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heartepub · 18 hours ago

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from the vantage point of death

summary. when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed. pairing. hades!choi seungcheol x f!persephone!reader genre/tags. fantasy/mythology, reverse hades and persephone au, bastardizing mythologies to form my version of it, unhinged mc (but we love her), NO STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, implied weirdo suitors, one crude joke, yearning, mdni (borderline nsfw ending) wc. 13.8k suggested listening. arsonist's lullabye, hozier // nfwmb, hozier // would that i, hozier // 난 (me), 에스쿱스 (s.coups) // me and my husband, mitski // dust to dust, the civil wars // my love will never die, hozier // work song, hozier

notes. sorry for the delay hnnng—it was a mix of bad timing (again) and overshooting the wordcount (again). not fully satisfied but this is probably the best i can manage atm. hades!csc is suprisingly pouty and morally upright. shoutout to hozier, my main sponsor for this videyow.

It is true what they say about whispers thriving in darkness.

Seungcheol hears them constantly, finds them woven into the fabric of the air, waiting to be unraveled. The whispers crawl in from the edge of his realm, carried by the rivers and into his ears. They keep him abreast of what is happening above ground, sometimes even more than the news Jeonghan would bring when he reports news from the Pantheon.

Some days, he tells himself it would not do to listen. The job of the King of the Underworld is endless; the dead do not stop dying. But listening to the whispers from elsewhere is the only way to distract him from the ones that plague his own mind; the curling, insidious darkness that is not the one he has made a home in, but rather one that threatens to consume him. So he finds the whispers, entertains the rumours that find the darkness. Seungcheol beckons them forward, pushing his own demons to the back of his mind.

One of them is particularly persistent, sneaking past even the drapes of his chambers, the one place all the other whispers should not reach. It curls around him, flirts with the curve of his earlobe. The message is the same, every time it comes:

The Goddess of Spring is sick.

The first time he had heard it, he called Jeonghan immediately; as the God of Death, he was more in touch with its threads than even he. Despite the gold thread that marks one as immortal, the luster is slowly and surely fading. Both of them confirmed this, even as Jeonghan had mused that it did not make much sense. Seungcheol agreed.

There are precious few things that make immortals fall; for minor deities, it is almost always the lack of devotion, the slow death that comes with the fickle memory of mortals. Yet a goddess of spring would not have the same problem, even if she were not one of those graced to have a seat at the Pantheon. There are still temples undoubtedly to this Goddess’ name, incense and wine poured to honor the first sowing of seeds before the planting season.

The whisper soon reached his other trusted companions. It was Jisoo, the ferryman, who reported what he heard by the riverbank: by some mistake, the Goddess ingested mortal food, and the disease was now infecting her immortal blood.

The urge of duty beckons him, a voice in his ear reasoning that if a Goddess were indeed about to cross over to his realm, the least he could do was be the one to escort her there. He could ask her how this happened, if she were ready to speak to him, perhaps even bring her case to the High Palace to ask how the balance of the world were to be maintained.

Decided, he grabs his travelling robes.

For the first time in millennia, Seungcheol walks above ground.

As expected, the Goddess of Spring’s domain is a lush garden, nothing but Life as far as the eye can see. He enters much more easily than expected; the wards have weakened concerningly so, even as the lingering magic in the air hint at their former strength.

As he ventures in, the leaves sway to some invisible wind, a smidgen more alive-seeming than they would be in the mortal realm. Still, there is yellowing on some trees. Dead petals litter the floor, and he feels the crunch of leaves under his shoe as he moves forward—further pieces of evidence that point to the weakening of the Goddess’ magic.

“Goddess, are you here?” He calls.

In the distance, he hears a hacking cough.

Seungcheol breaks into a jog, alarmed. He plucks at the threads of death that he senses, filtering them out until a single golden string remains, though its luster seems to dull with every minute that passes. He follows it forward.

“Goddess?”

“Here,” he finally hears a weak voice croak, and he turns, finding you sprawled on the floor, a few feet shy of what is evidently your bed.

Seungcheol does not hesitate to lift you in his arms, walking up the steps you were collapsed on. Your breath escapes your mouth in reedy pants, eyes hazy as you gaze at him without recognition. His heart aches.

“Oh Goddess, how did this happen to you?” Seungcheol lowers you onto your bed, fluffing and adjusting the pillows the best he could. He finds a jug of water and a cup resting on a nearby table. Filling the cup, he helps you tilt it up your lips. “Here. Drink.” You take small sips, holding not the cup, but his hands as he feeds the water to you. He feels your fingers trembling. Once a small noise of protest leaves you at the water still falling past your lips, Seungcheol quickly sets the cup aside, swiping the droplets on your chin with his sleeve and easing you into a lying position.

You close your eyes, breathing finally steady. Sorrow tugs at his heartstrings as he dabs at the sweat off your brow with a cloth he had conjured.

It has been many centuries since the last time an immortal crossed the River. He wonders if the Underworld would be to your taste, absent of Life as it is. Only the lands of the blessed are lush with any kind of greenery, as it is near enough to Life, housing souls getting ready for reincarnation.

Lost in his thoughts, he does not notice the string of death that guided him to you suddenly wink into brilliant gold and disappear.

The Goddess’ eyes snap open, and Seungcheol startles. All too quickly, he feels strong hands grasp at his forearms and push. He stumbles back, almost tripping over his robes, but before he is able to resist, he lands in the middle of what he realizes is a ritual circle. The runes around his feet burst into brilliant gold light, washing the world in their glow. Vines rapidly begin to sprout, curling, tangling, and twisting above and around him. From beyond the light, he hears a faint voice chanting.

It is magic, but one entirely foreign to his eyes.

Finally, the glow fades. That same force he sensed earlier seems to be binding him in place, making his limbs ten times heavier than normal. Seungcheol fights to stand, grasping at the structure in front of him to help himself up. A great tangle of vines surrounds him; despite their flimsy appearance, they refuse to break or wilt with any amount of magic he forces into them.

In fact, they only seem to grow stronger.

Confusion gives way to realization, and then dawning fury. He zeroes in on the woman on the other side of the cage. The haze in your eyes has disappeared, replaced with a sharp gaze and a triumphant smirk. Around you, the air crackles with power.

“Caught you.”

“Goddess,” Seungcheol begins, raising his hands, palms up. “I mean you no ill.”

Everything had happened so quickly that he could not get a good look at you. Now, he not only feels, but he sees. Your magic lingers in the air, a sharp crackle of citrus undercut by the heavy, warning weight of wood. When he first saw you, you had been seconds away from becoming another shade to bring to the Underworld. Now, power thrums from you everywhere, even on the thin skin under your eyelashes. Your robes almost seem to glow.

You approach his cage with a fluid, almost feline grace. He feels your eyes cataloguing him, taking in his garb and the stiff, straight-backed posture he carries himself with, even outside the throne room. “I had certainly many assumptions of whom my trap would attract, but even this is unexpected. Let us hear it then: what brings the Unseen One into my domain?”

“I had received word of your illness, goddess, and thought it a duty and courtesy to escort you to my realm.”

“Escort me into your realm? Duty? I’ve heard of dowries and courtesy, but never duty,” you muse. Your eyes remain ever-scrutinizing; he resists the urge to squirm. Has he been so out of touch with the Pantheon norms that he no longer knows how theoi treat each other? Heat rushes to his ears at your intent gaze. “It must be true that there is no love in the Underworld. Your attempts at wooing are unconventional, but ineffective.”

“Excuse me?”

“Certainly new,” you continue, almost to yourself. “Out of all the suitors sent my way, or the ones that would take advantage of the rumours I had spread, your approach is the most unique.”

“Have your plants overtaken your mind?” His mouth twists in derision. “I have told you; I am here only out of my duty.”

“Not a suitor then? Hm.”

“As there seems to have been a misunderstanding,” he sighs, already tired, “If My Lady would be so kind to release me, we can leave this all behind us.”

You stare at him, head tilted. After a moment, a small smile pulls at your features. “I think not.”

Disbelief floods him, and he cannot hold back the scowl that pulls over his features. Seungcheol’s eyes flash dangerously. “That was not a request, Goddess.” He expects you to give in; no being of the Pantheon can bear to be around Death for so long, much less a minor goddess.

Then you do something entirely unexpected; you throw your head back and laugh.

“My, you are interesting! I do not think you are in a position to make your demands in my domain.”

For fuck’s sake—he inhales through his teeth, biting back the anger that has been steadily rising with the length of his stay in this vined cage. He tries phasing into shadow—you could not keep him here if he could simply slip back to his realm—but more vines wrap around him, absorbing his magic, rendering it null. Your grin just stretches wider.

“On what grounds do you keep me?” He hisses.

“First, as I said, you are interesting.” You shrug. “Second, perhaps your presence will ward off all the other suitors the Pantheon has been attempting to send my way. Third, my domain seems to react to you in interesting ways.” You look pointedly at his hand, the locus where his magic seems to be siphoning into your realm.

“My powers are those for the dead,” he informs you. “They will do nothing for Life, certainly nothing for the Goddess of Spring.”

“Well, we shall not know until we conduct some more investigation, no?”

He tries a different tactic. “Goddess, you must let me return. The Underworld cannot be parted with its King.”

You wave a hand, dismissive. “Oh please. No one misses Death. Perhaps those poor souls will even be glad for their judgement to be postponed.” The thought seems to please you, as you release a satisfied little huff. “It is settled. You are mine for the time being, Lord of the Dead.”

Seungcheol tried phasing into shadow again, only for the realm to absorb his magic. It seems that being held by a being that controlled Life, any magic relating to his return could not work. You had informed him, somewhat gleefully, that the wards of your realm have been refashioned to mimic a smokescreen—drawing from some of the magic that the realm had absorbed from him. It does not block visitors; rather, you boasted, it was a mix of concealment and compulsion charms to urge them to respect your privacy as you suffer through your malaise.

His magic, aside from this strange new affinity to life, is most prominently for keeping the barrier between his realm and the rest of the world intact. If you had borrowed from that…he is well and truly stuck.

It could be worse. He could have been captured with the intent of harming the Underworld, or weakening the barrier between the living and the dead. It could have been someone who demanded he give up his hound.

But he cannot call himself an oppressed prisoner. The heaviness of his limbs had quickly been resolved after a modification of the runes outside his prison. You also insisted on ensuring all his needs are met, including bedding, pillows, water—both for bathing and drinking—and food, which you have taken to cooking in front of him, to prove there is no poison.

He accepts the bedding and pillows, as well as the water; he pours the drinking water into the same basin he uses for his baths. But nothing passes his mouth. Seungcheol is not sure why you are putting in the effort; your kind need little food and rest, after all. He does not know how much time has passed, only that he is utterly miserable. He considered yelling, crying out for help, but no one would hear him.

Meanwhile, he feels your realm draining away at his reserves. Vast as they are, even a drop of water against a rock eventually wears it down. He could only imagine what Jeonghan must be thinking now, at his prolonged and unplanned absence. Seungcheol grits his teeth, resisting the urge to lay down at the ever-creeping fatigue that grows as his magic wanes. He found out the hard way that the more of his body was in contact with your realm, the faster he would waste away. It is a battle to just stay awake.

“Your Grace!” He hears, and it feels vaguely far away. You are running to him, robes fluttering around you as you move, light-footed, across your realm. Seungcheol bites back a grimace, self-conscious of the way his draining magic must make him look paler and sicklier than usual. “Please hold onto a vine.”

At his refusal, you roll your eyes. “Let me try something, Your Grace. I think I know how to replenish your magic; I swear on your River that I mean no ill.”

Seungcheol’s distrustful stare does not cease, but he does relax his shoulders and hold out his right hand, palm facing up. Taking a deep breath, you wave a hand.

A thorn grows from where his hand is gripping the vine. Though ichor drips from his wrist down to his elbow, golden and oozing, Seungcheol refuses to flinch. Even as he bleeds, his palm is already beginning to heal, the tissue stitching itself around his wound and ejecting the thorn from his skin. Your focus is not on him though. As you watch, his blood is absorbed into the vine.

Almost immediately, moss begins to grow under his hand. Flowers bloom at his feet from where the ichor drips onto the earth. Excited, you move a few steps closer, touching the new life now growing on your vines.

“This is…” he removes his hand from the vine, eyes flitting from between his now-healed hand and the vine he had held earlier, which now had not only moss, but flowers blooming from where his blood had touched the plant. He opens his mouth, but no words come.

“It worked,” you murmur, almost wondrously. “Ha! It cannot be true that your magic is only for the Dead.”

Seungcheol is stunned.

Certainly not an emotion he has ever felt very often, much less to this degree. You don’t seem to be done. Stepping forward, you clasp his hand in between yours. He startles, feeling the Life-magic from you rush into him. Slowly, he feels his reserves begin to return. When you let go, his magic has not fully returned to its full capacity, yet there is enough that he feels sufficiently energized.

“Spring,” you declare, looking at the astonished god, “is simply Life that follows after Death, after all. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”

“A clever trick,” he says eventually. “You have had your fun, then. Now release me.”

You just smile. “Actually, this little experiment has just proven an interesting point. You are not my prisoner, Your Grace. Though it would be a shame to let you go, I will not keep you here against your will. The Lord of the Dead must be busy, after all.”

The change in your script has him dizzy. “I am not your prisoner?”

“It would seem so. That is what my investigation says.” You shrug. “I made a mistake with my earlier oath to the River, and now I have to mean you no ill in everything. So I can no longer lie to you. Not that I have, ever, anyway.”

Seungcheol tugs at the vines, ignoring how they now curiously seem to sway into his touch. But even as they do, no matter what he tries, they do not break. “So release me, then.”

“Now, where is the fun in that? I have given you a clue on how to release yourself, did I not? Spring is Life that follows after Death. And I have replenished some of your reserves, since you do not wish to bother with my cooking.”

At his confused silence, you huff a little laugh. “Oh, Your Grace, what am I to do with you?”

Seungcheol tucks his irritation behind his teeth, exhaling long and slow. “You could release me.”

“I told you, Your Grace is no prisoner of mine. You can very easily break this cage if you wished to. That is no longer my problem.” You shrug. “I swear it on your River and my magic. But do send messages to the Underworld, should you feel your absence take even longer. My wards will accommodate the correspondence.”

Days pass. He does indeed end up sending messages to the Underworld. To Jeonghan, to be exact.

While concerned, the God of Death’s immediate reaction is one of amusement, even admiration. It does nothing to quell Seungcheol’s irritation, especially when Jeonghan points out that you were right, the River binds you to tell only the truth, and mean no ill. He is just unlucky that no ill is not the same as goodwill.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watches as you tend to your gardens, conversing merrily with the spirits as you move around your domain. The spirits are curious of him too, yet he bats them away with impatient huffs and vaguely imperious commands to leave him alone. They do, but he feels faintly guilty for the way they seem to wilt as they drift away.

He still cannot claim to be an oppressed prisoner. You reminded him that he is not—and arguably has never been—the latter, and correctly guessed that releasing him from the cage after swearing that he can get out himself would hurt his pride. He is also not the former, as your constant providing of bedding, water, and food has continued. Seungcheol’s practice of accepting everything but the food has also continued. True enough to your claim, the lack of sustenance in your realm seems to be correlated to his dwindling reserves, though it seems his blood had satisfied your domain enough to be much slower in dwindling your reserves.

Still, nothing passes his mouth. After every meal, you wordlessly claim the untouched bowls of your cooking—whether stew, bread, meat, vegetables, or rice. Even the casket you had received from the God of Wine and deigned to share with him is refused, even as you remind him repeatedly that you cannot harm him.

At each refusal, your lips would purse tighter and tighter.

Finally, one night, you have had enough. Standing at the other side of his cage, you do not move to get his untouched dinner.

