#that's not even the half of the religious insanity i had to deal with

[halfelven]

All I know about Swedenborgianism is that it was Helen Keller’s religion… what IS it exactly

it's like there was this guy who was like ohhhhhhh i have ~visions~ from God and i Know things that you do Not @ the established church and he was kinda considered heretical but didn't really get punished too much for it and then he went on to inspire a lot of really influential people and i think i've read his entire works bc my f*ther was obsessed with him bc he thought he himself was a prophet of god like swedenborg had been and had all these visions and talked to angels and stuff

i guess where he differs from mainstream christianity is in certain beliefs such as: god is love and never angry so he doesn't send anyone to hell and people of other religions who did their best in life and then die will meet and accept the christian god after death (???)

the trinity is not three persons/beings. but one god only. (??? i personally don't know nor care what the importance of the trinity being one person or three persons is)

idk i'm not an expert. he just has a lot of really weird stuff in his books and i had to listen to it + the bible for 2 - 3 (or 4!) hours every morning before i had eaten and how they were tied to the end of the world that was coming before i was grown up (ha) and so i fuckign hate him but i wasn't really entirely swedenborgian bc my f*ther thought he was a more Important Prophet of God and was more focused on how much god fucking hated everyone (especially people like me) and wanted people to Suffer and be tortured forever in hell (don't get me started on how hell wouldn't work) also he was obsessed with predicting the end of the world based on which pope was going to be the anti-christ

oh and swedenborg thought aliens lived on all the planets in the solar system and had different traits and i refused to believe that

(also my f*ther was weirdly obsessed with fucking balzac's Séraphîta except that Séraphîta is supposed to be "perfect androgyne" and my f*ther was sooooooo insistent that Séraphîta was a woman. which was fun to fight about when i was 9

he was actually just Obsessed with weird european philosophers/theologians/philosophers/freaks from the 1700s and 1800s. and had all these old books from the 1800s that he got when a library in new hampshire was going to toss them. there were so many insane things in them.)

wikipedia quotes under cut:

"In 1745, aged 57, Swedenborg was dining in a private room at a tavern in London. By the end of the meal, a darkness fell upon his eyes, and the room shifted character. Suddenly, he saw a person sitting at a corner of the room, telling him: "Do not eat too much!". Swedenborg, scared, hurried home. Later that night, the same man appeared in his dreams. The man told Swedenborg that he was the Lord, that he had appointed Swedenborg to reveal the spiritual meaning of the Bible and that he would guide Swedenborg in what to write. The same night, the spiritual world was opened to Swedenborg." "According to The Heavenly Doctrine, the Lord had opened Swedenborg's spiritual eyes so that from then on, he could freely visit heaven and hell to converse with angels, demons and other spirits" "Swedenborg wrote about Heaven and Hell based on what he said was revelation from God. According to Swedenborg, God is love itself and intends everyone to go to heaven. That was His purpose for creation. Thus, God is never angry, Swedenborg says, and does not cast anyone into Hell. The appearance of Him being angry at evil-doers was permitted due to the primitive level of understanding of people in Biblical times. Specifically, holy fear was needed to keep the people of those times from sinking irretrievably into the consequences of their evils. The holy fear idea was in keeping with the fundamental truth that even they could understand, that everything comes from Jehovah. In the internal, spiritual sense of the Word, however, revealed in Swedenborg’s works, God can be clearly seen for the loving Person He actually is."

"Swedenborg argued that the Trinity was not three persons—the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—but one, "the Father being the originating divine being itself, the Son the human embodiment of that divine soul, and the Holy Spirit the outflowing activity of Jesus, or the 'Divine Human'"

[lalunanymph]

୨⎯ 🖤⎯୧ 𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐃É𝐌𝐎𝐍

driven by a desperate need to uncover the truth behind your visions after the chaos at the auction, you strike a deal with sylus to unlock more of your memories… only to discover far more than what you bargained for

𓇢𓆸 MONSTERFUCKING, explicit smut with sylus in his demon form, cumflation, predicament bondage (he ties you up with his evol), mentions of pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, nightmare landscapes, references to GOETHE'S "FAUST" AND HADES imagery for my rendition of sylus' origin, religious imagery, sacrilege, mentions of food, mentions of blood, mentions of death, reader goes insane, mentions of gore, mentions of violence, reader and sylus had a child together, sexy but it's also pretty angsty wbk, this is barely edited ... sorry ...

They say that no one understands human curiosity quite like a demon does.

Once angels with the entire heavens at their feet, their eyes now scorch the earth searching for souls to entrap and torture, striking deals in turn for pounds of flesh they devour once a mortal leaves the realm. 

Demons were cunning and ruthless creatures who struck fear into every heart they encountered; whose natural oozing charm and demeanor could convince even the most stalwart of men to sell their soul in exchange for a paltry consolation prize. 

In a way, Sylus reminds you of a demon. 

If it weren't for the deal you struck with him to bring you to the auction at the hotel, you wouldn't be stuck in this liminal situation where you know too much, but not enough.

After the incident at the Salon Hotel where your memories were coming back in pieces and fragments, frustration stole the last of your rationality and you all but begged the towering, intimidating lord of the N109 underworld to help you gain more of your recollections back.

At first, he had refused to do so with no reason given. 

But, just as you overestimate how stubborn he can be, he underestimates just how persistent you are in turn. 

Sitting across from him in nothing but a scarlet robe he had gifted you, the runny morning sunlight spilling across the mahogany table does nothing to warm you up from the inside out. You're still jittery from the explosion and the fight with that strange looking Wanderer, all while your lover (partner?) appears both nonchalant and nonplussed despite almost losing his life a few nights ago. 

"I can hear the wheels in your head turning, sweetie."

Sylus finally puts down the book he's been reading for the past half an hour, peering at you over his glasses. 

You clear your throat and reach for the glass of pomegranate juice the personal chef had prepared, whetting your throat and your lips for what you have to say next.

"Sylus, it's been days since the last time we were at the hotel," you pause, biting your lower lip. "Don't you think I deserve an explanation of what happened? What I saw in those... flashbacks?" 

If you could even call them that.

The dagger in your hand. The blood stains on your fingers. A towering, dark figure whose touch was more familiar than you could ever believe. It all felt too real and tangible. 

Much, much too tangible. 

As much as you try to ignore it, bury your curiosity six feet under where you could never see it again, your innate Hunter instincts tell you there's something big he's not telling you. 

Something he can't tell you.

Sylus' exaggerated exhale grates your ears and he gives you a scrutinizing look all over.

"I told you—"

"You have no idea what set off those flashbacks, yeah, I heard," you bite back, seething.

A shadow of a grin teases the corners of his lips. "Seems like the little kitten has her claws ready. Whatever is bothering you, sweetie?" 

Bristling at his patronizing tone, your glare sharpens, your grip around the glass tightening. 

"I want to know the truth, Sy." You lean back in the chair and cross your arms. "The whole truth. And nothing but. Why did I have those visions? Why were you in them? Why can't my memories come back no matter how hard I try to remember?" 

You expect him to scoff or play elusive with you like he usually does. But, for the first time since you've met him, Sylus is wearing a pensive look, one which draws the angles of his face to look older than his 28 years of age. 

"Are you sure you want to know?" 

His voice is hoarser than you expect, and you perk up in disbelief.

"You-you're willing to tell me?" 

His crimson eyes flicker to the pomegranate juice in your hands.

"I would like to. But, it depends on if you can handle the truth, little bird." 

You squint at him through narrowed eyes, trying to uncover the ploy he has up his sleeve. Trusting Sylus didn't come naturally to you, though you did try for the sake of the Aether Core bond connecting you both. 

"I can handle it," you mutter decisively. "You've seen what happened after the hotel explosion—I can handle it."

The sunlight cascading behind you drenches half of his face in the shadows, a look of deep contemplation etched in his countenance. 

"Alright." He stands up, and without another moment to spare, rummages in his fridge, fishing out a whole pomegranate and peeling it with nimble, sure fingers. Your curiosity simmers to a boiling point when he taps out a handful of seeds, placing it in a bowl and pushing it right towards you.

"Eat up." 

Cautiously, you assess the blood red seeds, wondering if this was a test or some sort for him to evaluate you. 

“What is this?” 

Those crimson eyes glint with an unnamed emotion, and his expression remains unfathomable. Straightening to his full height, Sylus sauntered over to you, hands in his robe pockets; a teasing grin on his lips. He stops just shy of brushing his shins against your knees, and leans forward, broad shoulders blocking out the morning sunlight as he drenches you in the full shadows of his intentions and secrecy.

“You asked me to tell you the truth and I will. Consider these seeds a downpayment for what I’m about to reveal to you tonight.” 

Adrenaline spikes your veins, and your breathing hitches with excitement.

Is he really…?

Your thoughts trail off, and you hum, reluctantly picking up one perfectly round, juicy red globe. 

Faintly, your voice reaches him, soft and frayed with hesitancy. 

“And if I do this, will you tell me everything I want to know?” 

Striking a deal with Sylus is like striking a deal with the devil himself. You knew this—if it was too good to be true, there was something you had to give back in return. But… the idea of fully comprehending the horrible visions you saw is much too tempting. 

In answer, he cocks his head to one side, regarding you curiously like how a raven might, his mannerisms bringing to mind a scheming Mephisto. 

“Of course. When have I ever gone back on my deal?” 

The allure of knowing is too hard to resist. As you bite down on the pomegranate seeds, its sweet juices coating your tongue, you never thought succumbing to temptation could taste this good. 

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

It’s night somewhere in the recesses of your consciousness. 

You should be in your own bed in Sylus’ mansion, high thread count sheets pulled up to your chin, but instead, you’re barefoot in this abandoned colosseum, staring up at the towering effigies of old gods long departed from this world. The state of these statues are in ruin; fragments of faces and bodies missing as if they were alone were the lone survivors of a universe-changing explosion.

Only the sound of your breath and the rustle of your footsteps whispering across the stone floor touched your ears. Your guard is up, and you think you’re fully here alone when a presence makes itself known behind you. 

You feel his arms wrap around your torso, pulling you right to his chest. There is no need to turn around; you already know who it was.

Silver hair the color of snow shines in this drab, gray pantheon where old gods and a new world witness him getting to his knees, pressing his face right into your belly that, you realize with a jolt, is protruding slightly.

“I have missed you,” his familiar baritone sends sparks of longing down your spine, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, sighing deeply in contentment.

“My brother tried to keep me locked in the basement,” your words, though foreign to your own ears, felt right at this moment.

Sylus, dressed in a soldier’s uniform, kisses your stomach again, his yearning felt through his sigh when he caresses your hips with broad strokes of his large palms. “I only wish to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“That is my dearest wish, too,” you reply back in a shaky voice.

His smirk, though flashed centuries apart from the Sylus you know now, is still familiar and cheeky. 

“Run away with me,” he decided, straightening up to tangle his fingers with yours, squeezing your hands tightly. “Run away with me and let us forget this horrendous fate, my love.” 

Tears pool in your eyes, and you touch your belly, as if holding onto it for strength. “My love, my brother will be back and he will wonder where I am. It is not safe for you here. He knows what you have done to me—” your grip tightens further on your belly, “—and he wants his revenge for the grave error you have caused my family and I. You need to run—”

The touching scene is interrupted by a man clearing his throat. The both of you look up to find the wounded eyes of your brother searing through the two of you. 

“Sylus,” Valentine snarled, and your lover is quick to hide you behind his broad build, unsheathing his sword. 

“Do not harm her,” Sylus’ tone is low and menacing. “Your sister had no part in this debauchery. It is me you want.” 

Your brother's eyes, so similar to your own, flash with a hunger for Sylus’ end and he swings the sword first. A bloody fight ensues, one man battling for your honor and the other for your love. Your cries go unheard, as if they are alike to the stone statues observing these conflicts with a detached eye.

“Sylus—noooo!” 

His blade sinks into Valentine’s chest, cherry red blood spewing out onto the stone floors. You drop to your knees, cradling your belly in anguish as you cry out your brother’s name over and over again. Your brother’s blood seeps through your hands, staining your snowy white nightgown as you fail to staunch his life from leaving his shuddering body. 

He’s dead… oh gods… he’s dead… My last family member is dead!

Devastated, you run off barefoot into the night, rocks and dirt cutting through the delicate soles of your feet as you scream and cry like a madwoman. 

Sylus has killed my brother… he’s killed my mother…

This cursed child in your womb! 

You want nothing more than to pull it from the flesh of your being, leaving it straggling and dying for breath. You want nothing of Sylus in you—there is an absence of everything warm and good in your shivering chest. All you desire for is his demise from this world. 

Hurling yourself into an empty church, you stagger to the sanctuary, climbing the steps and crumble into a desperate, sobbing heap. 

Tears drip down to the stone floor, and your sobs echo around the vacant space. Saint Verona gazes down upon you, heavenly in her glow of flowing blonde hair and esoteric glare, stoic and silent, as if she too has abandoned you from God’s good graces. A bubbling laughter filled with nothing but terror and hysteria bounces across the church’s walls and you cackle, tearing at your hair, your clothes, fists raining down onto your belly as you try to rid yourself of the monster’s child. 

The scene changes. 

Scorching earth fills your nose, and in your hand, a dagger prevails. 

There’s a thundering of hooves, like a battalion of horses fighting in the distance, ringing through your hollow ears. The ground shakes and trembles from the force of the hundred horses, but when you look up, you see a familiar pair of red eyes burning through the dark mists surrounding him. 

His name comes to you in a flash.

Sylus.

Those crimson orbs seem to float through the smoky composition of his face, though if you look closer, you can see the translucent demonic skin stretching over his towering form appearing in fleeting instances—proof that he was once human. 

You glare at him, getting to your feet and wield the dagger, aiming it straight for his heart.

The second the pointed tip sinks into his chest, the world explodes in a shock of white light, and you’re back in the same, decrepit pantheon. 

There is no longer a child inside of you, just hatred tearing through your heart as you bare your teeth at his demonic form, not afraid so much as devastated by his betrayal.

“You hurt me.” 

Your voice rings through the empty halls with the conviction of an entire jury waiting to declare him guilty. 

Sylus doesn’t respond, merely taking one step towards you. His demonic form towers above you by a few feet, but you tilt your head upright in defiance, unwilling to back down and grovel for a man who had left you in the lurch; abandoning you when you needed him the most.

A clawed hand drifts from his side, and you flinch when he touches your cheek, tracing his finger down to your jaw. The mists swirling around him recoil, as if waiting in anticipation.

“I’ve missed you.” His voice is a low croak, vibrating through your chest with the strength of his despair. 

You shrink back from his touch, the baleful glare on your lips never fading. 

“Why? After what you’ve done… after what you did to me…”

“I never intended for you to get caught in the crossfire,” he rumbled, taking one step closer to you. The tendrils of black mist move with him, and you feel them reaching out to you, caressing your arms, your hair. 

One of them touches your cheek, and you’re surprised to find it warm and pulsing, as if human blood ran through its dark haze. 

The tendril reaches to touch your lips, and those crimson eyes burn through the dark night, remaining steady on you. 

“I only wanted to make sure you were safe. That is why I made the deal with Mephisto.” 

You shake at the name of that cursed demon who had stolen your lover’s humanity. 

“And why should I believe you now?” 

Though in his demonic form, there are still bits of his humanity flickering through the amorphous slate of his once face. You can almost see his lips twisting into a frown, the desperation besmirching his brow with a furrow. 

