As Rasputin entered the hallowed halls of the palace, his presence seemed to command the attention of all who beheld him. With his piercing gaze, unkempt mane of hair, and rugged beard, he exuded an aura of mystery and power, his baritone voice resonating with authority as he greeted the royal family.

Despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity and intrigue as Rasputin began his teachings. His words were like poetry, weaving tales of spirituality and redemption that captivated your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.

As the days turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings delved deeper into the spiritual realm, captivating both you and Anna in different ways. While Anna seemed more enchanted by his charismatic presence, you remained reserved yet attentive, your curiosity growing with each passing lesson.

And despite Anna's uninhibited attempts to seduce Rasputin, he remained unfazed, enjoying the attention but never succumbing to her advances. Instead, his focus seemed to gravitate towards you, the forgotten princess, whose sweetness and sadness intrigued him more than Anna's boldness ever could.

Your family's disregard for your feelings and opinions did not go unnoticed by Rasputin. He observed how you were often left behind, ignored, and forgotten, yet you continued to display kindness and grace in the face of such neglect. This purity of heart only served to deepen Rasputin's fascination with you, contrasting sharply with the sinful women he was accustomed to.

In his eyes, you were a beacon of purity in a world tainted by ambition and deceit. He was drawn to the idea of making you his own, of protecting you from the cruelties of the world and showering you with the love and attention you so desperately deserved.

But Rasputin's intentions were not entirely altruistic. His desires were driven by a complex mix of genuine affection and a hunger for power, a hunger that could only be satiated by possessing something as pure and untainted as your soul.

And as Rasputin's teachings continued to enthrall both you and Anna, his attention towards you became increasingly intense, bordering on obsession. While Anna basked in his charismatic presence, you became the subject of Rasputin's fascination, his thoughts consumed by visions of you.

In the dead of night, as he lay in the embrace of nameless women, their bodies intertwined in a dance of desire, it was not their faces he saw, but yours. With each whispered breath and sinful caress, he imagined it was you beneath him, your purity tarnished by his touch, your innocence corrupted by his desires.

"Such sweet innocence," he murmured, his baritone voice laced with hunger as he traced imaginary lines upon your skin, his fingers tingling with anticipation. "I shall be the one to pluck the forbidden fruit, to taste the nectar of your purity and revel in the ecstasy of your corruption."

His dreams were filled with visions of you, your image haunting him even in the depths of his slumber. In his mind's eye, he saw himself as the serpent, tempting you with promises of enlightenment and ecstasy, leading you down the path of sin and salvation.

But his desires were not merely confined to the realm of dreams. In the quiet moments of solitude, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin found himself consumed by thoughts of you, his mind ablaze with fantasies of conquest and domination.

"I shall be your savior and your downfall," he whispered to the shadows, his voice a seductive lure that beckoned you into his embrace. "For in your innocence lies the key to my salvation, and in your corruption, the promise of eternal damnation."

And so, fueled by his insatiable hunger and boundless ambition, Rasputin set out to claim you as his own, using every ounce of charm and influence at his disposal to bend you to his will. For in the forgotten princess, he saw not just a vessel for his desires, but a pawn in his game of power and manipulation, a pawn he was all too willing to sacrifice on the altar of his own ambition.

That day, following another session of Rasputin imparting God's precepts, your sister, Anna, departed, leaving you alone with the man. Summoning all your courage, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a muffled murmur. "Rasputin, may I have a moment of your time?"

Surprised by the request, Rasputin turned his piercing gaze towards you, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Of course, my dear princess. What is it that troubles you?"

You hesitated, the weight of your words heavy upon your tongue, but with a deep breath, you found the resolve to speak. "I... I wish to learn about economics and life outside the castle."

Rasputin arched an eyebrow, a hint of intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Economics, you say? A curious choice for a princess."

You glanced down at the floor, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you spoke. "My sister is learning about it from my father, and... and I fear for my future. If I am to be cast aside, I wish to be prepared."

Rasputin's expression softened, a glimmer of empathy shining through his enigmatic facade. "I see. You wish to carve your own path, regardless of the obstacles in your way."