Instead, new vines wrap around his wrists and legs, pulling him forward to the edge of the cage. Seungcheol’s choked exclamation of surprise cuts itself short as you grab his robes from the other side. He has to slam his hands, bound as they are, against his cage to brace himself. Your face is a mask of barely-controlled fury.

“I remember telling you, Your Grace,” you snarl, “you are not my prisoner.” The air around him crackles with magic. The smell of grapefruit fills his nose—but incredibly bitter, as though the taste of its pith became a scent. Your face is twisted in anger, and dare he say hurt. “I swear a vow of no malice. I show you the potential of your power, and promise freedom is within your grasp. I offer you kindness. I allow you to send your correspondence in good faith, not knowing if you have actually been plotting your revenge against me. I give you food from my garden, and cook it in front of you!

“And you repay me with distrust,” you spit. “You refuse the fruits of Spring and her goddess’ labor. My Lord must know that only realms of the major theoi have enough latent magic to bind those who partake of its bounty. But if your strategy to free yourself is to anger me to oblivion, I will simply allow my realm to suck the magic out of you. The Lord of the Dead, my personal fertilizer. See if you like that.” Your voice cracks.

Any response boiling behind his throat dissipates at the sight of tears rimming your lashes. Weakly, he tries to rebut. “You cannot. You swore no ill will.”

“And yet you do not eat.” Suddenly, it seems the strings have been cut from your body, and you release his robes with nothing more than a half-hearted shove. Turning away, you pick up his untouched food. Despite your anger moments ago, you remain gentle with the bowl of cold stew.

Seungcheol watches, the weight in his chest growing, as you set it in front of your table and grab a spoon. With a wave of your hand, the stew is warm again, steam rising in gentle spirals from the bowl. The guilt he had felt spurning the innocently curious spirits is nothing compared to seeing the Goddess who had brought him to his knees fighting back her tears, spooning his dinner into her mouth.

“I did not know you could warm it again.” He speaks quietly, unable to raise his voice above a murmur.

“Why,” you reply dully. “Would you eat it if I did?”

Seungcheol does not reply, despite the apologies crawling up his throat. As you leave for your evening ablutions, he calls for you softly.

“Do not bother apologizing,” you reply, without stopping or turning back. “Just eat the food tomorrow.”

And so he does.

After another handful of days, a visitor arrives.

“Erm, Lord Seungcheol?” He looks up, trying to place the voice. Your head pokes up from a hedge, vaguely panicked. A figure alights by the gazebo, where he had first found you. He recognizes the messenger god by the dark red hair and winged sandals on his feet.

He is about to call out, but your hand closes into a fist quickly. The air clamp his lips shut, and silences the muffled shout that escapes his mouth. The god looks around, realizing Seungcheol is not there. Realizing this, the god slumps, calling a different name instead with a mix of exasperation and concern. Seungcheol tilts his head, wondering whose it is, until he sees your head snap to the god’s direction.

With a jolt, he realizes he only knew your title—Goddess of Spring—but not your name. The messenger god begins to rant.

“I only just managed to sneak past the Lord Father’s nose—said you were not to be disturbed while the Lord of the Dead tended to your illness, but I had to see you, if only to confirm which rumours are true—what on earth happened to your wards, by the way, I had to ask a sprite for help in removing the soot—”

The god parts the curtain by your bed, and promptly swears. “Shit!��

Seungcheol watches, mildly bemused, as the god flutters from one nook to the next, looking more and more distressed as you are nowhere in sight. Any amusement he feels vanishes the moment the young god finds him, tending to a patch of plants a few feet away from your bed. Seungkwan trips as he stumbles backward in shock.

“L-Lord Seungcheol,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. “I—Your Grace—”

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol inclines his head with all the dignity he can muster.

“Seungkwan,” you finally call. He whips around, a noise of both agitation and relief escaping him when he catches sight of you.

“You! What in hell’s name are you doing out of bed?! Er,” he glances sheepishly at Seungcheol before turning back to you with a wide-eyed glare, expression clearly demanding you to explain.

“Surprise!” You chuckle feebly. “Whatever happened to ‘I am glad you are well’?”

“Last everyone has heard, the Lord of the Dead was preparing for your passage to the Underworld—” Seungkwan begins, before his expression morphs, the pieces coming together in his head in real time. He looks as though he is one revelation away from pulling his hair out. “Tell me Lord Seungcheol is not your prisoner and this is all in my head.”

“Lord Seungcheol is not my prisoner and this is all in your head,” you parrot obediently.

“Is this why you were so sick? You were saving your magic for—for ransoming the God of the Underworld?”

“That is not why I—”

“You know everyone will realize he is missing, do you not? There are already whispers that the Underworld is without its King.” He waves his hands, emphasizing his words. Your voice remains genial.

“This is all harmless fun,” you wave a hand.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow. “Is it? The Underworld—”

“I have allowed correspondence between him and his comrades—”

“Some already think your illness is too convenient,” he warns. “You will not be able to hold this charade for long.”

You snort. “The fact that gossip of both my faked illness and impending death coexist speaks to the stupidity of the divine rumour mill.”

Exasperated with your blasé responses, Seungkwan turns to Seungcheol. Biting his lip, his fingers fidget at his staff. You just watch, eyebrow raised at the sudden change in demeanor. “My Lord, do you, erm, need help—that is, if you are held against your will—”

“I shall be free soon enough,” he says shortly. “The Underworld will not be long without me.”

“You will hurt his pride, ‘Kwan,” you interject, smothering a laugh. “He needs to free himself for his ego’s sake.”

Seungcheol levels a glare at you, thoroughly unamused. You just raise an eyebrow, daring him to say otherwise. Seungkwan’s gaze flits between the two of you, cycling through numerous expressions of skepticism and concern.

Eventually, the god just sighs, running a hand again through his hair. The tension in Seungkwan’s shoulders returns; his sandals flutter restlessly, picking up on the unease of their master. “The Pantheon only knows that you have been wasting away from eating mortal food, and that there is something strange about the Underworld because of His Grace’s absence. The others may start putting the pieces together.”

Your gaze shifts from rage into something more calculating. “Let them, then. See if they can outsmart a goddess that outsmarted the Unseen One.”

Seungcheol does it again and again, slicing his hand and watching the growth from where his ichor drips on the earth. Since first time he tried it without you to interfere in any way, the same result were yielded. Yet there is no more understanding with this attempt than any other before it.

Frustrated, he looks at you. “My blood does not cause life, and nor does my magic. Millennia have proven this. Your garden must be an anomaly.”

From the other side of his cage, you huff, not looking up from your pruning. “You are not listening to me, Your Grace; I said Life follows after Death, not that Death causes Life. Perhaps, yes, your blood dripping onto mortal soil would yield different results. But this is my garden, the Heart of Spring. Life is constantly following after Death. An endless loop.”

“The ichor,” he tries. “The things Godly blood can do, even now, have never been fully known.”

“Your Grace, you say your magic is one of Death, yet not a single blade of grass has wilted in your footsteps,” you point out. “It is not just your blood that can bring Life, but your magic itself. I am the Spring that follows after Death. You carry the power of Death itself.”

“No, Death is Jeonghan,” Seungcheol murmurs absently.

Evidently, you had not been expecting that, as you pull up short and twist to face him, face contorted in surprise. “Jeonghan? Oh my. Do I have the wrong god?”

“No! No.” Seungcheol pauses, surprised at his own vehemence. Clearing his throat, he continues in a more subdued tone. “I am Lord of the Dead. Jeonghan is the God of Death, the Reaper.”

“Oh,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Spring does not come immediately after the reaping. My point stands. Spring is the Life that follows from Death. My realm has already been responding to you, gaining life from your power.”

Seungcheol has felt, since getting into this cage, the power draining from under his feet, as though the earth were a great straw drinking from his reserves. He had assumed it to be because of the runic circle at his feet. “Is this not you draining my power to keep me prisoner? You said so yourself.”

“I lied. Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you roll your eyes at his expression. “I swore to mean you no malice, not to speak the truth. Not at that point yet, anyway. It is true that your power is feeding mine, but that is not just mydoing. My domain has latent magic, though the runes augment it. It has been responding to yours, making more Life out of Death. Pushing your magic outward will only make it worse. And why do you think my magic flowed so easily into your reserves?” You give him a gaze that is both meaningful and exasperated.

A thought strikes him then, one so obvious now that Seungcheol wonders why it had not occurred to him earlier. He lays his hand back onto the vines in front of him. Instead of pushing, however, he pulls, bringing magic inward and back to himself.

The realm responds in kind.

His prison’s vines begin to weaken under his touch, the tangled cords thinning until the braids barely hold together. Above him, the great ceiling of his cage falls as a wilted mess. Instinctively, Seungcheol lifts his hand, and the wilted stems disintegrate, falling around him like ash. The air smells distinctly earth-like.

He stands before you, dead leaves in his hair, more invigorated than he has been in a long, long time.

“Well, it took you long enough,” you rest your hands on your hips, utterly pleased with yourself. “Aren’t I a splendid teacher? I imagine if you do the same thing with your feet, you will no longer be so drained in my domain.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol murmurs to himself. “Death claims Life, not the other way around. It has been so long since I left the Underworld that I have forgotten.”

Something in your expression softens. “Then remember with me. If it cannot be remembered, we shall find out more. You felt it, did you not? Our magics are drawn to each other.”

Seungcheol cannot deny that. Even now, with you a little more than an arm’s length away, he aches to have you closer, to feel again that rush of Life, as though he were perpetually being reborn.

“So, what will it be, Lord of the Dead? Will you find out with me?”

Seungcheol resists the yearning that claws at his chest, tamps down the yes that instinctively rises up his throat.

“What do you get out of this?”

“Hm?”

“It seems terribly altruistic for you,” he drawls. “My captor caging me purely for her amusement, and now that I have passed, I am offered to learn of magic I did not know I could wield.” He narrows his eyes at you. “What do you get out of this?”

You tilt your head at him, confused. “Do you think you are the only one benefiting from this arrangement? My realm has never been stronger. Our magic’s compatibility is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“And your suitors?”

“Your presence would certainly deter the rabble, but I imagine the rumours of your capture alone will set me up for a good few millennia of quiet.”

“What of my duties? No matter how capable my brothers are, the Underworld falters without its king.”

“Return to the Underworld if you must, Your Grace, but contract with me the period of your stay. I will swear on the River that it shall be upheld.”

You snap your fingers, and a gentle breeze flutters over him, rustling his hair and clothes off the dead leaves and bits of stem. And though he is free, longing clings to his ribs, the offer not just of power, butcompanionship, of a kind that is different from the one he shares with his brothers belowground. It was only when Seungkwan had arrived that he remembered the usual demeanor leveled at him—the immediate fear and distrust, the whispers that had pushed him toward seclusion in the first place. Outside of his brothers in the Underworld, you had been the only other one to not treat him this way.

For so long, the thought of Life had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Seungcheol had never held it in his hands, never felt the rush of a beating heart nor a sapling’s head breaking from the soil. Yet he experienced all of that, numerous times, in this garden, without feeling like a harbinger of despair.

“Well? What say you, Your Grace?”

Much planning is needed. His comrades were more receptive to the idea than he expected; he could not help but feel a little betrayed at their willingness to shoo him off and insist on a so-called vacation, even if the pretense remained to be that he was tending to a goddess at her sickbed.

To Seungcheol’s chagrin, you insisted on tagging along to the Underworld, brushing aside his protests that nothing alive can enter his domain.

“Death claims Life; I am telling you now, the Underworld will take a much bigger toll on a minor goddess compared to the Lord of the Dead in your garden.”

“How unfair. We are partners, are we not? For all you know I could use some Death magic myself. We will not know until I am there.” You bat your eyes playfully. “The Lord of the Dead must have enough power to save a minor goddess, no? Especially in his own domain.”

He pinches his nose, a headache beginning to form. Surely there are much better ways of ensuring he upholds your arrangement.

“Fine. Fine, but if your magic is dwindling, you tell me immediately.”

You bounce on your toes, excited. Excited! Seungcheol does not bother to think about the teasing that he is sure to receive. Once his brothers see him descend with a girl on his arm, much less one very much alive, he is never hearing the end of it.

True enough, the first to see them is Jisoo, on the edge of the riverbank. The twinkle in his eye bodes nothing good. “Oh? This is no dead goddess. Have you abducted her? I must remind you that I only ferry the dead. Unless you plan on finally taking a Queen.”

You merely smile. “Hello, ferryman.”

Jisoo smiles, eyes crinkled into crescents, charm dialed up much more than necessary. Seungcheol tamps down the grumble that crawls up his throat.

“Hello, Goddess. Blink twice if you need help.”

Seungcheol cannot help his scoff. “Oh, please. I am not holding her hostage. If anything, it was the other way around.”

“It is true.” You nod solemnly. “I would like passage, as the Lord of the Dead’s abductor. We are here to sort his affairs before he begins his contract in my domain.”

Jisoo blinks, taken aback. “My lady,” he begins, “As I mentioned earlier, I only ferry the dead. You are very much alive.”

“Even if I were the guest of your Lord?” He nods. “Hm. I suppose I could dip in the river, then?”

“Do not even joke about that,” Seungcheol snaps. “You will die. Anyone who bathes in the River, immortal or mortal, will die.”

“That is entirely the point.”

“The Pantheon will have my magic. Your mother will have my head. Poor Chan will be worse off, since it is his river you have chosen to bathe in.”

“Chan? Is that the name of your river deity?” Your eyes are alight with interest. “How fascinating.” Seungcheol rubs a palm against his forehead; the headache has taken over in earnest.

“Knowing the name of the river spirit will not help your case, my lady.” Jisoo gently pulls the conversation back. “I cannot let you cross.” You ponder the dilemma, crossing your arms and lifting a hand to your mouth in thought.

“I have claimed to be on the brink of death before,” you muse, “Spring is…no, that will not work. Well then.” You turn to Jisoo, tilting your head. “Do you accept bribery, ferryman?”

Without missing a beat, he replies, “Certainly, if it came from a goddess as pretty as you.”

Seungcheol chokes, looking at his friend with wide eyes. “Absolutely not—” In the blink of an eye, Jisoo’s smile shifts from charming to cheeky, and you respond with a bright grin of your own.

His protests are ignored. The familiar wildness of your magic tinges the air, and in your hands, three daisies emerge, their white and yellow colors a stark contrast to the blackish-brown mud of the riverbank. “For you, ferryman. Three is a magical number, after all.”

Jisoo’s expression is surprisingly soft as he accepts the flowers. “Oh. I have never received flowers before.”

“Never?” you frown. “That simply will not do.” With a deep inhale, your eyes scrunch shut. The scent of your magic grows stronger—the mix of florals and citrus already in the air is joined by the bite of wood, and something else, distinctly earth-like. Soil. A collection of flowers bloom where your hands are cupped: pink and purple roses, daisies, azaleas, and a whole slew of plants Seungcheol has seen before but cannot name. You tie the bouquet with a long piece of leaf, presenting it to him with a flourish.

“The daisies were my bribe, but this is a gift. What do you think, ferryman?”

Jisoo’s smile is the widest Seungcheol has seen in a while. “Come aboard, my lady.”

For the first time in a while, you are wrong; the Underworld is too much. You feel the magic rapidly draining from you, even as Seungcheol asks you to stay outside his bedchambers while he gathers his things. You bite your lips to force color back onto them.

As you wait, the presence of another makes itself known. Two others, you realize, turning to see a man—a god—and a dog-creature in his arms. The god tilts his head.

“You must be the goddess Seungcheol was supposed to collect, then.” You hedge a guess.

“Jeonghan?”

The god’s eyebrows raise. “Indeed, lady.”

The God of Death is intimidatingly beautiful. His magic pulses around him, eerily similar to the Lord of the Dead. Yet where you find solace in Seungcheol’s, even a sense of excitement, this man’s magic makes you vaguely uneasy, even as it has some synergy with your own.