“Do you think I would’ve done this—any of this—if it weren’t for you?” Sylus takes one thundering step towards you, close enough for you to reach out and brush his translucent skin. “I love you! I love you so much, my beloved and here you are, boldly claiming I want to destroy you. It is absurd.”

“It is not absurd!” you cry out, raising your fists and slamming them onto his chest. “You took everything away from me! You stole my livelihood, my sanity, my… my family!” 

Sylus caught you in time as your strength gives out and you crumple in front of him, tears seeping down your cheeks and staining your frock. 

“Our child… you didn’t even search for me when you found out the truth…”

Your hands clench above your hollow belly. 

For a palm with such immense size and width, it cups your face gently, bringing his face closer to yours, the love he feels for you desperately trying to bridge the distance. 

“I made sure to speak to the underworld lords. Our baby is currently in paradise now, my love. Nothing can hurt her. Her soul is free,” his voice breaks at the reminder of the price he had to pay to protect you and the child you both made out of love. The price of his soul, bartered and bargained for with the devil himself so his human lover would never feel an ounce of pain in her life again. 

You shake your head, tears staining the stone floor with dark droplets. “The price is too high, Sylus. It is too much. I should be taking on some of the burden—”

“You will remain in the above world, my love,” he reprimands you without an afterthought. “I will not ask you for much except to continue living as you would if I didn’t exist.” 

What’s left of his human conscience aches at the reminder of what he has to say next. “You are free to love, free to get married, have more children if you like… Your freedom has been bought and paid for. You don’t have to suffer anymore, Y/N. It is done.”

He stands after a second of hesitation, but you desperately reach out for him, grasping onto his broad shoulders. 

“I can’t live without you.” More tears gloss over your eyes, and you hiccup the truth through quivering lips. “Please. Sylus. There has to be a way we can be together.” 

He remains silent, impassive in the face of your desperate plea. 

The tendrils hovering around you are softer this time when they reach out to stroke your hair, grazing your cheeks and neck, leaving shivers of heat running up your spine. Effortlessly, like you weigh next to nothing, the wrap around your body, lifting you off the ground. 

Your back meets stone, and your hands are tethered above your head by the dark mist, the aching silence too much for you to handle.

“Sylus…” 

The sound of his name from your lips will never not be the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. 

Despite being dark and imposing in his demonic form, it doesn’t scare you a single bit when he moves closer, face hovering inches from yours. The tendrils now stroke your bare thighs, feeling the tensing of your muscles under his touch, wrapping around your shapely calves to spread them wider.

“Do you trust me?” He whispers, low and inquisitive, filling your parted mouth with his hot breath.

You nod, unable to speak, but the devotion in your eyes never wavers. 

“Yes. With all my heart and soul.” 

Your soul. Sylus feels the last remaining stronghold of his patience snapping; he has to claim your body as his own. 

There is nothing lewd in his touch when he caresses your hips, moving his sweeping palms to your chest as he squeezes your heaving mounds. Sylus’ mouth finds refuge in your neck, kissing a fiery trail up to your jaw as he tastes you with his tongue.

Your whimper fuels his sick need to claim you over and over again until you bear his marks upon your skin. Sylus lets the tendrils do their part in undressing you; those wispy curls slithering underneath the straps of your dress, drawing them down to let him feast his eyes upon your naked chest.

And you take these transgressions he inflicts upon with barely a grimace, encouraging him with soft moans and groans as the snakelike mist curls around your breasts, teasing your nipples to stiff peaks. 

Sylus commands the mist to lift you higher, right at his mouth level and he takes his time to savor the taste of your skin—licking your tender nubs, biting down on them and leaving them stinging from the cold and his saliva. 

Your abdomen constricts, and he sweeps a hand down the taut line of your body, humming in appreciation. It’s like he can finally see and touch you without any distance between your bodies; despite his sheer size and non-human composition. 

For the first time since his perceived betrayal, you’re openly receiving him with your reactions and enthusiasm. 

Sylus, you groan his name like it's a mantra. 

The tendrils trickle to the split between your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress aside so he can appreciate the bareness of you beyond your inner shift. He doesn’t hesitate to tear off your clothes, hungering to feel your body quivering under his palms. When your bare body is revealed in the gossamer light, he takes a step back, eyes burning from how pure and sacred you look.

Inches of warm flesh, so different from the hardness of his own translucent skin, greets his claws and he takes his time to touch you; memorizing your shape and smoothness in case he may never encounter them in his existence again.

You throw your head back, baring your graceful neck, and his mouth sinks right into the tender skin, working a mark right on your pulse point.

“My love,” he groaned in between kisses. “My love. All mine.” 

Your hips begin to twitch, and he takes it as a sign that you’re begging for more attention right where you need him the most. 

He may be a demon, but as Sylus sinks to his knees, he feels like a sinner falling at your altar; taking you into his mouth like you’re the only covenant in the world he wants to keep. 

Trembles tear through you like an earthquake, and Sylus has to sink his claws in the plush flesh of your thighs to keep you steady.

He runs his tongue over your clit, through your folds, the weeping wetness of your need running down his mouth, his jaw. 

The taste of you pumps his veins full of ecstasy.

Your sounds, moans, cries all filling his stone dead heart with a staggering love one will never find in this universe. 

Feels so good… you feel amazing… 

Your desperate panting and moaning go straight to his fuzzy brain, and your hips are circling and undulating, desperately trying to get yourself off with his mouth.

Sylus doesn’t care. He wants you to use him; wants to be used by you thoroughly. 

Those blood red eyes flicker up the length of your body, taking in the tendrils still cruelly teasing your nipples, your quivering thighs and endless streams of moans signaling you’re right at the brink of your pleasure.

Giving your sensitive nub a tender kiss, he rises to his full height, and prepares for the final claiming.

The way your eyes widen when he reveals his cock nearly makes him laugh, and you gasp, flinching back at the sheer size and girth of him.

Close to a foot long, you’ve never seen such… length on an appendage quite like the one Sylus was carrying.

He noticed your gaping stare, the petrified silence, and laughed. 

“Don’t worry, my love. I will make sure to prep you very—” he takes one step closer, sinking his claws into your thigh. “—very,” you feel his lips brush underneath your ear, drawing a shiver of heat wracking through your body. “—very well.” 

He remained true to his word.

Sylus spent what felt like hours between your thighs, giving your orgasm after orgasm, using his tongue, teeth, claws, and the mist to get you spilling for him until your every pulse wracking through your body was starting to hurt.

Your cries were eventually muffled by the tendrils stuffing your mouth, the cross-eyed expression you wore making it harder for him to deny the need to absolutely claim you with no mercy. 

“No more,” your garbled plea reaches his ears, and Sylus leans back on his haunches, staring up at you with a raised brow. 

Your exhaustion manifests in the tired droop of your eyes, tugging right on his heartstrings.

“Oh, my. Looks like I’ve tired you out, my love.” 

Sylus gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. Your head lolls against his broad shoulder, the exertion wearing you out and making you susceptible to his next ploy. 

Lifting your hips, he tests the waters by sinking the tip of his tapered cock right into your heat. 

Your eyes flutter wide open, a gasp ripping past your lips. 

“Sy,” you stammered, and he shushes you. 

Pain. A neverending stretch. 

Your gasp is fused with panic, and you shake in your bonds, your body seizing.

“N-no… it can’t fit… it can’t…”

“Ssh.” He kisses your tears away, soothing your worries with his palms on your cheeks, thumbs stroking your jaw. “I’ll go slow, my love. I won’t hurt you.”

You hiccup and give a little, teary nod. 

Sylus smiled at your adorable surrender, staying true to his promise and taking his time to slowly ease inside of you. 

Without much effort, he’s halfway in and you gape, unable to believe you can take all of him in one go. 

A mist tendril helps to keep your body keyed up for him, playing with your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub until you begin to shiver and shake. 

You clench your hands into fists, unable to break the bonds that hold you fast to the sensations; that tie you down to Sylus.

He nips and licks at your throat, growling under his breath as his cock endeavors to plunge inside of you.

The need to fully bottom out, to have all of him buried inside of you is much too lustful of a temptation to surrender.

Sylus needs to see you struggling to make him fit. He needs to hear you say the words that will give yourself fully to him. 

Oh… Sylus… oh gods… gods…

“No gods, my love,” he bites down on your earlobe, drawing a full-body shiver from you. “Just me.”

His crimson eyes glance down to where you’re connected, and he huffs a sound of satisfaction.

“Look at that perfect cunt, my love,” he guides you to look down, enjoying how your eyes widen and your breath falls out in a desperate puff. “She’s taking me so well… you’re taking me so well…”

One more inch, and the ritual will be complete. 

Sylus can see the tip of his cock pushing against your stomach, and the idea of him being so deep, so intimately connected with you, makes his heart lurch and the blood rush to his ears.

“Gods!” 

Your scream echoed around the pantheon, both a revelry and blasphemy at once. 

His grip around your hips tightened, long fingers overlapping around your smaller figure as he waits for you to stop squirming, his jaw set tightly so he doesn't lose control of his urges and unintentionally hurt you. 

“Darling,” his warning comes out as a low rumble. “Please, cease your movements. I am barely holding on by a thread.”

Your lachrymose eyes trail upwards to him, and something in his chest tightens at the look of pure trust and devotion you give him. 

Tentatively, he shifts his hips forward, giving a gentle thrust to test the waters.

You respond instantly, back arching and hands turning into white-knuckled fists above your head that he thinks you might accidentally snap off your fingers. Your clenched jaw and quivering thighs fuel him to pick up the pace, and soon, the decrepit hall is filled with the sounds of your bodies messily meeting.

Each thrust he gives you makes your belly bulge, the sheer size of him driving you to the brink of madness as your eyes roll back into your skull, your mouth falling open and tongue slightly dangling past your lower lip.

He lives for the blissful look on your face, increasing his movements until he feels that familiar knot tightening deep in his body. 

“You feel like a dream, my love,” his whisper lights up the lust-tinged room with a flicker of innocent love—a great divide bridging closer and closer from the power of his devotion to you. 

The mists move by his command, pleasuring your erogenous zones—tugging and flicking your nipples, grazing firm circles on your clit.

Sylus needs you to be at the edge with him; needs to have you trust him enough to go off the deep end with someone as corrupted and wicked as himself. 

Your choked gasps and stuttering hips bring about a whole new wave of love and fierce protection he feels for you. 

Tangling his claws in your hair, he pushes your face up to meet his, devouring your entire being with his soul-sucking kiss.

The earth shakes, the walls tremble, and debris clatters to the ground.

Your orgasm comes as a jagged cry, and you shatter around him for the final time tonight, digging your heels into his broader waist; nearly losing yourself from the sensation of being completely tiny in comparison to him. 

Warmth gushes inside of you. At first, you find it familiar—comforting, even.

But, it doesn’t stop. 

Sylus keeps spilling inside of you until you hallucinate his taste in the back of your throat—salty, and musky desire. 

His hips tremble with the force of his unholy release, snarls and gasps bouncing across the dilapidated walls demonically sinister. 

You should be afraid—you knew that. 

But, all you can feel in this moment is raging passion for the man who was once your entire world.

The mists release you and you tumble right into his arms, feeling much too small and weak in his massive arms. 

Sylus’ demon cock remains hard and unyielding inside of you, and you think you feel him sloshing about in your inner guts.

Your belly is completely swollen, protruding from the copious amount of cum you hold inside of you. 

It makes you shiver and keen at the strange yet welcomed sensation. Sylus, mortified, tries to pull himself out of you, but you shake your head, needing to hold him close.

He drags you to the ground, holding you steady in his hulking build, pushing what’s left of his human nose into your hair to take in your musky, sweet scent.

When you straighten to lift yourself from his cock, you wince and gasp at the amount of white that floods from your gaping hole, making you twitch and whine loudly. 

Sylus too, groans at the sight, his head thumping back onto the stone floor.

“You will be the death of me, darling.”

His claws gently drag through your hair, and you sigh, leaning into his touch no matter how diabolical it may be.

Silence resounds around two lovers who are simply enjoying each other’s company. You press your head to his chest and he plays with the ends of your hair, content to nuzzle and cuddle you like he used to do when he was still human.

The thought puts a damper on your high, and you exhale, twining your arms around him.

As if he can read your mind, Sylus’ grip on your frailer body tightens—unwilling to let you go.

“Extend your palm,” his hoarse mumble draws you up short, and your look of bewilderment is second only to the confusion when he materializes a ripe pomegranate right into your outstretched hand. 

Sylus’ claws wrap around your smaller hand as he curls your fingers around the rotund fruit, reluctant to let you go.

“This is part of our deal,” he rumbled. “Until I can manifest in a pure flesh form, I will come to you in your dreams. Eat this and think of me, my beloved, and I will be with you the very second I hear your call for me.”

You gaze at the fruit in confusion, about to open your mouth and speak when you realize he’s disappearing right in front of your eyes.

“Sylus!” 

Your desperate cries mingle with your pained exclamation when you tumble to the hard ground, the warmth and strength of his body no longer under yours. The pomegranate in your hand rolls into a dusty corner, but you turn a blind eye to it—unable to believe he is well and truly gone. 

“Sylus,” you begin to sob, clawing at the ground, as if you could dig up the stone flooring and bring him back into your arms. 

“Sylus, you promised me! You promised you would never leave… you… you promised…”

You promised…

You promised…

You promised…

“...promised…” 

Your eyes flutter open in the half-darkness. Tears are drying on your cheeks, soaking the pillow underneath you. 

Numbly, you touch your stomach, thinking you can still feel the imprint of him deep inside of you. The sheets are tangled around your legs, and the emptiness yawns like a pertinacious monster inside of you, clawing through your soul till you think you might go mad with need. 

“Sylus…”

You feel the shadows stirring, and without warning, his embrace returns to hold you tightly to his chest.

The familiar scent of him, coming back to you after lifetimes apart, destroys what’s left of your self-control.

You sob in his arms like a child, soaking his robe with your tears and sorrow.

Let it out, darling, he whispers in the darkness, those crimson eyes filling with grief and pain, his tears dripping into your hair. 

Let it out… let it all out… I’m here… I’m here…

“Sylus,” you gasp, digging your fingers into the soft material of his sleeping robe, as if your touch alone could ensure he never leaves you again. “Sylus… I’m so sorry… I’m so…”

“Ssh,” he cradles you in his arms, rocking you from side to side like how a father might soothe a terrified child. “Oh, darling. There is no need to apologize. There is no need.”

Your shuddering, muffled wails pierce through the quiet night, and his eyes squeeze close, unable to bear the thought of you suffering from the same memories that never ceased to keep him up till dawn.

All Sylus has ever wanted was to protect you, but sometimes, protection comes with knowledge and knowledge is, in his experience, nothing but pain. 

“Do you want to talk about this now or shall we wait till morning arrives?” 

He wants to give you the choice he never had—a chance to confront your past and shape your future together, releasing himself from centuries of limbo spent navigating uncertainty alone.

But, you shake your head tiredly, a telltale sign of where your headspace was tonight.

“No. Let’s do it in the morning.”

Your arms tighten around him and he implicitly reads your unease and trepidation, letting you curl your body deeper into his embrace.

Sylus pauses for a moment, finding his center in your embrace, knowing that despite the centuries of turmoil you've endured together, come morning, you'll still be by his side.

“Of course,” he whispers, his voice threading through the comforting silence that envelops you both. He gently kisses the top of your head.