You nodded, a sense of relief washing over you as Rasputin seemed to understand your plight. "Yes, precisely. Will you... will you teach me?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Rasputin's lips, his eyes alight with newfound admiration. "It would be my honor, Princess. I shall impart upon you the knowledge you seek, and together, we shall navigate the intricacies of the world beyond these walls."

With a sense of gratitude swelling within your heart, you stepped forward, surprising Rasputin with a brief embrace before bowing in gratitude. "Thank you, Rasputin. You have given me hope where there was none."

Rasputin returned the gesture, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he inhaled the sweet scent of your perfume, committing it to memory. "It is my pleasure, Princess. Fear not, for I shall be your guide in this journey of discovery."

And as you departed, a newfound sense of purpose burning within your soul, Rasputin watched you with a mixture of fascination and desire, knowing that this encounter had sealed your fates together in ways neither of you could have anticipated.

He closed his eyes, your scent still lingering in the air, a sweet temptation that beckoned to him. It was as if you had left a part of yourself behind, a tantalizing reminder of the warmth and sweetness you brought into his life. With a soft sigh, Rasputin relished in the memory, savoring the fleeting sensation of your presence before it dissipated into the ether.

Woman was made for man, Rasputin mused, his thoughts drifting towards the biblical tale of Adam and Eve. Just as Eve was fair for Adam, you were made for him, his sweet temptation, a forbidden fruit that he longed to taste again and again.

But there was no time for lingering indulgence. With a sense of purpose burning within him, Rasputin quickly left the chamber, his steps echoing against the marble floors as he made his way to his quarters. The warmth of your touch still lingered upon his skin, igniting a fire within him that refused to be extinguished.

As he entered his private chambers, Rasputin wasted no time in undressing, his movements swift and purposeful as he discarded his clothes with practiced ease. His pants fell around his ankles, pooling at his feet, while he bit the hem of his shirt, pulling it high to reveal his semi-hard penis.

With a hunger that bordered on desperation, Rasputin took himself in hand, his touch firm and demanding as he stroked himself to full hardness. His mind was consumed by thoughts of you, kneeling before him, your eyes filled with devotion as you eagerly awaited his instruction.

Imagining your scent, your touch, Rasputin lost himself in a whirlwind of desire, his fantasies taking on a life of their own as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating pleasure of his own touch. With each stroke, he imagined your lips trailing kisses along his length, your hands exploring every inch of his body with a hunger that mirrored his own.

"Oh, my sweet princess," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he imagined you kneeling before him, your eyes filled with adoration as you worshipped at his feet. "You are my greatest temptation, my deepest desire. I shall make you mine, body and soul, and together, we shall conquer the world."

Driven by a primal need for release, Rasputin quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he approached the brink of ecstasy. With a final, desperate cry, he succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his climax washing over him in a tidal wave of ecstasy as he spilled himself onto the floor below.

As he lay there, spent and sated, Rasputin's mind was filled with visions of you, your image burning brightly in the darkness of his thoughts. For in that moment, he knew that you were not just a princess to be conquered, but a queen to be crowned, a partner in his quest for power and domination.

And as he drifted off to sleep, Rasputin whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods, grateful for the sweet temptation that had entered his life and forever altered the course of his destiny.

The next day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the palace grounds, Rasputin made his way to the Palace library, where you awaited his arrival with a sense of eager anticipation. Dressed in his usual attire of flowing robes and unkempt hair, Rasputin exuded an air of mystery and authority as he entered the room, his presence commanding attention as he took his seat across from you.

With a soft smile, you greeted him, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you presented him with the gift—a delicate necklace adorned with a small cross. Rasputin's gaze lingered on the necklace for a moment, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns before meeting your eyes with a look of genuine gratitude.

"Thank you, my princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that washed over you like a warm embrace. "This is a most thoughtful gift, and I shall cherish it always."

As you stepped forward to place the necklace around his neck, Rasputin allowed you to do so, relishing in the warmth of your touch as you arranged it in his robes. His heart swelled with affection as he looked down at you, his eyes softening with genuine fondness as he beheld your innocence and purity.

With a gentle smile, Rasputin blessed you, making the sign of the cross and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before the start of your lesson. Despite the temptation to indulge in more intimate gestures, Rasputin restrained himself, contenting himself with the simple pleasure of your company as you embarked on your journey of learning together.