Where Seungcheol reigns over the Dead already put to rest, Jeonghan’s domain is the reaping itself, the act of claiming. So close to Seungcheol’s, yet very far from yours.

He observes you, gaze knife-sharp. “If our Lord is to stay with you, I ask that you adjust your wards to let me in as well. He may need to communicate regularly with the Underworld.”

“Everyone is alright with this?” you ask, surprised. “I was prepared to fight for his temporary transfer.” The ferryman was one thing, especially since he could simply not grant you passage out, but his closest lieutenant agreeing so easily is unexpected.

“Our Seungcheollie needs a vacation,” Jeonghan waves a hand, deceptively dismissive, but his eyes burrow holes into your confidence. “And I trust his judgement, even if I have my own concerns.”

The dog in his arms barks, and Jeonghan’s tone shifts to a soothing coo. “Kkuma-ya, shh.”

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, ignoring Jeonghan’s disapproving stare. Kkuma sniffs at your hand, pauses, and begins to lick with great aplomb. Jeonghan’s eyes widen slightly.

“I think she recognizes His Grace’s magic,” you murmur, a little embarrassed. Yet with every pass of Kkuma’s tongue on your fingers, you feel some magic return to you.

“Perhaps, but she only does that if she really likes you.”

“Or she senses my magic weakening. May I?” You hold out your hands, and Kkuma is quick to paw at Jeonghan’s arms, impatient. You accept Kkuma, giggling as she licks your cheek, still transferring magic to you.

Jeonghan’s gaze remains sharp, but considerably less cold. “You are not dead. But you are dying.”

“Indeed, it seems I miscalculated my entrance into his domain.”

“The living cannot stay,” he agrees. “I will tell Seungcheol to hurry.” Jeonghan excuses himself with a short bow.

“Your Goddess is growing weaker.”

Seungcheol starts, whipping around to see Jeonghan striding into his chambers. “What?”

“We spoke briefly outside. The Underworld is rejecting her presence.”

Seungcheol purses his lips, quickly packing the last of his essentials before lifting his bag over his shoulder. “She would have been less tired had she not made that huge bouquet for Jisoo.”

“He is quite endeared, by the way. Planted them by the riverside almost immediately, at the edge of the Isles. Chan likes them too.”

“And you?”

“Hm?” Jeonghan’s tone is too innocent. Seungcheol groans.

“Do not tell me you scared her.”

The God of Death shrugs, a little pout on his face as he reproaches him. “How little you think of me. I like her, actually. Finally a woman with a spine, though it is funny to know that you were her prisoner. How did you solve her puzzle?”

Seungcheol explains the direction of flow as the deciding factor, how claiming life was the answer and not pushing magic outward. “Though of course, you probably already know that, being around Life magic as often as you are,” he concludes.

Jeonghan listens, interested. “I have been told that our magic is similar. Perhaps—”

“I asked that too,” he interjects quickly. “She said something about Spring not coming right after the reaping.”

“Oh? Clever girl.” Jeonghan’s eyes gleam. Seungcheol points his finger at him, warning.

“Do not.”

“Goodness, how long have you known her? So protective already. I like her more and more.”

Absently, he runs a hand along the fine cloth of his pillowcase, already missing the luxury of his bedsheets. “I will not be away for long.”

“Of course.” Jeonghan inclines his head. As he leaves, his friend calls out from behind him, “Do try to have fun, though!”

It is decidedly not fun.

“Again.”

Seungcheol kneels down, brushing the tips of his fingers against the sapling. “Agh!” The little plant explodes with a wet pop, scattering little pieces of green on top of the dirt.

“Too much.”

Seungcheol looks up, meeting your eyes from where you stand, right across him. You tilt your head, holding his gaze before gesturing to the next sapling. He uses a single finger this time, focusing on letting out a steady stream of his power. The little plant blooms, briefly, until it too explodes.

“Too much, still.” Amusement colors your voice. “Trickle your magic in. Do not let it flow so strongly.”

“I am trickling it.” Frustrated, he curls his power inward, watching the little sapling wilt and then rot into the ground. Around him, the spirits titter, some small voices letting out soft squeaks of dismay. You tut.

“Your control over your magic is lacking, Your Grace. When was the last time you had to use your power like this?”

“I cannot look back on the day.” He grits his teeth. You merely hum in response, remaining where you are, arms crossed and leaning against a nearby tree bark. Your patience too, is much longer than his.

“It could be either your control or the size of your reserves. It could also be both. Though I suppose kings do not have to work to hone their magic if they can overpower others through sheer force.” He grits his teeth, glaring holes into your impassive stare. “Again.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Hm?” You look back, meeting his gaze. His eyes are fixed on the knife on your hand. Right now, there is rice bubbling by the fire, and you are readying an array of vegetables and meat to be mixed in with the freshly-cooked rice. It had always been just you cooking while he applied himself to continuous attempts at controlling his power.

“It seems remiss to leave you to hostess’ work,” he clarifies. At your blank stare, he feels the foreign sensation of heat rushing to his cheeks, and the urge to raise his shoulders and hunch them inward.

Eventually, you offer him the bowl of sliced cucumbers in your hand. Your eyes are clear of any judgement; the tension in his shoulders ease somewhat. “Here. Drizzle some oil, then a spoonful of the garlic and a pinch of salt.”

Eager for an easier task than honing his paltry control over his magic, Seungcheol accepts the bowl. You continue like this, him following your instructions until two steaming bowls of rice with overlaid meat and vegetables are laid before you. The cucumbers are in a separate dish, seasoned by him and with your guidance. You reach for one, popping into your mouth with a thoughtful hum.

He mirrors your movement, but makes a face almost immediately. He put too much salt. Nonplussed, you eat your third cucumber, shrugging even as he picks at his work. He gives you a skeptical frown, which you only respond to with a smile.

“You will learn.” No shred of doubt can be found in your voice.

Seungcheol does not respond. Instead, he digs into his rice, allowing warmth to fill him.

“Perhaps,” you begin, “we have been looking at this wrong.” You cup his hands between yours.

His magic sparks at your touch, and the power under your skin responds in kind. Seungcheol’s knuckles brush against your wrist, and he startles a little at the strength of your pulse. Almost immediately, a bud grows, fed not by soil, but your joint magic. In seconds, a fully-bloomed daffodil rests on his hand. He stares at the yellow petals, mouth parted in wonder.

“Concentrate on your magic, Your Grace. How does it feel?” You prompt him gently. Reluctant, he shakes off the awe, pursing his lips as he feels the flow of the magic. Seungcheol marvels at the feeling of it, how alive it feels to have your magics intertwine. It feels—

“Like dancing,” he murmurs, gazing down at your joined hands. Another daffodil has already begun to bloom.

“I see.” you murmur, gazing down at your hands, a soft smile on your features. Your fingers trace the ridges of his palm almost affectionately. Despite himself, Seungcheol revels in the touch; he is sure that even without your magic meeting and intertwining, his skin would tingle at the novelty of any kind of contact with Life. The flowers remain on his hands, but he feels the loss of warmth on his skin as you release him and step back. Your bare foot twists in the soil, and a sapling pops up from the ground.

“Remember the feeling, Your Grace. Not pushing nor pulling, but dancing.” You gesture to the little stem popping from the ground. “Now try.”

He kneels down, resting his pinky on the little shoot. He exhales slowly, narrowing his world to the point where his finger touches Life. It grows a few inches, shedding its first, small leaves and allowing new, larger ones to grow. His success doesn’t last long, however, and the plant promptly pops into small pieces of greenery scattered around the dark soil. He twists his up head to you, eyes wide, lips pouted in dismay. You are already clapping delightedly.

“Yes!” You clasp his hands again, excited. Despite himself, he revels in the touch; “That is much better than all the other attempts thus far! That is the answer, then. Life and Death dance together.” Magic buzzes under his skin, already reaching out to yours on instinct. You must feel it too, as the smell of flowers and citrus spikes in the air. At your feet, a small patch of bouvardia bursts into bright bloom.

Grinning, you just grasp his hands tighter.

Seungcheol yanks a few carrots out, wiping the soil away with a spare rag before laying them beside the other vegetables. They join the peppers and lettuce already filling the basket.

“You are different from what they say.” He looks up, meeting your eyes. You nestle a head of newly-harvested cabbage. “Gloomy, perhaps. But there is nothing cruel about you.”

“How magnanimous of you to say,” he responds dryly. You gesture to his part of the harvest.

“I imagine this all must be very new.”

“It has been many millennia since I have been with Life this long,” he acknowledges. They are only distant memories, blurred and softened by the passage of time.

“What is the Underworld like?”

“Have you not seen my domain, goddess?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Oh, but that was just your River and the Palace; it must be much more vast than that.”

“Nothing grows in my realm, except the lands of the blessed, which houses those shades to be reincarnated.”

Your nose wrinkles as you try to imagine it. “No sunlight makes for a dreary place indeed. Truly nothing grows?”

“Well…” An idea occurs to him, and he places his hand on the soil, concentrating. Sure enough, the earth pushes up a fist-sized emerald onto his waiting palm. He presents it to you. Your eyes sparkle as you accept the gift, turning it this way and that, observing how the uncut jewel gleams as it reflects the sun. You turn back to him, inquisitive.

“Do these grow on your trees? Or do you just will them from the ground?”

“Oh! No, I merely—” Seungcheol clears his throat. He feels heat burn his ears red. “We have these, as well. It is not just an expanse of grey despair.”

You look at him curiously, likely catching the way he squirms under your gaze. Eventually, you just level him with a grin.

“I’d forgotten that the Lord of the Dead is also the God of Wealth. I would like to see this…jeweled garden of yours next time.” The emerald reflects a small, bright spot of green light on your cheek, like a little divine dimple. Somehow, he thinks he would not mind if you visit again.

Meals have quickly grown to be his favorite time. You are softer here, the less forgiving mask of researcher and instructor having been traded in favor of the genial goddess.

Today, he finally mastered his first dish—not merely balancing the seasoning ingredients like you had asked him with the cucumbers, but a full-blown, steaming bowl of stew. He did not expect to be filled with so much satisfaction at the smile that bloomed on your face at the first bite.

“This is perfect, Your Grace.”

He just nods, suddenly bashful, picking up his own spoon. As he eats, you watch him, particularly bright-eyed. There is something almost like wonder in your gaze—and he doesn’t know what to do with it. No one has ever looked at the Lord of the Dead with wonder, of all things.

Seungcheol is not quite sure what your duties are, only that you have not left your domain since your trip to the Underworld. Even while he was your captive, he had only seen you here. It is only when you flit around, uncharacteristically restless, that he even realizes you have obligations outside your realm.

“I received a message from Seungkwan yesterday,” you confess, catching his questioning look. “The mortals’ fields are suffering from my absence. Harvest is my mother’s domain, while Spring is mine; at this rate there will be little bounty.”

“You have been neglecting your duties.” His tone is more disapproval than a question.

“It would be strange for a sick goddess to be out and about, would it not?” Pointedly, you raise an eyebrow. “If I attend to them now, the gossip mill will grind anew. Not that the Pantheon is not already suspicious.”

Seungcheol glares at his feet. He hates those voices more than anything else. They were the reason he chose to sequester himself in his realm in the first place—the domain of the dead had always been regarded with fearful reverence, and Seungcheol had never bothered to contest those narratives. Even if it did mean the occasional offering from mortals who seem to think that more death will come if they do not worship, or worse, that he can have killed specific people if they bribe him with enough sheep.

“Will you be alright alone?”

He scoffs, shooing you away with a hand. “I am no blushing bride.” You look at him askance; something in your eyes tells him you are not persuaded by his act. Still, you sling your rucksack over your shoulder.

Your disbelieving gaze shifts into something more teasing, though it seems slightly strained, as though you yourself are reluctant to leave your realm. Foolishly, he hopes that it is you being reluctant to leave him.

“Do not miss me too much, Your Grace.”

Idly, you weave gerberas and little chrysanthemums into a crown, inserting some daffodil blooms as you go. Once you are satisfied, you gesture at Seungcheol, and he hunches down, allowing you to nestle the crown on his head. It has become your routine between your return from your duties and the start of supper preparations, and always under the cherry tree that is your pride and joy—the first and largest thing you had grown with your combined powers.

“Your turn.” Against his will, Seungcheol feels heat creep up his ears and cheeks.

“It is poorly done, goddess—” You tut, cutting him off.

“I will be the judge of that.” Expectantly, you lower your head.

His own creation is much clumsier, the ranunculus drooping from where he left the weave loose in fear of the soft stems breaking. You had suggested he pair it with roses, so that the structure could be reinforced, but the romantic implication had flustered him too much.

He arranges it carefully, maneuvering the blooms to something a bit more dignified. When there is nothing more he can do to salvage it, he steps back, breath catching a little when you look up at him from where you are seated under the tree. Hastily, he looks away, praying that the flowers hide the red creeping up his ears.

Perhaps you don’t, as you waste no time, standing up and tugging his sleeve until you reach the edge of the pond. Looking down, you admire his work, turning your head this way and that, a delighted smile on your face.

Your reflection’s gaze shifts to him.

“The gerberas match your robes, Your Grace.”

“Seungcheol,” he corrects. “Please.”

“Seungcheol,” you echo, even as your eyes briefly widen at his request. At the pointed raise of his eyebrow, you repeat yourself, amusement coloring your voice. “The gerberas match your robes, Seungcheol.”

He smiles, inclining his head. “So they do.”

The petals tickle his scalp, but he does not mind.

You tell him of your flowers—what each one means, and how to care for them, pointing out how sprites gravitate toward certain flowers depending on their tastes and even moods. He tells you of the rivers—it is not just the Styx, no matter how people like to just call it the River—and the fields, how each shade is assigned their place after they are tried before him and his Council. He tells you stories of Jeonghan and Jisoo, including how they came to be his comrades and closest friends in the Underworld. You are a better listener than he had expected.

It is a gentle existence.

Seungcheol should have known that it would not last forever.

A visitor arrives while you are away.

The thunder startles nearly all the sprites in the grove. For the first time in months, the patch of asters he had been trickling his power into explodes with a leafy pop, scattering bits of stem and purple petals into the air. Seungcheol scowls, recognizing the figure before him. King of the Pantheon he may be, but at the end of the day, his little brother remains to be a coward. And rude, to boot, swaggering in while the mistress of the realm is absent.

“Baby brother,” he acknowledges.

“It is true then,” he muses. “You are contracted to remain in her realm. She must be truly ill if even I cannot feel her presence.”

Seungcheol does not bother to correct the assumption. He only says, “she is well enough to begin attending to part of her duties, but not to the extent of her full power.”

“Did she trick you into staying here?”

“She did not,” he replies shortly.

“How…quaint. And clever, since the girl cannot be punished if it happens that you are here by your will.”

“My domain has remained functional in my absence, and I have attended to the concerns that have been brought to me by my comrades.”

“Indeed,” the thunder god muses. He begins to walk; Seungcheol notes the flowers trampled under his brother’s heavy footsteps, already planning how he will coax them back to life. “But what you did not anticipate was the frailty of the kingdom itself.”

“What?”

“Oh yes,” his brother seems pleased to have caught him off-guard. “It will take a while to set in, but your prolonged absence will crumble your kingdom, especially one so elaborate as yours. Your expansion projects will not hold for long, brother. The magic grows thin.”

Seungcheol grits his teeth, eyes flashing with warning. “We three have sworn an oath not to meddle in the realm affairs of another. I suggest you honor your part before the River forces that choice upon you. I will be conferring with my men on whether your observations are indeed true.”

The god before him just shrugs. “Do what you must. But do not think you can renew your contract here just because you could not heal her enough to bed her. Or even, heavens forbid, fell in love.”

Before he can reply, the god has left.

“Do you miss the Underworld?”

It has been just over three months since he had left. The Underworld is not just his domain; it is his home, the one he had ruled over for most of his existence. He chooses his words carefully. “I am needed there, just as the balance between the realms of Life and Death is needed for this world.”