“Till morning, then.”

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

dawn says: ngl i teared up writing this </3 goethe's 'faust' will always make me emo because all mans really wanted was to be loved by someone (and amass immense power but ... oh well ...)

i had to review a lot of notes on faust as well as this reddit post for reference in this piece so your reblogs and feedback will be extremely appreciated in return mwah

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, sentence structures and plot lines and claim it as yours. do not recommend and repost my stories on other platforms.

[sopiloveshobi]

Back theory

Inspired by insanely buff Joon pictures that dropped today. Also I needed to make sure my friend can imagine what is like to feel a heavy, buff Joon on her 🤭 Love you Sam!

!Warnings: +18

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You took it out and saw a text message from the man you have been missing so much lately.

KNJ 8:45pm I can’t wait to get out of here. Another day where I felt useless as fuck. Honestly get me out of here already.

You chuckled reading the message. You received a message like that twice a week at least. He would moan about feeling useless and wanting to get out of his military service often. There were days when he felt proud to serve and when he achieved something, you would know about it the same evening. His free time was limited and so was his time off. Because of that last time you have seen him was few months ago and when you did it was only for a short amount of time. You had a coffee and a short walk around the park and then a meal together. There wasn’t enough of alone time. One on one time. Any sexy time. You have seen he has changed. Physically and mentally. Mentally he has been softer, there has been much more yearning going on, he was needy and he would occasionally send you a text or a picture with him admitting how much he misses you. Physically he has gotten bigger, bigger in general. At first you thought it was because he wasn’t dealing well with the fact that he was locked up there for a year and a half. He would just eat more than usual and skipped workouts. But you couldn’t have been more wrong, because he spent so much time exercising that all the weight he gained was already turned into muscle. At least that’s what you saw on the very last picture you found of him online. You weren’t doing it often but you knew you could find some of the more recent pictures of him floating around the web, because the fans just like you were yearning to Kim Namjoon. They were curious how was he doing and if he has changed at all.

KNJ 8:55pm I swear the day that I am out of here will be happiest day of my life. Second happiest. The first one was when you agreed to date me.

Another messaged popped on your phone. You smiled again. You were still thinking how to comfort him through the screen of a phone. What could you possibly say to him to make him feel better, less lonely, less like he should escape that place.

‘I miss you so much, when can I see you next?’ you responded to his text and locked your phone. You were in the middle of cooking yourself very late dinner. You were so busy all day and stayed at work longer than usually and completely forgot to eat. Your phone chimed again.

KNJ 9:01pm Soon angel, soon.

You didn’t know what kind of soon he had in mind. You didn’t want to know either. The days would only go by longer and as much as you would love to count them down, it was just easier not to. You have pulled the pasta out of the pot and strained it in the sink. The sauce was also ready and you poured it all over the pasta, grabbed glass of wine that has been your cooking companion since you got home. Tomorrow was Saturday and you were really looking forward to your weekly cleaning schedule. Religiously, every Saturday you would go around your entire flat and clean every nook and cranny. It was part of your routine that helped you feel grounded and in control. Because if you didn’t manage to ground yourself this way, you would be upset, ugly crying in your pillow all day missing Joon. It was difficult. It was worse than you thought it would be. When he announced that he will have to enlist, your heart broke into millions of pieces. You were unsure whether he would even continue your relationship in this scenario. Being away from him wasn’t unusual, but it felt more restraining. You knew you wouldn’t be able to be surprised by him coming from tour one day early, or fly you over to a random concert so you could watch from backstage and spend few hours together. But this felt different. It felt like he was further away than when he was on the other side of the world. You felt empty without him, because he was your home. You didn’t live together and there weren’t any recent mentions of this to change, yet still he was your comfort. Your home. And you were his. He very rarely would open up in front of you, but when he did, he made you realised how much he appreciated you, how much he loved you and how much of a safe zone you were for him.

You finished your pasta and your wine and were considering having another glass. But you decided against it, got up from your table and cleaned up after your dinner. Your phone buzzed again and you were hoping it was Joon but it was just a junk mail, about free vouchers you can claim. Since you already had your phone out you decided to snoop about the internet again and see if there was any newer pictures of your own boyfriend. How low have you stooped and how much have you been missing him to resort to looking him up. But you couldn’t find anything new. It was getting even later in the night and after a really long and tiring weekend you decided to get in bed and unplug. You have gotten ready for bed, brushed your teeth and completed your extended skin care routine, which you have always done on the weekends. You looked at the time and it was past 10 in the evening already. You turned all the lights in the apartment and got into your really cosy bed. You thought you might have trouble sleeping, but the second your head hit the pillow you felt like you’re floating and sailing away. Before you did actually fall asleep you sent a text to Namjoon: ‘Goodnight my love’. But you didn’t wait for an answer. You knew the answer might never come, at least not this evening. You put your phone away and closed your eyes. It was time for a sweet rest you felt like you deserved after the entire week of hustling.

The door lock clicked and a pair of heavy boots walked into the flat. The thumbing didn’t last very long and it got changed for a very quiet sliding noise. Quiet steps making their way to your bedroom. And you had no idea, sound asleep. Occasionally snoring and turning around. He walked into your bedroom and stood by the door. The moonlight poking through your unevenly closed curtains, straight at the bed, lighting your sleepy face. He would of sworn he could have looked at you like that for hours. But there was no time to waste. He slowly made his way around the bed towards the somewhat empty side of the bed. He slowly put his legs on top of the duvet and slowly put all of his weight on that side of the bed. You felt it but you only moved a little and turned around to face away. You were a heavy sleeper and at this very moment Joon wished you weren’t. He slowly got himself lower on the bed and moved towards your back. He put his hand on your side and the other slid behind your head, which you automatically lifted. Like it was natural, like it was a habit of yours. He put his chin as close to your ear as he could and whispered:

‘Angel, I’m home’ and he slowly glided his hand up and down the side of you. You didn’t budge. Nothing. Still sound asleep, sweetly unaware of the surprise waiting for you in your own bed. He repeated himself one more time but still nothing. It made him chuckle, it was so endearing that you were just so fast asleep and he was also amused by his own inability to wake you up. He decided kisses surely will be the way to go. He pressed his soft lips on the nook of your neck, and he kept peppering your cheek and neck with them until you finally started moving. You turned around, feeling another person around you and his smell surrounded you. You thought you were dreaming.

‘Joon?!’ you finally got your vision back after it has been blurry for a few seconds.

‘Yes angel, I told you I will see you soon’ his low raspy voice answered you and soon after you saw his gorgeous smile, his dimples on his face and his eyes turned into half moons.

‘Is this a dream?’ you asked him, not really fully believing your luck.

‘Not a dream, im off until Sunday and I will be staying with you until then if that’s okay’ he admitted and peppered another few kisses on your cheek. It was more than okay. You were in a little bit of a shock but once you managed to process the information you jumped on him. You lifted yourself slightly and crawled on top of him, wrapping both of your arms under his back and placing your head on his chest.

‘I’ve missed you so much’ you finally spoke, hearing his heart beating really fast in his chest. You looked up and locked your eyes with his. He smiled again and leaned his head down to reach your lips. And you reached back to him and his soft lips met yours. It started sweet and soft but it very quickly started turning fast. The both of you were yearning for each other for so long and the day has finally come. Neither of you would even come up for air, you would just take quick breaths in between the rushed kisses. You quickly felt him getting excited, as you were still laying on top of him and you were sure he could felt your excitement as well, through your very thin pj bottoms. You broke the kiss and got from him and from the bed.

‘Where are you..?’ he got really confused and instantly felt abandoned, missing you next to him.

‘I need to see you. I want the light on’ you answered, turning the corner light on. Still moody, not as obnoxious light as the top light would have been. You turned around and saw him laying in your bed, in his uniform. The expression on your face changed from excited to in awe. You couldn’t comprehend that he was there, he came home, he came to see you. He woke you up in the middle of the night to see you. You walked back to the bed and sat right next to him. He pulled himself up and was now half sitting with his back to the headboard, following your every move with his eyes.

‘Here I am’ he chuckled and made a funny ‘ta da’ like pose showing himself to you. And you giggled. He was so cute and so adorable yet so insanely hot.

‘Would you mind taking this jacket off? I need to check a theory’ you said with a cheeky smile on your face and he looked puzzled. A theory? Theory of what?

‘Theory of what exactly?’ he asked slowly unbuttoning his jacket. He took his time with it, knowing exactly what he was doing to you. He knew it would drive you crazy, as much as he played such an innocent soul, he knew all the weapons he was carrying.

‘Back theory’ you answered with a smile, as your pupils grew wider and wider, whilst he was working on unbuttoning his jacket. And he finally did, dog tags fell out dangling around his neck on his black undershirt. You spotted them but then you also noticed how they are dangling in front of his now huge chest. He has definitely changed. He is bigger now. Stronger. And your brain couldn’t handle it. You squeezed your eyes closed and opened them again just to make sure you aren’t actually dreaming. He took the jacket off completely, uncovering his really broad shoulders and incredibly buffed arms.

‘Do you want me to..?’ he asked, knowing you will not be able to say no to him continuing stripping for you. The black ROKA t-shirt that was now very tight around his upper body, slowly started rolling up as he kept pulling at the top of it. And with one fast move he pulled it fast, through his head and it landed on the floor. His dog tags still around his neck, now in front of his naked huge chest.

‘FUCK’ you only managed to squeak out when you saw him dropping the shirt on the floor. He was insane. He looked insane. All those pictures you have seen of him recently didn’t give him his justice. He looked even bigger in person than on those photos. You put your hand over your opened mouth and shook your head.

You sat there, feeling your underwear getting wetter and wetter. You could call it an ocean at this point. He got up from the bed and walked all the way around it to get to you. He helped you stand up on the bed and he was still somehow taller than you, even when you were on top of the bed. You bit your lip staring deeply into his eyes and you saw he wasn’t smiling anymore. You have also spotted a tent in his camo trousers. He grabbed you and pulled you to himself and you felt his strong arms around you now. He slowly glided his hand from your knee through your thigh and slipped his hand into your bottoms. He didn’t have to look for it long and his fingers felt the ocean that was currently drowning your cunt.

‘Fuck. Youre so wet’ he whispered into your ear and pulled your bottoms completely down. You unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, slowly pulling them down. And they fell down, stopping briefly at his perky ass but you helped them make their way down. He stood out of them and was now standing in front of you, only in his underwear with a very visible and feelable boner at your service.

He grabbed you, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. He turned away from the bed and pushed you to the wall. He nearly squeezed you at that wall. And started attacking your neck. Your wetness now coating his still hidden away but hard length. You wrapped your arms around him, and started exploring his back. It was rock hard, you could feel the muscles tensing whilst he was holding you and you enjoyed every second of it. You also moved your hands to his shoulders and arms to feel his soft skin and also all the places he grew. To remember it. To keep it in your closest memories. As he kept kissing your neck, he finally slowly put you down, on the floor this time, still pinning you to the wall. And he took both of your wrists into his hands and held them for a second above your head, kissed you aggressively and let go. He lowered himself on his knees and burrier himself in between your legs. Slowly moved on them onto his shoulder and held onto your other leg, slowly kissing your lower belly and reaching the sweet spot. He nudged your clit with his nose and started peppering the entire area with kisses, eventually stopping and slowly licking your folds. Very gently at first, almost like saying a polite hello to your body, acknowledging that he was gone from it for too long. But then he picked up his pace and started circulating around your clit, eventually adding a finger or two and sliding it inside you. You banged your head on the wall and moaned the second you felt his lips on your lower area. Your leg on his shoulder drove you mad but gave him more access. You put both of your hands on his head and let him explore. And be explored and took his time, like a thirsty adventurer who hasn’t been home in weeks. Like his life depended on it. And when he felt like he was finished and your knees started to shake and he was slowly pushing you into an orgasm he stopped.

He pulled himself out of you, smirked and slowly moved you from the wall to the bed. And he pushed you, delicately but he still pushed you on the bed and you fell on your front. He followed you right away and trapped you under the weight of his body. He laid his body on yours, pulled his hard length out of his underwear and aimed it right at your entrance. Slowly slid inside you, grabbing you into his arms and pushing into himself. He kept sliding until he got to your cervix. Balls deep inside you. But he didn’t move, he freezes there. He lets you adjust to him, and when he does he can hear your whimpers and moans. When he feels you relaxed around him he started moving his his hips and he started thrusting into you. And he didn’t take him time, he picked up his pace at the same time kissing your back, up your spine.

‘Joon…’ you whimpered, feeling his huge bulky body on top of yours, thrusting the life in and out of you.

‘Little bit longer angel’ he grunted into your back. He pulled out of you and entered again, really deep, reaching the deepest ends of you. And be picked up the pace again, now ramming into you. Wet skin sounds slapping fills the room, mixed with his grunts and your moaning. And he finally reaches forward with his arm and putting his fingers on top of your clit. That was when you couldn’t hold it anymore. You closed your eyes and pushed your ass higher up almost trying to escape him and your body got flooded with ecstasy. You kept moaning and whining and he wouldn’t stop. He kept going and then be pulled himself up and grabbed your hips and added another thrust or two before he reached his top and painted you inside. Painted you white and kept going for a few more minutes.

Your heavy breathing filled the room and he pulled out, slowly turned you around and placed you on the bed. He cleaned himself up with his black tshirt that was still on the floor and disappeared in the bathroom. He came back with warm towel and he wiped your legs and tummy with it.

After that he moved you slightly to the side and got into bed right next to you. His strong arm wrapped you around and you folded forward laying your head on his chest again.

‘Your back is ridiculously buffed Joonie’ you whispered slowly petting his chest with your palm.

‘There is nothing better to do in that shithole angel’ he murmured back ‘but i also liked the look of your back tonight angel’ he added and put his hand into yours and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

‘I’m so happy you are here’ you added, you closed your eyes and wrapped yourself around him, dozed off back to sleep.

[illegally-blind-and-deaf]

Because there has hardly been anything about Dmitri's backstory, I am now vomiting my ideas here

Deal with it

He's Jewish. Idk why specifically but it just fits... even if he's more culturally Jewish than religiously (my friend is like that) it just fits and also it makes a lot more sense as to why he really really hates Russia. I mean, the majority of people didn't like what Russia was but they still wanted improvement and they still had some respect for the culture and the land itself, Dmitri seems like he just wants to be done with the place because, yknow, Anti-Semitism. Also having Dmitri as Jewish gives a sharp contrast between imperial Vlad who was practically at the top of the food chain (almost) compared to Dmitri who was quite literally at the bottom. If history wanted Anya to live, wouldn't it be to bridge the gap between the two?

If Dmitri is Jewish his mother definitely died in the pogroms, which would have led his dad to be completely done with the autocracy and join the Bolsheviks.

