#the unreasonable hotness these characters possess

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY

SUMMARY : dean wants to know more about you and takes matters into his own hands when you don’t show up at his bakery. unreasonably, he doesn’t expect you to come back home early, but his mission was mostly successful.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, implied panty kink, creepiness escalates, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, (vague) chronic illness, voyeurism, b&e, stealing, slow chapter, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.6k

A/N : this chapter will lead up to the square stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. no baking :’(. heheh, Dean’s a lot softer and way more caring than the typical psycho-yandere type maybe some of yall were thinking of. I did research on yandere types and yandere traits, and found that it’s completely acceptable! in fact, a soft yandere is preferred, LOL. xx

Over the years Dean found that the perks of being undead included not having to sleep. That meant there were no nightmares to haunt him.. and now, that he had all the time in the world to watch you, to research you, first.

You were a fluffy cloud of love that became his companion through the sleepless, endless night. He knew seeing you again would feel like an eternity had passed, so he indulged in thoughts of you to keep him company.

He was home now and he had nothing to do as the moon bled through the windows of the place he “lived” in. He laid in his bed, unable to shut his brain off for the pretence of a peaceful sleep that he enjoyed doing routinely ever since he was a… vampire. 

His four hours of nothingness. 

He had too much time on his hands. 

He’d already read over a thousand books, watched over a thousand films and series, scrolled through the endless stream of videos on social media, and attempted to get good at hundreds of hobbies. What was the point of it anymore, after all?

Now, he thought of you. And that was the only point that made any sense to him. The only thing that mattered in his useless life. The only reason why he even wanted the sun to rise and bring another day. 

If it meant that he was able to see you again. To know everything about your existence. Then, it all mattered. The world needed to keep spinning and the world needed to be safe, for you. 

He took his phone from the nightstand and appreciated the wallpaper of his beautiful Impala. He was uncomfortably restless. He wanted to keep thinking of you, but he also wanted to shut his brain off. He couldn’t creep you out, it would ruin everything. He stared at the numbers telling the time, 1:24 AM. 

You were probably asleep by now. 

He wondered about you again. What position did you sleep in? What colour were your sheets? What was the texture of them? Did you use multiple blankets? Were you cold, often? Were your hands and feet always the only thing that was cold? Did you not suffer that way at all? Did you wear socks to sleep? What was the temperature of your home? Did you wear baggy clothes to sleep? Or something sexy? Or something cute? What was the colour of your walls? How did you decorate your home? Was it fun? Minimalistic? Did your house already smell like you again?

He cared so much about every tiny detail of your life and the place you called home. He itched to just get out of bed and find where you lived to see for himself. 

But for now, he lifted himself up slightly to rest against the headboard of his bed and unlocked his phone to find you wherever he could. He felt embarrassed to do so, but he searched your name on every app, including the dating ones he never removed despite being… Well, he hadn’t had sex since he became a vampire. He was terrified of anything bad happening to the women he slept with. 

The thought made him freeze. Would he lose control with you? Would he ever hurt you? His mind overflowed with images of your blood and him standing above you. He would die before he ever hurt you. He shook the thoughts away, remembering Lenore, and the handful of monsters that coexisted peacefully with humans. 

He could be with you. You could be his. 

You were all he could think about. It’s a shock that he hadn’t shoved his hands in his pants and pleasured himself just thinking of you. He would have, but he felt it would be disrespectful to you. 

He did try to relieve himself with those sexy vampire women in the past, but he just didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards them because so few of them even cared about humans. It was unbecoming. They were arrogant, indifferent, and it wasn’t even sexy. He just couldn’t get it “up” with bloodsuckers. So, what? He was still prejudiced and all that. Whatever, he spent most of his time as a vampire still hunting. 

He killed the entire nest and hunted down anyone that managed to slip through his fingers. He tried his hardest to keep being a hunter, with Sam’s brain protected with a wall, he had hope, a reason to keep going. But that was all gone, his family was gone: Sam, Cas. 

When word spread that he was a vampire, and it did—like a nuclear bomb—the fallout was massive. Somehow, the fear of the Winchesters was hundred-fold, even though, in all his time as a vampire, Dean hadn’t slipped up even once. 

He didn’t know how he did it. 

He really just did. 

He remembered the devouring thirst of being around humans when he was in the process of turning, while he looked for the leech that bled into his mouth for the cure Samuel and Sam were waiting to have confirmed. He could smell every human’s blood, taste the delicious quench of it in the air, and he somehow walked straight past every one. And when that one vamp opened the fridge to feed him a pick-me-up, the scent of it was overpowering, but never quite enough for his stubborn ass.

He declined and carried on with the mission, but the world had other plans for him. When he found the guy that turned him, of course he knew that Dean hadn’t fully turned; he was the leader of the nest, after all. He was smart and didn’t let Dean make any move unless he drained one of the women he didn’t find useful for the nest. 

He refused but the leader of the nest didn’t take no for an answer, and once again, forced Dean to feed on one of the women in the cages. Dean remembered that way it felt, the taste of warm blood soothing the aching dryness in his throat. Dean had planned on biting the poor girl for show and collecting the blood in his mouth to spit it out later, but once it touched his tongue, the bloodlust took over.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop. Maybe the way the girl whimpered, because she was just a girl. Or the way she pleaded for him to stop with her weak, cracked voice. The way her body slowly sank into him and crumbled limply, but he somehow managed to push her away from him.

She thanked him, even though she was still stuck being a blood bag for the nest. Dean felt guilty, even by just remembering how it all started. His soulless brother, his idiot best friend. How was anyone supposed to know how to handle that situation? 

Dean grieved his human life. Having to abandon Lisa and Ben on top of it all. Then, his brother’s life. And finally, his best friend’s life. 

Sure, Cas was the one who made the mess to begin with, but what was the point of friendship if you couldn’t forgive them for the worst of the worst? Obviously, there was a line, but with the type of life they lived, what Cas had done didn’t cross the line. After all, Cas tried to make amends, even if it was too late. 

Dean could stay mad forever at Cas, but he was going to be ancient some day. What purpose would that hatred serve when everyone was dead? Forgiveness was all he had left to remind him he still had some semblance of humanity.

And right now, he needed to feel human. For you. 

He was more relieved than he cared to admit when he didn’t find you on any dating apps. So, he deleted every single one after he got the answers he was hoping to not find there. 

He hated that your Facebook was more dead than he was. You didn’t have your relationship status updated or your birthday published. There was nothing, just an old photo of you at some Korean restaurant. And even your family members’ accounts were as dry as his throat felt after going days without feeding. They revealed nothing, but he did find your friends: Bela Levante and Daphne Jordan.

But there was hardly anything to see about you on their profiles. God, woman, why did you have to hide yourself so hard?

He carefully scrolled through Instagram and groaned at another obstacle. Your account was private. He wished to stare at photos of you. The numbers on your profile teased him, he could see the amount of followers you had, the number of people you were following, and fuck… 43 posts he could be gazing at like a celebrity’s fanboy. 

He wanted to see everything “private” about your life, your hobbies, flashes, glimpses of your life, pets—if you had any, and everything about your family. All the little things that would have slowly painted you on the empty canvas in his mind. 

Dean shut his phone off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling being illuminated with the moonlight, creating shadows from the tree that creaked outside by the window. 

How was he supposed to feel about you? What was he supposed to do to get closer to you? Would you see him again the next morning? Or anytime after that? Would he see you in days? Weeks?

Would you think of him at all? Or would you be too busy with your life to do so? Did you even want to see him again? Did you feel the pull he felt towards you? Was he being delusional to think that there could possibly be something between you and him?

He’d have to take matters into his own hands if you prolonged appearing in his life. If he got dozens of women to like him before, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want him in the same way. He just needed to play his cards right. 

5 Days Later

Coming into your life was more difficult than Dean anticipated.

He went out more than he would have wanted, hoping to find you anywhere in town. So, you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be available for the first couple of days or weeks in town as you tried to settle in. He hoped it was just something you said to avoid Andy.

At least he knew you weren’t lying about that. 

He only saw you once three days ago at the grocery store. He watched you as subtly as he could, his eyes focused on your every move, his ears sharpened to your voice, every atom in his body was attuned to you, his nexus. 

He wished he was standing there next to you, as your boyfriend, a lover, a partner, whatever. As long as you were only his. So he could watch your cute faces when you touched something that you didn’t like, or be there to laugh with you when you giggled at something you saw, or to be there to remind you of something you forgot and had to pull up the list on your phone. He wanted to know what it was like to have another conversation with you, about anything. Was that asking too much?

He didn’t get everything he’d planned on getting when he got there, but at least he had your plates and the car you drove. He wished he was brave enough to have talked to you, to pretend to bump into you. Although it wouldn’t have been much of an act, he really hadn’t expected to see you there.

But there was something raw and real about watching you while you were alone, and in your head as you walked through the most-likely unfamiliar grocery shop. When was the last time you stepped foot in there? You stared at the signs above each aisle with surprise when you’d walk in and didn’t find what you probably would have years ago. 

He made his way to his car and thought of all the ways he could get you to be his. In any way that he could have you. All his ruminations and all his time was devoted to the goal of being with you. So much so that he felt like his entire life was on hold.

He knew it would start up again as soon as you entered his life. However, he hadn’t seen you—well, he hadn’t spoken to you in five days, and he wanted to respect you by letting you have your own space, but it was getting painful for him to be away from you for so long.

He waited to hear the beat of your heart or the sound of your voice being carried through the air and into his bakery, but he was only met with disappointment. Every time the door opened, he wished it was you walking in, he wished it was you smiling and flirting with him like every woman he regularly saw.

But you never showed up. 

Did he make you up in his imagination? Was he that desperate to feel something? Were you real and simply uninterested in him? That thought hurt more than it should have. He thought he’d left a good impression on you, and after you left that hundred dollar bill, his mind didn’t allow him to believe you hated him. In fact, it was the only proof that you were real after all. 

Why couldn’t you be as infatuated with him as he was with you? Why couldn’t you be as interested in him as the women who carved out time for him in their busy lives? 

You were impossible to get close to. His fingertips barely tapped the surface of your life and like a fish, you swam quickly in the opposite direction to evade being captured by him. But didn’t you see you’d be better off with him? Happier? Freer? More loved than you could fathom? More loved than you could ever be with anyone else? More loved than you have ever been loved?

You were on his mind every moment of every day since he met you. Was he nothing to you? How would you feel knowing that everything new he baked was because you had inspired him in his daydreams. He wished he could ask you how it tasted, what you liked, if he should make more of whatever new invention he had created. If he should add it to the menu. He’d make them all again for you to try them and give him these insights and suggestions. 

Mostly, he needed to know more about you. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you being a mystery. Or the fact that you’d never let him into your life to know the things that you inhibited within the safety of your home. Would the things in your house reveal your psyche? That’s all he wanted, to worm his way into you by knowing these things about you. 

Sure, he could be himself, but he needed an advantage first. He needed time with you where it wasn’t obvious he was imposing himself on your life without reason. Where could he accidentally or coincidentally find himself in order to spend time with you? So that it could all fall together perfectly as he has fantasised every waking moment of his existence since he met you.

He could only acquire that information by infiltrating your home. 

Dean didn’t expect this. 

It was all he could think when he tracked down your scent to where you lived—and he relaxed when he didn’t find your car parked in the driveway in front of your home. 

He blinked. 

He was astonished as he gawked at your home. The light of the stunning peach sunset was reflected on the tinted glass that made up the outer walls of your home. Those glass windows, from floor to ceiling, also reflected the breathtaking forest surrounding the area. How convenient that your house was surrounded by thick green trees. 

He stepped closer to your home to the surrounding area, the giant space that was entirely yours. There were a few plants, and despite being grateful about the lack of surveillance, he clicked his tongue in disapproval at the lack of it. 

You needed to be safe. 

He’d have to check out the glass, make sure it was shatter proof and bulletproof—even though there was no reason why your house should be armed against anything like that. He needed to make sure no creeps had made their way to your home, squatters or even people who may be infatuated with you. 

You hypocrite, part of his brain accused. But he huffed, pouting and narrowing his eyes straight ahead at the reflection of himself, scolding his brain for trying to compare him to those who were more selfish and probably more dangerous than him. He pushed the small voice that reminded him that there was nothing scarier or more dangerous than a bloodsucker being around a human. 

Dean pushed every thought away and had to quickly become familiar with the outside of your home before deciding it was safe to enter, to really get to know you. 

Were you going to clean this whole place by yourself? Did you have someone else do it? Did you cook? Or did someone else do that for you, too? He needed to know. How much freedom did he have to be in your home whenever it suited him?

He made his way to the porch and brushed his fingertips against the lock of your door. He may not have had a heart to race at the thought of being where you always were, where you felt safest, but his body still thrummed and tingled with excitement. 

Dean searched his jacket for the pick-set he carried in the inner pocket over his chest. He thought about how he hadn’t picked locks in a while. He didn’t have any reasons to, just the occasional need for it if he caught a case nearby. And ever since he became a vampire, he found that it was easier than before, easier to listen for the clicks of each pin falling as he slowly turned and prodded with his tools. 

He apologised to you under his breath once the door unlocked. 

He shoved the pick-set back into his jacket pocket while standing at the entrance of your home, and deeply inhaled the scent of you rushing outwards to greet him. Yes.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, surprised by the emptiness and the smell of newness that mingled with your sweet aroma. 

You were still way behind on unpacking. 

He found a shoe rack by the entrance and decided to respect your house rules by kicking off his boots and placing them neatly into an empty spot. So, that’s what it would look like if this were his home, too? His shoes, right next to yours. It looked right.