“If you could,” your voice is quiet, “would you leave it?” There is the faintest tremble as the words leave you. You do not look up from the lake, eyes fixed on the still rippling surface. Your reflections remain distorted, even as he sets a gentle hand on your cheek, coaxing you to face him. He has gotten better at the flower crowns; the pink cherry blossoms resting above your brow, woven together with baby’s breath, is one of his favorite sights yet.

“My place is there, dear Goddess, just as yours is here,” he reminds you softly.

Even as your face is held to face him, your eyes dart away. The silence lasts entirely too long.

He bites back the urge to tell you of his conversation with his brother, and the one he had with Jeonghan right after—it is true that the Underworld, in a few months, will be in a precarious position. He cannot stay longer than what he had agreed to; he was just lucky that he did not have to breach your terms. The sunset paints the white flowers orange and your face golden. Perhaps it is for the best that there is no sun in the Underworld—the warmth will only make him remember you.

Eventually, you sag, leaning into his touch with a sigh.

“Very well.”

Not agreement, but acquiescence. He wonders which would have hurt more.

With every day that passes, your contract’s end creeps ever closer. You say as much, laying beside him under the cherry tree, watching the blossoms sway gently in the wind. The moon peeks from behind the flowers, pale and lovely.

“I would not mind if you visited every once in a while,” you admit. “It would be an honor to have some of the Lord of the Dead’s time, in between his busy functions as King.”

“Consider it done,” he finally says. After a beat, his lips quirk upward into a faint smile. “And if you send my way any poor suitor that dared touch you, they will suffer Punishment tenfold,” he promises. You laugh, the sound soft against the night.

“I can handle my honor myself. Life can be much crueler than Death, Seungcheol. I have no qualms making fertilizer of lesser men.” Your grin turns into something wicked. “It is the only use I would have of their seed, after all.”

It takes a moment for the joke to land, but when it does, Seungcheol chokes on a startled laugh. You know you are toeing the line of what is acceptable banter with one of the Three Kings, but here, he is just your Seungcheol. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. While no sunlight in the Underworld is a shame, you think that it is equally a loss that no moon shines its glow over his domain; where the sun turns him golden and godly, night renders him achingly beautiful.

In the moonlight, he is almost just a man.

“Well then,” he says, “if they are coming to my domain either way, you may find solace in the fact that there will be no love lost once they face judgement.”

You laugh again, though it sounds already wistful.

“When Your Grace leaves, I shall keep that in mind.”

You try steal a glance, only to find that he is already looking at you.

“We could marry,” he offers suddenly, breaking the silence. “You need not worry about suitors any longer.”

You blink at him for a moment, wondering how to respond to that. Even he does not seem to have expected the words that left his mouth. He does not seem drunk, either. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, the air charged with something that is beyond any magic.

Eventually, you exhale with an almost obnoxiously loud laugh. “You would make a fine God of Spring, Your Grace.”

Seungcheol just blinks, amused and lost in equal measures. “God of Spring? Not Queen of the Underworld?”

“I am no queen,” you brush the notion away, perhaps a little too quickly. “Me? On a throne? I would be more annoyance than ruler.” Seungcheol’s brow furrows. Instead of replying, responding to your bait, he regards you thoughtfully. You try not to fidget under the weight of his gaze.

Surely this is alright; a non-serious offer must merit a non-serious response. Surely even he must know that the offer is absurd, even as your heart had jumped traitorously at his words.

“For what it is worth,” he murmurs, entirely too sincere for a god whose domain is Death, “you would be a wonderful Queen.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you look away abruptly, fighting back a sniffle. He is being entirely unfair. Blue camellias have already begun to bloom around you, encircling the entire tree. Hope is the realm of mortals, not of the gods. Or perhaps hope is the realm of love, and you had just been too foolish to dig yourself too deep into the soil. Now there are roots.

“You must marry for love, Your Grace, not for misplaced selflessness. Besides, we each have our own roles, do we not?”

Seungcheol gazes at the flowers, and then at you, a knowing look in his eyes even as your words betray the part of your heart that your realm had laid bare.

“Very well, dear Goddess,” he eventually murmurs. Your heart clenches painfully at his voice, so quietly defeated.

Not agreement, but acquiescence. You wonder which would have hurt more.

He leaves past the bloom of the cherry tree, just in time for the first batch of its fruits. The sprites flutter around him, distressed even as he attempts to make his goodbye. As you approach, they finally release him from their tittering.

“My realm will always be open to you, Your Grace.” He accepts your proffered basket of cherries with a quiet thank you, even as his body and magic screams in protest at the notion of leaving. Seungcheol feels torn in two—a part of him ready to return to the familiarity of his domain, and the other insisting that there is too much of home here for him to turn his back to it.

There is a spot of dirt right by your cheek that he cannot seem to tear his gaze from. He thumbs it away, catching the hitch in your breath as his fingers ghost past your lips.

It really cannot be helped.

Seungcheol leans in, close, so close, feeling the magic thrum down to his bones. Still, he pauses, eyes flicking up from where they had been focused on your lips to ask this silent question. Instead of answering, you close the distance for him. He had meant for it to be sweet; a goodbye kiss, just one sip at the forbidden fruit before he was to part ways. He had hoped that he could have the kind of love that worked better at a distance.

He was a fool for thinking that could ever happen with you.

You arch against him with a gasping moan, nipping at his lip with a vicious tenderness that prompts an answering groan. His hands grasp your hips, greedy, demanding, crushing you even harder against him. He had forgotten the wild goddess, the one who had first captured him by way of magic before even setting sights on his heart.

“Say my name,” he gasps.

“Seungcheol—Cheol—” He swallows your whimper into his mouth.

Later, he will wonder how much of it was him, and how much was the magic that had burst to life when he kissed you. Later still, he will be reminded that there is no relevant distinction between the two in that moment. The smell of grapefruit lingers, faint, but notes of bergamot and blackcurrant, undercut by wood and patchouli, dominate the air.

“Follow me if you dare, goddess,” he whispers it against your lips, breath ragged.

“That is—” You break away with a gasp, your next words muffled by the second kiss he steals from your lips, “mm—entirely unfair. How am I to let you go now? There will be no other God of Spring but you.”

“It is the same for me,” he confesses. You close your eyes, burrowing yourself against his chest. Your hands grip at his robes. For a long moment, you do not speak.

“How cruel of you to kiss me right as you are about to leave me behind.” He feels your shuddering inhale against his chest, the subtle hitch in your breath that could only come from a sob. It takes a few seconds before you release him, taking a step back.

This has made him weak; it is what he would have said, months ago, before he understood what the humans in front of him must have felt when they begged on their knees in the name of love. Already blooming at your feet are patches of forget-me-nots and heliotropes, cruel reminders of what he is leaving behind.

“My tending to your malaise has ended, goddess. I have fulfilled my terms under the contract.”

You straighten, schooling your features into a stoic expression, even as tears linger at your eyelashes, and your lips are still swollen. Your voice is steady, almost steel-backed, as you end your River-sworn oath.

“I release you, Lord Seungcheol, from your contract, and attest that all terms have been fulfilled. I and my realm thank you for your help, Your Grace.”

As his body phases into shadow, right past the edge of your realm, you call his name, then five words that make his heart leap in hope despite himself. ��And I accept your challenge.”

Jeonghan, uncharacteristically, refrains from teasing him about you, even when he had returned that day with red-rimmed eyes and a still slightly swollen lip.

Since your first encounter, there was a niggling thought at the back of his mind; that you are oriented toward some pursuit. You understood Life magic, applied yourself to it, sought more, and did not let even his position in the Underworld deter you from testing your hypotheses. In contrast, his knowledge of Death’s magic indeed rivals yours, but he has not once tried to expand it past what he already knew from millennia ruling his domain.

But if there is anyone who can solve that riddle, it would be you.

He tells himself this even as he immerses himself back into the monotony of being King, judging souls and plotting expansion projects as the need for more space grows. Hope is the realm of mortals, or, indeed, for places the sun touches. Yet he cannot help but hold onto it, amid his familiar darkness, calling on the warmth to keep the old voices at bay.

Moons later.

Seungcheol wakes by way of being hoisted up from his bed and slammed into the ground. He blinks his eyes open, groaning. If Seungkwan had enough strength to harm him, he would likely be in real trouble. As it is, the messenger god looms before him, looking more terrifying than he has ever been in all the time he has known him. Behind him are Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Chan, who all watch with varying degrees of horror and concern.

“Where is she?”

“Seungkwan, she is not—” Jisoo is there, pulling back at his robes, but Seungkwan holds fast, ignoring the God of Death. The caduceus floats dangerously near; he is not interested in finding out what he could do with it.

Amid all this mess, he still does not know what anyone is talking about. “What in the Fields is all this?”

Seungkwan’s lips pull back in a snarl. “Stop playing dumb, Your Grace,” he spits out the last word.

“It is not Seungcheol’s fault,” Jeonghan interrupts firmly. His face is uncharacteristically grim. “He did not know of this.”

Dread begins to gnaw at him; there are precious few reasons why Seungkwan would be here, and even fewer things that would make him so angry. But it must be impossible—he parted ways with a challenge, but surely—

“She is dead?” He wrenches Seungkwan off him, breath coming out in harsh pants. “Impossible. I would have felt it.”

“Well she most definitely is not in her realm. No one has been able to reach her. There is only one other place she could be.”

Behind Seungkwan, Chan is shaking like a leaf. Seungcheol’s eyes move to him, and he shrinks under his gaze. He turns his head to look at Jeonghan and Jisoo. Jeonghan looks unsure, but defiant, while Jisoo averts his gaze, guilty.

“Where is she?” Fury and sorrow war over his heart.

“The throne room.” It is Jisoo who speaks. “She insisted that her first audience be with you.” Seungkwan turns his fury on him, already shouting something, but it is all mush in his ears. Seungcheol leaves them all, stumbling out of his bedchambers and breaking into a sprint.

“Took you long enough.”

It’s a voice he never thought he’d hear, never so soon. Shock lances through him like a bold of lightning.

You are seated on his throne. Draped across it, more like, knees slung on one armrest and your back leaning against the other. The bowl of cherries he had been keeping beside his throne rests on your stomach. In place of your normal garments, you’re wearing a deep red robe, which shimmers like fine satin under the torchlight.

His magic sings in a way he never thought possible again. It is as though his dreams had decided to form his own version of temptation as punishment.

“What,” he croaks. “—are you doing?”

“Sitting, of course.”

“You are not supposed to be here.”

“No? You issued a challenge. I merely responded. You should know better than to underestimate me.” You tsk. “Jeonghan helped. Unlike your synergy with my domain, I needed to be reaped first. Death before spring, as it were. Then Chan and Joshua stepped in for the rebirth.”

You hold your hand up high, letting the sleeve of your robe drop, revealing your arm. Seungcheol inhales sharply. Spidery cracks run across your skin, pulsing gold with godly blood, but lined with mud. Looking more closely, he notices more about your appearance. The color of your irises is more faded than usual, almost translucent. A lock of hair from behind your ear is now brilliant white.

“You survived the River?” Seungcheol should have known that you would surprise him.

“Well, dear Chan planted Joshua’s flowers on his riverbank. Did you know?” Yes, he did; he visited them every day, tended to them as much as he could with the new wielding of his magic that he learned from you. “There was enough of myself for the River to recognize me. Enough in the soil to help me push the fragments of my spirit together.”

Picking a cherry from the bowl, you hold it to the torchlight for inspection. A beat passes. You promptly pop the cherry into your mouth.

Seungcheol lunges forward. “Stop—!”

Your eyes narrow at the bowl of fruit as you chew thoughtfully. “Are these the cherries you stole from my orchard? I could have sworn they were a much better batch than this.” You pop the seed out onto your fingers. Red stains your lips as you lick the juices that spill from your mouth, thumb catching the drop that spills to your chin before your tongue flicks out to get that as well.

He almost falls to his knees then and there.

Seungcheol watches, in panicked and confused desire, as you swing your legs from the armrest and stand, holding the bowl of cherries. There is a bulge on your cheek where the meat of the fruit remains.

“It is such a shame,” you begin, his robe swishing down the steps as you descend, “that the Goddess of Spring’s illness, even with the Lord of the Dead’s tending, never did abate.”

The fabric moves like water over your body, flowing and dipping into curves he has been aching to touch for months. Stopping in front of him, you tug Seungcheol in by his robes, slotting your lips against his. He gasps, and you push the meat of the cherry into his open mouth, urging him to accept it. As the fruit lands on his tongue, you pull away, smirking when he chases your lips unconsciously. You run your tongue along the seam of your mouth, savoring his taste as you speak again.

“In his wisdom and compassion, he proclaims that the only way to preserve as much of her life as possible would be to stay with her for six months, as death is where Spring begins.” You pop another cherry in your mouth, maneuvering the fruit until another seed pops from your lips.

Seungcheol begins to see where this is going, his smile growing until his cheeks ache with the force of it. Oh, you glorious, glorious goddess.

“So the goddess blesses her fruit, mimicking the latent magic of his realm—” His mouth is already open as you lean your weight into him, accepting the fruit with a teasing nip at your bottom lip. Seungcheol revels in the way you whimper against him, in the knowledge that in matters of desire, you are evenly matched. He grasps your hips, pulling you toward him while walking you backwards. Your mouths part with a soft smack.

Hoarsely, you continue, “—And he eats six cherries to bind himself to her and her realm for half a year, as the God of Spring.”

You startle as your knees hit the edge of his throne, but he makes sure to ease you down gently. The remaining four kisses are a blur of lips, teeth, and tongue, and he swallows each pitted cherry right alongside your gasps and moans.

As the sixth passes his throat, he picks up the bowl before looking at you with a wicked smirk.

“But the Lord of the Dead, who also was her lover, could not bear to be away from her. So,” he waves a hand at the fruit, releasing your spell and allowing the latent magic of his realm to bind it to him, “he asks her, in turn, to rule with him in the Underworld for the remaining six months, as Death cannot exist without Life.”

Out of all reactions you could give, Seungcheol does not expect you to be quiet. There is something terribly vulnerable about your gaze, made all the more devastating by the slightly translucent quality of your irises. “Really?” you ask, voice small. As though you had not expected him to do this.

Seungcheol melts. “I am wholly yours, darling,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. He grasps your waist with both his hands, thumb tracing reverent circles on your stomach. “If you want to, stay with me too. Be my Queen. Or just be with me, as my love.”

You kiss him deeply, twisting your fingers in his hair, the cherries in his hands forgotten. “My King,” you murmur against his lips. “My God of Spring. My Seungcheol. You are all the same to me, I love you as you are.” He surges against you, crowding you against his royal seat, too busy reveling in the fact that you are here, in all your cunning and wild beauty.

It takes much longer than before, each cherry-bearing kiss dragging out much more than strictly necessary, but eventually twelve pits are scattered around you, even as your hands remain in his hair and his fingers dig bruises into your ribs.

When you finally pull away, the cracks on your skin are fully gone. Your eyes have returned to normal. The only thing that remains different is the lock of hair by your ear, so white it almost glows in the low light of the throne room. He runs his fingers through it gently, and you lean into his touch with a blissful sigh.

Seungcheol cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. “How I have missed you, my darling.”

“None of that,” you murmur, “Did I take too long?”

Later, you will face Seungkwan, hands clasped, and he will see the white streak in your hair and demand answers—later, you will talk of whether the story you had spun will be what is known, or if you will both come out with the whole truth—later, you will debate on what ritual he must fulfill for your realm to accept him—and later still, he and you will have to face the Pantheon, loath as you both are with their rules—

But that is later. Nothing could come before this—the magic the hums against his lips as he drags them across your skin, realizing he has time, so much of it, to learn, even as he has already loved you before he could keep you. And you have him, claimed him first, found a way for all the fragmented parts of him to fit, even if it meant reshaping your soul in the process.