As the lessons progressed, you found yourself drawn to Rasputin's enigmatic presence, your curiosity piqued by the tales of his past and the rumors that surrounded him. With a shy yet earnest expression, you broached the subject, your voice barely above a whisper as you dared to ask about his life outside the palace walls.

Rasputin's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes as he considered your question. "Ah, my dear princess, the rumors you have heard are but fragments of the truth, distorted by the whispers of those who seek to tarnish my reputation."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Yes, it is true that I have wandered far and wide, seeking enlightenment and guidance from the divine. But depraved? No, my dear, I am merely a humble servant of God, seeking to fulfill my purpose in this world."

You listened intently, hanging on his every word as he shared glimpses of his past and the trials he had faced along the way. Despite the shadows that lingered in his past, you couldn't help but feel a sense of compassion and understanding towards him, drawn to the complexity of his character and the depth of his soul.

As the evening drew to a close, Rasputin bid you farewell with a kind smile, his eyes alight with warmth and affection as he promised to continue your lessons in the days to come. And as you watched him depart, a sense of gratitude welled within you, grateful for the opportunity to learn from a man whose wisdom and guidance would shape your destiny in ways you could never have imagined.

In the days that followed, Rasputin reveled in your presence, relishing the opportunity to share his knowledge with you under the veil of secrecy. Late into the night, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin would summon you to the library, where he would teach you about life beyond the castle walls.

With each lesson, you drank in his words like a parched traveler in the desert, eager to quench your thirst for knowledge and understanding. Rasputin proved to be an engaging teacher, his baritone voice weaving tales of far-off lands and exotic cultures that captured your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.

As the nights turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings became increasingly intimate, his lessons delving into the mysteries of the flesh and the pleasures of the senses. With each whispered confession and lingering touch, he awakened something primal within you, a hunger that burned with a fierce intensity.

And then, one fateful night, as the candles flickered and cast long shadows across the library shelves, Rasputin could resist you no longer. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he pinned you against the nearest shelf, his body pressed against yours as he accused you of consuming his thoughts, of tempting him away from God.

"I don't understand," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes. "Why would you say such things?"

Rasputin's expression softened, a mixture of frustration and longing flickering in his eyes as he gazed down at you. "Because it's true, my dear princess. You consume my thoughts, cloud my prayers, tempt me away from the path of righteousness with your sweet innocence."

You shook your head, a sense of disbelief washing over you as you struggled to comprehend his words. "But... but I never meant to..."

Before you could finish your sentence, Rasputin's hands found their way to your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive as he held you in place. "You may deny it, my dear, but I see the truth in your eyes. You long for my touch, crave my kiss, even as you try to push me away."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words bearing down upon you like a heavy burden. "But these are things I should only do with my husband," you protested weakly, your hands instinctively moving to push him away.

Rasputin stood firm, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he refused to let you go. "And what husband would want you?" he countered, his voice low and husky with desire. "An infertile, useless woman like yourself?"

You stammered, your mind racing as you struggled to find a response. "But... but there are women in the Bible who were infertile and still got married because their husbands wanted them," you argued, desperate to find some semblance of reason in the chaos of your thoughts.

Rasputin nodded, his eyes alight with a fierce intensity as he gazed down at you. "Yes, my dear, and I want you," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I desire you, I love you. Only I can give you what you desire, what you deserve."

You recoiled in surprise, the shock of his words reverberating through your very being. "But... but I'm sterile," you protested weakly, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "How could you possibly..."

Rasputin cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his expression unwavering in its determination. "It matters not," he declared, his voice filled with conviction. "With my seed, I can give you a child, fulfill your deepest desires. You need only let me."

You stared up at him in disbelief, the weight of his words sinking in like a heavy anchor dragging you down into the depths of despair. Could it be true? Could Rasputin truly possess such power?

But as you looked into his eyes, burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, you knew that you had no choice but to believe. For in that moment, Rasputin was not just a man, but a force of nature, a tempest of desire and passion that threatened to consume you whole.