He curled his toes inside his socks, feeling the cool floor against his already cold skin and smiled. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up at the coat rack, making himself at home. He could pretend for a few hours that this was how it always was.

He stepped deeper into your home, looked around and deflated. 

There wasn’t much to explore. Most rooms he walked into were empty, or they had boxes that had yet to be opened by you. Maybe it would scare you if he tried to help by taking everything out, so he left the boxes as you had them. 

Why hadn’t you made yourself at home? It’s been days and you haven't really done much. Was this just part of your indifference or was this because of the secret illness you had? Were you that busy with work? You were pretty vague about it when you were talking to Andy. 

For now, Dean sighed, he knew nothing. 

There was no indication of what was to be your living room. No furniture, no television, no tables. Unless he opened the boxes to peek inside and find out what each room would be, he would have to wait until you got to it yourself. 

At least your kitchen was easy to explore. Though most of the cabinets were empty. Only three glasses, four plates, two bowls… God, woman. Should he get you some things? He shook his head and quickly pulled open every door and drawer to peek inside the completely uninteresting contents. 

But finally, he got to your pantry. You had lots of snacks. Dean chuckled at the type of organisation that you had put them in. By colour. He smiled and reached out to touch them. He missed being hungry for this type of stuff, not that it stopped him from indulging in it every now and then anyway. 

His brain nagged him: Which ones were your favourite? Well, he had to guess that they were all your favourite to some extent. But maybe it was the Rice Krispies, they were nearly all gone. There were some spicy peanuts, too, and some other spicy, but still sweet, Mexican candies he had tried before—some, he hadn’t tried at all. 

His mouth would have watered if he were still alive. 

He snorted, moved on to read each package and box; he needed to try whatever he hadn’t already tried before, just to see if he could have that in common with you.

He didn't have to, but he wanted to be able to say: I have tried it before. At least. Maybe that would mean something to you, maybe it would matter. On the other hand, he already had a lot in common with you—in terms of preference for snacks. He liked your taste. 

He shut the pantry door and opened your fridge.

He pulled out the freezer and lifted a brow at the lack of contents. No frozen, microwaveable food. Just vanilla ice cream, some shrimp, salmon, halibut, and steak. That’s it? He frowned. Did you rarely eat at home or did you already cook whatever else could’ve filled your refrigerator? Maybe he was overthinking it; you looked healthy when he met you and when he saw you at the grocery. But looks could be deceiving—you were sick after all, and he had yet to find out what you had. 

Is that why you became a geneticist? Was your disease genetic?

He closed the freezer and opened the horizontal middle door. He found two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of water, and one can of Sprite. Was there any point to the giant refrigerator if you hardly used it? He snickered. 

After he finished checking out the kitchen—and after washing a bowl with traces of Greek yoghurt, honey, and oats and the spoon you’d used—he began making his way to the next room, trying to find more information about you.

He made a mental note of the softener and detergent you used for laundry and all the other cleaning materials you kept in the laundry room. He checked out the washing machine and dryer to make sure they worked properly—so you wouldn’t have to struggle. 

He frowned the whole time. He wouldn’t be bumping into you at the laundromat, that was slightly disappointing to think about. 

He made his way upstairs, giddy to find your bedroom once he got to the top of the stairs. He held his breath in anticipation after opening each door down the long hallway, always to an empty room, but he exhaled when finally found your room.

Your scent embraced him when he opened your bedroom door. Now, he’d definitely find out things about you that were much more interesting. Much more intimate. 

He was thorough with his search. 

He checked out every item on your shelves and your desk, your figurines and other collectibles. He took a picture of your bookcase to become familiar with your books the next time he visited the library. He opened each drawer and your dresser to review the contents thoroughly, your clothes and keepsakes and trinkets hidden beneath—and stole a pair of your underwear as he bit his lip; he knew it was wrong. 

He made sure to steal your pink lace underwear that didn’t match with a bra you owned. He easily discovered which bras weren’t part of a set and memorised your cup size. You chose comfort over sexiness—even the sexy lace you owned looked comfortable. You were so cute. 

He turned to your closet and examined every article of clothing—which was organised by colour as well. From sexy to cute dresses, old and new t-shirts, sexy and cute cropped shirts, and so much more he wanted to see you wear for himself. He found a few of your scrubs and imagined the way they’d hug your curves, even if they were hidden below a lab coat. You were so sexy. So fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he was touching the things you’d wear at some point.

He went through your shoes to memorise your foot size, but made a mental note of your favourite type of footwear. 

He closed the door and looked over your vanity desk and the limited amount of makeup. Mostly, you had hair products. Gel to enhance the volume, different brushes for different uses, a multi-use hair dryer or something like that, cute hair ties and hair clips and a small bundle of what he’d label as boring; they were just brown, black, and tan hair ties. 

He slipped a brown hair tie onto his wrist—one that was loose from usage. He pocketed the mini-lotion bottle that was half-empty—a miniature version of the larger bottle you owned. And after peaking through your extensive jewellery collection, he stole a thin silver necklace with a cute little charm. 

He searched your nightstand, glanced at your cute lamp, a small mirror, a water bottle and a pill bottle. At the sight of the orange container containing a month’s worth of medication, he instantly picked it up and snapped a quick picture of the name to do research later. He wanted to look out for you. 

He opened your password-locked laptop and the tablet beneath. He wouldn’t be getting into those anytime soon. He had no idea what your password could be or what set of numbers mattered to you. It was frustrating. 

He opened the single drawer and pursed his lips—amused. God, you were so naughty. But you did live alone, why would you hide it? It's not like you knew he’d be inspecting every object you owned. 

Dean leered at each sex toy with a smirk and imagined—the fact that you probably used them more than once fueled his daydreams—the way you’d pleasure yourself with them. How many times could you come? Which toy was your favourite? Who did you fantasise about when you were in the midst of immense pleasure? He hoped it was someone unattainable or fictional. 

His hand twitched at the metal handle he’d pulled to open up the drawer. He was tempted to touch and kiss each toy that had at some point touched the depths and outer skin of your sweet pussy. But he exhaled shakily and closed the weakly concealed Pandora’s Box to move on with his investigation of your life. 

He checked the bottom space of your nightstand, open to the world. He found an extensive collection of sticker sheets and sticker books, empty A6 notebooks, one that was full, and another that was halfway worked through. He pulled the two of them out, but turned his attention to your bed. 

His mind inquired things he simply couldn’t figure out without you telling him. Did you pleasure yourself here? Do you ever pleasure yourself on the chair of your writing desk? Or the backless seat of your vanity desk? Did you plan on doing it downstairs on a couch you’d set up in the future? 

He slid his hand down the soft cotton sheets of your bed and picked up one of your silk pillows, accidentally knocking off a weighted dinosaur and a tiny shark the size of his palm that rested on its back. The other small stuffed animals remained undisturbed as he lifted your pillow to his face and inhaled slowly, deeply the scent of your shampoo, softener, and detergent. 

He sighed softly, eyes closed. You smelled so good, he could probably bite you if you let him. He’d never want to purposely hurt you. He just needed to feel you. 

He pulled your pillow away from his lips and nose to fix it back in place along with your woolly companions and blindly set down the two books he’d begin reading once he was done with his exploration. 

Was this the same bed and the same sheets you’d slept in when you were a teenager? Were you as horny as he was at that age? Did you sleep with anyone at any point in your life—on these very sheets? Were they new? New as in bought here once you moved in? Were these the ones you used when you left home to go to university?

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of that. 

He stomped away to your bathroom and rifled through over-the-counter medication behind the mirror—allergy pills, Benadryl cream, ibuprofen. He found your pink with green toothbrush, your toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. He quickly glanced at the shrinking bar of honey-coloured soap by the sink inside a small bowl.

He rubbed his fingers against the beige hand towel and then your olive-coloured towel by the shower door. He inspected the scent and brand of your shampoo, body wash, face washes, and conditioner.

Why was he so drawn to learn all these things about you? He never cared about any of these things before. Sure, to some extent he tried to learn stuff about Cassie and Lisa, but never like this. Why couldn’t he take it slowly? Couldn’t he be normal about you? You were just a woman. Just a woman who made every withering seed suddenly bloom in his desiccated heart and desolate soul. Of course he’d turn to you, like a sunflower turning toward the Sun. It was his destiny, one he wouldn’t dream of fighting. 

He returned to your bedroom and slowly plopped down on your bed. He smiled instantly, swallowed by your soft mattress, and laid down on your pillows with your notebooks in his lap. He lifted the one that was full and became wrapped up in the story of your life.

He was only partially disappointed that you’d only begun writing a year before. He only knew about that and still nothing of your past. Only through subtext and vague statements could he decipher events of your past life. And every now and then, something would bring up the past and that’s how he discovered small details about you. 

Inside your half-filled journal, he found your work schedule. 

“Residency,” he mumbled and glared at the extensive, ridiculous hours listed for you to work. No wonder he hardly ever saw you. No wonder you were so behind on unpacking. 

Dean’s ears perked up when he heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath tires. His heart would have stopped if it were beating and his blood would’ve run cold if it still ran through his body. He was instantly at the window of your bedroom watching you drive towards the house.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, watching as your car pulled up into the driveway. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He scurried to shove your books back into place before legging it downstairs to retrieve his jacket and shoes and panicked momentarily. He wasn’t ready to leave yet! 

Did he touch anything else? Did he move something he wasn’t supposed to? He was so enthralled with his expedition around your home that he’d completely blanked out anything he should’ve been mindful of. 

He made his way back upstairs and quickly threw his shoes and jacket into the farthest empty room down the hall. There’s no reason you’d check out every room. Were you paranoid? Wait, he hadn’t accounted for this. Damn it, he was way in over his head.

It was too late. You were already making your way up to your porch. Dean could hear your quiet sigh, the sleepiness of it made him feel warm—at least the illusion of it. 

He quickly rid the bed of the form his body had made atop your sheets by pulling carefully at the edges and smoothing his hand over the wrinkles that remained until your bed looked untouched once more. 

Dean’s ears perked up at the sound of your car keys and your shoes being kicked off carelessly. Dean was suddenly excited to see what you wore. So, we should hide? his mind questioned. We? Dean scowled and looked around before picking the cliché of all hiding places: the closet. 

It felt like an eternity before you began to make your way upstairs. 

Much to Dean’s dismay, you’d discarded your lab coat at the coat rack, so he wouldn’t be fulfilling his fantasy tonight. But he could hear the material of your scrubs brush against itself as you shuffled lazily up the stairs and into the hallway leading up to your bedroom. 

Your door creaked open, you stretched, and then began to push your pants down your legs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to gently prod the closet door open enough to watch your black scrubs get pushed down your bare legs.

You kicked them off along with your socks and left them on the floor to lift your shirt up. Beneath it, you wore a grey thermal shirt. Dean watched, his mouth parched suddenly as your body stretched upwards, just in your violet coloured underwear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something under his breath about how sexy you were. He couldn’t risk you somehow hearing him. But soon, you were completely naked.

Dean peered lewdly at your bare body. The way your hair came loose over your shoulders to brush against your warm skin, the shape of your breasts, the way you shivered and your nipples tightened as you collected your clothes to throw it into the hamper. Your proportions and the entire beauty of you captivated him. 

He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to know what it felt like to hold the elegant dip of your waist. To know what it felt like for your body to curve up and mould itself into his body when you hugged him. To know how your fingers felt when they were weaved through his, as you had sown yourself into his dead heart to give him the illusion of life, of warmth. 

What did it feel like to cup the back of your head when he kissed you? Or to hold your jaw as he tilted your head for the perfect angle to kiss in? What did your fingers feel like when they skimmed over his cold skin and twisted into his hair when you got lost in the kiss?

What did your mouth taste like if his tongue brushed against yours? What did your plush lips feel like against his? Where would your lips trail off to and how would you kiss him?

Dean was dazed at his vivid fantasy and then you disappeared into the bathroom and he finally ripped himself from the perfect twill of his daydream. Disheartened, he leaned into your clothes, sinking deeper into your closet and briefly relaxed as your soft clothes overwhelmed his senses. 

Dean considered leaving now that you were home. He sort of got what he wanted, information about you. The rest of your house may have been mostly empty, but your bedroom wasn’t. And your bedroom revealed more about you to him than the rest of your home would have.

Still, maybe you’d get on your laptop and he could discern your password. Yeah, that would definitely be ideal. He could stay in the closet. There was nowhere else he could hide and the bottom of the bed was pretty useless. Besides, there was no reason you’d check in here, none at all. 

He waited thirty minutes for you, on his phone looking up what he could about your medication. He learned quickly the side effects, what not to take with your medication, when the best time was to take it. Then moved on to the minuscule list of diseases the medication was used to treat.

He was thrown deep into the research, reminding him of the days when he would have to search things through libraries and files for lore on monsters and to brief himself on the case he’d taken. It wasn’t too different: he wanted to get closer, he wanted to solve you. The only difference was you weren’t dangerous and you were beautiful, and he actually felt motivated to willingly delve further into the rabbit hole that was your life. 

The shower turned off and Dean shut off his phone. 

It wasn’t long before you walked out of the bathroom and Dean moved closer to the closet door, peeking between the small crack as you walked into your bedroom. You were patting your hair dry with a smaller towel and had your back to him. 

You threw the small towel successfully into the hamper and sighed exhaustedly. You were so silent. He wondered if it was only because of the fatigue of your job or if you always wordlessly completed tasks. 

He would only know once you completed your residency. Or if he found you on a day where you didn’t have to work. But he didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out, even on a weekend or vacation, after working such laborious hours.

He continued to watch you expectantly as you made your way to your dresser where your underwear was, he watched you sift through the neatly organised garments before you plucked something out and then your towel came undone slightly.