There is only one response to that: Devotion. Completely. Utterly. You have always been entirely too lovely for him to know what to do with. But he has forever to try his damnedest.

Seungcheol leans his forehead against yours, finally content. “It does not matter. We are here now.”

“The way to see how beautiful life is, is from the vantage point of death.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

notes. quote is extremely out of context so if u read dispossessed dont come at me. with enough persuasion you may or may not have a) an nsfw epilogue throne sex, and/or b) a shorter but slightly more morally questionable version

#svthub #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #scoups angst #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol angst #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagines #keopihausnet #.dive site #ok logging off nao i have an event tom HAHAHA

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rimqueen · 2 days ago

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LONG POST AB PLAGIARISM!!! PLS DONT SKIP 😭 this is also 1/2 !!!

hi.. this has been plaguing me for a while if I am honest .. I am too nervous to speak up about plagiarism lately mostly bc I feel as if I am being oversensitive or a narc bc I used to overreact a lot on my old blog lol and I also used to get a lot of racism/hate there and it kind of made me hesitant to call it out. plagiarism is one of the reasons I have been so writers blocked and disheartened when it comes to writing lately

usually I dm the person if the fic is not too similar but clearly inspired and ask them to give me credit which i have done a lot lately literally about 3 times in the past few days! those people all complied and added credit and one even took the fic down which I didn’t ask her to do but she did it bc she was apologetic!

I approached @acynicalsweetheart with this too! DMs are below if u can bother reading them bc there’s a lot.

she is very sweet and apologised immediately explained herself and took my point of view into mind which I appreciate a lot!! i was ok with being credited as a framework at first bc I didn’t want to be too pushy or whatever but I had only skimmed a few of her fics as I have had anons before ab it being copying but never answered bc I don’t like to name and shame without reason and also was too nervous for it which sounds stupid but sometimes I’d rather just let something pass instead of getting rape threats and racism!

I was genuinely at first under the impression that it was only a few fics however I asked some of my friends n mutuals if I was overreacting but they said that this is def valid and most of all it’s upsetting to see mutuals, people who read my fics praise work that is legit my fics patched together.. like I know when someone hasn’t written a fic it’s hard for them to see the plagiarism but it hurts my feelings that a style I’ve been working on for so long could be emulated so easy.. I was ok with the credit but like then I read more and more and it became clear to me that the plagiarism is so.. like there’s so much you could mistake the fics as mine and I completely understand inspo but this is just straight up plagiarism and I wished I had called it out beforehand I feel like I have been kind by simply asking for credit or if she would make a post admitting to it bc I know that these huge callout posts only lead to hate and like blocks and it isn’t always fair but like this is just likes on fics that r reworkings of mine and my fics patched together

ok.. so there’s like sooo many screenshots like there’s so many past what I have added in this post! the most noticeable is of my fic Somebunny loves you and acynicalsweetheart’s fic bunny love! I do not mind inspo!!!

my fic starts with leon talking about hunnigan, he steps out of work and it’s raining. fraise’s fic starts like that too. the left is mine right is fraise… OFC it doesn’t seem too overly the same but like the mention of the vintage leather jacket being ruined by weather? 😭 what r the odds and it’s like a lot of this I wouldn’t note as overtly copying if the rest of their fics weren’t also taking on a similar pattern to mine

then it keeps going on and my fic is ab Leon feeling guilty ab fucking his bunny hybrid.. that’s what fraise’s is ab again.. nothing too insane like hybrids and guilt r common in fics LOL but like again.. copied from lovey dovey is just this section rewritten

and then there’s a part in my fic rotten luck where as Leon fucks reader he remembers the Latin prayer his mom taught him. And he remembers it slowly as he fucks reader and again it would be nothing of note but with the rest of the copied content ?? and btw tjis is just small snippets like if u read both fics side by side it’s insane how similar they are but fraise’s fic is just lovey dovey and Somebunny mixed together

^^ the first is fraise’s and the other 3 screenshots r from my fic

there’s also little things like Claire using terrasave to save hybrids that I made up in my fic that fraise also uses whixh again!! would genuinely be nothing of note but it’s as if my characterisation of Leon, how I see him interact with other characters has just been taken, Like I know it’s dumb but I loveee to build my own views on how Leon interacts w Claire ashley and hunnigan and whoever and to see it be taken .. almost word for word is like? I just don’t get how someone could even take headcanons and the way a fanfic author. Characterises rather than building their own views on the source material and it’s not like I mind any of this but it’s the plagiarism that gets me 😭 I don’t want this to be taken as me upset somebody is inspired by this work or whatnot im upset that it’s plagiarism ! this is a smaller one but it’s still? so similar .. the first is fraise and the second mine

and I also wanted to give the benefit of the doubt and be like theyre not doing this on purpose and they were genuinely inspired but a lot of this is just purposely taken from my fics and reworded to sound different and it would be ok if it was a couple lines but the whole fic?? and a lot of it is done cleverly enough that it looks like im reaching to find things to nitpick on but I do this a lot in fics.. I cycle through what Leon thinks characters are going to think of him for doing something awful I have done this in two parts of rotten luck.. I have done it in Somebunny loves you and lovey dovey and even just certain descriptions are taken from like parts of strictly business (chris sounding and looking constipated LOL) and carefully pieced together to create some Frankenstein of my fic instead of just writing ??? like surely that would be easier

the other fic which is very similar to my fic softer softest is fraise’s fic love is a losing game! mine is about curly coming home after a long trip and fraise’s is ab curly about to leave this the opening passages of both.. and again if u read the fics side by side u will so many more similarities rhese two fics r also fraise’s original ones where as the ones that are requests tend to differ from my writing? so it’s like your two original fics are just copies of mine but a little different 😭 The first two screenshots r mine the third is fraise’s fic

on my tumblr I actually made an upset post ab this and then legit 5 mins later I was credited so it’s not like they don’t understand what they have done and I do appreciate the credit ?? but 😭

and these..the first two r from my fics aita and a drabble I wrote for jimmy… I also write that line a lot and the third image which is fraise’s is just a combo of both those lines like 😭

there’s a next part.. so yah linked hereeee only bc there’s screenshots I couldn’t fit..

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #mouthwashing x y/n #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing smut #mouthwashing headcanon

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shiikiyun · 2 days ago

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Hi everypony. Futa is no older than 21. Here's why

1. Twitter interface

In Jihen Joutou we are able to see a 1:1 replica of twitter, and the UI cues show that this cannot be before 2017 when the profile pics went from square to circular, aside from other details like the reply button, or the existence of quotes (added 2015) but not the button bellow the tweets (added 2020)

2. Phone model

But to narrow it down even more: Futa's phone ressembles an IPhone 11 the most, released late 2019. The previous models to this one have different camera placements, meaning it is most likely this model, and making his crime impossible to happen prior September 2019.

Additionally: His twitter account was created in March 2016. This could mean nothing, as animation could've already been on production. But, fyi, this account is currently deactivated. It was still there 3 weeks ago, right before t3 started, and the username is unavailable for new accounts, meaning it hasn't been a month since it's gone. Seems deliberate, so, I'd keep it's creation date in mind.

What is his birth year then? I've got a few options.

If MILGRAM takes them in with the age they had when the crime happened (explaining why Haruka would believe he's a teenager): Crime happens in 2019 or right before April 2020, making his birth year 1999. He'd be 21 in real life right before MILGRAM starts, at the oldest.

If MILGRAM takes them at the age they are by April 2020, start of the project: Birth year is 2000. He is truly 20, but was 19 at the time of the crime.

Making him any older than this would force him to be older than 20 when the crime happens in 2019, and make not only his claim but MILGRAM's profile be nonsensical (why would he say he's 20 and why would MILGRAM not, at least, put it in doubt if he was already older by the time of the crime?)

Let's also remember one thing from the first novel: Dead people and people in a coma can still appear in MILGRAM as completely fine and real, and MILGRAM can tamper with memories. We shouldn't jump the gun to make this make real sense, because it doesn't. It isn't a real facility.

What does this mean for Haruka and the rest then? I think there's a group of prisoners that are of a slightly older time period and another group that are closer to the start of the project (Namely Mikoto, for example, as the train he takes and his phone model are also pretty contemporary. Additionally— he has 4G, introduced in the 2010s, so it could not be earlier than that, and I've read e-cigarettes became more popular in Japan around late 2010s. My guess is also 2019/2018, but I'm not as confident in Mikoto as I am Futa simply because I'd have to dig more to find specific models and stuff. Futa was just too easy lol. Mahiru also cannot be earlier than 2016 because of the Your Name reference). This would not mean they lied about their ages in MILGRAM, not even that they are older in real life. They could've died at the age they are in MILGRAM, or, as I said, are taken as the age they were when the crime happened and truly are and believe the age they claim. Personally, I think Haruka's age being alluded to not be exact comes from the severe neglect starting at 15— His perception of aging blurs after that, he could be 15, he could be 19, but somewhat still a teen. Let's remember he was investigated by the police after killing pets, after the murder of the child, it's almost sure he was caught. I don't think he made it to 23 (probably suicide), but that's my personal speculation.

In conclusion: Don't let the sudden reveal that Haruka was born in 1997 make you catastrophize the rest of the cast or Haruka's age itself. There is a lot of proof that the events in MILGRAM aren't parallel to real life time passage, and even if the prisoners have a different birth year than what you could easily calculate by subtracting (age) to 2020— It doesn't immediately mean their ages in MILGRAM aren't true. Let this be an opportunity to revisit MVs for context clues that could easily reveal the time period the crimes took place in, like I did with this guy! Thanks

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #haruka sakurai #mikoto kayano #milgram theory #analysis #fuuta milgram #haruka milgram #mikoto milgram #i did all this earlier today but didnt have the energy to open tumblr LOL

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forthelostones · 1 day ago

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𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #9

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. listen,,, i am actively doing a masters i apologize!!! i've recently stopped using grammarly for a more real writing experience. so if things are wonky, just know thats why! no more ai help. this isnt my BEST but.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. cry to me by loleatta holloway♫

I was completely dazed, hoping that I won’t crash into a brick wall anytime soon. The images from last night were on a constant reply behind my eyes. I’m sure she has no idea or at least I hope that she doesn’t but when I got up to go to the bathroom, I saw her. She was standing in my shower letting brushing her hands against her body, tracing the lines of her hips with what I presume was my soap. The door was slightly ajar although the steam hid her, which I was thankful for, a perverse part of my brain wish it wasn’t. But her outline was more than enough. The feeling wasn’t anger towards her but frustration all again within me being a creep and internal moral conflict.

As I tossed in bed, I listened to her feed pad around the hardwood and finally settle in the living room. After rolling back and forth multiple times I found a comfortable position and let my mind drift away void of any lingering thoughts. Images of her continuously flashed in my mind, it was inappropriate, unprofessional, a conflict of interest. My shoulders dropped instantly as we pulled into her driveway, she left me alone and I pressed my head against the seat.

Once I ended my call with Henrietta and confirmed today’s appointment, she reappeared dressed in black jeans, baby blue cotton button up rolled to the elbow, hair out of her face and ears decorated with gold jewelry and minimal makeup. A soft tote bag thrown over her shoulder slipped off ever so slightly as she opened the door — I itched to get out and do it for her, it didn’t feel right to see her open it on her own. Up close she looked honey-drenched from a soft golden shimmer highlighted on the peaks of her face. I swallowed roughly.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, hoping the breaking the silence will help me feel normal.

“Not at all,” She says plainly.

“Were you nervous your first time Ms. Anderson?” She stares out the window.

I chuckle. “Depends.”

“My mindset is there is nothing I can’t do. I can have it all, you know.”

“I remember my first project after Grandad died, I took over his small crew of chauvinistic dicks. They all acted like I gave him the cancer, that was the hardest part, getting the job done even though I was surrounded by people who couldn’t care less if I died too. A lot of time I was at sites overnight, fixing mistakes they made on purpose, juggling multiple contracts, grieving,” I grip the wheel tighter remembering the level of mental turmoil I was put through. Funeral arrangements, emotionally manipulative girlfriend, underpaid… “I don’t think I had time to be nervous, I had to be strong immediately. Let them call me horrible names and make those jokes to prove a point,”

A small Henrietta came into view waving a small, saggy arm quickly. She was so cute.

“That’s Mrs. Harris, she’s quite the character.” I add.

Without time to complete our conversation we both step out with haste.

“Welcome ladies, now I don’t remember this fine young lady before.”

“Hi Ms. Harris, I’m Ms. Anderson’s new assistant, nice meeting you.” She smiles brightly and genuinely.

“Perfect, you can meet my daughter Nora then, she’s making iced tea.”

My face contorts with confusion as we take our shoes off at the door to walk into the kitchen. Lemon lady, Nora, looks up and our faces share similar confusion. I scratch at a sliver of my exposed arm.

“Abigail,” She manages to grunt.

“Oh—What? You two know each other?” Her mother questions.

“‘Ma were actually neighbors,”

Mrs. Harris gasps theatrically and slams her hand over her chest and praises silently to herself.

“We are.” I confirm.

Nora’s tanned skin was deep and rusty, causing her light brown eyes to pop even more. I saw her beauty in its fullness as she pranced from around the island in a hot pink wrap dress.

“So, what the hell!” Henrietta laughs, wrapping a causal arm around my new assistant.

“In passing we speak but not fully, I definitely don’t know you, hi.”

I had never payed attention to how raspy her voice was - sultry. Her long lashes fluttered as two parts of my new world began to collide instantly and explode right in my face. Nora’s full 'fro was painted with a stroke of grey around the edges of her hairline feathering outwards. Her femininity was palpable, she floated on her lavender painted toes around the kitchen, finally making it to me. I had to look downwards slightly to meet her gaze.

“Hi,” She twinkles softly.

“Well, hello there. I started to find it suspicious that I didn’t receive a crate of lemons recently.”

She laughs behind a soft manicured hand that then brushes slightly against my bicep. “I’m starting limes now.”

For some reason I blushed.

We sat in the tastily aquatic themed living room where I sat with all three ladies to have further discussion, even now I didn’t want to, I wanted to hear Nora’s voice again. A small tingle danced on my body from all the pleasantries Nora and I had ran into from simply speaking. No awkward waves or glances and I felt … a bit nervous. Her femininity was fragrant and I pictured those short nails piercing into my skin as I flatten her curls into a pillowcase.

Iced tea sat center on to coffee table that I sipped while avoiding any glances in Nora’s direction, undressing her with my eyes in front of her mother would be absolutely inappropriate — which made it harder. As I slipped on my specs to read some notes I made after meeting with Henrietta I felt two flaming gazes traveling in my direction. One of them mutual and one of them not, a fantasy living in my dreamscape.

“‘Ma I won’t be moving back in anytime soon, but if you worked on the guest bedroom, maybe I could stay over more often?” Nora groaned.

Henrietta melted into her seat sadly at the final conclusion.

“Fine. Abby, would that be something you have time to do?” She asked.

“Let me check our calendar and call you.”

“Or call Nora!”

I giggled a bit and looked to my newest edition force a soft grin at the non-business related topic at hand. The sheer enthusiasm from her mother told me everything that I needed to know, Nora had been single for far too long, living a bit sedentary like me. Luckily for me, I didn’t have any parents anymore to nag me about it.

Nora slipped on tan criss-cross sandals to walk us outside to the door, where we headed for the truck, but not just before she gripped my bicep. I turn with hot curiosity to the woman who now stands slightly above me the peak of the morning glistening on her face.

“Sorry, she can be a bit dramatic.” She apologies.

“It’s perfectly fine, it’s good you still have her,” I add.

“Listen Abby, this blind date was unusual but I feel like we can take a drink and learn more about each other. Or I could cook you breakfast this weekend, whatever you want.” She smiled.

I nodded casually but was internally on the brink of combustion, her initiative surprised me and I was upset I couldn’t approach her first, but I was pleased.