And as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, you made a decision. With a trembling breath, you closed the distance between you, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating allure of Rasputin's embrace. For in his arms, you found not just desire, but salvation, a glimmer of hope in the darkness that surrounded you.

Rasputin moaned against your mouth, his lips hungrily seeking yours as he savored the taste of your kiss. To him, your embrace was like water in the desert, a sweet temptation that he had longed to taste. With a fierce determination, he pressed you harder against the shelf, his hands roaming over your body with an urgency that mirrored his own desires.

As the books fell around you, you grasped onto the shelf for support, one hand holding it above you while the other clutched onto Rasputin's shoulder. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume your very soul.

Feeling your response, Rasputin picked you up effortlessly, his strong arms holding your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs. With a sense of surrender, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you moaned his name against his lips.

"Rasputin," you whispered, the name slipping from your tongue like a prayer. "I don't know what's happening, but I want you."

Rasputin's eyes gleamed with a mix of desire and determination as he reassured you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I will guide you, my dear princess," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Trust in me, and I will show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."

With a sense of anticipation coursing through your veins, you surrendered yourself to Rasputin's embrace, allowing him to lead you into a world of forbidden desire and ecstasy. Together, you embarked on a journey of passion and exploration, each touch and caress igniting a fire within you that refused to be extinguished.

As Rasputin laid you against the table, sweeping aside the books with a careless gesture, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mingled with trepidation. Was this how you would lose your virginity? At a table in the library, with Rasputin's hungry gaze upon you?

Your thoughts were interrupted as Rasputin pulled the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. A blush rose to your cheeks at the sudden exposure, but Rasputin paid no mind, his lips descending upon your skin with a fervent hunger.

With a low moan, you arched your back, offering yourself to him completely as he took a breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking against your sensitive flesh in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

"Rasputin," you gasped, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the ecstasy of his touch. "Please, I need you."

Rasputin grunted against your breast, his lips trailing kisses along your skin with a fervent hunger, you felt a sense of overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. His touch was like fire against your skin, igniting a passion within you that threatened to consume your very soul.

"Call me Grigori," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "That's my name."

You nodded, your mind clouded with desire as you struggled to comprehend the intensity of your feelings. "I... I don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you confessed your lack of knowledge to him.

Rasputin's eyes gleamed with amusement, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths as he reassured you with a gentle smile. "That's quite all right, my dear," he replied, his voice dripping with honeyed charm. "I shall teach you."

With his guidance, you helped him remove his clothes, your fingers trembling with anticipation as you undid the buttons of his tunic. As the fabric fell away, leaving him clad only in his pants and the necklace you had given him, you couldn't help but admire the sight before you.

But when Rasputin undid his pants, exposing his enormous penis wrapped in dark, coarse curls like his beard, you couldn't help but gasp in surprise and fear at its size. "Is... is it supposed to be like that?" you questioned, your eyes wide with uncertainty as you looked up at him.

Rasputin chuckled, a deep rumble of amusement that reverberated through your very core. "No, my dear princess, not all men are gifted like me," he explained, his voice a seductive purr as he took your hand and led it to his throbbing member.

With his guidance, you began to caress him, your fingers exploring every inch of his length with a curiosity that bordered on fascination. Rasputin's breath hitched with pleasure as you spread the pre-cum to lubricate it, his hips rocking against your touch in a rhythm that mirrored your own desires.

Encouraged by his response, you pressed your thumb against the small hole of his red penis, marveling at its size and texture. "It's so large," you whispered, your voice filled with wonder as you continued to explore him with a newfound sense of curiosity.

Rasputin groaned in response, his eyes dark with desire as he urged you on with a husky whisper. "Yes, my princess, it is," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he guided your hand with a firm yet gentle touch. "But fear not, for I shall show you how to please me. Press a little harder, yes... just like that."

Emboldened by his encouragement, you pressed a little harder, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Rasputin's breath hitched in his chest. With each stroke, you became more curious, more eager to explore the depths of his desire and pleasure.

"Such a good girl," Rasputin praised, his voice a low growl that sent shivers of excitement coursing through your body

As Rasputin's penis leaked more pre-cum, you couldn't help but notice the glistening liquid coating your hand. Curiosity getting the better of you, you asked, "What is this liquid, Grigori? It's... slippery."