Little Dmitri sharing a bunk in a cramped boarding house for factory workers where disease was rampant, the floor was dirt, he only had one outfit, worked for like 11 hours a day and hot paid virtually nothing. If you say I'm traumatizing it for ✨trauma✨, I'm being genuinely honest these were the working conditions in Russia at this time DO YOU SEE WHY THEY HAD A REVOLUTION-

Dmitri's dad inevitably getting arrested and Dmitri being sent to a horrible boys home that made him have a buzz cut for three years to avoid love and he runs away at 10, stealing half the money. Conveniently there is a huge crowd watching a parade of the Royal family go by *wink wink* in a crowd of thousands *wink*

Dmitri finding a bunch of older teenagers who take him in because he's really quick and young and can steal stuff really well. They also turn out to be rather avid Bolshevik supporters (can you see where I'm going here)

Dmitri at 12 having a well-established idea that middle and upper classes were horrible mean people who are exploiting the working classes for their own gain until he tries to steal from a merchant's shop and the merchant takes him into his home and the family feeds him. Dmitri asks why they're doing this and the merchant explains that in their religion, they believe that the most important thing one can do is to help and love and care for people because that's what Christ would do. "Even Jews?" "Of course. Christ was a Jew, wasn't He?" Dmitri realises that not all Christians are horrible people who want him dead

By the time he's in his mid-teens he's a full-on Bolshevik and is painting propaganda posters for them because he wants to help but he can't read or write because he had no education because 1. He was poor and 2. He was jewish: he wasn't allowed. Also, the Bolsheviks promised freedom for Jews and that made him really happy

Revolution happens and Dmitri begins to find flaws in the Bolshevik regime: there's still a secret police (The cheka: one of the boys he boards with is a member), there's still a whole heap of poverty and now families are still being arrested and sent to labour camps. He watches one get arrested and the little girl gets carted off to an orphanage somewhere and he realises that it's no different to what the tsar did except now they're arresting people who are "rich"

The merchant and his family were arrested. Dmitri cried.

Soon it's 1918 and the Cheka member he boards with comes back after being away for a couple of days, gets insanely drunk on vodka and starts gloating about the Romanovs in Yekateringburg in house arrest. Dmitri causally asks how they are. The Cheka member laughs and shoots him a nasty snarl. "They're dead. We shot them in their heads and bayonetted them til they stopped screaming." Dmitri thinks his heart has stopped beating because the youngest girl was was still a child, only a couple of years younger than him (I've reduced Anastasia's age because her being 27 during the musical feels weird) and she was one of the few people who smiled at him and treated him like a person. She wasn't bad. She was a child. He speaks out and the Cheka member pulls out his whip.

Dmitri runs away and gets a job at Putilov steelworks. He burns his arm in the first week but a lot of the men are nice enough to help him as he recovers.

Dmitri quits the Bolshevik party and starts implementing all the cons and thievery that he knows to thwart smaller plans and be a general nuisance to them. He saves a count from a firing squad who decides to follow him around for eternity, which is annoying. Dmitri tells the count absolutely nothing about his past because he doesn't want yet another person judging him.

He nearly gets caught by the Cheka and, after avoiding conscription for the civil war, is inevitably wanted by the government. He hides in the Yusopov palace by the Moika River. He can almost see the splendor Yusopov must have lived in

At night he dreams of buying a little cottage by the seaside (is the sea nice? Dmitri's never been, he wouldn't know) and there's a garden with millions of vibrant flowers and hot food and warm baths and a bed with a mattress and blankets and Dmitri lives contentedly forever. That's his dream. His dream requires a lot of money though. Money that he's never had.

Then he hears about the rumour regarding Anastasia. That she's alive and her grandmother, Maria Feodorovna, is waiting in Paris with 10 million roubles and Dmitri's eyes widen. It's the perfect opportunity to score some money, then he can run away to the French countryside and live in peace.

Then a girl with dark red hair and vivid blue eyes breaks into the palace and, well, you know the rest.

Also they don't go back to Russia at the end, that's the dumbestvidea ever, the go to countryside France by the seashore and get a cute little house with a massive garden full of flowers and every morning they go to the bakers and get a fresh loaf of warm bread.

[rakruined]

The Religious Implications of GotG vol. 3

So, it's Easter, and while I've got a lot of stuff to work on and things to do, I wanted to take the time to discuss the utterly insane things Guardians of the Galaxy volume three has done to my brain chemistry. After seeing @adamwarlock's post here, I've been thinking about just how many religious themes there seem to be in James Gunn's magnum opus. From a villain with a god complex to Rocket Raccoon becoming my new favorite satanic archetype maybe, this is gonna be a deep dive into everything I've picked up from the trailers so far.

So, let's start with the implications of that post I linked: "some corners of the galaxy consider (The High Evolutionary) God".

Now, the High Evolutionary has always had a theme of 'playing god' in the comics, what with his whole deal being creating sentient life from animal experiments, but in the MCU, his connections to Christian notions of religion are a lot more fascinating. For starters, his goal is stated to be wanting to create a "perfect society", which you'll notice looks a lot like suburban Bible Belt America, albeit with a lot more hybrid animal-people.

Now, in the comics, he uses Earth animals as a basis for his new lifeforms because he was once a normal human named Herbert Wyndham. He eventually traveled into space to continue his experiments on his own world, later adopting Adam Warlock (this will come back later). Given his desire to make himself more powerful in the movie, this makes him an interesting counterpart to MCU!Peter Quill, who was born with Celestial (ie. godly) power and left Earth not by choice.

Now, there are a few things they changed from the comics, his connection to Rocket being the most significant in the context of this story. While Halfworld performed similar experiments on Rocket and the other uplifts, the H.E had nothing to do with the planet. And while I'll get back to why his connection to Rocket is significant, as well as what I said about Adam, I want to get into another major change: his design.

Here we have the comics design on the left and the movie design on the right. But isn't his movie look almost priestly? Almost... familiar...?

IT'S FUCKMOTHERING ENRICO PUCCI WITH THE STEEL CHAIR

Okay, JoJo references aside, the High Evolutionary's connections to Adam Warlock definitely add to the whole religious overtones. I mean, a guy who's considered God has a perfect creation literally named "Adam", trying to create a perfect world? This shit writes itself. But if you consider a few additional facts, this takes on a pretty wild meaning. For starters, Adam has been stated to be relatively naive and innocent, unknowledgeable of the universe.

But where this gets interesting is that, based on Rocket's absence from most group shots during what is clearly being billed as the midsection of the movie (spacesuits scene, that fight where they're all in orange, the team arriving on Halfworld) that he possibly is captured by Adam and brought back to his creator for additional experimentation. Shots of someone implied to be Rocket on the operating table and Gamora carrying him to the ship half-naked serve as further evidence of a rescue mission.

But if he's captured by Adam Warlock, that means he has the opportunity to tell Adam what his creator is really planning. He has the chance to tell him how he was made and what the High Evolutionary's "perfect society" is built upon: the blood of innocent creatures he'd deemed imperfect. This could be what changes Adam, what makes him turn against his god and his Garden of Eden.

The voice of the devil on his shoulder.

Edit: I forgot to mention this wild coincidence! Gunn once said Rocket was inspired by Frankenstein's monster. It makes sense on the basic level of a tragic science experiment abandoned by his creator, but it gets even more bizarre. In the novel, the monster identifies with Satan in the book Paradise Lost, making him the same sort of tragic figure as Lucifer. Rocket too was an imperfect creation cast out by the "god" who made him. In this light, it's undeniable that yes, Rocket Raccoon is as much a satan figure as Adam Warlock is space Jesus.

[crmsnmth-journal]

3/29/2024

11:02 PM

I decided I need to get out of my slump I've been in lately. I may feel angry and depressed and very apathetic right now, but that doesn't mean I should sit and wallow in my own self-pity. It's not a good place to go, and I know that. I know better than doing what I have been, which is absolutely nothing. So today, I woke up, and had one cup of coffee (I've decided I'm going to attempt and cut my caffeine intact way way down). Talked with mom for a while, which is odd but was nice. Usually, we don't talk more than five minutes at a time. It almost always turns into a fight between the two of us, but right now, out of the three of us (my two younger brothers), somehow the felon with a really bad attitude is being the most responsible. I mean, it only took me 35 years to get here, but I'm actually doing pretty good, and I need to remind myself of that. I have come so far from where I was, even four years ago. Hell, even last year. And it's not arrogant to remind yourself of that every so often.

Anyway, I showered and finally bleached half my head. I took extra care in washing and cleaning and just making myself look like a person again. I think I read somewhere that that's supposed to help. I don't know if it actually does, but it kept me occupied for a while.

I got to work at 2, which is usual for Friday's. It gives me about an hour of alone time where I can just belt along to my music and get the prep for the night down. Honestly, being alone back there is my favorite part of part of my job. The closest I've ever come to a religious experience was back there. It was right when I got work release during my time in jail. I had sat six months already, and for the last three months I was allowed to have work release. And the first night I came back, I was alone for three hours before open. I listened to music for the first time in six months, and I cried like a baby and screamed along to Amigo The Devil's Stronger Than Dead while dicing tomatoes. It's an experience I will never forget. That song holds such a deep importance in my life (it's part of my next round of tattoos, my only hand tattoo is going to be Amigo's 'pineapple' logo with the chorus of that song). Only two songs I've ever heard can I say truly saved my life. Stronger than Dead and Frank Turner's The Ballad of Me And My Friends. Different reasons, but the end result was the same for both and I didn't listen to the impulses and bury a bullet in my brain. And I still listen to both songs, religiously. At least once or twice a day.

Sorry. I keep getting off track. Sherry came in around 3 and started putting together the salad bar. That's her one thing she has to set up for Fridays and she never complains about it. I always tell her I do nothing with the salad bar, that it's all on her. It used to be just a trick I learned a long time ago on how to deal with less then stellar staff. Give them something that is all their own. It give them a feeling of control, and let's face it, I hate putting our salad bar together. I don't like salad bars in general. They are extremely gross on the kitchen's side of things.

It wasn't exactly busy tonight, but it wasn't exactly slow. Just kind of real steady, plodding forward pace. And Sherry did alright, by her standards. We shut down, and when I left after doing all my closing work, Sherry only had to finish up her dishes. Usually she just leaves the extra for tomorrow, when she opens.

I did start getting a pretty massive headache around 7 though. I'm pretty sure that's just the withdrawal from caffeine. At least that's what it felt like. I'd get them a lot in jail when we'd run out of coffee. It's all we drank all day, that instant add hot water crap, and when we'd run out before commissary made it's way, everyone was in hell. Ibuprofen costs 75 cents for two pills. The price mark up is insane, which I really don't think is all that fair. I get having some cost added, this is jail after all and it's not supposed to be fun. But when a package of Ramen ends up costing close to two dollars, that is a little passed a punishment. That's an outrageous kind of extortion.

Back to what I was saying, I got out of work around 9:30 and got my cab ride home. When I got home, I had yet another actual conversation with my mom, finally got some Advil in me and showered. The bathroom still smelled like the bleach I did my hair with. And finally, I took my handful of pills and turned on Malcolm In The Middle. I've only got a few episodes to go before I move on to whatever the next mindless background noise I put on. I'll write and work with phrases for a little bit and read. I restarted reading my favorite book, The Great And Secret Show by Clive Barker.

For being as bitchy and moody as I have been the last few days, I think I did okay today.

[starswallowingsea]

Thoughts on enstars?

i like this game a normal amount

i downloaded it on a whim after seeing one of my mutuals post about it shortly after the english release and we talked a little about it. i unlocked like half of the date plan atoz story (like i said, early. that's the second event EVER in the !! era) and thought it was cute or whatever and then kind of played motor show but it wasn't until i gave up on genshin that i really got into the game. i think i was reading chapter 2 of the main story and had just met rinne and was like oh i need to know what this guy's deal is and was dead set on going for his night club card when that event came out.

and then night club came out and i was a goner. that event changed me. it was my first time i think i seriously read any of the event stories and cared about what was going on and i really started brain rotting over rinne specifically and then eventually somewhere along the way i started really liking the rest of the bees too, i think after the release of chapter 5 of the main story and seeing kohaku go on stage and talk about how much he wishes they had gotten closer before rinne and niki had taken off and how they had all been able to come together for such a short time and still do something with their performances.

i read meteor impact early in the fall semester, i remember i spent a full day after class for like 5 hours just slogging through all whatever 50 some odd chapters of it and just losing my mind. and then i read checkmate i think over two days and the same thing. i've read a few other stories since then that were more filler stories but still gave me a greater sense of the world and the characters who are just so. there's 49 of these fuckers and there's a guy for everyone i swear i've been assigning my friends enstars characters on discord and lose my mind over different ones every week lmao. they feel like real people and real friendships that go through real problems and ugh. madara is one of the characters i connected with most with regards to leaving my childhood religion.

like yeah we joke about this game being absolutely insane and there being a lot of weird out of context moments that make others stop and pause and ask what the hell is going on but at the end of the day, the writers clearly have a story they want to tell and love the game just as much as the fans. the fact that they incorporate so so much literary and religious symbolism into these idol gacha game stories that just make me lose my mind (Me, who is like Judas Iscariot, who betrayed the saint for some dimes. You, you don’t hold any grudge for me, and even affirm your love to me, right? Would you even forgive those that crucified and sacrificed you, too?).

For all its flaws, of which there are many, it's such a genuine experience to read and play. The music is good the stories are well written most of the time and it's so full of love.

[kelpre10]

I woke up today all refreshed feeling thoughtful calm and actually started to be productive in the today instead of thinking to much about things I can’t control thus far. Cause at any given moment that could change. It’s odd how in this universe I can go through these dry spur moments feeling like my worlds crumbling or crashing around me right. Then in the next couple days after those backward hours in time I’m feeling like a norm🤷🏽 yet bringing me closer to a realization of my own selfishness and still building for long term growth stability without a feeling of settling. Now how bad things could be have I not been striving up until this point to get here possibly I don’t care and don’t want to know cause I’m ain’t take that route. Yet if just for a sec I had to help shorty grasp what it takes to balance these round ah bout situations into there livelihooded steps like my creative process. Just know Being wholeheartedly honest with yo self cause real spit. mannn ain’t shiii easy yet this shiiiii for me and spiritually religiously dealing wit how my demons see they can’t break my armor so they try and aggravate people around me demons make me want to stay in my bubble for their safety yet my higher ain’t trying to hear that I’m more worried about others that ain’t a life partner or immediate inner to a certain point more than myself. Yet I’m starting to get a high instead of a depressed feeling from seeing possibilities to help others. why is it becoming a real high I don’t know that for real doe being the problems always out weigh the process. Which is funny cause of the dis ease of seeing how people break down from not living on life terms when it comes round without the hope and prayer for themselves. Is insane wicked knowing they’ll overcome there situations at there own time yet the first steps of knowing half measures avail nothing especially how my thinking most time be centered in it’s defectiveness. Is 🤯🤯Yet that’s me vs the ageless numbers I’m trying to add productive years to while being of service to a purpose that’s meant for Kelvin. Today I don’t know what tomorrow brings yet I know how dreams I asked for still wearing yesterday’s dirty jeans helps control my spiritual head of steams. I like to believe that even with all of the loses It’s not possible for me to turn around and dundundadunt it. Dropping it almost being close to a breakthrough just for say “mannnn A F… you and whoever else want smoke big backwood packs bro” and meaning it with full intentions on following through. yet it ain’t in me unless I have to protect or provide for myself or someone closely with me and only the closest one to me know that. Funny thing is none of this shiiiii funny cause it’s all a games yet living life or surviving around death situations when you think about it! what’s always on the line if where promised nothing in life but - That is everything other than a game yet can be with the good side of things. Basically I’m in my lane and when I say respectfully stay in yours I mean that as disrespectfully as I can when not staying in yours can cause a accident in mine.🙂‍↔️

[somethhing-someethinng]

Redglare was very much into his religion but kept silent abt it. Which is insane considering where she worked. How does it feel to work for the guy who killed jesus.