“Stupid fuck,” you muttered angrily and adjusted it. He grinned at your short temperament, but he wished you’d just let it fall completely so he could see you again. You bent over and looked through your sock drawer, picked a comfortable pair and finally pulled the towel from your body and threw it over to the hamper where it only made itself halfway in. 

Dean bit his lip at the sight of your ass; he traced the long divot of your spine down your back and the curve of your waist with his gluttonous eyes. He mouthed a ‘wow’ and licked his lips as you slid your underwear carefully up your legs.

You picked out a tank top and matching pants from the middle drawers and made your way to your bed with your socks in hand. So you did sleep with socks on. Ankle socks, fluffy loose ones with pink and white patterns. 

You lazily lifted your sheets, your expression more somnolent than he expected. Your feet, covered in clean socks, hid beneath your thick warm sheets. Your whole body was covered and your cheek pressed into the same pillow he’d grabbed. 

He waited as your breathing slowed, faster than he expected, you were out. Your mind shut off, tired from long hours of work. He envied you for a moment and then allowed his affection for you to bloom in his chest as he pushed the closet door open and shut behind him. 

He made his way to you carefully, and watched your peaceful expression. You lips were parted slightly and your breathing was so low and deep that your heart slowed down serenely.

He considered kissing you as you slept, but he’d rather have your consent when you’re awake some day; that’d really show him that you wanted him. 

Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, then dragged them hungrily to your quiet, gentle pulse and kissed you there. His lips lingered, promising the blood that would travel to your heart, that one day, it would be all his. 

-> life ain't easy when you're a mythical creature

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[signaturedish]

Dude. I just re-read PA for the 4th time, and dang! I love it unreasonably lots!! You have SKILLS making me adore ypur whole cast of characters! I was wondering, if you aren't already planning to continue in the future, how did you see this story going, and ending? Selfishly, I hope it turns out Everything Is Good, Nothing Hurts at curtains, but what delights and terrors did you have smuggled up your sleeves?? Great work, and thanks for the beautiful masterpiece of a fic!

I got this ask a while ago and I really thought about. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go with PA until this year. I still really like what I wrote and I love you guys, but as of 2024 it’s safe to say it’s officially abandoned and I no longer plan to finish it.

As for where I was planning to take PA, of course I planned for a happy ending! I wasn’t half as vicious as some of the people who interacted with this blog lmao. PA was a tortilla chip for hurt/comfort fluff first and foremost!

The plan was bb-Harry hot potato. Raids and swaps and hostages while humans watched in horrified silence as these killer robots invading the planet seemed more occupied with capture-the-flag chrome edition than alien takeover.

Concretely, there was going to be a resolution to that whole growing-up thing. Decepticons were gonna cobble together a second frame for him via human raids (think OG cartoon and all the random raids to acquire resources) and finally conclude they might need a doctor to fine tune it.

Cue Ratchet who’s been trying to get conveniently isolated and captured for weeks atp getting captured (thank god). Harry would get a sick new form- which was more in-tune with regular seekers. Upturned wings, greater independence, durability, etc.

He’d get some fledgling flying lessons, there was going to be a concurrently running subplot about Starscream plotting to use bb harry as a hostage/king’s crown and delivering him to The Fallen for evil nefarious purposes. But of course melting at the last minute and dying to get Harry out of there.

Then being resurrected with the cube, etc etc happy endings because that’s my jam.

The big bad was going to be The Fallen who is Not Cool about this kid who

A. Is not one of the hatchling drones he’s been sinking millions into in order to win over desperate robots as the last option to keep from going extinct.

B. Is in possession of the allspark in such a manner that he can’t just grab it in the dark of night.

Eventually spurring decepticons and Autobots to take him out together as the final conflict. Probably after he successfully captured and almost murdered Harry. I was thinking about having him switch from using Decepticons after Starscream’s double cross and using humans and reincorporating those scientists.

They sneak in while the Autobots and deceptions are on high alert for EACH OTHER, and get their test subject back with the help of a powerful backer they don’t know much about.

Harry would get that one-two punch of being back in the lab, we can have some closure over those scientists and they can rough him up. Then deliver him to the Fallen.

From there, it could’ve gone a couple of ways. Harry, empowered, finding a way to hurt the Fallen with the allspark, maybe getting killed and resurrected, maybe regular old sabotage and halfway failed escape before a rescue in the darkest hour…. I wasn’t sure what tone I wanted for the climax….I was leaning on putting him death’s door and everyone needing to work together to get him out and keep him alive.

In the process of taking on the fallen and getting their baby back, Autobots and decepticons forge a very tenuous peace treaty in the name of Not Almost Getting Their Kid Killed Like That One Time With The Fallen Ever Again.

Somewhere in there we were gonna get second and third wave Autobot and deceptions refugees hitting the earth and Harry was going to find out he could use the allspark to bring more kids to life.

But yeah, post epilogue characters were going to end somewhere along the lines of-

Harry on his way to robot teenage-dom, strong enough and with enough resources that he no longer needs the allspark to live. He figures out how to remove it, but its decided that he should keep it.

Megatron and Optimus, now the most passive aggressive reluctant exes sharing custody of their kid you have ever seen at a PTA meeting.

Ratchet, dealing with his trauma via the deeply healing experience of seeing a pack of healthy kids out in the universe again. Eventually he might have one of his own, tho that wasn’t concrete.

Bumblebee and Starscream become big brothers of vastly different fonts.

Bumblebee is the one adored by all the little kiddies, ready to help with pranks and jokes. Starscream is the one worshipped fearfully from afar. Kids don’t act out in his presence, they act LIKE him and then furiously deny that they were mimicking him at all.

Arcee isn’t that invested in all honesty. Jazz and Ironhide are cool uncles. For basically everyone else I become Oprah- YOU get a kid, and YOU get a kid, etc.

There was going to be an explosion in the UK that no one pursues super seriously. We think it’s a robot stirring up trouble but nothing really becomes of it. Just Wizard World having A Time ™ and Voldemort and Dumbledore speed-running the series off screen.

In a very broad, probably embarrassingly hand-waved manner, they were also going to negotiate their way into owning land for their colony. No longer dwindling refugees, now an infant nation state slowly incorporating themselves politically as a technological power, trading for old relics and refined energy sources.

These were my rough outlines and ideas, which were nowhere near set in stone. So if you prefer a different end or would’ve liked something else to be included, by all means continue with that ending! That’s just what I had planned way back when, and I hope it doesn’t sound like total nonsense lol!!

[tennessoui]

i just read "use my body to break your fall" for the first time and i'm absolutely enamored with your writing, which is equal parts hilariously in character (you perfectly nail the dynamics of Disaster Lineage) and genuinely romantic. why do these "i'd destroy the universe for you" type loves make me so hot and bothered when i abhor jealousy more than any other trait in my irl relationship? Force knows. anyway this fic was so SEXY.... sith!obi is so fucking chefs kiss as a concept and yours is truly flawless execution. "a pleasure to meet you, my pretty little liar...." be still my heart. with writers as talented as you keeping their love alive i'm sure i'll never get tired of watching these silly guys fall in love again and again and again...ok time to read everything else you've ever written hehe

Glad to hear you enjoyed it!! That fic will always have a special place in my heart lol it really brought me into fandom before I even knew much about obikin and the fandom 🥰🙏

i have a ton of stuff posted on ao3, but if you’re looking for more specifically sith obi-wan/dark obi-wan, may I recommend you my 2 other dark obi-wan fics, lost to a sea of troubles (based in the gffa, ft Jedi Anakin & sith Obi-Wan) and pretty bird and the mob boss (set in a modern au and based off of ewan mcgregor’s acting in birds of prey)

if you’re looking for more jealousy and sexy obi-wan or anakin, I’d suggest when all we have are shadows (modern au where obi-wan is a bartender; no stakes) and stay til the dawn, I’ll give you the sun (set in the gffa where obi-wan is king of stewjon; there are stakes, also possessiveness)

They’re not dark/evil/actively burning the world down for the other in these two, but they’re definitely….unreasonable about each other in those 2 fics

And if you want just classic tennessoui silly guys falling in love in silly ways, check out: sun, sun, sun, here it comes; put your money where your mouth is; but a number; give a little, get a little; fixer-upper; the size of the fight in the dog; recipe for disaster; come on baby, sweep me off my feet

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Jealousy & Confession - Maedhros x Fingon

Dear anon, it's my joy and pleasure to give you this sweet(ish) slice of Russingon!

They truly are the best! I love them so much! <3

Words: 1 070

Characters: Maedhros x Fingon

Warnings: A hint of sadness, a bit of obsession, a confession, and yes, they're still half-cousins :D

Gritting his teeth, Maedhros swallowed a few times to dislodge the lump of bad conscience in his throat.

He had no right to be doing this, and if anyone was to catch him—lurking around behind corners and nearly folding himself in half to keep his prodigious height from drawing too much attention—he would have been hard-pressed to find a reasonable explanation or excuse for his current shameful behaviour.

It had all started, a few weeks ago, with an innocent crush which had soon devolved into outright obsession; Fingon—the object of Maedhros’s single-minded preoccupation—had only had to bat those dense, dark lashes at him while laughing at an honestly rather mediocre joke for the pale, freckled ginger to completely lose his mind.

In his head, he could hear Maglor drawling that this was all just a consequence of his genetical make-up and unusual upbringing, and that thought alone made Maedhros clam up and grit his teeth petulantly.

Of course, his father was known for being inclined towards mad fixations, and Maedhros had spent a shocking amount of time denying his own needs and desires to keep an eye on his younger siblings instead, but he was not about to readily admit that he might have sustained any kind of emotional or psychological damage from these circumstances.

So what if Fingon’s open smile and the way he consistently seemed to “accidentally” touch Maedhros when they spoke drove bashful heat into his hollow cheeks and made his heart beat faster with helpless agitation?

It didn’t mean that there was necessarily something wrong with him.

Hiding behind a beautifully carved column to watch Fingon talk to a young girl, on the other hand, was so irrefutably an indication of onsetting madness that even Maedhros could not explain it away.

Indeed, he was painfully aware of just how insane and worrisome his behaviour was for—even if he was special to Maedhros in every way—Fingon was kind and charming to every person he met, be they a random stranger or a family friend.

Thus, it was entirely unreasonable to feel as if every smile that was graciously bestowed upon another had been stolen from Maedhros who was far from destitute to begin with; he had six brothers, doting parents, and many friends.

So how could it be that he so yearned to bathe in Fingon’s benevolent attention as if he was gilded and hallowed by every sweet word and amused chuckle?

When the girl lifted her hand to push back one of Fingon’s braids, Maedhros growled.

As that feral, rumbling sound echoed through the hollow, aching cavity of his chest, the tall redhead was at last torn from his frenzy. Shame washed through him, hot and healing.

At last, he averted his eyes to slink away and seek refuge and solace beside a remote, forgotten fountain he had loved since his earliest childhood. Nobody would find him there, and he’d be free to bask in his own misery and self-reproach in relative peace.

Cursing himself bitterly for so unreasonably growing possessive and jealous, he hastened away.

“Huh?!”

Upon hearing the startled sound escaping the soft, rosy mouth of his friend, Fingon turned around instinctively to scan their surroundings.

“What is it?” he asked tensely—even though he had tried to arrange everything so that nobody would notice his absence, he could never be entirely sure that none of his younger siblings or cousins had followed him in pursuit of a tasteless, puerile practical joke.

“Nothing,” she chuckled, embarrassed by her nervous reaction. “I thought I had seen a flash of copper and gold in the distance, but it’s gone. Surely, it was but the light dancing on the columns. Do not try to change the subject, friend! You know you have to talk to him sooner or later! Just confess your feelings, you’ll feel better afterwards, no matter what his answer will be!”

Nodding unconvincedly, Fingon rose to his full height and squared his shoulders—he was no coward, and he agreed that he could not go on like this.

His every waking moment was consumed by intrusive thoughts about the gleaming eyes and alluring smile of one he facetiously called “friend”, and his nights were all the more upsetting as his mind painted pictures of puzzling promiscuity that haunted him well beyond the borders of Irmo’s realm.

“Go!” the girl cheered and gave him a gentle push.

Usually, finding Maedhros—tall as a tree and thrice as charming, may Yavanna forgive him—was not a difficult feat, but Fingon had to visit many a spot he knew to be amongst his friend’s favourites before he finally stumbled upon the long-limbed beauty, curled up on himself by a defunct fountain.

“Hi! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! How are you?” he chirped, hearing himself how shrill and breathless his voice sounded.

“Oh!” Maedhros looked up in surprise, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously almost at once. “I would not have expected you to seek me out…”

“I need to talk to you,” Fingon burst out, and his heart sank when he saw Maedhros’s face melt into an impassive, almost hostile mask that was so unlike the beautifully vulnerable flush he had come to love.

“Me? I’m sure there are plenty of other people, much lovelier than I am, you could be conversing with,” Maedhros grumbled, burying his face against his updrawn knees as the bitter, accusatory tone of his voice hit him.

“There is none lovelier than you,” Fingon whispered. “And I’d rather sit in silence by your side than listen to the most skilled orator to have ever been sung into existence…”

Slivers of silver emerged like crescent moons above bony knees, and Fingon dropped to the ground to clasp those slender, long-fingered hands in his own.

“I cherish our friendship, please believe me, but I must confess how much deeper my feelings run than mere amicable affection, lest I run mad with longing…”

“I—you—but…the girl?” Maedhros stammered, unheedful of the dreadful confession he was making.

“What girl? There are no girls,” Fingon laughed, kissing Maedhros’s tense, white knuckles in an expression of exuberant joy. “There is only you.”