“Absolutely, your mom took the liberty of texting me your contact so no worries I’ll be in touch.” I mimic her soft smile.

“Perfect. Hope to hear from you soon.”

“Whatever we decide to do I’d love to see you in some lavender.” I wriggle my fingers.

She nods her head and my knees could’ve buckled then and there but instead I step back and turn to face the truck.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

I jog slightly to the truck and unlock the door for my poor assistant who had to see the most unprofessional display of interaction with a client on her first day. I cut the AC on quickly and lean back in the driver’s seat to look over at her. But I couldn’t read her, was she upset or confused? I couldn’t tell.

“How about we get you home, I’m headed—“

“Could you take me to Ellie’s? She’s just off the second exit on the highway.” She request then buckles her seatbelt.

“Of course.”

—

Last night I promised myself to sort through the regular onboarding paperwork so I could pay my new addition for her time as soon as possible. I sat in an empty house under the hum of central air under me as I sort out the forms, some that I needed her to sign. Realistically, I could send the PDF to her email or invite her over so I can see her again. I look over to my empty wine glass and the sticky red residue settled at the bottom of the cup. My stomach tightened for the third time, but I can’t ignore it, I needed to get dinner in order.

8:53 p.m.: Need you to fill out some forms for me.

Instead of sitting and watching grey bubbles appear and disappear, I started on sorting my grocery order I placed when I came back. After my third glass of wine I decided to make a lemon garlic pasta after reading one recipe and certain that it was simple enough for me to do tonight.

I found a beer in hand and my phone in another with a caldron of a pot boiling over to the stove top. Chopped lemons lifted the scent in the house from rich to light and sweet as it grew dry on the counter. A bell-sound came from my phone and I jumped at the opportunity to read it but was highly unaware of my own mess.

“Fuck,” I holler, my screen now covered in lemon juice.

I drop my phone down on the counter amongst the ingredients and pick my angel hair pasta up, the package slips out of my hand and the threads of hard yellow sticks hit the floor. I watch them spread and roll to wherever they pleased.

My door bell hummed at the front of the house and I slightly jogged to catch it, I wasn’t expecting her to pop up now, especially in a moment like this, shit.

“Hey, I wasn’t—“

“Oh.” Nora smiled timidly.

“Nora, wow, hi.”

“Seems like you were expecting someone. I can dip out…” She offers.

“Um,” I wipe my fingers against the dish towel thrown over my shoulder. “Not at all come in.”

I slip to the side and welcome her in. Her choice of loungewear was black linen pants and an oversized Howard University sweatshirt. She left her UGG slippers near the front door and crossed her arms as she admired the room.

“Cooking or attempting to, um, in the kitchen if you wanna join me. Want a drink?”

The water in the pot dulled, most of it gone into the atmosphere or on the stove itself.

“Oh gosh, Abigail,” Nora rushed to gather the stray pasta. “I’ve never seen anyone struggle like this to cook noodles.”

If anyone else would’ve said that, I would have been highly offended but her non judgmental tone soothed me. She held them out like a bouquet before handing them to me to toss in the trash. Without thought she turned the heat off and refilled the pot carefully in the sink and carried it back.

“I have pasta in my pantry, it’s capellini if that’s okay?”

“Perfect.” I smile, clueless of what that is.

As soon as she closed the door I jolted off to the bathroom to freshen up. Stepping in front of the mirror was a live horror show. My braid was veering off to the side with flying hairs sticking up around my crown. Quickly, I untangled my hair, brushed it out and threw on more deodorant.

Nora was natural in the kitchen with her tea towel tucked in her waistband and using knives that have about as much action as me in the last five years. She brought over a much more adult bottle of a 2012-something and taught me how to identify the notes. I stood over her shoulder, watching her wrist make a swift motion out of a steel pan she brought from her home. The fragrant lemon sauce was coming together well with diced shallots and what I believe was fresh thyme, from her home garden.

She taught me how to properly swirl and plate the right portion and then store it for the days to come. We gathered at my dining table, slightly tipsy, but overjoyed at the fresh grated parmigiana’s compliment to the wine. Her lips were coated in the smooth sauce and her tongue grazed against them to clear off the residue. “I don’t remember my last home cooked meal.” I admit, chewing behind my hand.

“That’s a shame,” she sighed.

“Well, nope I just lied. My assistant’s parents invited me over for dinner, so I guess that counts. I think I was referring to more so inside of my own home.”

“Do most of your clients prepare food for you?” She chuckled uncomfortable.

“Uh, not meals but drinks, snacks, of course. They’re getting a bathroom demo and it’s a little bit exciting and I’ll be spending a bunch of time there — to be fair, I wasn’t the priority receiver of their kindness, they threw a party and invited me.”

"Great because mom can't cook." She smirked.

She twirled the last bits of the noodles around her fork and sat back to glance over to me, her hand slightly grazing her belly. My alcohol intake was far too high in the last couple of days and it was making me more and more malleable. I chewed on the corner of my lip as Nora’s eyes poured into mine seductively.

“I am overjoyed Nora, thank you.” I mumbled, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

“Me too, I’m glad I stopped by.”

I scooted my chair out to collect our dishes as her hand reached out to stop me.

“Abigail, why don’t you get that after you walk me to my door?”

All the blood rushed out of me as her dark voice beckoned me to obey.

“Well, yes ma’am.”

Nora shuffled in front of me and led me to her property, covered in healthy plants and garden decor. I guess I never really looked at the items in her yard but she had a landscaping talent.

“This is me.” She smiled before turning towards me and crossing her arms as she does.

“I’m happy to have shared a nice meal with you. Thanks for saving my dinner.”

Nora casually tucked a stray hair floating on the side of my temple and pulled it back behind my ear. “Abigail, I just followed the recipe.”

I leaned down to place a long, intentional kiss onto her right cheek, her hands came to my shoulders briefly and back to her sides as I stepped away.

“I’ll wait to see you fully in.” I gestured to her door.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

You were waiting outside for over thirty minutes, banging your fist against Ms. Anderson’s door. One of her truck’s was in the driveway and nothing seemed out of order outside, so you were confused as to why she wasn’t coming to the door.

All your calls went straight to voicemail meaning it was dead or she turned it off entirely. You do a combination of doorbell ringing and phone calling until the door flies open. Abby stood in an unusually silky black robe with a metal baseball bat. Her usually perfectly primped hair was matted and sticking to her skin. She sighed in audible relief that it was just me.

“I heard banging,” She winced and covered her eyes with her palm.

“I’ve been calling and banging for almost an hour.” You move past her.

Wine glasses and dirty plates came in to view and a sinking feeling dropped in your belly. She had her neighbor over, she got to have dinner with Abby, touch her, kiss her, and by the looks of it fuck her too.

#lesbian #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x you #abby smut #abby the last of us #tlou abby #wlw ns/fw #abby anderson #wlw and nblw only

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seoulmatez · 1 day ago

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𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝓃

the farmhand has forced his way into your routine, so much so that you can't help but notice when he's missing from it.

• boothill x f!reader ﾉ 1.3k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ teasing ﾉ petnames (sweetheart) ﾉ a tiny bit of non-sexual nakedness :3

previous part ♡ masterlist ♡ next part

Boothill is usually making his way back to the house by now, but you don’t hear the click of the door opening to announce his arrival or the sound of him kicking off his boots at the entryway. His schedule has become familiar to you as you’ve established one of your own and you’ve taken note of how he always strolls in around lunchtime. You’ve taken note of other things, too, like his big appetite, how he eats whatever you cook without complaint, and the way he never fails to thank you for the meal.

His flattery when it comes to your cooking skills knows no bounds and consistently earns eye rolls on your end but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his gentlemanly qualities.

Lunch is just about ready and the farmhand is nowhere in sight. You turn to your grandpa who’s sitting at the table as you wipe your hands on the dish towel. “Did Boothill go out?”

His focus shifts from his half-finished crossword puzzle to you. “Not that i know of. He’s probably just finishing up.”

He’s right, the man could be in any minute for all you know. But something feels wrong about setting the table and starting to eat without him. As much as he grates on your nerves and makes you feel feelings you’d much rather bury, you’ve grown used to three people sitting around the table. The next words that push past your lips make you wonder if you’re truly the one to speak them.

“I’ll just let him know the food is ready.”

Your grandpa hums in acknowledgment, letting you slip past the sliding doors without protest.

The heat of the air hits you immediately and you close the door behind you quickly to be sure it doesn’t warm up the kitchen. The long-sleeved blouse you put on this morning suddenly feels excessive as you traverse the grounds in search of boothill.

It’s not as easy to find him as it has been in the past and you’re beginning to think that he did leave but the fact just slipped your grandpa’s mind. You’re nearing the edge of the property when you consider dropping the manhunt and returning to the house. Maybe Boothill won’t mind if you set aside his plate for later with a little note explaining that you couldn’t find him.

The moment you think about turning around, something catches your eye. There’s something propped up on the post of the split rail fence. You squint your eyes to get a better look only to realize it’s not something, it’s someone—Boothill.

He’s sitting up with his back against the post and his feet stretched to the next—they’re crossed at the ankle. His arms are crossed, too, resting comfortably on his stomach. The hat that’s usually situated atop his head is tipped down to shield his face from the sun’s harsh, bright rays.

You’re unsure if he’s awake or not so you approach him quietly, light steps carrying you closer to the man. The wind catches his hair, blowing unbound black and white strands in rhythm with the breeze. Your newfound proximity offers you a better glimpse at the man, namely his exposed chest that you didn’t take notice of a few seconds ago. His shirt is unbuttoned nearly to where it’s tucked into his jeans, leaving smooth, glistening skin on display. Even the addition of a denim vest over the white button-up isn’t enough to hide his tanned skin and the beads of sweat forming on it.

You catch yourself staring and shake your head before turning it up to look at the clouds. The blue sky and fluffy spots of white are a pretty sight but the picturesque scene does nothing to help you get the image of Boothill’s toned abdomen out of your head. You fear it’s stuck to your eyelids, haunting you every time you dare to blink.

How are you going to look at him across the table without imagining what’s under his shirt now?

The thought reminds you of why you came out here in the first place—you’re supposed to be bringing him inside for lunch. You’re sure he’s asleep by now—he most definitely would have felt your greedy gaze on him if he weren’t—but you’re willing to stir him from his nap if it means getting him out of this summer heat (and getting him to cover up).

You cautiously reach out to take his hat in your hand, lifting the accessory away from his face. You’re not sure how the sudden introduction of light doesn’t bother him but he remains still like you never disturbed him at all.

His resting expression is different from the others you’ve seen paint his face. There’s no crease between his eyebrows like there is when he’s working hard, no curl to his lips like when he’s got a teasing remark on his tongue. He simply looks peaceful, calm, unbothered. Pretty, you have to stop yourself from saying aloud.

And it’s all ruined in a moment.

“See somethin’ you like, sweetheart?” His eyes don’t open but the little smirk you so often find him wearing has made itself comfortable on his lips. You take a startled step back—you were sure he had nodded off. How long has he been awake? Does he know you were staring?

The lack of an answer from you leads Boothill to open his eyes, though they squint almost instantly upon being met with the brightness of the sun. Although, that doesn’t stop him from meeting your eye and holding your gaze.

You disregard his question and keep your eyes on his face, not risking letting your gaze fall below his neck. “If you’re tired, you should go sleep in the house. It’s way too hot to nap out here.”

His eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly at your suggestion, smile unwavering. Conversely, yours furrow at the change in his expression—nothing good can come of it. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you’re worried about me.”

You press your lips together. Is that what led you out here—your worry about him missing a meal? Worry doesn’t feel like the right word… You simply want to adhere to your routine which, whether you like it or not, now includes Boothill. That’s that, worry is out of the question.

“I’m not worried,” you tell him, clenching your fists as if that’ll help you convince yourself. It’s only then that you realize you’re still holding his hat. You look down at it in your hand and suddenly your palm and the tips of your fingers feel hot, like that hat is a scorching fire that’s burning you. You quickly toss the accessory into the man’s lap. “I only came out here to tell you lunch is ready.”

Having gotten your job done, you turn on your heel and start back towards the house. You only make it a few steps before Boothill is coming up beside you, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. It’s a mistake to glance his way as he hasn’t bothered buttoning up his shirt and his hands are stuffed in his pockets like he had no intention of doing so.

You're not so lucky to go unnoticed this time and it would be unlike Boothill not to comment on your wandering eyes. “What? Like my outfit that much?”

You silently scold yourself for staring, eyes flitting away from him. “It’s fine.”

“Oh? Somethin’ else catch your eye, then?” he asks, and you can hear the humor in his voice. “Maybe it’s my—”

“Oh my god!” Your hands fly up to cover your ears and they’re hot to the touch. “Shush!”

Despite the barrier, you can still hear his hearty chuckle that comes at your expense.

The thought comes far too late but you realize you would have been much better off leaving him to bake in the sun, never making the effort to call him in at all. Because now, even after you’ve made it through lunch, washed the dishes, and are back in the comfort of your bedroom, you’re still going to be thinking about the farmhand and his annoyingly perfect abs.

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#scribbles ᝰ.ᐟ #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #boothill x you #hsr x you #— honkai star rail.

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kettleinusefornow · 2 days ago

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Rough ride..MDNI

CHAPTER 4

Sae Itoshi X Reader fic

Contains breakup and miscommunication

Revenge sex

Iceskater!reader

eventual happy ending </3

teenage love

ALOT of angst

CHP1 CHP5 CHP LIST

CHAPTER 4: Moving on

After locking herself in her room for god knows how long.. She stepped out, the boards creaking beneath her feet. The moonlight from outside shined through the window, illuminating the space between her and the walls. She felt a sense of.. warmth come over her. Maybe it was time to let go of him.

AFTER A FEW WEEKS

Y/N started to have finals coming up, along with university interviews lined up. She is in her senior year after all. She would see Sae almost everywhere she went.. On posters, billboards, everywhere. She couldn’t even talk to Rin anymore, he went to bluelock..? Whatever that is..

Y/N had taken a 5 month break from figure skating but she felt that she should pick it up right after her exams, it’s good to have something like that in her resume.

Y/N has been learning to figure skate since 13, ever since Sae had left. She wasn’t extraordinary or anything but she did have a few gold medals laying around. Skating around in the quiet ice rink helped her take mind off things.

Her best friend, Koyuki Chigiri was also one of the members of the skate team. Her brother also seemed to be in bluelock. They met 3 years ago during a cross organization meetup, Koyuki ended up joining the team after that.

“Y/N! I heard you were gonna have an interview at Tsukuba University!”

“Oh yeah.. I just thought I should have backup options with figure skating..”

Koyuki let out a laugh.. “Wait, you for real?”

Y/N looked at her with a blank face.

“WHAT- YOU!”

———

Y/N made her way to Tsukuba University. She took a deep breath in before heading in. Maybe she was too nervous? She spent a good 10 minutes looking for the interview venue..

‘Where the hell is it?!’ Y/N stood in the middle of the sheltered walkway while panting, before a sudden voice broke through the winds to her ears.

“Do you need help, miss?”

Y/N whipped her head around to see a pair of blue and green eyes staring at her..? ‘Is that homophobia- wait no heterochromia eyes?’

“Huh? Uh! Sorry I’m trying to find my way to the west wing but I can’t tell which direction is which..”

This guy stared at her grumbling about how big the campus was and how she’s lost. He let out a small chuckle.

“Well worry not, miss..?”

“L/N Y/N.”

“Well miss Y/N I’ll help you find it. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out in the early winter alone.”

Y/N gave him a small smile before following behind him. ‘The flip.. How tall is this guy? And what’s with his appearance and approach.. He looks both 30 and 19 at the same time.. ‘

“Y/N?” Y/N was immediately pulled out of her daze and she saw those same different colored eyes staring into hers. ‘Too close!’

She took a step back. The wind blew her hair into her face, she slowly tucked her hair behind her ears before answering sweetly,”Sorry I was just thinking about something..”