Rasputin took a moment to process your question, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he focused on the sensation of your hand on him. With a low chuckle, he finally responded, his voice husky with desire, "Ah, my dear princess, that is pre-cum. It's a natural lubricant that the body produces to prepare for intercourse."

Your eyes widened with surprise at his explanation, a blush creeping up your cheeks at the realization of what his body was preparing for. "I see," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you continued to stroke him, feeling the slickness of the pre-cum between your fingers.

But then, a curious glint entered your eyes as a thought occurred to you. "Do... do women produce this type of liquid too?" you questioned, a hint of innocence lacing your words.

Rasputin's eyebrows shot up in surprise at your question, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he realized where your thoughts were leading. "Oh, my princess, women have their own special way of preparing for intercourse," he replied, his voice dripping with suggestive intent. "But perhaps I should show you rather than explain."

With a sly grin, Rasputin guided your hand to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers tracing light circles against your sensitive flesh. You gasped at the sensation, a shiver running down your spine as he teased you with feather-light touches.

"Feel that, my dear?" Rasputin murmured, his voice a seductive purr as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "That's your body's way of preparing for pleasure, of inviting me inside you."

You moaned softly at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as desire surged through your veins. "I... I want you, Grigori," you whispered, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch.

Rasputin chuckled darkly, a hunger burning in his eyes as he pressed himself against you, his hardness pressing against your core. "Then let me show you, my dear princess," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let me show you how good it can feel to be mine."

He helped you remove your panties and lie down on the table. He maintained his reassuring demeanor, acknowledging the fear and uncertainty clouding your mind. With gentle yet firm hands, he positioned himself between your legs, his gaze locking with yours as he spoke with honesty and candor.

"Princess, I won't lie to you. This may hurt at first," Rasputin admitted, his voice a soothing murmur that washed over you like a warm embrace. "But as you get used to it, you may find that you enjoy it. Trust me, my dear."

With a trembling nod, you clung to his shoulders, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. As Rasputin leaned down to kiss your collarbone and suck your breasts once more, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins, mingled with the primal fear of the unknown.

But then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Rasputin guided himself inside you, his entry careful yet determined. As he predicted, you felt a sharp pain rippling through your body, causing tears to well up in your eyes as you cried out in discomfort.

"Please, Rasputin, it hurts," you whimpered, your voice trembling with anguish as you clung to him for support. "Make it stop."

Rasputin's heart ached at the sight of your tears, but he knew that he had to be strong for both of you. With a hoarse voice filled with reassurance, he whispered words of comfort as he continued to sink deeper into you, his movements slow and deliberate.

"It will get better, my dear. I promise," Rasputin murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he brushed away your tears with gentle kisses. "Just hold on to me, and trust in the pleasure that awaits you."

Despite the pain, you found solace in Rasputin's words, clinging to him with a fierce determination as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch. With each thrust, the pain began to subside, replaced by a faint glimmer of pleasure that stirred something deep within your soul.

And then, as if by magic, you felt a shift in sensation, a spark of pleasure igniting within you as Rasputin's penis brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside your core. With a gasp of surprise, you realized that the pain was fading, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure that threatened to consume your very being.

"Grigori," you moaned, your voice thick with desire as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer with each thrust. "Don't stop, please."

Rasputin groaned in response, his movements becoming more urgent as he surrendered himself to the primal hunger that burned within him. With each thrust, he felt himself drawn deeper into you, his desire mingling with yours in a frenzy of passion and ecstasy.

"Gods, you feel so good, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deeper inside you. "So tight, so hot. I never want to leave this place."

You moaned in response, the scrape of his penis against your pussy sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As Rasputin increased his thrusts, making the cross of his necklace bang against your chin with each movement, he seemed to go wild, his baritone voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Oh, my sweet temptation," he groaned, his words punctuated by ragged gasps of pleasure. "I'll fill you with my babies, hmm? You'll carry my seed, my mark, deep inside you."

His messy hair and beard framed his face as he leaned in closer, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered in your ear. "Your pussy, my dear princess, it's the best I've ever had. So sweet, so tight. You're mine now, mine alone."