And, because he was indeed not the most gifted or eloquent creation to have ever existed, Maedhros surged forward to capture Fingon’s smiling mouth in a searing kiss in lieu of a formal acceptance of his much-yearned-for, miraculous suit.

@fellowshipofthefics here's another one for this month!

No monthly challenge would be complete without these two!

Lots of love and well-wishes!

-> Masterlist

[lonesomedreamer]

The Rings of Power Liveblog: “Adar” (Episode 3)

In which the wheels finally come off this cart. (But not because Galadriel rides a horse.)

I just don’t care about Arondir being captured by Orcs.

“Halbrand” is so punchable. Ugh.

These sailors must be Númenóreans, right?

I love how secretive the captain is being…surely Galadriel recognizes the uniforms/insignia, even if the audience doesn’t. Reverse dramatic irony, if you will.

“The island kingdom of Númenor.” Surprising absolutely no one who knows their Tolkien. Still, nice cinematography and design work in this sequence.

this is probably not how I would design Númenor, but it is gorgeous. I said “wow” out loud.

While the design’s a little on-the-nose, I appreciate the obvious visual links between Númenor to Gondor.

“Is that an Elf?” Elves—both canonically and in this series—do not look so different from Men (especially Númenóreans!) that some dockworker would look at Galadriel, with her messy hair and days-old plain white shift, and immediately go, “Oh, must be an ELF!”

Really liking the Mediterranean vibes of the city architecture.

“In time they broke off all contact [with Elves].” Did they? They envied the Elves’ immortality, and eventually, goaded by Sauron, they tried to sail to Valinor and were therefore destroyed…but this seems like a stretch for the sake of Drama.*

I’m sorry, the subtitle said this dude is Elendil??? (Whose name literally means “Elf-friend”, btw.)

Wow, so subtle. No foreshadowing at all.

It’s giving Constantinople.

They’re taking Galadriel to meet the queen and no one thinks to offer her a new dress or even a cloak to wear??

Actually, they might be leaning too hard on the Mediterranean/Byzantine aesthetic…Númenor is an island, sure, but these people don’t look like they inhabit the same universe as the characters we’ve met in Episodes 1 and 2 tbh.

Not Halbrand telling Galadriel, who is more or less an Elven princess and who was born in fucking Valinor, that she should kneel in front of royalty!!!

And of course it turns out that he’s wrong about that, lmfao.

Why are they so instantly antagonistic? The queen’s hostile, Galadriel’s defensive—why??? Frankly: why is everyone in this Middle-earth so overtly racist all the time?

This would be a nice time for a history lesson: tell the audience that Númenórean royals are descended from Elros, Elrond’s brother, which means they’re also descended from Elves (specifically, from Lúthien Tinúviel, his great-grandmother). However, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that they will not bring that up…

Again with an Elf (Galadriel now) being in an unreasonable hurry…three DAYS? That would be literally nothing to her!

I don’t understand the writing/adaptation choices made here. Elendil? Isildur?! They lived almost two thousand years after the titular Rings of Power were forged! @ the screenwriters: pick a LANE. You can tell the story of the forging of the Rings (S.A. 1500-1600) OR the events that led to the Last Alliance of Men and Elves (S.A. 3430), but how can you look at the source material and say “why not both????”

I love a good naval/shipboard sequence, and the shots of the sea are breathtaking. It’s just that all the stuff related to Isildur is wasted screentime.

I can’t believe they’re actually going to acknowledge that “Elendil” means “Elf-friend” as a way to show the queen as a narrow-minded bigot, lol…

She’s written/acted as a Cersei knockoff.

Helping/bringing an Elf to Númenor is treason? Please be serious.

He’s kind of hot, help?

“The sea is always right.” What a dumb catch phrase.

“And that’s how Elendil came to possess Narsil!” Give me a big fucking break. Warriors have swords, and in legends, many swords have names. Not everything needs an origin story!

[record scratch] So this—after the awful exchange between Elendil and the queen and the equally bad Orc torture session with Arondir—was the point when I realized: I need to change the way I approach this show if I want to keep indulging in all the eye-candy. It’s not and cannot be Tolkien, or even a proper adaptation, in any meaningful sense. It’s an especially pretty but still “edgy,” borderline grimdark fantasy show loosely based on Tolkien’s work and set in his universe. Fine. Let’s go.

Galadriel knows parkour!

I want to be mad, but it’s all so pretty.

The way Galadriel has more chemistry with Elendil than with Halbrand, oof.

How big is this island, exactly? I always pictured the Valar having to sink something like…Sicily-sized, not Great Britain/Japan-sized, lol.

Oh, it’s the infamous slow-mo horse ride that pissed off so many people online. What’s the big deal?? It lasted for about ten seconds! Jackson relied on a ridiculous amount of slow motion in the LOTR films, and people have called those “cinematic masterpieces” for decades…

[Redacted] is supposed to be a master manipulator—think a charismatic cult leader type. Halbrand is…well, not that.

Wow, is the guy who just single-handedly murdered and mutilated a bunch of grown men (after he stole from them and was confronted about it) going to turn out to be a villain? Who can say??

“You knew Elros.” By all rights and internal logic, Elros should be the Númenórean featured in Season 1 rather than Elendil. But hey, Elros is mentioned! Cool! I asked for that, after all. (Now tell us who he was and why he matters.)

Shocker: they do not tell us those things.

“I was always closer with his brother.” He’s my son-in-law. Galadriel and the writers: Celeborn whom? (And wasn’t Galadriel righteously pissed at Elrond just a few days ago?)

Yeah, definitely hot.

“By [Morgoth’s] successor.” When I was little, my dad simplified deeper Tolkien history/lore for me by calling Sauron Morgoth’s “son”…it took me years to unlearn that, lmao.

Look, I love the Harfoots and am not ashamed to say it. They’re fun and charming, plus I’m actually invested in Nori and her story arc. I almost fast-forwarded to find out when they would show up! But the whole “anyone who falls behind gets left behind” mentality makes no sense.

“You’re just a child!” Marigold could’ve piped up with that when the entire community was threatening to abandon Nori and her family…

The way Isildur is written to be a slightly whiny, thoroughly twenty-first century teenager is fascinating. Like a car crash.

“There’s nothing for us on our Western shores.” Foreshadowing!

I’m not interested in Elendil’s family drama. And regardless of how lovely she is to look at, I don’t care any more about Galadriel’s massive error in judgment wrt interactions with Halbrand any more than I do about Arondir and the Orcs. This entire Númenor subplot was a mistake!

I was wondering when the Stranger would do something help the Brandyfoots. The actors playing him and Nori do excellent facial work, too. My heart broke a little when he said, “Friend.” Though he’s not Gandalf, not the real Gandalf, he’s still kind of lovable.

And instead of ending on that shot, they throw in some more grimdark Orc content. Skip!

The Good:

The music and visuals are still great. I’m a sucker for seascapes and great architecture. All the little details in the streets and palaces of Númenor were incredibly impressive, and the visual connections between Númenor to Gondor (presumably for the sake of non-readers who might not know) were nice. Many of the costumes were also beautiful. The visuals are where the show’s ultra high-budget reveals itself.

Shout-out to great-great-great-great grandpa Elros!

Elendil’s kind of hot. Galadriel’s gorgeous. We’re already so far from the light of Valinor that Galadriel should ditch “Halbrand” before they even get involved and hook up with Elendil instead.

The actors playing the Harfoots—Nori and Poppy in particular—and the Stranger are killing it! This show should just be about them. They continue doing a lot with very little.

The Bad:

Everything else? Where to begin…

The decline of the writing is noticeable. The dialogue is significantly worse, the foreshadowing is clumsy and obvious, and of course as an adaptation of the source material, this episode threw out both bathwater and baby. Elendil and Isildur are included for the same reason all kinds of IPs now include legacy characters: instant name recognition = (in theory) a dopamine hit for the viewer.

To make this even worse, I think the writers bungled Isildur’s character in hopes of making him “relatable” to appeal to a younger audience, I guess? He’s the Wesley Crusher of TROP.

Elros is mentioned…but the audience learns almost nothing about him, not even that he was the first king!

The entire Númenor arc is, in fact, a waste. The queen is two-dimensional. No explanation is given for the Númenóreans’ dislike/mistrust of Elves. Isildur’s storyline is a coming-of-age/family drama arc this show did not need, never mind that neither he nor Elendil should be alive for another two millennia (!) anyway. Halbrand sucks even more than before without becoming any more interesting. Galadriel doesn’t shine here, either. And despite the impressively detailed sets, even the Númenórean costumes seem visually unrelated the rest of the show’s own universe.

In short, it almost feels like Galadriel was dropped into a different fantasy world for this episode.

I mentioned him, but Halbrand gets his own bullet point again.

Arondir and his gory, violent imprisonment storyline…thanks, I hate it! It’s anti-Tolkien! It’s grimdark! It sucks!!!

The Harfoots’ beliefs and customs are inconsistent and confusing. Nomadic people and hunter/gatherer societies don’t just abandon people who need care! But they’re still the high point of the show imo. Not a compliment to the writers.

It’s almost funny…my opinions on this episode are diametrically opposed to most of the IMDb reviews I read. I like the Harfoot subplot in spite of its problems, I adore Nori, and I don’t hate Galadriel (either the character or the actress—God forbid women do anything) despite the weak writing. I also couldn’t care less about Arondir and found the Orc scenes totally unwatchable for several reasons. Go figure! This show’s not really worth it even for its beauty, but now I’m sort of invested.

*I went back and looked through the Appendices after I finished this episode, and eventually (many years after this show supposedly takes place…) the Númenórean kings, jealous of the Elves’ immortality, did “turn away” from them and even “punished” people who spoke their languages in public—after which the Elves “came no more to Númenor,” understandably. But it’s at least 700 years in the future if this show is set before the Rings were forged! This kind of unnecessary time compression in an epic, multi-season TV series makes no sense to me.

[rewordthis]

If Love Unravels…

☔️

463 words SuguSato NSFW (and angst! Take it or leave it.)

Summary:

Geto Suguru never spiralled enough to turn himself into an outcast from the Jujutsu World.

What his internalised conflict brought about however, was a drastic change in his character…

The suppressed hate and desperation from feeling trapped made him volatile and often found release in covert yet vicious outbursts, most notably against the one person he trusted the most but also blamed the most.

The one that acted as a chain and a root to this twisted, cursed world—

Hello, sweeties~ I come bringing yet another 🔞 fic. I mean idk, I was minding my own business watching K-pop vids and then it hit me: “He pulls off his hat and runs a hand through luscious black hair.”

Like… that’s it. That’s what this whole fic is about! That one line. Go figure, ok? And no, I don’t feel one bit sorry for making Geto like *gestures vaguely* this... I’m not on that ship. lmao

They have just arrived home from their evening missions and all they both crave right now is a hot bath and a light dinner before going to sleep.

But he is irritated for some inexplicable reason. He just can’t relax. He pulls off his hat and runs a hand through luscious black hair.

It never registers with him how much overwhelming his aura has become, filling the room with anxious energy.

The other is just following his every move, engrossed in his very presence. Captive of the sensations these hands have left on his skin that suddenly feels too hot to bear and yet, frozen in his place with unreasonable fear.

Whatever has put him on the offensive, is going to be resolved one way…

And that is what terrifies him.

They have done this enough times until now for him to know that whenever the raven-head was in this state, it would become unbearable if he didn’t outer his anger. The fact that most of his piled up frustrations came from various times and incidents was making things worse, sending him over the edge with one wrong touch — one wrong word — like throwing a lit match in a tank full of gasoline.

And next thing he knows, is the cold of the surface he’s being pushed against or the hardness that grinds his bones when he’s finally snapped.

He knows the roughness that he is. The hard yanks and angry thrusts. The heat of his possessive marking.

The sickness of overstimulation…

He fucks him raw on the spot where he stands the minute he loses control of himself. And there is never — never — an apology that follows. A reason to justify his desecration. Just anything, to make him feel like this all is worthwhile.

There is… nothing—

That’s not to say he’s never been treated with delicacy and tenderness. He has. He’s found himself lost in his arms more times than he’d like to admit; warmth blooming under the chaste kisses and traces of his digits ghosting along the lines of his body. Their heated breaths mingled into whispered sweet words. Playful licks and soft bites. Long-lasting embraces and contented smiles.

He’s been a happy man.

Yes.

Yes. For a while now.

But every added time they do it like this, has him wondering whether he’s being used as a punch sack or if it’s just his imagination.

It hurts. And it’s not just his body or his pride. It hits someplace different. Deeper. Somewhere that would make him feel disgusted and sick in his stomach.

It’s not a feeling of being fed up with it, rather, it’s the sensation of emptiness that has his guts turn and makes him retch.

‘If love can unravel… it is while waiting for your return.’

———•———

a.n.:

Thanks for reading this far!!!

This is ridiculous, actually… had this siting in my notes since last year; probably from September or October — definitely before mid-November — inspired by this K-pop live short I saw on YouTube ‘cause welp… *bonks herself on head* started it with a specific pair in mind when suddenly halfway through I was writing for another!? lmao

So yeah… I liked how it turned out but I couldn’t really appoint it to any of my ships because the dynamics ended up a bit distorted…? Or more like all over the place! Yeah… ahahaha 😅😂

I mean it’s literally this one single line that sparked this short, that is also the only thing that kept my hands from tagging with any of the ships I drew inspiration from… 😗🤨 And oh, boy! After reading it it was screaming yet another one, too!? Gah!