I think it would also be funny if dualscar like, personally knew signless and they had a few convos together but he didnt realise how important he was till he got up and 69d. Its like if this guy u met at the coffee shop where u both sat together cuz it was the only empty table left and both just talk abt one thing or another. And u dont really care much abt the things he does cuz u got ur own business to run but this guy is really into activism and aint half bad to talk to.

Few months after you have left town u hear that guy was like honest to god jesus and. How the fuck do u deal w/ that.

Also the whole "mindfang had only one person in her quadrants who didnt care abt him" bit becomes hilarious. Cuz its Not True in this senario and even in the funniest possible way. One of them saw him as her son and destroyed social norms just to parent the fuck out of him. The other one was one of his followers. The other other one was also a follower but in a more active way and even led a whole as revolution in his name. Which is insane from the pov of someone who didnt give a fuck abt him and hadnt even heard of him till like a few months ago.

The last one apparently knew this guy PERSONALLY (secont quad to do that and im just losing my mind here) and is equally as flabbergasted w/ all the religious bullshit as u except in a different direction. (Less "but hes just Some Guy why the FUCK are u so obsessed w/ him" and more "but hes the nerd who had opinions abt hermit crabs")

my specific brand of propaganda is that each and every ancestor had fucking INSANE thoughts about the sufferer, they could not stop thinking about them at all, just rent free in all their heads

"who is this little fucking FREAK and how do i kill them/follow them for the rest of my life" type beat.

the handmaid because she saw someone who served their purpose and got out

summoner because a fucking mutant managed to do ALL of that and he just had to try it

the psiioniic because over the course of his life he was trying to have an equal relationship with a guy who is actually just jesus and he ended up getting fucked over

(heres a letter as objective truth)

disciple because it must be insane to fucking date the prophet of a brand new religion

dolorosa because she fucking adopted troll jesus

redglare didnt really think about him

mindfang because everyone except for one person shes ever had or forced into a quadrent with her Wont Shut The Fuck Up about this guy

darkleer because he fucking killed jesus and i think it would be funny that signless just didnt curse him out to fuck with him mentally for the rest of his life

(have a lil darkleer angst he wrote (i wrote) as actual emprical evidance of this)

the high blood because you cant be an evil cultist clown guy without realizing really quickly that you are becomeing the devil of someones religion then get fucking snubbed for that and not even get a mention about it later like what the fuck? he even wrote a letter about it (i wrote it)

[here2bbtstrash]

party on you (explicit)

genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT with an extremely small side of fluff lol

pairing: hoseok x reader

summary: the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you're certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.

word count: 9.8k

contains: explicit sexual content aka PORN !!!! idol-verse, literally takes place at the JITB album release party, friends to lovers, erotic hand holding, they're both cute and dumb, a studio hookup 👀 dirty talk, thigh riding, cunnilingus, a single pussy slap lol, taint touching (?), HOBI EATS ASS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, throat fucking, reader gets a facial, and a lil bit of cum eating, it's cute 😌

A/N: so, hi, i went to hobipalooza lmao. this is actually lowkey a songfic ??? charli xcx was one of the earlier acts on hobi's stage and. my god. seeing her live was a religious experience, and when she performed party 4 u i was like hnnnhghg this should be a fic. and now it is !!!! and i hope u enjoy 🥺🥺 i tried some new stuff in here, both soft and freaky lmao so i'm nervy to share!!! as always your support and feedback means the world to meeeee ok ilysomuch bye~

read on AO3 !

~*~

You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.

The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.

And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.

But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.

And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.

You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.

Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.

And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.

Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.

Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.

But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.

Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.

When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.

Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.

The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.

Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.

Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.

It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.

Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.

“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”

You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”

“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”

You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”

Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”

You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”

A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.

Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.

As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.

“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.

Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.

Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.

The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.

But then again, so is he.

In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.

You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.

The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.

It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.

For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.

When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?

“I thought that was you.”

You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.

“Hi, Jimin.”

“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.

“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.

You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”

Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”

You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.

“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”

“Jimin-ah!”

Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.

“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”

You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”

Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.

“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”

You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.

The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.

Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.

The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.

Oh, fuck.

You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.

You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.

“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.

“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”

He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.

“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.

“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.

He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.

Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.

The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.

“Are you having fun?”

You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”

“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”

You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”

A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”

You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”

Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.

“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”

You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“And�� well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”

Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.”

“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”

You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.

Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.

“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”

You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”

Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”

“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”

Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”

The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”

There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.

“How do you feel about it?”

“The album?” He asks.

You shrug. “Everything.”

“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”

His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”

When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”

“You sound stressed,” you say softly.

Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”

It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.

“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”

“No, no, what is that face?”

You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”

You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”

Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”

“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”

Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”

The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”

“Really?”

The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”

“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”

“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”

You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.

“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”

Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”

You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”

“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”

Your jaw drops open. “You what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”

“I tend to overthink these things.”

He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.

“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.

The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.

Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.

Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”

His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”

There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.

“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.

With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.

“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.

He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.

“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.

Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.

“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.

“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.

Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.

“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.

“Please, Hobi.”

You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.

In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.

Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.

“Sure this is okay?”

You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet. 

“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.

He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”

His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.

“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.

“I like it.”

You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.

Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.

“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.

You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.

His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.

“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”

Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”

You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.

Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”

He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.

You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.

“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”

You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.

When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.

You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.

“Can I keep going?”

Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”

Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.

Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.

“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.

A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.

“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.

“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.

“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”

Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”

Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.

“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.

“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”

You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”

“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.

“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.

“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.

The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.

Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”

You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.

You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.

With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.

You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.

It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.

Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.

“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”

“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.

“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.

“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”

“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”

You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.

“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”

You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”

He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I mean it,” you say simply.

“But you really want to?”

You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”

“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”

“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.

“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”

You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.

When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.

You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.

His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.

“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”

You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.

As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”

His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.

The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.

“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”

The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.

“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.

“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.

You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”

Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.

“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.

He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.

You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.

“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”

“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”

You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.

“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”

“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.

His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”

You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”

His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”

You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”

“Now that I have to see.”

[oftenderweapons]

Dirty ABCs | Jungkook and Candy

Let’s celebrate birthday boy with early NSFW alphabet!!! LET’S GOOOOO

Pairing: Jungkook x reader/OC (Candy)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Genre: headcanons

Rating: 18+. Minors, do not interact.

Here’s my masterlist, enjoy!

Trigger warnings: switch!jk, switch!candy, swearing. Unprotected sex (penetrative and oral — REMEMBER TO USE PROTECTION AND GET CHECKED REGULARLY), double penetration, quickies, creampie, cockwarming, cum eating. Marking, biting, scratching. Masturbation, boobjobs. Mention of mommy kink. Public foreplay, semi-public sex, exhibitionism. Degradation, praise kink, dirty talking, edging, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms. Predator/Prey dynamics. Choking. Bondage. Toys (vibrators, cockrings, sex swing… 👀). Mild torture (?). Platonic spanks.

Beta read by my better half, @joheunsaram

Aftercare: Jungkook likes cuddles and pillow talk after sex. He’s very traditional about it. He enjoys how vulnerable he feels and how tender Candy is towards him. He really enjoys the softness of it all, and most importantly being babied. He wants tiddies and a nap. Candy is all about spoiling her boyfriend after he’s burnt out and satisfied. She loves how pliant and open he feels afterwards, how easy it is to connect with him and just let him vent about his worries.

Body part: Another tiddie man. He just loves how soft and relaxing it feels to rest his head on Candy’s breasts. He also loves her hair and how good it always smells. He lives to nuzzle into her neck and breathe her in. Candy loves Jungkook’s back. It’s the sexiest thing ever and she likes watching his back muscles flex when he’s fucking her. She also loves his waist, so dainty and feline. And of course his eyes. She could stare into his loving dark irises for hours. They’re so expressive.

Cum: Inside. Jungkook always wants inside. Her mouth is a close second, but if given the chance he wants to sink deep into her and bathe in the scent of her while sheathed in her warmth. It feels natural and romantic and loving. There’s no other place he would want to be other than inside her, all the time. Candy is okay with anything he wants. Watching his peaceful, serene expression after he’s fucked her hard and has found his orgasm inside her is ultimately one of the reasons why she loves having sex with Jungkook.

Dirty secret: Jungkook had been secretly nursing a mommy kink for a while. It did pop up once during one of his and Candy's little encounters, but it's not something he feels ready to face. He is so ashamed of it. Candy is really into Jungkook being her whiny, subby, precious good boy. She only wants to spoil him rotten all the time. However she can't stop thinking about all the girls out there willing to give up a lung to have a one night stand with him. Sometimes she just wishes she could dominate him in public. Tie him up, ride him raw till he's dry.

Experience: Jungkook has had only one partner, with whom the sex felt pretty awful. He didn't really think he was into it or could go that wild before he and Candy started sleeping together. Candy is fairly experienced. She has had three or four short term relationships. Maybe a couple flings.

Favourite position: Jungkook can't pick just one. Well, actually yes: missionary, but with Candy's legs pressed together and thrown over his shoulder but also spread apart, her knees pressed to her shoulders. Candy really likes it when he picks her up and fucks her against the wall, or when he gets really creative. That usually entails lots of laughing and joking and communicating.

Goofy: maybe. It depends. If they're making love, then I do see Jungkook getting emotional and Candy brightening the mood with cute jokes and compliments. They do tend to be goofy when they're together, but usually not during sex. It's either a very emotionally raw moment or vicious fucking.

Hair: Jungkook shaves. He's a neat freak and shaves. He does so religiously. Candy is not that consistent, sometimes she shaves, sometimes she trims. Depends on the mood.

Intimacy: it's very demure but it's there. You wouldn't notice it because the moment Jungkook enters beast mode, it's pretty much degradation and overstimulation all over the place. But it's there too! It's in the mere fact that he trusts her enough to forget how to be civil and decent and just unleashes himself all over her. For the first ten times or so it's shy and attempted, he tiptoes around the very edge of control, but once she tells him she loves him, he goes all out and never stops. He explores and pleases. That's his nature. Candy is the one that grants intimacy the most. He knows he can go wild because she's his anchor, keeping things loving and gentle and tender even through the storm. Now, once Jungkook subs though… intimacy galore. Little touches and small kisses and endless tight hugs. Her first goal is to make him feel safe. And that happens through intimacy.

Jack off: These two? Really? No, you didn't understand. If Jungkook has even a remote chance of cumming inside her, there's no way he's masturbating. He will 300% ignore his instincts until he can have her. And it's pretty difficult for Candy not to be in the mood — or not to get into the mood, if need be. She's also not one for masturbating. She does it only when he's not available, be it because he's abroad or he's too busy. But he's always her first choice. Generally speaking it might happen that he's not in the mood and she decides to take a quick shower and deal with it herself, but usually he's joining her after a couple minutes, his mind changed, a bunny smile on his face as he winks and hops in.

Kink: First and foremost, cockwarming. Creampies shortly after. Candy has a thing for marking him, especially scratches down his muscular upper back. Their kinks depend on who's domming: if it's Jungkook, there's plenty of degradation and high chances of predator/prey dynamics. He gets very horny if Candy plays hard to catch, and he discovers it accidentally, after Candy stole the last serving of his favourite snack. Useless to say, the snack was forgotten and they fucked on the floor. Candy likes choking (receiving) and pretty much anything Jungkook is willing to try. She can't wait to try double penetration with him, she's just waiting for him to open up about the topic. When domming, she's into sensory deprivation, bondage, praise kink and edging, especially when boobjobs are involved, since JK is particularly sensitive about the topic. As long as she has him whining and begging below her, she's ready to try anything.

Location: Well, the bedroom is the place of choice for most occasions. Not always though. The shower is a strong opponent. If they do get naughty outside of their home, it's usually in quite private places too. Hotel rooms. Club or restaurant bathrooms. Foreplay in the lift and on the dance floor — mostly Candy rubbing herself all over Jungkook. Well, they did get nasty in a cave once, but that's another story.

Motivation: as I said, playing catch with Jungkook is always a good way to get him in the mood. He's extremely weak for breasts, so anything regarding those is a hot topic too. Candy often wears loose/low neck shirts and leans over, offering him a glimpse of her lack of bra. Low neckline and no bra usually means "please, fuck me across the living room, thank you" in Candy language. While for Candy, watching Jungkook work out or just get sweaty and flirty is a total panty snatcher. You'll find her bent over, ass up, ready for the take.

No: Jungkook doesn't like receiving degradation. Memories of his ex make him uncomfortable with that. Other than that, he strongly opposes to anything that involves hardcore domination. He can be a dom, but he's extremely sensitive about what he does and some acts are a bit too aggressive for his opinion. Candy hadn't tried anything unconventional before Jungkook, and so far all her past no's have turned into hard yes with Jungkook. She's still exploring her limits.

Oral: Jungkook? Hell yes. He likes receiving but he by far prefers giving, especially when Candy is domming or directing him. He could do that for hours, and his love for the act almost rivals that of our local kitty cat Yoongi. His true joy is being rewarded going for multiples with his head between Candy's thighs. Especially if he's cum inside her. Not too fast though, he needs some cockwarming first. Candy is a true fan of giving head. She especially likes doing so when Jungkook is in a subby and bratty mood. Listening to him getting vocal about his appreciation is always the greatest compliment to her, and also an excellent way to discipline him when he gets cocky.

Pace: Fast. Hard. That's all there is. If he's setting the pace, it's outright demonic, hitting at least 74bpm (it's Kiwi by Harry Styles in halftime). Yes, he can go slower, usually when he's in lover boy mode or even better, when he's trying to show Candy who's the boss. Slow, lazy rolls of his hips reaching unknown depths. If Candy's on top/domming it's all about it being intimate, calm, relaxing even. She wants Jungkook to explore a sensuality he is too rushed and forceful for. Through her slow and steady approach she helps him embrace a more feminine and spiritual sexuality that borders on the psychological and tantric.

Quickie: yes. Hard yes. He is the best with quickies. Just get it over with so they're both relieved and they can chat about their day while he's still inside her. There's not much to say. Just yes.

Risk: they prefer avoiding it, however they're young and experimenting, therefore they do sometimes get a bit past the safety line. The biggest risk for them is doing anything where they could be spotted, therefore they're really subtle and overall not too explicit about anything happening in a semi-public context. Except, that one time while they were on holiday, of course. And that other time in which Candy almost jerked him off in a restaurant before blowing him in his car.

Stamina: Insane. Jungkook's stamina is more about endurance rather than control. He can make Candy cum five or six times while he cums twice and is more than glad. He can go for two consecutive rounds without breaking a sweat. For himself he's usually more than happy with a round of foreplay and one of fucking, but if he's determined enough, he can last one more. He usually doesn't push himself that far though, he does when he's been deprived for long enough.

Toy: Although toys aren't usually a part of their sex life, they do use them every now and then. Vibrators, vibrating cockrings, oh! And their sex swing, of course. That's what they use the most, yes.

Unfair: If Jungkook is in hard dom mode, he is very unfair, plenty of teasing and taunting matched with mockery and degradation. He can keep Candy on her toes for a full hour, giving her small reprieve every here and there. Candy is also equally torturous: if she's domming, she's not done edging him until he's whining, sobbing, begging and possibly crying.

Volume: Normally, Candy is very quiet however, Jungkook always goes the extra mile to make her moan and whine, especially if he's eating her out. Jungkook can be especially eloquent with his sounds: grunting and groaning are typically for his dommier side, while whining and whimpering are usually for his subby one. Moaning is all over the place. Consider also a good amount of murmuring and mumbling some dirty talking. Not too much though.