With each thrust, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment becoming more explicit with each passing moment. "I'll give you everything you want, everything you desire," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I'll put the world at your feet, my dear. Just let me fill you, claim you as mine."

Rasputin slowed his movements, allowing you to savor the sensation of his cock dragging inside you. He gazed into your eyes with a mixture of desire and curiosity. His baritone voice was thick with anticipation as he posed the question that hung heavy in the air between you.

"Do you want my baby, my princess?" Rasputin whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he waited for your response. "Only I can give you that. Only I can fill you with my seed."

Your heart raced at his words, a mixture of desire and fear swirling within you as you struggled to find the words to respond. But before you could form a coherent thought, a whimper escaped your lips, a desperate plea for the fulfillment that only Rasputin could provide.

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming pleasure of the moment. "Yes, Rasputin, please. I don't want to be barren. I don't want to be a useless woman."

But Rasputin silenced your fears with a trail of kisses down your chin to your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he declared his intentions with a fervent determination.

"You are not useless to me, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice laced with sincerity as he held you close, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "I will put a baby inside you. I will give you as many children as you want, whatever you desire. For now, you are mine, my sweet temptation."

With each word, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment echoing in the air around you. And as he closed his lips around your nipple, sucking greedily at your sweet breasts, you couldn't help but moan in ecstasy, lost in the overwhelming sensation of his touch.

"Such sweet breasts," Rasputin murmured between sucks, his voice thick with desire as he reveled in the pleasure of your virgin flesh. "So untouched, so pure. You are mine now, my dear. Mine to mold, mine to possess."

But then, in the midst of his ecstasy, Rasputin's pleasure was interrupted by a sudden scream of pain as his hair was yanked back and he was thrown onto the floor. With a startled cry, he looked up to see the king, your father, standing over him with a look of rage in his eyes.

"Father, no!" you screamed in shame, covering your breasts with your arms as you rushed to his side, only to be met with a sharp slap that sent you sprawling to the ground with a cry of pain.

"Silence, you wretched girl!" the king thundered, his voice filled with contempt as he glared down at you. "You are no daughter of mine, no princess of this kingdom. You are nothing but a disgrace, a stain upon our noble bloodline."

As your father's foot connected with your side, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath, Rasputin roared in fury, his voice reverberating off the walls of the library. "How dare you touch my sweet temptation!" he thundered, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.

With a primal growl, Rasputin launched himself at the king, his hands curled into fists as he sought to strike back against the man who dared to harm you. But the guards were quick to react, their grip tightening around Rasputin's arms as they delivered swift kicks to his legs, forcing him to his knees before the king.

"What do you think you're doing, Rasputin?" the king demanded, his voice laced with contempt as he glared down at the fallen man. "How dare you lay a hand on my daughter? I've heard rumors of your depravity, but I never expected such audacity from you."

Rasputin's nostrils flared with anger as he struggled against the guards, his eyes never leaving the king's face. "She is mine," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "And I will not let anyone stand in the way of what is rightfully mine."

As the king's fist collided with Rasputin's jaw, the sound of bone meeting bone echoed through the library, followed by a low grunt of pain from Rasputin. You screamed from the ground, begging your father to stop, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for mercy, but the king ignored you, his gaze fixed on Rasputin with a mixture of contempt and rage.

Ignoring your cries, the king grabbed a handful of Rasputin's hair, yanking his head back with a cruel force that made blood trickle down from Rasputin's nose. With a sneer of disgust, the king leaned in close, his voice dripping with disdain as he delivered his ultimatum.

"Leave this kingdom, Rasputin," the king spat, his breath hot against Rasputin's face. "Or I'll have you killed like the vermin you are."

Rasputin's eyes blazed with defiance, his voice a low growl of anger. "I'll go nowhere without her," he declared, his baritone voice resonating with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "She belongs to me, and I will not leave her behind."

The king's lips curled into a sneer of contempt as he pushed Rasputin away, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "She is of no use to me," he scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. "But she is certainly not yours to claim."

Rasputin's gaze darkened with a hint of menace, his voice low and dangerous. "I will have her, one way or another," he threatened, his eyes flashing with an otherworldly intensity. "And if you stand in my way, I will unleash a curse upon this kingdom that will make your blood run cold."