Ngl, I short-circuited my brain many times thinking about a black haired seme and an uke that could fit the bill but nothing came to mind… 😮‍💨🙄 (ironically, also why this survived my writing app fiasco. Well, I don’t want to dwell on that anymore sooo, I just guess it sat in my notes long enough!)

But, hey! After a year — literally this week — Geto and Gojo popped up in my head and while I first went ‘Nooo!’, they did sound so good for this! I mean Gojo is so going to be this quietly suffering mess not because of character but because this is Suguru? Pff! I can see it so clearly, now! And Geto of course would exploit Satoru’s secrecy for his sake and neither would face the issue until they both become unable to face each other, like… Don’t you think so, too? I’d like to hear any thoughts on this, I’m very curious. hoho

Again, if you read through all this long-ass rambling, thank you so so much and I hope you had a nice time reading this story! 😊

[silverjetsystm]

🖤

{{ You do not need to do listings for all the lads unless you want to! }}

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours. | Accepting!

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible. 👀

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend. / romantic love

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

//listen, the Wackos were a time. MK was possessed by Kh.onshu for part of it...Things are good now.

[writteninscarlet]

🖤 ( *hauls my muse away* ) ;; @brutalage

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours. ;; accepting

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

"If I was to lie - but what would be the point in that - I could say he isn't attractive at all. But if you were just to see him in passing then he isn't unattractive. But OVERALL ATTRACTIVENESS isn't just about looks. And as soon as he opens his mouth. Or you look further..." She couldn't hide the look on her features, and the roll of her eyes. "Truly, he might talk a good talk but most things he does is quite repulsive."

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

"I definitely cannot call him boring, but please know that ISN'T a compliment. There's nothing wrong with being boring now and then, certainly when compared to someone so..." She sighed, shaking her head, what words of those did sum him up best? "He is certainly unique. And incredibly frustrating. And aggressive. He's not exactly shown many appealing qualities to myself, but he seems to enjoy himself."

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

There was silence as she thought over her past relationships. And people she'd just slept with. The list was not... amazing. And she was known for bad decisions. But she wasn't about to get into bed with someone as aggravating, and rather as downright evil, as himself. "This is far from my mind."

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

"I hope it doesn't seem as though I have incredibly HIGH STANDARDS for friendship, but he does possess many qualities I would rather not associate with. And honestly, I believe most things we say to one another only aggravates the other." A pause. "No, actually, he probably says things precisely TO aggravate and annoy me." A shake of her head, a roll of her eyes. "I know they say opposites attract, but that isn't always the case."

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

"I don't like to make SNAP judgements." There was silence, before Wanda added, "At the same time, I don't think my opinion that they were annoying and not quite right was a wrong assessment."

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

"Now, a snap judgement really isn't good but that impression hasn't changed. And I think for good reason. Some people are just... Tiring. But I suppose he'll probably continue to bug me for some time. Hardly the type to disappear."

[bird-girls]

SMALLEST PEPPERS ARE THE SPICIEST pleek

So!! The exciting thing about doing all my writing on Google docs is that I can tell you exactly what the starting idea was. Here it is!

Gowon small cock alpha Haseul her sexy omega ra Hyunjin her clueless hung alpha roommate Heejin Hyunjin's on again off again alpha girlfriend “Oh come on, between the two of us, who’s someone as hot as Haseul going to choose?” “Uh,”  “The alpha who can knot her. Yeah.” “I mean, it’s not really something that I can control—” “I knowwww,” “do you think I would choose to have this small a penis!?” “Hey, Haseul.” “Hey guys, what’s up?”

And is sort of...uh...filled out from there. I can't really remember what possessed me to even conceptualize this fic...this pairing...this thing overall. I think part of me was sick of the huge cocks in fic! It's unreasonable and quite honestly distracting when it's taken as a given that dicks are big. And, like, when all the dicks in all fics are big, are any of them big? And then the sizes inflate and that's when you get truly concerning sizes. I think small dicks have unique charm and potential and I'm sick of them being erased in favor of "the stretch." Big dicks and breeding and the omegaverse are so intertwined that I thought it would be an interesting universe to pick apart the dick size topic.

Moving onto the Chaeseul of it all, I actually have a trans!chaewon with cis gf!haseul fic that I've been working on with almost no progress for far longer. (Omegaverse just comes so easy at this point and I'm tired of being ashamed of how I can churn 'em out!) So I wanted to explore a potential dynamic for them through something I knew I could write. I'd written that Yveswon omegaverse fic with omega Chaewon, and I always try to write my characters with a mix of omegaverse designations between fics, so it made sense to make her an alpha in this, and it sorta spiraled from there!!

At this point, Chaewon might be my favorite character to write. Her perspective is silly and fun and I'm constantly chasing the rush of writing that Lipwon last year 😵‍💫. Of course, in this fic, she has almost no dignity (poor Chaewon...) but usually, I love the tension between her dignified curated presentation and the absolute disaster of her internal monologue.

Anyway, this was a blast to write.

[hellhoundmaggie]

for your SH OC, I wanna know 👀:

🎯, ✏️, 💎

"Emily" Scarlet is Book Smart/Hot. She saved Duke, drank the tea, went back for the children in the mine, saved the library with her master debate skills, convinced Reese not to kill his mother, got Stabby back on the rails, and supports the strike whenever possible. She tries to maintain good relationships with everyone she can -- especially Tabitha -- but will probably burn all those bridges when she romances Wayne.

What do they do best?

Lawyering. As a first year associate at a prestigious law firm, not only does "Emily" have nigh-inexhaustible patience for poring over contracts and statutes, she also has some talent for talking to clients. Being autistic, she doesn't have the rizz most Hot characters have, but she's pretty, sweet-natured, eager to please, and in possession of fairly good judgment. The higher-ups like to fob difficult clients off on her, because they know she'll manage their unreasonable demands graciously and won't complain about poor treatment. Despite being such an asset to the firm, she probably won't rise very high in the ranks: networking is her greatest professional weakness, and not even she recognizes her true worth.

How often do you draw/write about them?

I do not make "official" works about "Emily," except the occasional Picrew. I do not draw, so there are no original images of her. When I write SH fanfic I like to create an MC specifically for that story. I imagine I am that specific character when I am writing the story, but they're not "my" OC. (If I ever finish my Wayne smut, I hope people will guess which film character I named that MC after.)

Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Only if "Emily" dies in the game because of the decisions I make for her. I would prefer that she lives.

[weyrwolfen]

Welp, I have some thoughts and feelings on this subject. Might as well post them on the internet and get myself in trouble.

George Lucas has made it very clear what he was aiming for, with the whole concept of attachment, and I really enjoyed reading all of the context gathered together in this post. I guess my thoughts are (and here’s where I’m about to poke the hornet’s nest) that intent doesn't matter if the story can't stand on its own. And I would argue that the various writers in the Star Wars universe haven't always done a very good job of clearly communicating their themes within their stories.

“Attachment = greed, possession, fear, the inability to accept the nature of life, full stop,” definitely comes across in the movies and shows, but as is already pointed out in the comments, Attack of the Clones was also advertised with the tagline, “A Jedi shall not know anger. Nor hatred. Nor love.” And that leads to the arguments I see in a lot of fandom discussions on the topic, because if the Jedi say attachment = greed, possession, and fear, but they also say that attachment = love, then love (according to the Jedi code) must = greed, possession, and fear. And whoa, that’s a load of red flags right there. The Jedi seemingly espousing that love will make you go evil is what sends up some people's hackles. (Does that mean any kind of love, or just romantic love? What about parental love? Platonic love? Cue the screaming.) To be very clear, I don’t think that was what Lucas meant to communicate. However, it’s also not an unreasonable reading of the text, given what was presented.

(Should a marketing tagline be considered canon? Maybe not, but for us fandom olds, that was how AotC was framed and presented to the audience back when it was first released. It's going to color our take on the plot.)

I actually think the Clone Wars arc with Rush Clovis did a little bit better job of exploring this topic. Maybe love in general, and romantic love in particular, weren't inherently problematic, but Anakin and Padme's relationship definitely was. Anakin came across as controlling, possessive, and to just say it flat out, abusive. Even so, the treatment of those issues was pretty superficial, and the writers seriously glossed over a complex, mature topic (presumably because the show was being marketed to kids). So, are we supposed to understand that this relationship is going to lead to Anakin's fall 1) because he's being controlling and possessive and that's bad or 2) because romantic love is always controlling and possessive, so love is bad? Once again, I think the intention was option #1, but the execution was so wishy washy, it didn't do much to counter option #2.

Which could segue over into a whole discussion about Hera and Kanan, who had a romantic relationship, but who didn’t build it on a foundation of trying to possess or control one another, and who could and did put the greater good ahead of their own wants and desires. So, is Kanan breaking the Jedi code in Rebels? Heck if I know. I mean, I do have an opinion, and that opinion is shaped by things like Lucas's quotes above, but it’s just my opinion. The answer isn’t, to the best of my knowledge, explicitly laid out in the text. (Is it? Maybe it is, but I’m not 100% up on all the tie-in books and comics. Yeah, I know. I’m a bad fan.)

So basically, my hot take is that the whole attachment debate in Star Wars is the direct result of not-so-great writing/editing choices made whenever the subject comes up in-universe. (Sorry George et al., I still love your universe and characters!)

This is every time I have ever seen George Lucas talk about attachment in Star Wars and every time he has consistently, repeatedly tied attachment to possession, fear, greed, the desire to control people, the dark side, and the inability to accept that life is transitory, that you can’t hold on to people, you can’t keep them, you can’t possess them.  That if you refuse to let go, which is one of the central themes of the movies, it directly leads to the dark side. That, when the Jedi say attachment is forbidden, they are saying that you can’t want to hold onto things so badly that you’ll slide to the dark side and be willign to do anything just to stop yourself from feeling that fear of losing them (which wouldn’t even work anyway). This isn’t only part of the definition of attachment, this is every time attachment is talked about, it’s synonymous with the dark side.  This is the full context of what attachment means in Star Wars and to the Jedi.  Attachment = greed, possession, fear, the inability to accept the nature of life, full stop.  That’s it, that’s the definition in the galaxy far, far away. : (Bolding is mine for drawing the connections between everything said here.) THE PHANTOM MENACE COMMENTARY: George Lucas, The Mythology of Star Wars, 1999:

BILL MOYERS: “The Phantom Menace is about letting go?” GEORGE LUCAS: “It’s about letting go.”

George Lucas to CNN, May 8, 2002:

    “In this film, [The Phantom Menace] you begin to see that he has a fear of losing things, a fear of losing his mother, and as a result, he wants to begin to control things, he wants to become powerful, and these are not Jedi traits. And part of these are because he was starting to be trained so late in life, that he’d already formed these attachments. And for a Jedi, attachment is forbidden.”

ATTACK OF THE CLONES COMMENTARY: George Lucas, BBC News, 2002:

     "Jedi Knights aren’t celibate - the thing that is forbidden is attachments - and possessive relationships.”

George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary:

     “The fact that everything must change and that things come and go through his life and that he can’t hold onto things, which is a basic Jedi philosophy that he isn’t willing to accept emotionally and the reason that is because he was raised by his mother rather than the Jedi. If he’d have been taken in his first year and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn’t have this particular connection as strong as it is and he’d have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them.    “But he has become attached to his mother and he will become attached to Padme and these things are, for a Jedi, who needs to have a clear mind and not be influenced by threats to their attachments, a dangerous situation. And it feeds into fear of losing things, which feeds into greed, wanting to keep things, wanting to keep his possessions and things that he should be letting go of. His fear of losing her turns to anger at losing her, which ultimately turns to revenge in wiping out the village. The scene with the Tusken Raiders is the first scene that ultimately takes him on the road to the dark side. I mean he’s been prepping for this, but that’s the one where he’s sort of doing something that is completely inappropriate.“

George Lucas, CNN.com 2002:

“The message [of Attack of the Clones] is you can’t possess things. You can’t hold on to them. You have to accept change. You have to accept the fact that things transition. And so, as you try to hold on to things or you become afraid of – that you’re going to lose things, then you begin to crave the power to control those things. And then, you start to become greedy and then you turn into a bad person.”

George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary:

    “The scene in the garage here, we begin to see that what [Anakin]’s really upset about is the fact that he’s not powerful enough. That if he had more power, he could’ve kept his mother. He could’ve saved her and she could’ve been in his life. That relationship could’ve stayed there if he’d have been just powerful enough. He’s greedy in that he wants to keep his mother around, he’s greedy in that he wants to become more powerful in order to control things in order to keep the things around that he wants. There’s a lot of connections here with the beginning of him sliding into the dark side.    “And it also shows his jealousy and anger at Obi-Wan and blaming everyone else for his inability to be as powerful as he wants to be, which he hears that he will be, so here he sort of lays out his ambition and you’ll see later on his ambition and his dialogue here is the same as Dooku’s. He says ‘I will become more powerful than every Jedi.’ And you’ll hear later on Dooku will say ‘I have become more powerful than any Jedi.’ So you’re going start to see everybody saying the same thing. And Dooku is kind of the fallen Jedi who was converted to the dark side because the other Sith Lord didn’t have time to start from scratch, and so we can see that that’s where this is going to lead which is that it is possible for a Jedi to be converted. It is possible for a Jedi to want to become more powerful, and control things. Because of that, and because he was unwilling to let go of his mother, because he was so attached to her, he committed this terrible revenge on the Tusken Raiders.“

George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary:

      “The fact that everything must change and that things come and go through his life and that [Anakin] cannot hold onto things, which is a basic Jedi philosophy that he isn’t willing to accept emotionally and the reason that is because he was raised by his mother rather than the Jedi. If he’d have been taken in his first years and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn’t have this particular connection as strong as it is and he’d have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them.    “But he become attached to his mother and he will become attached to Padme and these things are, for a Jedi, who needs to have a clear mind and not be influenced by threats to their attachments, a dangerous situation. And it feeds into fear of losing things, which feeds into greed, wanting to keep things, wanting to keep his possessions and things that he should be letting go of. His fear of losing her turns to anger at losing her, which ultimately turns to revenge in wiping out the village. The scene with the Tusken Raiders is the first scene that ultimately takes him on the road to the dark side. I mean he’s been prepping for this, but that’s the one where he’s sort of doing something that is completely inappropriate.    “He’s greedy in that he wants to keep his mother around, he’s greedy in that he wants to become more powerful in order to control things in order to keep the things around that he wants. There’s a lot of connections here with the beginning of him sliding into the dark side.  [….]    “Because of that, and because he was unwilling to let go of his mother, because he was so attached to her, he committed this terrible revenge on the Tusken Raiders.”