Wild card: Jungkook likes his hair being combed during aftercare. Candy always relaxes while he speaks loving words to make up for the degradation and mockery. She could fall asleep while combing his hair, she's just that tired and comfortable. Also! When he installed the sex swing in their room, he decided it was a good idea to have permanent hooks on the ceiling, mask them with fake plants. Crackhead.

X-Ray: Jungkook has a nice cock. Not too long, not too thick but it has an upward curve that makes stuff interesting. He's probably around six or seven inches. Candy has objectively nice breasts, full, round, truly well structured. And she has a nice ass too, Jungkook likes squeezing it when she throws her leg on top of him during cuddles. He also spanks it a few tens of times a day — not in the sexual way tho, but more in that encouragement/comradery way he has learnt with the guys.

Yearning: Jungkook can go without sex for a long time. I'm talking about a month and more. It's not a priority for him, except right after he and Candy sleep together for the first time, when he needed to get rid of the high. With him, everything is very inconsistent: one week you're having sex every day, and the following one, he's just all about the cuddles and fluff. Candy is up for anything, however she prefers having sex at least once or twice a week. Both feel safe to initiate without fearing being denied. For them, arousal is very easily built through playing and bantering.

Zzz: both take a while to fall asleep after sex. Plenty of time for pillow talking and cleaning up, though they prefer doing so very pragmatically. Any time spent apart during aftercare is a waste to both of them: they just want to talk things out, relax, bask in each other's warm presence.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Omg I love all your drabbles they are so amazing and brilliant I can’t believe you do that for free! What a blessing you are!! I was wondering whether there would be a part four to the vacation au and if not could you do maybe more jealous Cassian but in your lawyer au I’m obsessed but honestly anything you write has me happy!

This is so sweet I am so glad you’re loving the drabbles! I did a second part to the vacation AU a couple days ago so I’m going to go with Jealous Cassian in the lawyer AU. I already *kind* of did this but I’ve been doing jealousy light lately and this time we are cranking it up to 100. This one is kinda long and pretty angsty and I think I definitely need to smoosh all these lawyer drabbles into a mini story that follows Nessian from meeting while studying for the bar exam and then through snippets of their careers so maybe that’s what I’ll do next.

Actually facing Nesta in court was an extreme rarity. All of her non pro Bono work was strictly solicitor. Drafting contracts and negotiating deals in different chic board rooms with little glass bottles of Perrier and complimentary latte carts trolling the halls.

Nesta thought that she didn’t want to litigate. She thought that people didn’t like her and because of that she was a bad advocate. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Watching Nesta fight for something that she believed in, truly believed in, was the closest thing to a religious experience Cassian had ever known.

“And I would urge you to consider in your decision, your honour, the fact that even if it should apply in this case, the very law my learned friend is attempting to uphold is currently under review by the Supreme Court and may soon be overturned on the basis of being unconstitutional as well as unconscionable.” Nesta took a pregnant pause.

“If that happens. If this law is overturned, as you well know, it will not be retroactively helpful to my client. My client who was born here. My client who grew up in Queens. My client who can draw you a map of which bodegas has the best coffee vs the best sandwiches and their proximity to the nearest train, and if that doesn’t qualify her as an American, and a New Yorker, then I don’t know what does.” The judge smiled a little at that. It was a calculated risk, the emotional appeal. But Judge Miluski was already on Nesta’s side and she was a born and bread New Yorker and she had the rare distinction of being a member of the judiciary with a sense of humour. “If this law is overturned, which we both know is highly likely, then my client will be sent to another country, a country she has never even been to, not because she did anything wrong, but because this trial happened a few weeks too-”

Nesta trailed off, eyes caught at the quietly opening gallery door. A man stepped in. Tall and thin and… greasy. Hair slicked back with so much product Cassian didn’t think he’d feel it if he hit him on the head with a hammer. Which he desperately wanted to do. That brutish, violent, raised in foster homes in Harlem side of him that even a legal education and a closet full of Armani suits could never quite polish out of him lit on fire at the sight of this creep. This asshole who was wearing fucking asics with his $4000 suit. And no tie. Top three buttons of a pinstripe white shirt unbuttoned. What a fucking rube.

Except that this guy. THIS fucking guy, made Nesta lose her train of thought. This guy who walked into court late and had yet to drag his eyes up from Nesta’s ass, had distracted her. Caused her to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and smile a little. This shy, light, cutesy little smile that absolutely did not belong on Nesta Archeron’s face.

When Nesta smiled it was a sly, knowing, victorious thing that curled across her lips and set Cassian’s heart hammering in his chest.

This… this was insanity.

The man smirked, deep and arrogant, as he stood at the back of the courtroom, hands slid into his pockets. Not even respectful enough of the proceedings to sit down.

Nesta gathered herself quickly. The whole mess over in under 20 seconds, but Cassian noticed it. Even as Nesta went on and cited the law and the competing jurisprudence and the ethics and the constitution, he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was that little smile.

Cassian said his final piece, the judge ruled, as they both knew she would, in Nesta’s favor, and it was all over.

Nesta didn’t even gloat like she usually would have. She just stuck her hand out, the absolute picture of professionalism, and shook his.

“Good working with you, Counseler.” She said, as if he hadn’t pulled her around the side of a building and pushed her body up against a brick wall the other day, moulding her into him as they fought over this case. Discussed their future. Their passions.

She’d rejected his invitation to dinner, but she always did. It was a part of the game. A game that Cassian was determined to win.

“Who’s the tech bro?” The sneakers with the suit and the unbuttoned shirt and the general shitty attitude all pointed to that being the only reasonable profession.

“Babe,” the slimy man in question pushed past the swinging waist high half door that separated the gallery and the space where counsel’s desks sat. “Let’s go.” He wrapped and arm too tightly around Nesta’s waist and pulled on her a little.

Cassian curled his fists into his palms so hard his nails bit imprints into the skin of his palms. Babe? Telling her when to leave? The pulling? No.

“I’m Cassian.” He held out his hand. “ADA. What firm do you work for? Haven’t seen you around.”

“Tomas.” The man scoffed, “And I’m not a lawyer. Not interested in all that gibberish you’re type is always spewing. Sounds like pure nonsense to me. I’m a tech investor.”

Yeah. That sounded about right. No actual skills. Not an engineer or developer or even a business manager. Just an idiot with a trust fund throwing money at whatever looked cool.

“Well, Tomas. Do you know why they call that big exam full of all that gibberish you hate the bar exam?” The weasel just raised his eyebrows. “It’s because once you pass it, then you are an attorney. And allowed to cross past this BAR.” Cassian pushed Tomas back out the little half door again. “Which separates the civilians in the gallery from the lawyers making their cases. So maybe learn how to show a little respect.” Cassian scoffed, flicking his eyes to Nesta, “In a few different areas of your life.”

“What the fuck, bro?” Tomas rolled his eyes. “This is why I fucking hate going to your lawyer parties and shit. Jackasses like this.”

“Tomas, please.” Nesta placed a hand on his chest, Cassian tensed, and that seemed to calm Tomas down. Not Nesta’s touch, but another man’s jealousy.

“Why don’t you bring the car around. I have to work out a court date for another matter with Cassian but I’ll be right out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Tomas glared, keeping eye contact with Cassian as he kissed Nesta’s cheek, hand travelling too far down her back. “Hurry though.”

“Of course.” Nesta smiled that same tiny little smile that made her look like a doll on a shelf and Cassian wanted to scream.

“What the fuck are you doing with a piece of shit like that?” Cassian minced no words as he turned to face Nesta.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty straight forward question, Nes.”

“You… you don’t know him. He’s not like that once you get to know him.”

“Sure he’s not,” Cassian scoffed.

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that your boyfriend, who I’ve never heard of or seen before today despite knowing you for years, had a chance to see you in court. Had a chance to watch you all fired up and passionate and brilliant and instead he walked in late, stared at your ass instead of listening to what you were saying, and then shoved his way up here and pulled at you to leave like you were some kind of toy he didn’t mind tearing the arm off of.”

Nesta blinked. Huffed out a breath. “We’ve been on again off again for a while. That’s why you haven’t seen him before. And he just doesn’t like lawyer stuff that’s why he’s like that in here ok? Not that it’s any of your business.”

“So you’re dating someone who not only doesn’t recognize how brilliant you are but won’t even let you talk about your job?” That was wrong. That was so wrong. That was… why Nesta was so intense with him. Why she debated and fought and talked for hours. Because she couldnt do it at home.

“Why do you even care, Cassian? Let’s just set a date and-”

“Fuck you, Nesta.” Her jaw fell open. “Fuck you for even asking me that. You know why I care. You can’t play dumb with me like I assume you do with him.”

“You don’t know anything about my relationship!” Nesta defended a little too vehemently.

“I know you can’t yell at him about his take on immigration laws,” Cassian stepped closer to her. “I know you can’t get a little tipsy off your favorite Malbec and go on a rambling tirade about the corrupt judiciary and your twenty three- or twenty five depending on the night- reasons why voting for judges completely undermines the integrity of the legal system.”

The was almost no space between them as Cassian looked down, gently set his hand under Nesta’s chin and raised her gaze to meet his. Burning with anger and passion and barely concealed desire. “I know that he didn’t understand why you were crying when RBG died. Because he doesn’t care about how appointing Supreme Court judges works or what that meant for the future of the court. And because I know that you weren’t with him that night. You were with me. Just like election night in 2016. And the Kavanaugh trials. And when the travel ban came into effect. You found me. Because I get it, and I care about your thoughts on all of those things. I’m devastated by them too. You were with me, Nes. And don’t you dare pretend that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” Nesta let her cheek sink into his palm. “It means everything Cassian, but…”

“But we fight,” he smiled. “We bicker and yell and cross ideologies and disagree on all the little things. But not the big things, Nes. Never on the big things. We disagree on how to change the world, not what we want to change in it. Isn’t that what matters?”

Nesta swallowed. “I can’t risk losing you.” She said quietly. “I need you. For all of those reasons, I need you to be in my life and if we… I hurt the people I love, Cassian. So if I let myself love you, I would only hurt you. And I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”

“So you date him.” Realization was an arrow sailing into Cassian’s chest. “Because you won’t hurt him. Because you could never actually love him.”

Nesta swallowed. “See? See how awful I am?”

Cassian moved his hand to her back, pulled her into his chest. “Go,” he whispered. “Go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here. And I’ll be waiting for you to realize that I’m not going anywhere. That I can take it. Whatever you want to throw at me, I can take it, Nes.”

[mitsukui]

cherry explosion | b.w.

Pairing: Bill Weasley x female reader.

Summary:  unexpectedly, Bill finds a way to give you the best New Year’s Eve you have ever had.

Word Count: 1,7k.

Warnings: smut! Oral sex (female receiving). Mentions of alcohol, drinking, and one-night stands ending badly.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: sending all of my love to those who are spending their New Year’s Eve by themselves! Dear @maddi-sun18​, thank you so much for the request, and I hope this can bring you some comfort. Please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention ❤

Masterlist!

Sometimes, it was so easy to read men. Their actions were so predictable, and they never failed to act exactly the same as the ones who had been there previously.

You wondered if there was some sort of training for young gentlemen on how to pick up girls at hotel bars. There seemed to be four steps for a man to follow in order to get lucky: one – exchange looks with the chosen pretty girl; two – lure the prey by offering her a fizzy and fruity drink; three – make small conversation, and say she is different from any other girl in the room; and, finally, four – get into her panties.

All of that was bullshit, and you would never fall for it.

And, perhaps, that was why you panicked a bit when a painfully attractive man approached you in a different way.

“Hey.” He shot you a small, yet, charming smile. “Do you mind if I sit here? If I listen to Patricia Rakepick talking about her adventures in Japan for one more bit, I might die.”

Both of you were taking part in an international conference on Curse-Breaking. The event had gathered wizards and witches from all around the globe, which caused Gringotts to rent a few areas on a muggle hotel in London for it. Although it was a knotty task for so many people to act as if they had no magical powers rushing through their veins, every participant seemed to be doing well on their own.

His presence there was perfectly reasonable, once he was a Curse-Breaker himself. Yours, however, was a bit questionable. You, as a columnist for the Daily Prophet, had been asked to cover the event, and could not be any less excited about it.

It was New Year’s Eve. All you wanted to do was go home to your family and friends.

While many people were not shy on showing their personal preference for Christmas, you were crazy about New Year’s Eve. The upcoming novel 365 days for you to live as if they were your last, the fancy dresses you always insisted on wearing, the taste of fizzy and fruity drinks lingering in your mouth until January 1st – all of that meant something to you, as brainless as it sounded.

Your peevish ways were soon destroyed by his sudden presence and polite attitudes. After you agreed with his company, it did not take long until you were laughing about the event and the people attending it.

As a matter of fact, Curse-Breakers were rather odd and monotonous people. The man with fiery, long hair seemed to be a clear exception to them, with his exotic fang earring, and his dragonhide boots. He also was to be the only good-looking one in that crowded bar, in that stupidly sophisticated hotel.

He was surprising you second by second. Breaking every single trait of loathing you had piled up for men, due to failed relationships and other women’s reports, he was showing himself as a funny and respectful man.

Between a few drinks, you had talked about his insanely big family, your repetitive daily life, his experiences in Egypt, and how you accidently had Apparated in Colombia once, being left without any knowledge of Spanish.

There was something sweet and intoxicating about him; about the way he asked to hold your hand while you were talking, and about the way he confessed and apologized for being unable to stop staring at your lips and wondering what they felt like.

“They probably taste like cherries now.” You leaned in and whispered, the dizzy sensation caused by your Cherry Bomb drink starting to tingle your insides. In a bold movement, you took your cocktail glass towards him. With your other hand, you touched his chin, and pushed it down a bit, forcing his mouth to part open. Your gaze transformed itself into a flirty one, and you told him to sip your drink so he could get a better grasp on what you tasted like.

It did not take long for you to crash your lips against his after that. You felt comfortable doing exactly what you were doing. You felt like you were in command of your own feelings. There was no stupid game of prey and hunter. There was no lie being told so one would get lucky.

At that moment, there were only two adults, being nice to each other and understanding their desires fully.

Unlike so many other men, he had respected you and, in the midst of slightly drunken kisses and touches, he kept on trying to be certain you were okay and you really wanted that.

Bill was briefly tipsy as well, his tongue tasting like the scotch he had earlier. The mixture between your cherry-like taste and his own made you feel like you were in heaven, although his kisses were growing to be hungry and more desperate.

Half an hour later, your hair spread across the pillow he was temporarily using for sleeping purposes. Your dress had been lifted up until your stomach, and your underwear was now nowhere to be found.

His soft hands roamed around your inner thighs as his tongue lapped your juices. Surprisingly, he was terrific at that, and you suspected you would crave more once he was done.

As he gave short licks to your clit and his tongue ran around your folds, two of his fingers were inserted in you. You arched your back, and reached out for his hair. You allowed your own fingers to tug delicately on his locks, his name leaving your lips religiously. He kept on pumping in and out of you, the pressure on your soft spot increasing each time.

The burning knot in your loins became tighter, and he adored how you clenched your walls around him so strongly. You were a mumbling, breathy mess, but he was entirely mesmerized by the sight, and the intimacy you were sharing.