Suddenly, the air in the library grew thick with a palpable tension, the lights dimming as if a shadow had fallen over the room. Books tumbled from their shelves, glass shattered on the floor, and a bone-chilling cold swept through the air, causing the king and his guards to recoil in fear.

With a triumphant smirk, Rasputin raised his hand, his voice echoing with a dark power as he summoned forth the spirits of the unseen world. "Feel the wrath of the unseen," he intoned, his voice a haunting melody that sent shivers down your spine. "And know that I am not to be trifled with."

As the king and his guards stumbled back in fear, the guards holding Rasputin suddenly began to choke, their faces turning purple as if they were being deprived of air.

"You see, Your Majesty," Rasputin murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "You cannot control me. I am beyond your reach, beyond your power. And now, I demand that you give her to me. She belongs to me, body and soul."

The king's face contorted with rage as he stared at Rasputin, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Never," he spat, his voice filled with fury. "She is my daughter, and I will not let her fall into the clutches of a madman like you."

Rasputin chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intensity as he gazed down at the king, who was now struggling to breathe. "You should have listened to reason, Your Majesty," Rasputin sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But now, you shall pay the price for your arrogance."

With a swift motion, Rasputin closed his fist, his fingers curling into a tight grip as he exerted his will upon the king. The air grew thick with a suffocating pressure, and the king fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his neck as he gasped for air.

You, still recovering from the shock of the confrontation, scrambled to your feet, your dress now hastily arranged as you rushed to your father's side. "Father, please!" you cried, tears streaming down your face as you tried to help him. "Stop this, Grigori!"

But Rasputin paid you no heed, his eyes fixed on the king as he continued to exert his dark power. "You dare to defy me, Your Majesty?" Rasputin growled, his voice low and menacing. "You are but a puppet in my hands, a pawn in my game."

As the king's struggles grew weaker, you found yourself torn between loyalty to your father and fear of Rasputin's wrath. Desperate to save your father, you crawled on your knees to Rasputin, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination.

"Please, Rasputin," you begged, your voice trembling with emotion as you clutched his hand, pleading for mercy. "He's my father. I can't bear to see him suffer. Please, spare him."

For a moment, Rasputin hesitated, his intense gaze softening as he looked at you, his sweet temptation, pleading for mercy. The memory of his promise to give you anything you desired flashed through his mind, and with a sigh, he relented, his grip on your hand loosening.

"It's okay," he murmured, his baritone voice a soothing balm against the chaos surrounding you. "I won't kill your father."

You breathed a sigh of relief, tears still streaming down your face as you clung to Rasputin, grateful for his mercy. Behind you, your father coughed and struggled to catch his breath, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as Rasputin picked up his pants from the floor, hastily putting them on.

As Rasputin grabbed your hand, determination burning in his eyes, he gestured for you to follow him. "Come, my dear," he urged, his voice urgent yet reassuring. "We must leave before your father calls for the guards."

Your father, still catching his breath, shouted breathlessly for the guards as Rasputin pulled you along, running through the halls towards the stables. With each step, your heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement, knowing that your fate was now intertwined with Rasputin's.

As you reached the stables, Rasputin quickly assessed the situation, his eyes scanning the rows of horses for the fastest steed. Spotting a sleek black stallion in the corner, he wasted no time in approaching it, his movements confident and purposeful.

"This one," Rasputin declared, his voice authoritative as he reached out to stroke the horse's mane. "He will do."

With practiced ease, Rasputin saddled the horse, his movements swift and efficient as he prepared to make his escape. As he helped you onto the horse's back, he climbed up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a protective embrace.

"Hold on tight, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice low and reassuring as he urged the horse into a gallop. "We have a long journey ahead of us, but together, we will overcome whatever challenges lie in our path."

And as the horse galloped away from the castle, Rasputin's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you close to him as you clung to him for dear life. With each beat of the horse's hooves against the ground, you felt yourself leaving behind the chaos and danger of the castle, riding towards an uncertain future with Rasputin by your side.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #rasputin #rasputin x reader #grigori rasputin #oc #rasputin 1996

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