George Lucas, Time Magazine, 2002:

    “[Anakin] turns into Darth Vader because he gets attached to things. He can’t let go of his mother; he can’t let go of his girlfriend. He can’t let go of things. It makes you greedy. And when you’re greedy, you are on the path to the dark side, because you fear you’re going to lose things, that you’re not going to have the power you need.”

REVENGE OF THE SITH COMMENTARY: George Lucas, The Making of Revenge of the Sith:

    “The Jedi are trained to let go. They’re trained from birth,” he continues, “They’re not supposed to form attachments. They can love people- in fact, they should love everybody. They should love their enemies; they should love the Sith. But they can’t form attachments.”

George Lucas, The Making of Revenge of the Sith, 2005:

     “The core issue, ultimately, is greed, possessiveness - the inability to let go. Not only to hold on to material things, which is greed, but to hold on to life, to the people you love - to not accept the reality of life’s passages and changes, which is to say things come, things go. Everything changes. Anakin becomes emotionally attached to things, his mother, his wife. That’s why he falls - because he does not have the ability to let go.     “No human can let go. It’s very hard. Ultimately, we do let go because it’s inevitable; you do die, and you do lose your loved ones. But while you’re alive, you can’t be obsessed with holding on. As Yoda says in this one, [The scene in which Anakin seeks Yoda’s counsel] You must learn to let go of everything you’re afraid to let go of.’ Because holding on is in the same category and the precursor to greed. And that’s what a Sith is. A Sith is somebody that is absolutely obsessed with gaining more and more power - but for what? Nothing, except that it becomes an obsession to get more.      “The Jedi are trained to let go. They’re trained from birth, they’re not supposed to form attachments. They can love people- in fact, they should love everybody. They should love their enemies; they should love the Sith. But they can’t form attachments. So, what all these movies are about is: greed. Greed is a source of pain and suffering for everybody. And the ultimate state of greed is the desire to cheat death.”

OVERALL COMMENTARY: George Lucas, Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005:

     “The core of Anakin’s problem is that the Jedi are raised from birth so they learn to let go of everything. They’re trained more than anything else to understand the transitional nature of life, that things are constantly changing and you can’t hold on to anything. You can love things but you can’t be attached to them, You must be willing to let the flow of life and the flow of the Force move through your life, move through you. So that you can be compassionate and loving and caring, but not be possessive and grabbing and holding on to things and trying to keep things the way they are. Letting go is the central theme of the film.“

George Lucas, The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005:

     “[Jedi Knights] do not grow attachments, because attachment is a path to the dark side. You can love people, but you can’t want to possess them. They’re not yours. Accept that they have a fate. Even those you love most are going to die. You can’t do anything about that. Protect them with your lightsaber, but if they die they were going to die. there’s nothing you can do. All you can do is accept that fact.    “In mythology, if you go to Hades to get them back you’re not doing it for them, you’re doing it for yourself. You’re doing it because you don’t want to give them up. You’re afraid to be without them. The key to the dark side is fear. You must be clean of fear, and fear of loss is the greatest fear. If you’re set up for fear of loss, you will do anything to keep that loss from happening, and you’re going to end up in the dark side. That’s the basic premise of Star Wars and the Jedi, and how it works.    “That’s why they’re taken at a young age to be trained. They cannot get themselves killed trying to save their best buddy when it’s a hopeless exercise.” 

George Lucas, Mellody Hobson George Lucas - Virtual Speaker Interview, 2021

   “The thing with Anakin is that he started out a great kid he was very compassionate, so the issue was how did he turn bad. How did he go to the dark side? He went to the dark side, Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments. They can love people, they can do that, but they can’t attach, that’s the problem in the world of fear. Once you are attached to something then you become afraid of losing it. And when you become afraid of losing it, then you turn to the dark side, and you want to hold onto it, and that was Anakin’s issue.  Ultimately, that he wanted to hold onto his wife who he knew, he had a premonition that she was going to die, he didn’t know how to stop it, so he went to the dark side.  In mythology you go to Hades, and you talk to the devil, and the devil says ‘this is what you do’ and basically you sell your soul to the devil. When you do that, and you’re afraid and you’re on the dark side and you fall off the golden path of compassion because you are greedy, you want to hold on to something that you love and he didn’t do the right thing and as a result he turned bad.”

[liesweliveby]

one day I'll get a better editing program and then I'll make a your throne “I wanna be ur slave” mmv with all the ships

[witch-hazels-musings]

I'm curious of how characters would use their visions in the bedroom 👀 Like, Kaeya would totally do temperature control stuff.

Could I request headcannons or narratives for how Diluc and Albedo would use their visions for your pleasure? (or for theirs 😳)

Note: I believe vision can only be used when they are in the possession of the person they were gifted to ( primary reason: Diluc giving his away - if anyone could have used it he would have given it to his father, and if he didn’t really need it to use his vision, he wouldn’t have taken it back ) 

Warning -> slightly funny? 18+ OMG PLEASE RESPECT THE 18+! NS_FW!!!! ( foreign penetration, voyeurism (Alb), burning clothes, no injury, held against wall (D), orgasm denial, foreplay, hydro bondage, hydro foreplay, voyeurism (C)) 

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

( okay … so this one is gonna be the strangest one I’ve ever done?, and I’m apologizing right now for it --- i’m literally so embarrassed, ima hide under my desk DONT JUDGE ME T.T )

Includes: Albedo (i’m sorry), Childe, Diluc 

Albedo

A vision in the hands of Albedo is a tool for many uses - he sees it less as proof of his power and more of a means to an end  - it’s an extension of what he has available and he’s learned to adapt it to any possible scenario 

Now he’s learned there are ways he can use it to satiate you while he continues to do his work - and, if he’s feeling especially devious, inquisitive to the point of combustion, he may just watch 

“Alb--bedo …” You adjusted, legs pressed together so intensely that you thought you might break your kneecaps. Shaking hands gripped onto the closest thing they could while you did your best to stay seated just where he placed you. 

“Try not to move too much, it will alter the drawing.” He sat with his leg resting over his thigh, the large sketchpad he had propped up there was bouncing vigorously as his hand ran across the paper. The pencil, when you could see it through your blurry vision, was dancing across the parchment in unbelievable speed as if to capture what was before it. 

The vibrations that shook your body seemed to fluctuate from intense stimulation to slow, steady pulsations. Every dip in frequency allowed you room to breathe, your hands moved to your face, teeth bit onto your fingers as your hips rocked against nothing as they sorrowfully tried to help you get off. 

“Be-do, please …” You whined, eyes glossing over as you looked at him. Did he laugh, did he smile at you, how heartless could he get. Under your rippling vision, you saw how it glowed brighter and richer in color, and yet, as if you didn’t comprehend its meaning, your hands flew down to grab onto the chair while the resonating stimulation grew between your legs. “Ah!” You slid further into the chair, your head resting on the back of the chair as your fingers gripped and pushed against the edge of the seat. Arching your back, lifting your legs up onto your toes you couldn’t help the moans and pants that fell from your mouth at an unreasonable pace. 

“Hold that pose.” Albedo’s voice was calm even if the speed at which he turned the page wasn’t and, as you gazed at him you couldn’t help but lose your mind at the way he observed you. The intensity of it was so powerful that even though you knew he wasn’t inside of you, it felt like he was. 

You crashed like a runaway cart into your orgasm, it shook you to your core, and even though you were screaming moments ago all that came out now was a high-pitched whimper. Deep breaths were all that you could take as you clenched around the object Albedo had placed inside of you, it was so hot that you started to pull at your shirt, and soon your hands found their way to the spasming place between your legs. 

Albedo’s voice suddenly sounded much closer to you, his lips pressing to your forehead while his hand rested on the one you had near the object. “You did excellently, but I’d like to see more of you if I could, will you assist me again?” 

In your dizzy haze, you glanced at his bright eyes and with a gaping, air-sucking mouth, you gave your reply. 

 Childe

There was no need to keep his skills at manipulating hydro out of everything that he did, why would he when he was so beyond capable at making it do exactly what he wanted. Whether that be from creating blades out of it, spears in its likeness, or even shackles to hold people down - he was learning just how versatile water could be 

How could he not give everything he’s ever wanted to try to his partner who had shown him on multiple occasions a level of trust he knew he didn’t deserve, and a willingness to let him do what he wanted -- you always gave him permission, and you were doing it even now 

Your back arched as his hands slid under your pants. The way he touched you so perfectly made your vision go dark before lighting up under the stars. As soon as he put pressure right where you needed it, fingers bending and flexing to let you know how much control he had over you, the sound of pleasure and excitement that slipped from your mouth gave him access to the tongue inside of it. 

He played with you, toyed with the tightness in your stomach. Every time you were about to break under his stimulation he pulled away just to watch how much you’d whine. 

“Childe, please …” You shifted under him as he slowly, painstakingly began to remove your clothes. Each layer, every article which fell to the floor next to the bed felt like an eternity in your sinful sentence. The way his hands ran down your legs as he slipped off your pants, the sensation of his gloved fingers trailing down the center of your chest as he watched the way you squirmed and grabbed at his arm - he was enjoying it all and he had barely done anything to you yet. 

“I’ll give you exactly what you need, remember,” He pressed his lips to your neck, your collarbone, and in the center of your chest before continuing, “If you want to stop, tell me immediately.” You nodded your head and he sealed your promise with a passionate kiss. 

In no time, he had you exactly in the state he wanted you, his eyes observing the beauty and perfection that lay before him and as your own gazed longingly, eagerly back at him, you noticed how his vision began to hum. It pulsed like a glowing heart and in your curiosity, you reached your hand for it only to find it was impossible. 

Tilting your head, you noticed there was a stream of water around your wrists. Funny, you couldn’t tell that your skin was wet at all. That’s when a new sensation began to work its way up to your legs and when you looked down to investigate, you noticed a swirling blue like rope beginning to creep its way further up your body. 

“What’s …” The smile that stretched his lips and seeped into his dangerous eyes made it so hard for you to breathe. Your heart pounded in your chest, your stomach rippled with excitement, and the build-up in your body began to increase so much you were sure he was going to make you orgasm just from his stare alone. 

“Ready?” 

“Yeah, ready for wh-AH!” The flowing water reached your ache. The wetness of it made your body nearly seize as he worked its way into you. The moans and cries that left your burning throat were so loud you were sure someone was going to hear you. Desperately, you wanted to cover your mouth but your wrists were still locked above your head so instead, you tried to bite your lip but that only sealed in so much noise. 

“My, how adorable you look like this.” Childe hummed, his hand moving to stroke your chest as he leaned down to pepper kisses against your throat. “Let’s push a little further, what do you say?” 

The girth of the water increased and no amount of self-control was capable of holding back the scream released from your body. Your feet struggled against the mattress, futile attempts to assist you in raising your body off of the mattress came with frustrated huffs and whines in your throat. You called out his name and soon you heard the sound of rattling metal. 

“Damn, I made myself jealous.” Suddenly, all the water around your body ran down your skin and before you could understand what was happening, Childe positioned himself above you and worked at finishing what his hydro vision started. 

Diluc

He usually has so much more control - he had to learn in order to survive, but there were times, there were moments when all he knew was instinct and all he could do was feel 

With you, these moments came up more frequently than he would have ever anticipated - there is no switch to turn himself off when he gets lost in your body. You learned to never get him so worked up while his vision still rested at his hip (things were bound to burn) 

He backed you into a wall, his fever to have you was apparent by the intense way his hands ran over your body, tugged at your clothes, manipulated your hands with his. He was almost like another person, a delusion of himself. There was no way you could have known riling him up would lead to this and while it was incredible, the ferocity of him, the unreserved nature that he was capable of showing, it was also incredibly hot. 

“Diluc wait -” You tried to reach for his vision but his hands plastered yours to the wall. His lips claimed any part of your skin that they could and the pressure of his body against you, the feeling of his growing and dangerous erection crushing against your stomach made every rational thought in your brain fall to the floor he hardly let you touch. 

His strength always shocked you. For someone so thin it was often hard to remember that he was capable of it - even though you watched him fling his claymore around like it was nothing, even though on countless occasions he lifted you like you were a freshly sprouted plant; how deceiving his true abilities were to you and everyone else.

Your clothes began to cling to your body. The sweat dripping down your back, in between your legs, your neck all made you wildly informed his vision was active. You didn’t even need to see how it burned like a beating ember to know he was calling on its ability. He let go of your hands and began to work himself out of his jacket, undo his vest, and any other article of clothing he could all the while his mouth kept yours occupied. 

The heat from his tongue was near scalding, how was he able to let this fire seep through every single part of his being - was he not experiencing it too? When his chest was exposed, your hands ran over his rippled torso and the question you just asked yourself was answered as you felt how slick he was becoming. 