Almost as if destiny was playing a prank on you, when you hit your first orgasm, fireworks started exploding outside the window of his hotel room. You squeezed your eyes shut, and cried out in the greatest pleasure you had ever felt in your entire life.

Slurping and sinful noises were produced as you came back from your high, still moaning. Your entire body trembled violently, but his big hands soothed your delicious torture.

He looked at you and chuckled quietly, your fluids still hanging on his lips, making them even more kissable than before. You were stunning in his eyes, and he feared not being able to let you go after the morning would come.

“Happy New Year, darling.”

January 1st came as softly and quietly as it possibly could. You dozed off in his arms after you spent a bit watching the fireworks show, and talking as well. The fact he was a grown man, but still could hold a decent conversation for so long, without any visible struggles was amusing.

You woke up to the next morning weak daylight peeking through the curtains and tickling your cheeks. Something inside your chest felt amazing. Flashes of the previous night appeared in your mind, and you could not hold a smile back. Funny enough, the taste of your Cherry Bomb drink still lingered faintly on your tongue.

However, all of your peace of mind vanished in the very instant you realized you had woken up by yourself. Waves of embarrassment and regret crashed in your heart, and you felt ridiculous for falling for all of the sweet nothings that had escaped his lips.

“Yes, that would be all. Yes. Room 716. Thank you very much.”

His enchanting voice shattered your own trance into a million pieces, and his bare footsteps announced he was returning to the same spot where you were at. You pulled the white sheets up and covered your naked torso, still unsure of how you would have to deal with the rising tension of the situation.

He soon captured the image of you being up and a glorious grin painted his lips. “Good morning.” His lower body was covered by a pair of dark jeans, which seemed to embrace his existence perfectly well, despite being different from the visual image he displayed last night. How was it possible for someone to look that good early in the morning? Or was it really early? What time was it? What did happen after the fireworks? With a timid voice, you wished him a good morning, too, but remained silent afterwards. It was difficult for you to ponder your next actions.

“So, the room service guys will be here shortly. I took the freedom to order us some breakfast.” His eyes gleamed with a pure kindness as the words slipped out of his lips. “I hope you fancy some orange juice in the morning.” He was offering you nothing but soft spoken words, and thoughtful actions

What was that?!

“B-Breakfast?” You repeated the key word of the whole conversation in surprise. No one had ever prepared, or even ordered, you breakfast after a night of sex and lust.

“Yeah.” Bill was quick to notice your tone of surprise and, somehow, it was funny to him. A girl like you, whom had shown him nothing but a great personality so far, should be used to being pampered like that. “Did you think for one second that I’d just eat you out like that, and leave you hanging the next morning?”

Honestly? Yes. You did think of that. You feared you would be tricked once more. One more disappointment to be added to your personal archive. One more reason to continue living your life despising men.

His arms were crossed against his chest and he shook his head, a dismissive, short laugh echoing through the room. “I would be mental if I ever did that. In a few hours, you managed to wow me.”

He made his way to the bed, and his body sank down on the mattress, being placed right next to yours. Truth being told, without the alcohol, you felt quite shy being that close to such a handsome man. “And, if you allow me to, I want to continue seeing you. I want to get to know more of you.”

A snuggly heat erupted in you, and it was a novel sensation for you. Perhaps, not all men had those devilish ways in them.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I really feel like kissing you right now. But, given your astonished behaviors, I’m not sure if you’d enjoy that. What do you tell me?”

Perhaps, this new year would not be so terrible.

[tittytania]

Finding ChristBorg: A TED talk about what happened during the Coldharbour Compact.

Reposted from my tes reddit bc I want to see what y’all think.

I can't tell if I'm a genius, completely insane, or if I'm just late to the lore-party. Time to find out I guess. TL;DR at the bottom.

So it has never been explained what Sotha Sil did during the Coldharbour Compact to convince the daedric princes to not manifest on Nirn without an intermediary, and it probably never will be since the mystery of it all is far too cool. But that doesn't mean I can't read into it like literature and look for meaning in the other texts I can compare it to.

To start, Vivec is based off of the Shakta variation of the half female/half male Ardhanarishvara, where the gold-skinned female half is the right side. Both Vivec and Ardhanarishvara represent unity and duality, and looking at some images of Ardhanarishvara, it's kinda hard to argue that Vivec wasn't based off of them. Kirkbride even confirmed that Ardhanarishvara was the inspiration for Vivec in an AMA. Now, Vivec is part of the god trio the Almsivi Tribunal, along with Almalexia and Sotha Sil. Shiva, who Ardhanarishvara is the avatar of, is also part of a god trio, called the Trimurti in Hinduism. So it would make sense if the other members of the tribunal are also based off of one member of a real world religious triad. I have a shaky idea of who Almalexia could be, but my theory for her god-inspiration is nowhere near as solid as my theory for Sotha Sil, who I believe is based on Jesus Christ.

To start, their characterizations have multiple similarities. Both are one branch of a god-triad, with Sotha Sil as part of the Tribunal, and Jesus as The Son in the Holy Trinity. Both serve as a teacher, with Jesus being referred to as Teacher several times in the Bible, and Sotha Sil giving lessons on magic and Mysticism to the Psijic Monks. Also, both are characterized as wise, patient, and celibate. They both talk about moral and philosophical concepts with their followers, neither Jesus nor Sotha Sil are shown as having a temper or raising their voices, and neither of them are shown with a spouse or partner. Sotha Sil is specifically shown as not caring about the Night Mother's attempts to sexually manipulate him in book seven of 2920, The Last Year of the First Era. Now I know that 2920 is considered a work of historical fiction in-universe, but I don't think that matters in this situation since I'm approaching this as a person reading a text, not as a person living inside the lore world.

In terms of specific scenes that connect Sotha Sil and Jesus, the first I will mention is that they both use a makeshift whip to beat intruding wrongdoers and drive them away, while yelling about fathers. In the Truth in Sequence vol. 8 book, it says that "[t]hrough His will alone, Mighty Seht wound the veins (of metal ore) into god-bronze whips, and lashed the Prince pitilessly," saying "[b]ehold the wrath of lost Ald Sotha! Know death at my hands, false-son of a false-father!" In the Bible, Jesus found people doing sales in a place of worship, and then He "made a whip of cords, (and) He drove them all out of the temple," saying “Take these things away! Do not make My Father’s house a house of merchandise!” (John 2 15-16).

Also, Jesus had close friends and followers who were called his apostles, and Sotha Sil has his own Clockwork Apostles. Sil's apostles reside in the Clockwork Basilica, and while basilica isn't an exclusively Christian term, it is frequently used to describe a type of church architecture, and is a term the pope uses to recognize distinguished churches.

Another similarity that I found was in the plot of Morrowind, where Sotha Sil's death was caused at the hands of Almalexia, who was someone he had once loved and trusted, much like with Jesus and Judas.

The most notable life similarity as it relates to the Coldharbour Compact is that both leave the earthly world in order to make a deal for the benefit of the souls on earth, and then return to the earthly world. This parallel is given extra weight with the descriptions of the scene in the book 2920, The Last Year of the First Era. Sotha Sil returns from Coldharbour by way of someone "rolling aside the great boulder that blocked the entrance to the Dreaming Cavern. This sounds a lot like the scene in the bible of the discovery that Jesus had risen from the dead, where "an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door" (Matthew 28:2). In addition, Jesus said "after He is killed, He will rise [on] the third day," (Matthew 17:23) and after Sotha Sil returned from Coldharbour, he "felt he had been away for months, years, but only a few days had transpired." Perhaps it had been 3?

In addition to the life and behavior similarities, there are similarities in dress. In the 2920 book, Sotha Sil is always described as wearing a white robe or cloak. In ESO, Sotha Sil is shown as barefoot, and wearing a blue sash over his long white robe. In medieval and renaissance art, Jesus is most always depicted as barefoot, and is frequently shown with a blue cloth over his shoulder. In most resurrection art, as well as in almost all 20th/21st century art, Jesus is depicted as dressed in white. While Jesus usually isn't usually shown wearing both the blue sash and the white robe at once like Sotha Sil is, I found one modern interpretation of Jesus that does dress him this way, and several depictions of him in Chinese art that also portray him like this.

I'm feeling almost conspiratorial here, but these similarities are far too many for me to think it's accidental, and therefore I have to think that all of this is meant to suggest that Sotha Sil serves a Christ-figure role in his story, i.e. in sacrificing own life like Jesus did in order to make his deal in the Coldharbour Compact. However I don't think Sil's sacrifice was quite so simple. After he is asked what he offered the Daedra in return for the deal, he states: "The deals we make with Daedra... [s]hould not be discussed with the innocent." This implies that in contrast to the Christ mythos, Sil's sacrifice was not blameless; he did not come out of the deal with his hands clean.

So, a Christ-like sacrifice that isn't quite as pure and selfless as it is in Christianity. What could that be?

My theory is that in order to make the Coldharbour Compact, he sold the lives of Vivec and Almalexia along with his own. Perhaps he told the princes that he knew the tribunal's godhood would end, and in exchange for their cooperation he promised not to tell the other tribunes or make any attempt to prevent his and his companions' demise. (After all, as far as I know he made the mechanical heart for keeping his city functional, not for recreating the divinity the heart of Lorkhan provided.) Or, maybe he offered to do something to assist in bringing the Tribunal down, and losing Sunder and Keening, the tools that helped them maintain their divinity, was intentional on his part. Sil deliberately sacrificing his own life appears to be reflected in Azura's statement after his death. She said "he shed his mortality long ago, and I am certain his death was no small relief to him." Of course she'd know that he let go of his life ages ago if he had willingly sold it to her. Of course she would be certain that he found his death to be a relief, if she'd heard him say so himself when he was explaining why a god would ever offer such a deal.

It would also make sense with Sotha Sil's character, since he allegedly loved the people on Nirn more than Almalexia or Vivec did, and the destruction of Gilverdale could have definitely been a traumatic enough reminder of the destruction of Ald Sotha for him to do something dramatic to prevent it ever happening again. And guilt over sacrificing his friends could have definitely been a contributing factor to the worsening self-isolation and intense depression in his later life. It would also be a definite explanation for why he apparently never met another soul in the 10 years between losing the tools and his death. Not only had he become extremely disillusioned with the imperfections of the world, he had now finalized the deal he made so long ago, and saw no point in continuing to interact with a deeply flawed world he was essentially finished with.

However, I do see some issues with this and how it would work in-universe. Namely the fact that Hermaeus Mora's seekers said the prince received something from every individual on Nirn as part of the deal, which is quite different from what I'm suggesting. A different deal for each prince would also explain why Sil was able to include Clavicus Vile and Mephala in the compact at a much later date. There would be no reason for Vile and Mephala to submit to a collective deal whose terms had already been decided. So if he offered the tribunal's lives as part of the deal, he would have needed to offer other things as well. But for me the most significant in-universe issue I struggled with was that using his death as a bargaining tool would create a massive problem for his ability to enforce the deal in the future. This could explain why both Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon manifested on Nirn after Sotha Sil's death, but since I think they were summoned by qualified mortals that could have been a loophole. Either way, making a deal that is meant to last forever by promising something that can never be taken back in the case of a breach of contract seems extremely short-sighted for someone who claims to be cursed with certainty. Especially considering how many of the princes there were known to be cheats and liars.

Unless, that is, you believe this theory I read about the reason why Sil was completely silent as he was killed. My original belief was that he was silent because he'd seen it coming long ago, and knew that nothing he could have said would have changed Almalexia's mind. And while that would be in character for him, now I'm starting to think that it was because he had already uploaded his consciousness elsewhere. This would fit in with the Christ-figure parallels, due to the Christian belief that Jesus is risen from the dead and very much alive. While Jesus returned to life at the same time he emerged from the cave, the completion of Sotha Sil's death sacrifice didn't happen until long after his return via the cave. While I have found no explicit evidence that he's still around, when you find his body in Morrowind he is shown hanging, with his arms outstretched at his sides, in a sort of crucifixion pose. And after the crucifixion comes the resurrection. Perhaps Sotha Sil is still around somewhere in the gears of his city, and he promised the princes he'd never be present or have any influence on Nirn so long as they kept up their end of the deal. Additionally, the 37th sermon of Vivec mentions Sotha Sil as holding "his swollen belly," carrying "[his] daughter." While Vivec's sermons are hardly ever literal, Kirkbride's comments suggest that maybe Vivec was being somewhat literal in this instance. Regarding this concept art, Kirkbride said "note the cosmic baby growing inside Sotha Sil. While Sotha Sil is dead as we saw in the add-on pack “Tribunal”, the child survived." Perhaps one of Sotha Sil's many body modifications made him able to carry and birth a child, and then he created a daughter through self-cloning or some other method that allows him to have enough influence to enforce the compact.

TL;DR - Sotha Sil has a lot of similarities with Jesus, so he's a Christ figure and therefore his sacrifice in the Coldharbour Compact was himself, and Almalexia and Vivec too, and that also means that he may still be around.

Anyways, thanks for reading and sorry if this sounds like I'm putting red strings on a wall as my application essay to the r/SothaSimps fan club. Also, lmk if I'm missing anything obvious. For me right now Reading Lore On The Bedroom Floor is a bit more manageable than playing the games, and there may be something I've just completely looked over.

[happyreid187]

Privilege - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.1 K

A/N: Sad Spencer post nightmare comfort. Discovering and sharing feelings about each other. Mild angst then fluff. I wrote this after my season 8 rewatch but it’s not explicitly situated in any particular season. 

Warnings: Brief mentions of Spence’s various trauma; case issues, mom issues, drug use, generalized dark and twistiness. Insecurity. Swearing. Single sentence implying reader grew up religious. References to sex but not actual smut. 

____

With both of us working insane hours, we agreed early on to be casual, and then completely and entirely ignored that agreement in every way except verbiage. Avoiding labels and verbal expressions of affection, I pretended that it wasn’t emotional self destruction to spend every waking hour with this man who was notably not my boyfriend. With the amount of affection between us, it was easy to pretend it was something more. When we weren’t working, I essentially lived in his bed.

____

I was deep asleep when I heard him whimpering, waking to find him tossing and turning, breathing quickly. It took me a second to get my bearings, but when I did, I woke him as gently as I could

“Spencer! Spence.” His eyes shot open, and he immediately jumped, looked to me with his eyes welling up, and started shaking.

“Hey,” my voice was desperate as I wrapped my arms around him, “Baby, what’s the matter?” The pet name was generally reserved for other activities in this bed, but it felt appropriate now. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. “Was it about a case?”

“It was about...” he started. “No, I don’t want to freak you out!” He sort of tossed and turned again, now in my lap. “This isn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He sounded angry; with himself, and the situation. I tried to ignore the feeling that’s he might be angry with me.

“Why would it freak me out? Your job is depressing as shit, Spence. This is kind of predictable. Talking through it with you? None of this is work for me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can.” I said, waiting for him to decide how to proceed.

He fiddled with his hands in that nervous way of his. “It was about you. First, you were breaking? Like glass on a windshield? Cracking but not falling apart. And everything around us was breaking; the phones and then the walls and then your face,” his voice broke then, “and then my own chest.”

Where the tears were only threatening to overflow before, he was really crying now, in a way I’d never seen him do before. In a way grown men rarely do in our terrible society if they can avoid it. In a way that made it hard for either of us to breathe. “But then it sort of mixed with work, and there was an unsub and he had you, and I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t get to you, and then...” he paused there, and I inferred the rest by his pained silence.