He just stood there for a few seconds staring at her, before finally speaking. “Well Y/N we are here.. And I was wondering if.. I could get your number? As a reward for helping you.”

Y/N stood there with slight shock, she hasn’t seen a guy this forward in awhile. She opened her mouth to say no, before she realized that.. She doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore. Why not just.. have fun for a while?

“N- Actually, sure uh..”

“Oliver Aiku at your service.”

‘Where have I heard that name before..’

Y/N took out her phone and exchanged information with him before saying goodbye and heading off to her interview.

As she walked off, Aiku stood there staring at her before she disappeared from his sight.

“Hm… This might be fun.”

ARGGG WRITERS BLOCK ©kettleinuse4now | please do not translate, repost, refer without permission | don’t steal and say it’s your own (ahole behavior)

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onehundredthousandflies · 1 day ago

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Another of Your Firsts

Spencer x Male!BAU!Reader (a few unavoidable uses of y/n, sorry)

Words: 1,204

Tagging @meiczyslaw-mccall by request.

CW: canon-typical violence, guns, reader gets non-lethally shot (in the arm), coming out, pet names (Spencer calls Reader "Honey"), secret relationship reveal, reader is gay, Spencer is bi, let me know if I missed anything

You and Spencer have kept your relationship a secret because Spencer wasn't ready to come out. That is, until the aftermath of a shootout with an unsub when Spencer lets something slip. Written with early-mid series Spencer in mind.

Click the Read More or read on A03.

"Once we get to the farm, Prentiss and I will take North barn," Hotch said, driving at full speed down the dirt road. "Reid, L/N, you two take the South. Morgan, Rossi, and JJ will take the main house, Officers Vick and Melendez will take the cellars."

You and Spencer, seated in the back seat of the SUV, nodded your response.

You chanced a quick look at Spencer and, for a moment, got lost in how handsome he looked when he was locked into full agent mode like this. The intense focus in his dark amber eyes, the way his kevlar vest hugged his slender frame, it made you fall in love all over again every time you looked at him.

You'd done well to keep your relationship a secret so far. Though most people, including everyone on the team, were aware that you were openly gay, Spencer wasn't out as bisexual to anyone but his mother. Though you felt disappointed at times when you couldn't hold his hand on the jet or kiss the top of his head when you brought him coffe the way you ached to, you respected him and had vowed to guard his closet door until he was ready.

Even so, Spencer let a subtle smile sneak across his lips when he caught you staring for longer than you'd meant to. His pinky finger ghosted across yours in the open seat between you, and you returned his smile.

The moment was broken when the SUV lurched to a stop. There would be time enough smile at your lover once this sadistic UNSUB was caught.

Your orders had already been given, so you took the lead, trusting Spencer to follow you to the barn.

Once there, you both took your positions on either side of the door.

"Lester Mills!" Spencer shouted. "FBI!"

When met with no response, he held his fingers up to count down to breach the door.

No sooner had he counted down once than a shotgun blast rang out from inside the barn. The old, brittle wood of the barn door broke apart in a flurry of splinters, and you both covered your faces with your arms. A second shot shattered the door entirely.

When you heard the shotgun cock for a third shot, you and Spencer both darted away from the door, each in opposite directions. You saw him duck behind a hay bale while you took shelter behind the ruins if an old pickup truck.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you filed this away on a list of all of yours and Spencer's firsts. First date, first kiss, first night spent together, and now your first shootout together. This first was far from romantic, though. Your heart pounded in your chest for a much different reason when Lester Mills stepped out of the barn and pointed his shotgun at the hay bale Spencer was behind.

You couldn't see Spencer, but you heard him fire his revolver. The shot must have missed, because Lester's shot came shortly after.

Seeing a window of opportunity while the suspect had his back turned, you quickly stood and fired, but he turned around just as you pulled the trigger, and the bullet flew past his head. He cocked his gun and fired again, this time in your direction, but you ducked down just in time...

Or so you thought.

It didn't register immediately. You were too focused on counting the shots: the unsub had fired four times from what was likely a five-shot shotgun. He had one round left. You had nine and Spencer had five.

Spencer had four, because you heard another revolver shot, followed by a scream and the clattering of a gun falling to the ground.

By this time, the others had made it to the barn. They were just in time to find the unsub gripping the gunshot wound to his right arm.

"Lester Mills," you barely heard Hotch say over the ringing in your ears and hammering in your chest, "You're under arrest for the murders of six men."

"Reid! L/N!" came Morgan's voice, but it sounded to your ears like it was under water.

You tried to sound off, but all that came out was a pained groan. That's when you finally really felt it: the fiery pain in your shoulder.

You dared to look down, and when you did, you saw the bright red bloodstain spreading out from your lower shoulder, as well as a small tear in the shoulder strap of your vest. A few pellets of buckshot had hit you in the left arm just to the left of your vest strap, and a few more had hit your vest.

Morgan found you first.

"I got L/N, we need medical!"

"Y/N!" Spencer shouted. He never called you by your first name at work, and you never called him Spencer. It was always L/N and Reid, purely professional.

Another of your firsts.

Spencer shoved his way past Morgan and dropped to his knees beside you. He pressed one hand to your wound and held your hand in the other.

"Y/N, Honey, talk to me. Are you okay?"

"Wait, 'Honey?'" Morgan repeated. "Wait are you two..."

"Since when?" Prentiss asked, surprised but not judgemental.

"I really don't think that matters right now!" Spencer objected, gripping your hand tighter.

You, however, decided that, now that Spencer had slipped up and outed himself, it was time to be honest. "About five months."

"Five months and seventeen days, so almost six," Spencer clarified.

Morgan knelt down next to the two of you. "You know you guys could have told us. Hotch wouldn't have said anything about fraternization, and no one would have judged you. I mean, Kid," Morgan put his hand on Spencer's shoulder, "we didn't even know you were gay."

Spencer cleared his throat and looked down awkwardly. "I'm bi, actually."

"Is this really the time for label discourse?" you interrupted. "I'm bleeding over here."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Spencer kissed the top of your head and then pressed his forehead to yours. "I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry, I'm-"

"Shh, hey. It's okay. I'll be okay."

Eventually, the paramedics showed up, and Spencer held your hand while they bandaged your arm. You didn't want to go to the hospital, but Spencer insisted on making sure you were treated properly, and Hotch insisted on following protocol.

In the hours that followed, you and Spencer learned three things.

The first was that Hotch did, in fact, not care about fraternization policy. After everything the team had been through, denying them the right to love was something he saw no point in doing, so long as it didn't cause problems in the field.

The second was that Spencer had never had anything to fear when it came to coming out to the team. The reveal of your relationship was met with nothing but congratulations, support, and love (if not a few inappropriate questions from Morgan that earned him a slap in the back of the head from Rossi).

The third was that the best possible sleep on the jet was achieved with your head Spencer's lap.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x male!reader #spencer reid fanfic #fly's fic

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yayasvalveplay · 1 day ago

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Oppy breeding anon & Hive Queen Optimus.

I love the bit with the human kids and some Insecticons shrinking down to follow them. Now I'm imagining Raf's sitting on his head the entire time and refusing to move. I'm sure some of the other students think the weird lil lizard is cute as it hunkers down in Raf's mess of hair. Also love Wheeljack going "nope nope nope nope" to the idea of getting cleaned by the Insecticons and that's the reason he isn't at base lol.

The Omega Keys are the last few episodes of season 2. Season 3 is where they're on the run for first few episodes because the Decepticons blew up their base in the season 2 finale. But if we do want to say the bitty emerges during season three, it would likely happen at the very beginning because of all the stress that is the Decepticons blowing up their base and the hive being forced to move back to their old hive from when they woke up.

But we can say that when the Autobot Team had to scatter via GroundBridge, instead of going to some random location I forget on the top of my head, they go to that old hive until further notice. Also the Omega Lock battle I suspect would be different, as the Insecticons would freak out when the three Insecticons with the children scream into the hive that the Decepticons captured the organic sparklings and they would immediately let their queen know. I don't know if the Insecticons would allow their Queen to go to the Omega Lock battle, but I can see him forcing the issue because this would be the battle to save Cybertron. Even so, the hive will be angy on Optimus's behave that Ratchet didn't go get the children.

When they do scatter, I suspect a few Insecticons would go with each group that leaves and there's probably another group that's just Insecticons carrying the eggs in their arms. A good chunk of the Insecticons stay behind though, as to let their queen escape too and destroy the GroundBridge. They also probably join Fowler and Wheeljack in fighting the Decepticons when the attack happens and flee into the ground when its clear that their queen has escape and none of them must be captured. They cannot let the Decepticons dare go through any of their minds.

Perhaps the bitty even emerges while Optimus and the Insecticons with him are going back to the hive and the Insecticons have no idea what to do, so hunker down and start trying their best to help their queen.

... well this focused a lot on the season 2 finale (Regeneration & Darkest Hour) huh.

I don't know why This came to me but Raf panicking when his classmates gush about the weird lizard snuggling into his hair, and He panickly makes up a name.

"Harold, His name is Harold." Now this insecticon is named Harold.

As for if OP would be in the fight, I think he would fight, even if they all are telling Op not too, he has too, he's the only one ho can successfully wield the (it's called the saber star?)

"I will need backup. My hive are you with me?" They do not like it as much as ratchet, but what else can they do when the Queen has spoken? They follow him, and be his body guards keeping Megatron from landing successful hits on their queen.

Also wouldn't it be funny if this is how Megatron found out that the Insecticons were following Op's orders. He just knew that they were following some queens orders (and truthfully he thought it was Arcee.) But nope, they scramble only after him take orders from him, and is that a baby bump?

Also it would make sense for the baby to come at such a stressful time when they are all running to find a new place after their base blew up. Ya they don't have Ratchet due to them all splitting up during the fight, So he is running off pure instinct right now, snapping at his inscticons as they get him into the old nest.

I do think the insecticons would also be split up, keeping every family member safe. They are under strict orders to keep them all safe. They follow, they always follow their queens orders.

Oh and welcoming the bitty into this world, Op is venting hard as he holds his bitty close, and they all gather around him, cleaning him and the bitty up.

Also don't some ant species make enzymes in their glands to making a healing agent? Well I say that a select few insecticons can also do this and act as healers to a wounded Op, No one can frag him even further because his valve is injured by the bitty/

#hive queen optimus #mechpreg #mech preg #mpreg labor

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 2 days ago

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A Stone’s Throw Away - Chapter 2

A/N: Time for a Robotnik POV! I tried to toe the line between Game!Eggman and Movie!Eggman, so let me know how it goes! (The vibe is: stuck in a non-stop manic episode, but without the feral energy of Jim Carrey.)

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types, Sonic the Hedgehog (Live Action Universe)

Characters: Dr Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Agent Stone, Commander Walters

Rating: Teen Audiences

Chapter Summary: Ivo Robotnik has just been told he is getting a new assistant. The worst part? He actually knows this one. Sort of.

AO3 Link: A Stone’s Throw Away

Word Count: 4,816

—

Stage 2 : Dr. Robotnik's New Assistant

Ivo Robotnik was not one to doubt his genius. Even a moron could look at his accomplishments, hell, his lab, and know that he was someone not to be underestimated.

While he hadn’t been wrong since he was little more than a snot-nosed brat, there was always room for growth and improvement. He was a scientist — an inventor. It was important to always keep in mind that things could be improved upon. To look back on his previous work and see failure was to scorn perfection.

That being said… He was struggling to understand why in the name of science itself he had decided to remove all possible color-coding to the wiring of his badniks. Oh, sure, it likely had been to prevent someone from understanding his designs and, more importantly, his babies, but that would have involved someone getting close enough to study the insides of one of them.

As it was now, the lack of colored wiring on such small, delicate wires made Ivo’s job a lot more difficult when it came to routine repairs. It didn’t help that the current badnik in his lap was making a low whining noise that was for dramatics and dramatics alone. Honestly, Ivo didn’t know where his babies got their attitude from.

“Oh, hush.” He huffed, finally finding the right port and unsurprised to see that one of the wires was only just barely connected. It at least explained the flight path problems of the last couple of days, movement likely knocking it in and out of place. “I know for a fact I didn’t give you the ability to feel pain or discomfort.”

His beautifully shaped, aerodynamic, and state-of-the-art drone stopped whining, and instead started wiggling in his lap. If Ivo didn’t have the silly thing caught between his stomach and his desk, it likely would have rolled off of his lap altogether. “Who taught you this behavior!”

Before he could get any response, whether verbal or physical, a call alert was appearing at the bottom of one of his holo-screens. Giving it a quick glance, Ivo immediately regretted it when he saw just who it was from.

“Ugh, Walters,” he complained to the badnik that was still lightly wiggling in his lap, as if Ivo didn’t still have his fingers inside it and was trying to actively fix the disconnected wires. “What do you think? Should we just ignore him?”

A little whistling tune of beeps answered him, Ivo snorting at the nonsensical sound. While he gave some of his badniks separate AIs and a hive mentality for immediate communication and linking, a few were slowly beginning to develop the beginnings of a personality. Ivo was as proud as he was rabid to see what else he could do with the AI code he had been building and improving upon for years. Maybe he could- Louder alert sound.

Ugh. Right. Walters. The old fool was likely calling him to tell him about some new mission, or contract proposal, or some other issue not worth his time. Unfortunately, answering was better than the chance of the man coming over to bother him in person.

“Dr. Robotnik.” Walters greeted, doing the bare minimum of using Ivo’s title that he had earned thank you very much. Just because the man had known him since he was eighteen didn’t make Ivo any less deserving of his respect. Ah, right, Walters was talking. Something about… Damn, he didn’t even care enough to listen to gain an idea of what the man was rambling about. Maybe he would get to the point? Hm. No. This was Walters. He could talk forever.

“Yes, yes, an honor to talk with me and waste my time like always, I know. Seeing as I am in the middle of something, however, maybe you could get to your point?” There was a beautiful moment where Ivo could see Walters fighting the indignation on his face.

“Of course, Doctor.” Oh. Oh, Ivo did not like that subtle smirk- “You’ve been assigned a new personal assistant who will aid you in the lab and cover protection detail when you are off the premises-”

“I’ve been what?!” Ivo’s screeches made the badnik in his lap wiggle again, Ivo patting it absentmindedly as he kept shouting. “I already have to put up with the untrained dogs you all throw at me to stalk the halls of my lab, isn’t that enough? Why do I have to put up with another one!”

Seeing Walters ready to talk, Ivo simply talked over him and kept going, as he was so good at doing, “Have you learned nothing? When are you and the rest of this bacteria-ridden carcass of a government going to understand the very, very simple fact that I don’t need an assistant. Hell, I work better without one! Anything I can’t do can be handled by my machines!”

“We appreciate your capability, Doctor, but I’m afraid this decision is out of my hands.” Oh, like hell it was. Not when the man was always the one throwing assistants at Ivo like he could make them stick. Government spies and babysitters, that’s what he was being settled with.

“Then take it into your hands and change it.” If his understanding of the man hadn’t given away that he was enjoying Ivo’s suffering, then the smug tilt to his smile did.

“I don’t know, Ivo. I think you’ll be intrigued by this one.” Ugh. Him? Intrigued? Unlikely. And Walters seemed so damn sure about it, too!

Drawing himself up and getting ready to really tear into the man, the small notification of a digital file being sent to his systems went off. He directed only a portion of his attention to do a quick check, much more interested in tearing down the absolute waste of space-!

File Received: Special Agent Profile - Stone

The insults died in his throat, Ivo’s full attention snapping to re-read the name. It was only the sight of Walters’ smug face that kept him from doing anything as pedestrian as showing surprise. Walters, the bastard, had the audacity to smirk, “I had a feeling you might find that interesting.”