You pulled him closer, the resulting action making his body come into immediate contact with yours and the feeling of his cock digging into the soft and sensitive area between your legs made you burst in exclamation. Your head landed on the wall, hands slid around the hem of his pants and gripped so tightly onto them his hips pushed further into you. 

“It’s hot, it’s so hot.” You panted, gazing at him and hoping that your words made sense. Your body was hot, everything was hot, but while you wanted him to alleviate the heat, you hoped he’d remove one primary cause of it.  

Pinning your hands above your head, he quickly began to work on your pants. He wasted no time undoing the buckles and buttons that kept you clothed and as he helped you remove them there was a distinct smell filling the air. When you looked down, the fabric was starting to burn even with you still in it. 

“Diluc! Hold-ah!” Struggling against him, you began to shake your lower body and in his complete daze, he slowly came back to realization. In an instant, he let go of you and grabbed the nearest item to him to put out the flames. He was on his knees, his black shirt tightly wrapped around your chard pants afraid that if he didn’t keep it there the flames would get worse. 

“Y/N … I cannot apologize enou-” Your laughter cut him off, the expression he shot up to you was one of mass confusion as he searched for understanding. 

“If I had known you were going to burn my clothes, I would have teased you without them.” He shook his head and tried to apologize again, his eyes dropping to your legs, assessing them for any damage. “I’m fine, you didn’t burn me.” 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, his cheek pressing against your stomach as he held onto you tightly. Chuckling, you rested your hand on his hair and began to caress him, the soft movements reassuring him until he composed himself again and lifted back to his full height. Looking at his face, you could tell he was nervous, so you lifted onto your toes to give him a kiss of redemption. 

“Next time, let’s leave this,” you reached for his vision and easily removed it from his pants, “out of the action. What do you say, hot-stuff?” His eyes narrowed at your nickname but agreed to your suggestion anyway. 

--

( no one is tagged because I am too embarrassed to do that! ) 

[recklessmark]

zugzwang

pairing: hacker mark x freelance developer reader.

genre: angst, smut.

words count: 3.6k

warnings: toxic fucked up relationship, possessive mark, mention of mental illnesses, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral sex, fingering, slight degradation, dirty talk, a tiny bit of gun play (i’m sorry), gun threat, morphine addiction, morphine usage, mark is basically a toxic manipulator but he’s hot hot (you’ve been warned)

a/n: i got the idea from mr. robot series, i’ve only finish season 1 but it gave me headache already. i do not encourage or condone any unhealthy actions in the story. this is purely fictional, the characters do not resemble anyone in any certain way in real life. and again, consider the warning tags carefully before dive in. i’ve warned y’all.

it was another night that you bawled your eyes out scrolling on your phone. your head was aching, your eyes were stinging and you were literally seeing sparks. yet you refused to sleep even though you had nothing better to do. what does this call?

revenge bedtime procrastination.

or you’re just mentally ill.

whatever it was. you’re fucked up.

locking the screen, you tucked your phone under your pillow. it was nearly two o’clock in the morning.

“you’re lying.”

“i thought of all people you would understand.”

“if you do this for me, i’ll know you really care.”

you rubbed your face vigorously. the conversation kept hitting the replay button in your head, forbidding you from a nice sleep. your hand found your phone again, opening your contacts. the bright light of the screen dazzled you, your thumb decisively hit on the call button of the familiar contact name.

the ringing sound beside your ear made you question your unreasonable behavior.

are you actually fucking do this?

but before you could change your mind, the other side picked up after the third ring. fuck. you need to hang up. now or never.

“hello?”

and then again. the venomous voice utterly brushed off any reconsideration on the table. what more weird was that it had too much baritone.

yes, that’s what you were thinking.

and you were not overanalyzing because a female whine in the back had confirmed your doubt.

“y/n?”

you inhaled a deep breath, it was so aggressive that you reckon the other person could hear it through the phone.

“well sorry mark, i noticed you’re— busy now. it’s nothing important...” you mustered every coherent thing in your mind. you were practically stammering but it did not matter, did it? “uhm- goodnight.”

just as you’re about to ring off, you heard a low chuckle. and some inappropriate noises as well. he was really doing it while he’s on the phone. with you. it’s not something new though, you were even too familiar with this. either visually witness or non-visually like you were right now. for the countless time and you’re still bewildered.

“spit it out baby.” he cooed. following by a grunt and moans, obviously only the grunt was from him.

you hesitated. what the hell was all this about? were you confessing? like pleading your guilt to god? but the problem was that you were not wrong. not one bit.

you felt it again. the fight or flight. as a matter of fact, you were always flight. fear, depression, social anxiety. what else? morphine addiction. well, that’s probably the worst.

however, you’re absolutely sober now. you had to say this and everything would end. hopefully.

“i can’t do it.” you muttered.

“we’re in. there’s no way back.”

mark was nonchalant about it. you really thought you were going to piss him off. still, even if you had to turn him into a maniac, this shit must be cut loose.

“i’ll delete the root, everything is encrypted. they can’t track me- us back.”

there was a brief silence. in your room and on your phone. you gnawed your bottom lip nervously. the desperate whine of the female was fucking annoying, it made your mind wander around something wrongful.

“are you really negotiating on the phone at 2am now? while i’m banging a chick?”

“you insisted it,” you blurted out, “and i’m going on a date with that guy, thought i should tell you.”

“get the fuck out.”

you heard mark commanded after a momentary serenity, definitely not to you. the rest of the mumbles and shuffling noises were pointless beside you ear as you mindlessly stared into the darkness of your room.

“i beg you pardon.” his tone dripped with venom, drawing your attention back to him.

“i am going on a date.”

“you’re mine.”

“nobody owns me.” you decided and hanged up on him.

mark blankly stared at the black screen. if the phone did not contain important data, he would throw it, break it, shatter it. right now, right here. you had successfully pissed him off and also his dick. it turned soft in a split second. he slid the condom off and strolled into his bathroom, exhaustedly massaging his skull. you were the only human being ever owned a power over it. the number of boners he got spontaneously around you was embarrassing yet you could also splash cold water on his flame very much unawarely.

you did get some sleep last night. maybe two or three hours. still, you looked like a fucking junkie that just overdosed. you did use morphine on regulation but the borderline that kept you from being an addict was limit it to under 3 milligrams one take.

you did not know if what you said on the phone had cut mark off your life. technically, by any ways, you could not do that. he’s the only drug supply and it’s hard to find someone who had a better deal than him. not to mention he never get caught. you needed to talk to him, in person. you had unfortunately run out of morphine. it helpfully kept you distracted from your mental issues and prevented breakdowns.

picking up your backpack, you locked your studio apartment door. you looked absolutely horrible but you still had a date waiting for you at the local cafe. you had zero interest in this guy— a new bartender at the night club you regularly visited yet you accepted his offer evenly. you needed human interaction besides sitting on your computer eight hours a day.

“an ice latter please.”

you glanced around the cafe. you were about five minutes late and he had yet to show up. you scowled and sat down at a table near the window, impatiently tapping your fingers on the table.

ten minutes, thirty minutes, an hour. the fucker apparently had ditched you. perhaps he was busy, but he could have sent you a message. suppressing your irritation, you lazily left the cafe. you had no plan today so you walked back to your apartment, buying some necessary groceries on your way.

the sight of the door lock broken made you grimace. you did not usually have guests and when you did, none of them illegally broke into your residence like this. except for one person.

“how was your date?”

mark asked instantly as you stomped inside. a shit-eating grin plastered across his mouth.

“he did not show up.” you said, taking off your baseball cap and dropped the plastic bags on the wooden dining table.

“i gathered.”

your brows pulled in together at his feigning pitiful tone. “what was that?”

“well, he’s probably dealing with his freshly married wife...” mark mused amusingly, gauging your reaction, “and his other three affairs.”

it took you more than three seconds to comprehend all the information you’d just heard. “he has a wife? but-“ you stuttered, not sure how to react. then something clicked in your mind. “you hacked him, didn’t you?”

“his password was 123456seven. exceptionally dull i’d say.”

you forgot to mention that mark was a hacker. not the type of normal computer engineer of a cyber security company. he’s a genius. miserably a lunatic one. and if anyone was wondering about you, you were a freelance developer. it made the major income of your life. you’re also an amateur hacker. though you did not hack people unless you felt a threat from them.

you and mark should’ve never crossed each other’s path. the only thing you had in common was code languages. it was purely incidental that you met him. you never anticipated a random dude you bumped into at a bar had potential to ruin your life. neither did you foresee you to turn into a person like this. you were never passionate about being alive, however you never had to use addictive substance to distract you from your problems either.

“why would you do that? did you threaten him?”

you asked yet it did not sound like a question. mark hacked everyone. sometimes he even anonymously turned the cyber criminals in. there’s no doubt he had full access of your internet life too although you had programmed stronger security than most of people. and the best information you ever had of him was that he’s canadian. he verbally told you that. you could not find any information about him on the internet, it’s truly like he had no identity. nonetheless, you’re still making several attempts.

“because you’re mine.” he enunciated on every word, hoped that they would imprint on your mind, your heart, your soul.

“we’re not even in a relationship.” you argued indifferently, trying to maintain your steady tone. “you can’t claim me as however you want.”

“you were trying to leave me.”

mark mumbled but loud enough for you to hear. your eyes fearfully stared at him as he slowly stepped toward you, his power invisibly hardening your breath. eventually, your back had touched the wall, there’s no way backward. his figure briefly blocked your sight, dark eyes gave you a piercing glare.

“but you can’t.” you heard a click and then cold metal pressed underneath your chin, tilting your face up. “you need me as much as i need you.”

everyone had their own bug in their system. mark created a perfect bubble around him that it’s almost impossible to find his bug. nevertheless he surely had found yours. loneliness. which was unfortunately the same to his, you just yet to realize. at this point you were having too many things in common with him.

you were the only light of his life, you came into his life as a gift from god. a tiny spark that ignited a firestorm inside him. something he had never experienced before. if anyone could shut this flame, he would be the only one. he’s meaningless without you and so were you.

“you gave me your words, we’re in this together.” he cooed but in a threatening tone, sending shiver down your spine.

you breathed, gulping dryness down your throat. “people will die. this is too immoral, i can’t.”

“everyone dies!” mark exclaimed, jamming the gun muzzle harder than you’re certain it would bruise your skin. he clenched his fist and took in a long deep breath. “come here.” subsequently he pulled you toward the sofa, his grip was tight on your wrist. he took out a pill inside his pocket and showed it in front of you.

“now fucking breathe and take it.” he commanded.

your eyes flickered between his face and the white tiny pill. it was morphine. your heart were pounding brutally that if it’s not for your ribs, it would probably jump out right now. you did not understand this. you did not understand everything that was currently happening.

“listen mark,” you took his other hand into yours and squeezed it reassuringly. you had to calm him down. “i’ll figure this out and no one will die, alright?”

“whatever the fuck is your plan, we’ll hear it with the team. i assure you that you can never escape from my claws.”

you swallowed the lump of air nervously. the determination on his face melted every piece of self-control you had. defeatedly, you parted your lips, letting him put the pill into your mouth. you gulped and mark waited for your breathing to be steady and then he cupped you cheeks with his rough palms, his gaze burning holes on your face.

“now answer me. do you want to leave me?” he whispered, staring deeply into your tedious eyes from the lack of sleep.

you could not lie when you’re high.

you slowly shook your head and he pressed a kiss on your forehead. “that’s my girl.”

mark picked you up to sit on his lap, his thumbs stroked your cheeks delicately. you swung your arms behind his head, running your fingers through his soft locks.

and people always said do not make decisions when you’re high.

you leaned in to crash your lips on his. mark unhesitatingly kissed back, sucking on your bottom lip aggressively. you had locked lips many times but they never felt the same. he could never get enough of you, the taste of your chapstick and your moisturized lips. he kissed you with everything but gentleness. you sighed into his mouth as his hands squeezed your waist.

mark then stood up, carrying you with his hands on your ass. your crossed your legs around his hips. neither of you broke the kiss as he walked into your bedroom.

this was wrong. every second you being with mark was sinful. but the more you acknowledged the hurtful fact, the harder it was to leave him. he put you on your bed, it was not large but comfortable enough for two people. the scent of your fabric softener and shampoo stabbed his nostrils immediately. reluctantly mark left your lips, instead he attacked you on your jawline.

“tell me you need me.” he murmured into your neck, presses wet kisses on your skin.

“please mark, i need you.” you plead quietly.

mark supported his upper body with his hands on either sides of you, his eyes glared down at you, drinking in the sight of you begging for him.

“say it again.” he commanded while slowly stripped you off your clothes.

“i need you.”

the contrast of the warmth where you connected and the slight chill of the room on your outer edges was deliciously pleasant. a shudder ran through you, into him.

the softness never lasted long though because his hunger for you was always a ravenous one. horizontal reconnection make-outs transitioned quickly to more pressing desires. “i need to taste you,” he demanded.

mark adjusted your pillow for you under your neck and he wriggled down to nestle himself between your legs. kissing your inner thighs, his lips soft and hot. his tongue parts you, slickening your pussy with his saliva. it painted insistent swirls on your clit until you were gripping the sheets and moving your body up to meet him.

his fingers now joining his mouth, slowly gliding in and out, agonizing you. with the rigid tip of his tongue, he rubbed your clit over and over. you were practically panting for breath. then he stopped.

his mouth hovered near your pussy, and he pulled back. your head pounded with blood, and you shifted restlessly. you wanted to come. you needed to come. desperately.

“how much do you need me?” he murmured, his hot breath drove your crazy.