“You don’t have to keep going, I get it. And I’m not freaked out. I’m right here, Spencer. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you too. You are okay. You’re okay.” he didn’t say anything for a minute, and I rethought my words. “I’m not trying to belittle or silence you. I know you don’t feel okay. But you’re here with me, and no one’s broken, and you’re breathing, and I’m breathing, and you’re okay.”

“I’m not worried about me...” he grumbled, like it was obvious. Like I was wasting our time, worrying about him.

“Well I’m fine. I’m good. I’m happy to be here for you.”

He looked up at me doubtfully. “How can you be happy to be woken up at 4:02 am?”

Too sleepy to veil my feelings entirely, with words like adoration and devotion drifting through my head, I settled on saying, “It’s a privilege to have the chance to be here for you, and support you, and help you feel better. I have you, and you have me; okay? I’m here.”

“I’ve got you...” he softly echoed my words from earlier.

“You’ve got me.” I answered easily. It was a simple, honest fact to share.

There was a shift in him then. He pushed himself up with one arm, leaning back and staring at me, looking exasperated and vaguely frantic, like he just realized something was wrong. He looked almost angry as he asked “What the fuck are we doing?

I didn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m having nightmares about losing you, you’re like, taking over my subconscious, and renting all this space in my head, and then I wake up to find you here, in my bed, drying my tears and calling it a privilege! Like do you have to be so... I don’t know. Warm?” Well, that was a new one. I had never known that to be a bad thing, particularly with him. He flocked to my sentimentality like a moth to a flame.

He wasn’t done though. “I never intended to care about someone this much. It’s confusing for me. I know you have your catholic guilt, but you don’t have to martyr yourself for me. Dealing with my shit is emphatically not a blessing.” He took a deep breath and braced himself. He half smiled, half sobbed, and to be frank, he was freaking me the fuck out. “Unless you..” he trailed off. IQ of 187; an epic communicator, this one. I gave him a look that begged him to continue, holding my tongue as if he would break, like the dream, if I spoke. He sighed heavily, trying to catch his breath. I reached over hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to be touched, terrified of making it worse. Slowly, I wiped away the tears on both cheeks, willing him to look at me. He didn’t, choosing his lap instead.

I waited for him to continue. “I don’t have a lot of experience with fuck buddies,” he spit the last two words like they repulsed him, like they didn’t fit right on his tongue. Foreign words with uncertain and unsettling definitions. “...but I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this.”

“Feel like what?” Despite the tears and the heavy air that threatened to suffocate me, I felt a new feeling. Like I would maybe feel better soon. I silently begged him to speak faster, hoping he could somehow telepathically pick up on my anxiety as I hung on every word.

“A privilege. That’s just...” he paused again, shaking his head. I could feel my anxiety coursing through my veins in a bizarrely literal sense. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, and I waited in suspense as he chose every word carefully. He then looked with me with the warmth I’d come to know, to expect, and to crave. “I know you’re a really tender person but why would you do this if we're just sleeping together?”

IQ of 187, this one.

After his lengthy monologue with its intensely painful pauses I cut straight to the point. “Are we?”

The sadness vanished from his face, leaving nothing in its place but wheels turning. No more damned pauses; I have to be brave now. “I’m not.”

“What?” I couldn’t figure out what to make of his expression. It wasn’t relief. Concern, maybe? Or disbelief? “Just sleeping with you that is. Does that make you upset?”

“No, no, y/n/n, it doesn’t make me upset.” his eyes meeting my face. I could feel that he was about to ramble, finally, and I was intensely grateful. “It depends on what you really want. It’s hard for me to believe that you actually want this.” he points at himself, like that explained his insecure thinking. Honestly, how dare he speak about my person in such a way, but now wasn’t the time to critique his criticism.

“You want to be woken up by nightmares after cases? To sleep alone while I’m gone? and when I’m around deal with my neurosis and awkwardness and rambling? and family drama? and drug cravings?” He dropped his eyes and his voice, “You could do so much better.”

We didn’t have time to even begin to unpack all of that. Not in the middle of the night, on the edge of everything we both want. I could write a novel explaining how he is in fact the very best I can imagine, but that would take time to convince him of. Time like years. Time like marriage.

Again trying to move this conversation to the conclusion I ached for just a bit faster, I answered directly, “Yes. I want that. I want you.” Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I searched his face for some sort of happiness or disgust but received a blank stare and a look of bewilderment.

“I just want you. I’ve wanted you this whole time. I thought you would figure it out.” I laughed, and he smiled, a real smile that touched his hazel eyes that somehow sparkled in the dimly lit room, finally. “With fuck buddies, I don’t typically snuggle and go on museum dates or stop seeing other people or stick around for months.”

“You want me?” he smiled, but doubt loomed, and his smile fell as his long fingers traced my jaw.

“You say that now, but I think you’re going to find that I am a difficult person to love.” He said, as if I didn’t already know him. As if I didn’t already see him in all of his brilliance and darkness, all of his complexity and baggage. As if knowing him hadn’t been a precursor to loving him.

“Spencer, everyone thinks that about themselves.” I replied, greeted with still more disbelief. I continued in spite of him. “Besides,” I shrugged with a small smile, like my conclusion was entirely self evident, “It’s too late now.”

“What, you think that about yourself? First of all, you are unbelievably easy to love. The easiest in the whole world, probably. I know that that sounds hyperbolic, but I really mean it - I sincerely think that you are the single most lovable woman on the planet.” he rambled, talking with his hands and earning a tearful chuckle from me. “In my world at least. You are in fact, despite my best efforts, impossible not to...” he paused to physically shove the thought away, moving forward with a grimace.

“Second of all, what do you mean too late? I have a feeling I might know what you’re going to say. Please say it, y/n,” he whispered like that would make it less scary. “Or do you want me to say it? I don’t want to spook you but... it’s too late for what?”

“Too late to stop myself from loving you.”

 Finally, finally a look of understanding graced his face. A look like he believed me. He smiled that stunning, whole face smile of his that was reserved for special occasions.

 “Can you say the whole thing?”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you, too.”

He was only half sitting up anyways, so when I kissed him he fell to the bed, and protested immediately. “No! I’m so gross and snotty, stop.” I settled on peppering kisses on his neck and damp cheeks instead.

I laid my head on his chest, murmuring, “You can go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll still be loving you, and I won’t be broken because of it, and I certainly won’t be gone.”

“Okay,” he responded, voice still broken, but no matter. He’ll heal. He’ll believe me more with time. Eyes heavy and stinging, my adrenaline eventually waned, and I was about to fall back asleep, when his voice pulled me back.

“Just to be completely clear, this is no longer a fuck buddy situation. Like, I'm your boyfriend. Right?”

“Was it ever really a fuck buddy situation?” I laughed “But if it was, it’s over. You are mine, Spencer Reid. If that wasn’t obvious.”

I could hear his smile in his voice “Sorry, it’s so late, and my brain isn’t really working and I just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

He paused for a few minutes.

“I’ll check back again in the morning.”

“I’ll still be here.”

~~~

In my half asleep state, his soft words barely registered. “Good morning, sweet girl. I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

“I love you too.” I mumbled, smiling without opening my eyes. There’s his confirmation. He’s always been one for collecting good data, I suppose.

“Please keep doing that.”

[kuroos-moon]

「vi. Deal pt. 2」

warning/s: angst (just a lil bit)

a/note: for this smau, like my previous one, there will be numerous chapters wherein they aren’t text chains or necessarily smaus just like this chapter and the prologue. If that’s not to ur liking, or for any reason at all, pls feel free to tell me u wanna be removed from the taglist 🖤

He skeptically looks out through his window, and just like you had texted him a minute ago, there were no more reporters outside. Finally, he thought, not really expecting you to be telling the truth. Honestly, why do you mess with him so much? 

Also, he’s been wondering ever since your reunion if you deliberately went to the gym for him or if that was pure coincidence and you’re spontaneously messing up his life right now. The moment he opens his door, he’s adamant on avoiding you because he just knew the person you were now is adamant on driving him insane by doing things like popping out of nowhere to pester him. 

Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing in front of his doorstep? “Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly smile, eyes lighting up at the very sight of him. “Nope.” He pulls the door close but you put a hand to stop him. He tugs on it, making you chuckle, but you stubbornly refuse to let him shut you out. 

“Get out.” He snaps. “I’m not even inside, Sakusa Kiyoomi.” 

Seriously? Saying his full name like that only ticks him off. “Don’t call me that.” He tugs harsher on his doorknob but you successfully grip the door with both hands now. 

“Shall I call you love then?” You tease despite finding it extremely hard to keep the door open. It may now have dawned on to him that this was pointless as he lets go, though he’ll never admit that he’s actually afraid of accidentally shutting the door on your fingers—he knows he easily could. 

“What do you want?” He sighs. “We need to talk.” 

“About what?” How you left me? How you had the audacity to walk back in my life like you didn’t trample all over me before? 

“Our relationship,” you grin. He chokes. “Our what now?” Laughter erupts from your throat, and it was bittersweet. You’re so carefree and mesmerizing—your eyes angelic and genuinely alight. But more than that, you’re ruthless and despicable, he knows that all too well. 

“Won’t you invite me in? It’s cold y’know,” you place your hands inside your pockets. “Then freeze,” he narrows his eyes. He absolutely hates you, here he was slightly worrying he’ll go soft and easy on you because one could never control the heart yet you so easily reminded him of why you were the bane to his existence.  

“Yup, figured walking in your home wasn’t gonna happen,” you mutter to yourself with a small smile. He hates it. Don’t act like you know him, because at some point you did, but you don’t deserve to have him etched in your memory. 

“Tell me what you want so we could get this over with.” 

“Right. Yes sir. Yes love,” you chuckle, not even minding that he remains unamused. “My manager has already arranged a live interview this afternoon.” 

“You should’ve started with that. So, you’re here to ask me what you should say?” He asks, unintentionally looking down on your hands you’ve rubbed together for friction. It was indeed cold, you brought this upon yourself though. 

“No, I’m here to make a deal with you. My statement for my interview later on depends on your response.” 

He rolls his eyes, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe because talking to you definitely tired him out; sucked his soul out of him. “And by this lovely deal, what exactly are you proposing? Not that you have a leverage over me now or anything.” 

You smile, stepping closer to him but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Instead, his feet remained planted to the ground, self-aware of how much his heart was racing right now and the only thing—albeit pathetic—he could do was glare at you. 

“Befriend me for a month, that’s it.” That didn’t sound half as bad compared to how devilish you’ve been these past few days. “Go on,” he mutters, stepping back and away from you. “You can’t block my number and you have to reply to my texts.” 

“Aren’t you ashamed of how pathetic and selfish you are right now?” He lowly says. You look up at him in surprise, there was faint hurt and vulnerability in his voice that wasn’t there before and you can’t help but feel guilty for it. 

“I like you, I don’t know why, I just do.” Pain visits him like an old friend. Casual, embracing, and mind-numbingly heartbreaking. You look up at his eyes and could tell right away the discomfort in them, but it wasn’t just discomfort, there was agony too—perhaps. You could never be too sure, you think, looking down on both your shoes. 

“I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on avoiding me, it felt like you hated me the first day we met, and I didn’t like the way you hated me for no apparent reason, much so because I happen to like you.” You’re rarely ever serious or this openly truthful with anyone other than your friends, it was only normal that it embarrassed you. But this didn’t feel exactly foreign either. It felt like he understood you somehow—your words and the thoughts you haven’t exactly expressed. 

“I hated you the first time we met?” He repeats and you look at him, surprised at the surreal softness in his voice. “When… was the first time we met, y/n?” 

That’s the first time he’s said your name. It made your cheeks flush warm and your eyes widen a fraction. This moment was temporary and fleeting, it was easy to see, because he certainly doesn’t call your name like that so naturally and so right—he certainly doesn’t look at you with the absence of resentment as he normally would. 

“Three days ago, outside your gym,” you respond unsurely. As if you’ve reminded him of something utterly annoying, he had closed off himself once more, his eyes unreadable and brooding as they stared back at you. 

“And this is why I hate you,” he chuckles humorlessly. You’re still pretending you didn’t know him, as if those years together were something you could so easily erase. “I don’t care what you say in that damned interview. Saying yes to that excessively self-centered deal of yours would lose me my self-respect, you know that.” 

He finally steps out the door, closing it behind him as he walks past you and all the way to his car. He hopes this would be the last time he sees you; he desperately hopes so. The last thing he needs is a repeat of the emotional wreck he’s been when he was at the lowest point of his life after you so selfishly left him behind.  

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You call off, and he stops in his tracks, clenching his teeth. You’re clearly overestimating his patience. “I don’t know how befriending me would lose you your self-respect. Hell, I am so irritated at you right now, hard-to-understand-breathtaking-stupid volleyball player!” You grit your teeth, he scoffs, finding your impudence unbelievably out of this world. 

He wanted to bring up your past, to shove it right in your face that you had no right to be angry with his hostility considering everything you’ve done. But he can’t, it’s foolish to bring up history you insist you’ve forgotten. “You better watch my interview later on.” 

“Oh?” He mockingly says, turning to look at you, “just what are you going to say?” He admits it is out of character for him to banter off with you like this, if you were someone else, he’s long gone inside his car. Maybe this was his way of saying goodbye to you for good, allowing himself to talk to you like this before moving forward with his life that’s anti-you. 

“I’m telling them we’re the bestest of friends but we might marry!” You stick your tongue out at him before running off, you don’t even notice him freeze up. His heart fell to his stomach, he unconsciously held in a breath. No, he didn’t just hold in a breath, it’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe. 

There it is again, his old, life-long friend. Crippling pain, anxiety, and resentment bundling up and turning into one heavy-ass anchor, pulling him deeper down than he’s been before. The stability he’s built and worked on by religiously avoiding you for years all went down the drain with those silly words of yours. 

Just what kind of ridicule or twisted teasing are you pulling off? 

“Wow, I’m surprised you guys put up with Oomi.” He hears your voice, lips tugging upward a little before he realizes what you had just said. Finally entering the gym, he sees you sitting in a circle along with his teammates. 

He narrows his eyes at the back of your head. You should be in your winter uniform by now, he bets you forgot. One thing he hated about being a year older than you is that he goes to a different school now that he’s in highschool while you’re still on your last year of middle school, you just can’t seem to take care of yourself enough. 

“Yup, Oomi’s really great, he’s the best, I guess that’s why you accept how cold he is sometimes huh,” you snicker, your enjoyment short-lived when you’re engulfed in a jacket and Sakusa’s scent. “Stop giving me backhanded compliments just because you think I’m not around,” he bitterly tells you though there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Oomi!” You rise up to your feet immediately and flung yourself at him. He catches you with no hesitation of course, guessing that you’re here again because you missed him. The rest of his teammates except Komori are surprised. 

“Sakusa-kun, didn’t know you had a middle school girlfriend.” 

“Ew, she’s not my girlfriend.” He bites back a smile though when you punch his shoulder. “What’s with the ew? Not that I like Oomi that much—he’s an ass,” you send him a pointed look, “but we’re the bestest of friends,” you grin. 

“And we might marry someday, right Oomi?” 

His face falls. “Can you not make me cringe like for a week or two, thanks.” 

You scowl, “oh, so what, you don’t wanna marry me?” At this point, he blushes, you’re always so blunt and shameless, you could at least tweak it down a bit. He only scoffs, walking past you to pick up a ball from the ground, “didn’t say anything like that.” 

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