“more than anything.” you confessed with a shaky voice. mark always had his own ways to taunt you, especially when you and him in these sexual situations.

he blew warm breath across your clit and began sucking and licking more urgently than before. before you could register this new tactic, his mouth was back on you, his tongue back at you. working you. then you felt that rush, fast and hot, and the mounting energy as his urgent tongue fluttered and flicked, while his fingers darted in and out. all you could do was shut your eyes and arched back, shuddering, dying as you exploded with a new kind of pleasure. you moaned into the ceiling, his tongue lapped relentlessly at you. you pulled a pillow over your mouth to muffle your cries.

his lips, wet with your juice, greedily found your mouth and you relished in the scent, the taste, the feel of him. the room smelled of your sex, musky and sensual.

mark bowed over you, taking his clothes off while holding eye contact with you. and though you were plenty wet from your previous orgasm, he slapped a glob of saliva onto his cock for good measure before sliding his head past your fleshold.

“fuck,” he groaned as he filled you, “you’re always so fucking tight…”

he back leaned in, kissing you harder than before as he pumped harder and deeper.

spreading your knees wide; ankles up on his shoulders; folding you onto your side… every shift got a better, different angle than the one before.

but there always came a point where both of you needed a little more brutality.

he pulled out and helped you got on all fours. he was perfectly endowed to reached every millimeter that yearned to be pummeled without any fear of going too far. his hands grabbed at your hair, your hips, your ass with gruff determination. he dug his fingers into the flesh covering your hipbones with the conviction of a bull rider. the fires were definitely stoked, burning hot and bright.

the heat was too much and he pulled away, sliding out of you with a quick slap on your ass. from that angle, he wouldn't have been able to see how it made you bite your bottom lip without any irony.

“come on,” mark said, breathlessly.

he moved to the corner of the bed and pat the edge to signal the next act. you smiled and assumed your position obligingly—on your back, hips and ass dangling just over the corner. he got down on his knees and ate you out as any good lover should. you closed your eyes and laid back to receive his offering.

suddenly you felt something metallic and cold on your clit. you glared down only to see that he’s nudging you with the gun barrel. fuck, you forgot he just hold a gun to your face minutes ago.

when his tongue curled his fingers up inside you and began to thrust, he applied pressure on your clit with his black pistol. god, this was the hottest thing ever. with his diligent, generous tongue, he urged you closer and closer to your brink. your hand flew over your mouth, your walls grasped at the absence of something to strangle.

“fuck me,” you gasped. “i need you to fuck me.”

you felt mark’s grin press into you right before he rose and slammed his cock into you without pomp or splendor. he flicked your hard nipple with his gun teasingly before throwing the thing away. he could use gun but not as skillful as a fbi agent, the least thing he wanted was shooting you with his cock inside you.

he fucked you with the strength and stamina of a soldier while you rubbed yourself feverishly, teetering on an increasingly frustrating plateau. you could already tell that if you got there, it would be ruinous.

“such a pretty whore, aren’t you?”

the tension of being held on the edge, looking down into uncertain darkness below, waiting for the signal to jump was almost more pleasurable than the freefall that follows. every corner of your being collapsed in on itself. your eyes scrunched closed and burst wide while he did his best to keep going. his pace slowed; your grip on his cock was threatening to end him. he buried deep into you and held himself there, squeezing and massaging the insides of your thighs with both hands.

“that’s it,” he urged. “cum all over my cock. cum like a slut you are.”

and you did. you came harder than you’d ever known with him; more than you’d ever known with most. you wailed as the long, hard, form-shattering wave washed over you and birthed you anew. you felt disconnected from your physical vessel; your head rocked and rolled from side to side while your eyes and tongue lolled around without your consciousness there to keep them in line.

with a low grunt, mark m pulled away and cum on your belly. he got up on the bed with you, wiping his cum off with his shirt. he never minded his clothes got dirty, he always stayed over so that you could do laundry for him. he loved the fragrance of your fabric softener, he would keep those clothes inside his closet and barely wore them. lying back, he invited you to do the same.

“shhh, it’s okay," he said. "take your time.”

you were shaking and shuddering. you laid down next to him. you sat up. you were disoriented. you fell over. you pressed your cheek to his thigh. you curled into a ball. you began to weep.

mark said nothing, but you heard the smile in his sigh. he tossed his shirt away and put a careful hand on your shoulder, though you flinched inadvertently.

“sorry,” you gasped through your light sobs of delirium. “everything is so sensitive.”

“no, no, don't be sorry,” he said. “that was amazing.”

he gave you the time and space to recover. your orgasms have the tendency to be powerful enough to momentarily erase your mind and demand a moment of recovery. but this was exceptionally debilitating. your nerves were firing all over, forearm muscles spasming as you came back into your body. you clenched your fists and extended your fingers, trying to remember what they were supposed to feel like.

when you started to feel a little more solid, you lazily played with his cock again, with your hands, then your mouth. you stirred him back to hard. he assured you that he wouldn’t take long at this rate. you took him hard and deeper, tugging his balls in one hand with all the force he demanded until he came hard into the back of your throat. you choked down as much as you could, though some of it trickled out the corners of your mouth, mixing with the tears still streaming down your face. your salvia pooled at the base of his shaft to coat the soft, dark curls there, down past the crook of his groin, and into the mattress beyond.

you snuggled indefinitely, you playing with his hair and scratching down the length of his body. mark nuzzled into you while you held him there. “there’s never enough time with you,” he breathed into your chest. you felt the subtle leak of his tears on your breastbone. you said nothing; you smiled and held the space for him while painting him with nurturing strokes.

after a long silence, he came back to you. “remember that you’re mine. you are mine forever.” he said and you let out a quiet breath, uncertain how to respond to him.

you had remarked that mark was a lunatic genius. devastatingly spiced with some toxicity and manipulation. except of the manipulation part, you were undeniably into everything about him. maybe you had already lost your mind. maybe you were insane. because you wanted to be with him as much as you wanted to leave him. either ways, you were in a zugzwang.

©️ RECKLESSMARK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

man Crescent City was the first sjm book ive ever read but I was already aware of everything that happens in acotar and it was honestly bizarre because its like she gained just enough self-awareness to write a main relationship thats slightly healthier than usual (in the first book atleast) and to codemn all of the weird and unpleasant traits she usually writes into her male characters like possessiveness, that macho-alpha attituide, etc but she still thinks all of that stuff is hot so you still get Hunt unreasonably possessive and growling like an animal and essentially coercing Bryce into doing things she didnt want (that thing where he made her get that wound fixed) but its like, justified because its presented as him putting a stop to her unhealthy coping mechanisms and it really rubbed me the wrong way because its like bro, shes still a grown ass adult, its not even like shes necessarily putting her life in danger, just let her make her bad choices

Like what her Fae father had done to nineteen-year-old Ember Quinlan, when he’d pursued her, seduced her, tried to keep her, and gone so far into possessive territory that the moment Ember had realized she was carrying his child—carrying Bryce—she ran before he could scent it and lock her up in his villa in FiRo until she grew too old to interest him.

SJM is villainizing one male character for doing what all her love interests do?? Like is this not literally just her standard set-up???

Is this not just acotar elon and the child bride? hello??

[nanaminokanojo]

Breakfast

CHARACTERS: Miya Osamu X You

CHAPTER COUNT: 1/1

WORD COUNT: 1,500+

GENRE: aged up | university au | sorta friends to lovers | implied smut | maybe a bit fluffy (i'm so bad at this after all this time)

TRIGGER WARNING: suggestive/strong language/profanity | implied smut MINORS DNI

SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

Even without looking, you knew just who spoke from behind you, the voice coming from the direction of the entrance to the small kitchen. You could pick it out from a sea of chattering voices, the deep yet distinctive ring to it already embedded in your head, the teasing lilt to it, a constant presence in your daily life. The moment his words registered in your head, you knew you were in for yet another round of bantering with Miya Osamu.

"Shut up, Samu."

"The hell?"

His comment was called for. It was his kitchen after all, being the only one who knew how to use it and the designated cook of the five boys who lived in the flat. He was rather possessive and territorial of his little haven in the apartment, and if the others made as much as a small mess as leaving their utensils unwashed, he throws a fit. No one was exempted, not even you, being just a guest.

You slept over after a night of partying with Ojiro, your best friend, but he left early for class while you were still asleep. You vaguely heard him tell you to make breakfast for yourself, and after waking up about three hours later, you did just that – if boiling hot water for instant ramen could be called 'making breakfast' anyway.

"What are you doing?" Osamu asked when you didn't say anything else, coming closer, probably to inspect whatever mess he was expecting you to make.

In response, you raised the sealed ramen cup to show him, about to open it when you glanced his way and finally acknowledged his presence properly. There, looking over your shoulder, was Osamu in all his glory, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants which hung precariously on his hips, his chiseled physique seemingly glimmering under the faint morning light streaming through the windows. He loomed over your smaller form, eyes focused on the sink top and every other surface of the kitchen, but yours remained on him.

He's unreasonably hot, you already knew that, but you didn't know you would react that way seeing him like that – your mouth dry and feeling as if someone just zapped oxygen out of existence while you just stared, completely riveted on where you stood before him. You were aware he was ripped underneath those clothes, but you've never really seen him shirtless being the more modest one among his group of friends. They'd all walk around in certain states of undress even when there were other people around, but Osamu never did that. Until now, that is.

Seemingly satisfied by the lack of mess in his kitchen, he shifted those cool gray eyes to you, opening his mouth to say something when he saw how you were eyeing him. He arched a brow at you in question, but that immediately changed into a smug, seductive grin when your teeth absently dug onto your lower lip.

"Like what you see?" he teased, causing you to turn away but he held you back, grabbing your arm. "Hey, come now, Y/N. What are you getting all shy around me for?"

Again, called for. You didn't exactly back down when he starts to rile you up, also one to have a knack for pulling out profound reactions from him whenever you got the chance. Your bond with him was a unique one which based itself on your common interest in irritating the other. Mostly in a playful way.

Nothing was playful about the tension in the air between you, however.

You swatted at his hand, concentrating hard on the task you were doing and suppressing the sudden heat that rose from the spot where he touched you. "I'm hungry, Samu. Stop bothering me."

You grew up with this bastard. No need to get all worked up, you thought. You’ve seen him crying after scraping his knees when you were kids, running to his twin brother with snot running down his nose whenever he got picked on. Then a tiny voice in your head said, Yeah, idiot, keep telling yourself that, when you thought of how different he was from the version you’ve witnessed growing.

"You are bothered alright." He stood behind you, sticking too close for comfort that your arm brushed against his taut abs, making you flinch. He chuckled at your reaction as he pressed himself onto your back and leveled his mouth to your ear as he said, "You know, I'm hungry, too, if you get my drift."

Your eyes almost rolled back at the sensation of his warm breath hitting your neck, going straight to the pits of your guts and making you shiver. Still, you protested only to be cut short. "I don't –"

"And I don't mind making a mess in here while eating my breakfast," he droned on as if you didn't just say anything, planting his palms on either side of the granite sink top. He drew even closer until you could feel something unmistakably hard against your ass but before you could dwell on it, he gave the shell of your ear a tentative lick.

The action made you jump, turning around in the meager space you were trapped in. "What the hell are you doing?!" you whisper-shouted, watching his sensuous mouth spread into a knowing grin. You immediately regretted turning to face him since, one, your brain was already muddled enough when you weren't looking at him and you could really do without the visuals, two, you could smell him – and Osamu always smelled hella good – making your mouth water, and lastly, for some reason, he seemed to be drowning you in those silvery eyes of his while also making you feel as if you're about to burst into flames.

In an attempt to cover up your current state – heat pooling up between your legs, face flushed and eyes glazed over with want – you chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "Okay, sweetheart. You got me. Now stop before I –"

"Faint?" he filled in for you, fingers ghosting over the skin of your arm, "Have a heart attack? Give in to me, perhaps?"

"Ugh! All of the above. What the hell?" You reluctantly placed your palm against his bare chest to push him away, also instantly regretting it when you felt the little thumper in there beating just as rapidly as yours is.

That endeavor wasn't so successful since he held your hand in place, his mouth spreading into a smirk when you gasped. "I didn't know you think I could elicit any of those from you much less all of them."

You stopped, momentarily forgetting your predicament of being a bit too close to him, your left brow arching in question. "Are you trying to do achieve any of those?"

Osamu leaned even closer, his line of sight shifting between your lips and your eyes. A quiet purr reverberated from his chest, the sound seeming feral but instead of fear, you felt excited. "Since high school. Especially the last one."

Two can play this game, you thought, leveling your expression with his as you met his gaze squarely. You can't resist him when he's telling you all these things, carnal thoughts filling your head. Your defenses are down, and you knew it. It's a nice change from all the times you would annoy each other.

"Is that so?"

"Mhmm." He sounded breathless, the single word coming out shaky. And you were glad you weren't the only one whose brain is being hot-wired.

"You wanna cross that line with me?"

"God, yes," he rasped, the tip of his nose brushing against the side of your face, the warmth of his breath fanning all over your skin. His large hands were slowly climbing up from where he held you in place from your hips, tarrying on the hem of your shirt and looking at you as if he was asking for permission, almost begging for you to say yes.

Meeting him halfway, you snaked your arms around his neck, closing the minute gap between you. You stood on your toes and leveled your lips to his ear. "How hungry are you, Samu?"

He ground his hip against yours as if to emphasize his response: "Starving."

Satisfied with his answer, you pulled away slightly to look at him with lust-filled eyes, and said, "Come get your breakfast then."

-end-

Indulgent? Guilty. Too many parenthetical em-dashes? Yes. LOL

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY FURUDATE HARUICHI’S “HAIKYUU!”. [20211011]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.