“‘I had a feeling,’” Ivo mocked, tone as high-pitched and annoying as he could make it. “Feelings over thoughts, is that how you make decisions, Commander Walters?” Pressing a button on his gloves to make the call make a loud noise when the man opened his mouth to fill the air with what would have been nothing but inane babble, Ivo sneered when the fool stayed silent. “You military types are so fond of your games that you fool yourselves into thinking a bomb could be more effective than a single bullet.”

Raising his hand, Ivo leaned back in his seat with a smile he knew was all teeth, “You've also forgotten who builds the bombs and bullets both.” With that, and a snap of his fingers, Walters' ugly mug disappeared from his screen and any incoming calls were blocked for the rest of the day.

Blowing out a long, irritated breath, Ivo only broke out of his thoughts at the trills coming from down in his lap. Raising an eyebrow, Ivo scoffed as the badnik wiggled in his lap before hovering a few inches into the air. When he saw where its optics were trained, he couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped.

“I suppose you would remember him too, wouldn't you?” Ivo looked at the file of Agent Stone himself, a flicking motion with his fingers opening it and spreading the information across the screens in front of him. The first thing his gaze settled on was the basic profile and picture attached, an absolutely miserable face with dark brown eyes staring at the camera. It was a sharp contrast from the last time Ivo had seen the agent's face.

“One last thing.” Gritting his teeth as the long-winded, pain-in-his-ass general just kept going, Ivo debated on the pros and cons of just stalking off and finishing the damn shadow ops mission he had been bullied into by himself. It wasn’t like he needed a bunch of human meat shields that would serve to do nothing but die needlessly.

Besides, the gray, dreary sky and dark clouds were threatening rain and Ivo was not planning on getting wet, thank you very much. Damn, maybe he should revisit that weather machine idea he had as a teenager. At least then there wasn’t the risk of getting one of his nicer outfits soaked. “Today’s mission will see the possibility of being accompanied on the field by one of our scientists and some of his… weapons.” Oh, well that just wouldn’t do, would it?

“Weapons, General Whatever-Your-Name-Is, would imply that all my creations can do are point and shoot.” Reveling in the disgruntled, bitter look he was given, Ivo wasted no time in crossing the distance needed to be right in the general’s face. “Like those ‘weapons’ that are all lined up behind us and staring vapidly at the sky like the incoming rain might do their job for them.”

“Dr. Robotnik-” Cutting the general off with a sharp scoff that was purely to piss him off, Ivo grinned when he saw frustration turning the man’s face red.

“Listen, General…?”

“Wat-”

“Nobody cares!” For a single moment, Ivo thought he might have heard one of the idiot agents behind him actually laugh, which- Well. It was nice to have his humor appreciated for once.

“Dr. Robotnik, this is not-”

Turning sharply, Ivo clapped his hands together and looked at the dozen men and women that were looking at him. Some looked irritated, others looked confused, and a couple were whispering like they were back in high school. Ugh, they had probably been jocks.

“Alright, kiddies, let me explain what I’m doing here myself while General Nobody-Cares shuts his stupid face!” Ivo’s grin kicked up a notch when he saw the clenched fists. Honestly, you would think a general could handle a little teasing and taunting. “You don’t deserve to know my name or even what it is I do, but for those of you who live today, you can have the honor of saying you were on the same mission as Dr. Ivo Robotnik.”

Whistling a three-note tune, Ivo waited only a heartbeat before three of his babies were seamlessly carving through the air and forming a loose semi-circle around him. They were all perfectly in time with one another and his commands and Ivo didn’t even try to curb the hum of satisfaction deep in his chest.

“These, agents, are what the U.S. Government calls advanced, unpiloted weaponry drones for scouting and containment. Their better, rightful name is badniks.” Beautifully timed, a low rumble of thunder echoed behind them. If anyone asked, Ivo would be more than happy to claim credit for that timing. Less so for the mocking laughter.

A mocking laugh that was soon stifled when Ivo whistled a short tune, the badnik hovering over his right shoulder shooting its laser at the agent. With perfect aim, the laser cut a perfect hole in the agent’s hat, knocking it to the ground and leaving behind a pale face. “They also have deadly precision,” Ivo said, grinning at the lightly smoking hat on the ground. “Perfect every time.”

Unease and fear rippled across the gathered agents like a slow-moving wave — except for one anchor point of stone right in the middle of the ocean. The agent was standing at attention, not having moved or shifted the entire time during Ivo’s impromptu presentation. A quick look at posture and how he shifted his balance let Ivo know that it was far from his first time in the field. Dark skin let him know that schoolyard banter wasn't likely to get to him if he had made it this far up the rankings. No immediate visible scars told Ivo the man was at least accomplished enough that his targets never managed an easy hit, and a neatly groomed beard showed that he wasn’t the typical musclehead who reveled in being covered in blood and dirt.

The most unsettling thing about him, though, was that he was staring at the badnik that had fired not with unease or fear, but with… Hell, if Ivo didn’t know any better, he almost would have called the look awe.

It would have been an odd quirk easy to write off if the man didn’t continue to look delighted as Ivo ‘convinced’ one of the other agents to help provide a better demonstration on restraint and containment capabilities of his babies. The man’s fellow agent was wrapped up in thin metal wires and being tased into unconsciousness, and he was grinning like he was trying to hold back laughter.

What a strange little thing.

Unfortunately, that was the only high point of his day as the agents were then split into teams and released like the hounds they were. As if snarling teeth and boy scout plans could be better weapons than even a single one of his badniks.

He was therefore unsurprised when three hours and fifty-two minutes, and a heavy rainstorm, had passed with no sign or word of the agents. He was patient enough to give it four hours exactly (and wait to be certain the rain was done for awhile) before he stood up, whistled sharply for all of the badniks he had brought, and started walking.

“Dr. Robotnik! Where are you going!” Ugh, the annoying general that hadn’t stopped fuming since Ivo’s fun little attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“Obviously, General, your agents have failed. Whether dead or captured, I doubt they’ll be returning. So I might as well go and fix the problem myself before risking getting caught in even more rain.”

With that, and another sharp whistle, Ivo headed for the contained area that the targets were in. Ivo hadn’t bothered to listen much beyond ‘extremist group’ and ‘vital intel’ when being given his briefing, but he knew that he was looking for a hard drive and, if he was feeling generous, any living agents.

His generosity didn’t look like it would matter, though, as the closer he got to the coordinates of the hideout, the more dead bodies he saw strewn across the ground. The agents had at least been useful enough to make sure the extremists died with them. Although, they had been useless enough to not take down all of them.

Inputting orders via his control gloves in order to keep silent, Ivo waited for most of his badniks to spread across the area. He didn’t continue until he heard half a dozen shots that let him know whatever enemies were living were dealt with.

“Scan for anyone living,” Ivo said absently to the badnik following him and acting as guide and bodyguard both. “Prioritize finding any U.S. personnel and alert the network to eliminate any living humans not designated as such.”

The badnik beeped in confirmation of the order, Ivo continuing onward with surety that the scans would find anything long before he could. Then again, he didn’t need scans to see the amount of damage that had been caused to the hideout itself once he reached it.

Bullet holes and dead bodies were everywhere, Ivo taking a quick second to recall that ten of the agents would have served as a distraction for the enemy while a team of two infiltrated the hideout itself.

It looked like something had gone wrong or, more likely, an agent on the team of two had severely fucked up.

Stepping over another body, Ivo paused when he saw it was one of the agents. Fittingly enough, it was the one he had used as target practice. How nice to know that the man truly had been useless.

Freezing at the sound of movement, possibly shifting rubble or a moving body, Ivo snapped his fingers and pointed at the source immediately. The badnik beside him was silent for hardly a second before giving two small beeps, Ivo unable to help his incredulous, “Seriously?”

Two beeps meant no hostile forces detected. That meant the movement he had heard was caused either by an animal, which was unlikely, or a still living agent, which was even more unlikely.

“Scan and report,” Ivo ordered, following at a more leisurely pace as his badnik quickly flew towards the location of the sound. It took crossing a few dead bodies and walking up a muddy hill, but Ivo finally made it close enough to see that it was indeed a still living agent that his badnik was scanning — although not for long, seeing at how much filth and blood he was covered in- Ah. Not just any agent, but the one that had looked at his badniks in such awe.

Taking a step closer, Ivo froze when the man lifted his shaking, bloody arm to show a clenched hand holding onto… a hard drive. The man was silent, Ivo watching his badnik assess the situation before opening a panel and using one of it’s mechanical arms to take the drive.

The man’s hand immediately dropped back down, Ivo half-hoping he was still alive and hadn’t actually just died. Not only had the agent survived what he obviously shouldn’t have, but the dozen dead bodies that surrounded him showed that he hadn’t gone down without a fight. That, after everything seemed to have gone to shit, proved that he was competent. He hadn’t only retrieved the hard drive, but he had clung on long enough to pass it over to what he recognized as a friendly entity.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ivo began to make his way over, freezing all over again when he heard a ragged, choked voice whisper, “Magnificent.”

Unfortunately, Ivo didn’t get to see what expression the man had before he fell sideways and seemed to lose consciousness. Unable to help himself, he laughed. He couldn’t help it.

No one had ever looked at his drones, his badniks, his legacy and called them magnificent as if… As if they were something beautiful. To Ivo they always had been, of course, but no other human had ever…

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Ivo clicked his tongue sharply before rushing over to the man’s side and dropping into a crouch to check his pulse. Somehow, miraculously, he was still alive and breathing.

“Emergency medical,” Ivo snapped, hand already reaching for the small first-aid kit that the badnik held out for him. He wasn’t exactly a medical doctor, but he knew enough to keep the agent from bleeding out. “You, Agent Whoever-You-Are, are going to be in for a hell of a wake-up call.”

The first-aid kit didn’t have everything, but it was enough. Ivo only paused long enough to pat the man down and pull out his tags, checking for any allergies. Thankfully, none. Amusingly, though, his name was, of all things, Stone. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he never was, it was one of those ‘new names’ that they gave out to agents who signed their lives away. His tags didn’t even have his first name inscribed on them, which told Ivo more than a conversation with him would have.

Giving his head a quick shake, not sure if it was to refocus himself or knock away the thoughts, Ivo spoke to his badnik, “Confirm that all hostile forces are eliminated. Once done, contact General Whatever.” As he expected, he had to only wait seconds before the call was connected. “General! Good news, the information has been retrieved and your threat neutralized.”

“That, at least, is good to hear, Dr. Robotnik.” Ah, not the general. It was Commander Walters that he was hearing. Damn. Was he meant to be there? “I was coming by to ensure the information would be delivered to one of our bases safely, but instead I was surprised to hear that you entered the contained area without orders-”

“Bababa, less vague threats and more focus on the fact I just did all your work for you after your agents screwed the pooch.” Huffing as the man — Stone — grunted, Ivo ignored him and simply pressed the bandage harder against the bullet wound he was working on. “Your top agents seem to have decided that living is boring.”

Walters, thankfully, didn’t start scolding him for human decency or whatever it was he was usually on about. Instead, he sighed loud enough that the crackle of static made him scowl. “All of them?”

“Well. All but one.” Ivo looked back down at Stone, idly remembering that soft, awed praise that was whispered towards his badnik. He wondered if his expression would have been the same as the one Ivo had seen earlier that day. “And this one was competent enough to not only live, but actually get what was needed before he passed out.”

Gesturing for the badnik to do one more scan, Ivo nodded in satisfaction when the information soon showed that Stone was stable enough to be moved back to the camp. Surprisingly, he would live.

“Congratulations, Walters,” Ivo said, unable to help himself as he used his gloves to recall his badniks. He would need their help carrying the not-so-dead weight. “You’ve actually found an idiot that works for you that’s halfway competent.”

“Ridiculous,” Ivo muttered, letting the recalled thoughts fade back into his memory. Walters would throw the agent that he had spared one crumb of acknowledgement towards at him. “At least we know he’s just smart enough to find you all impressive.”

Patting the badnik in his lap, Ivo took a few seconds to finish up the maintenance and close the hatch before he turned his attention to the files spread out around him. Spinning in a lazy circle, Ivo raised a slow eyebrow when he noticed some information was missing or redacted. Even with his high-level clearance and his system’s automatic programs to pull up every relevant piece of information pertaining to any files sent to him, Stone’s file was missing something as simple as his first name!

Bah, Walters had probably done that on purpose to make the agent more ‘interesting.’ Damn the old fool if Ivo wasn’t at least intrigued, though.

“Alright, let’s see what the bastard is forcing into my lab this time,” Ivo grumbled, half to himself and half to the badnik. “Agent No-First-Name Stone, born 1982, Tripoli Lebanon, moved to America at age 9- Oh, I bet Uncle Sam just loved that.” Taking a kid from the Middle East and turning him into a good ole weapon for the United States Army. Ugh.

“Hm. 32 this past August, joined up at 18- Ah.” Stone was an orphan, apparently. Whoever had brought him to America didn’t seem to have cared enough to stick around. “You know, I don’t believe in foolish things like fate, but Walters seems to be having the time of his life trying to make me believe it.”

Because, really now. Not only was his newest assistant the agent he had saved because the man had been impressed by his work, but the man was also an orphan who had aged out of the system instead of being adopted? Ugh, Walters was no doubt having the time of his life after seeing Stone’s file and then sending it Ivo’s way.

One ‘red flag’ as the kids called it was that Stone had been dumb enough to sign up for the military by choice. Likely it had to do with aging out of the system and having nowhere to go, but still. He had at least been smart enough to get a degree out of Uncle Sam’s pocket change.

“Huh.” Waving a hand to bring the information on Stone’s education closer to him, Ivo flicked through it, amusement and annoyance mixing together heavily. For as stupid as the general populace was, Stone seemed to be a large step above them.

A Bachelor's in Mechanical Engineering from CSU, insanely high test scores on the LSAT and MCAT from a man who hadn’t even minored in Law or Medicine, political and speaking classes, honors coursework, advanced programs… Ivo would need to be more careful than usual in how much of his work Stone was able to see.

Walters could play at doting grandfather for as long as he wanted, but Ivo knew his new agent was being sent there as nothing more than a spy. His service record alone nearly rivaled Ivo’s, a collection of redacted or hidden missions that all ended in success. His physicals and exams all showed- His IQ was how high?!

“301?” Ivo made a sound that was made of either outrage or amusement, but he wasn’t fully sure which one. Maybe both. “He beat mine by one point?” That was-! That was…

Shit.

It was kind of funny, wasn’t it?

“Well,” Ivo huffed, leaning back to let the wiggling badnik out of his lap and back into the air. The silly thing was already flying around the holograms and trying to read the information for itself. “At least that will make a good test of his arrogance. See if he wants to quibble over the one point difference.”

IQ tests were foolish and no true test of intelligence, after all, even if it had become something of an easy brag to show off one’s genius. He was curious if Stone was the type to place his ego on the results, or if he only took it because he had some sort of fetish for test taking. He had to assume it was the latter going by the law and medical exams.

A loud beep drew his attention over to his baby, who was hovering in front of another set of files. Ivo pulled them over, snorting at seeing it was the basics of his work career. It was an amusing read, if nothing else.

“This is what you found interesting?” Ivo asked the badnik that had returned to his side to ‘read’ over his shoulder. He really should look at those AI updates to see what had caused the development in behavior. “Ooh, an overachiever. Only three tours before he was plucked up and tossed into super secret agent training.”

Damn, though. The man had only just finished agent training before he had been tossed into doing shadow ops and then passed between the three-letter agencies like he was an STD. According to his files, no one in the damn government seemed to know what his real rank was or what agency he was meant to be attached to. Something to be exploited if nothing else, he supposed.

Overall, Agent Stone’s file was made up of more redactions than information, but there was enough that Ivo could read between the lines well enough. He could also see how many missions Stone had been on that weren’t supposed to officially exist.

A series of three beeps played over the lab speakers, Ivo’s eyes snapping to an alert that scrolled across the bottom of the screen he had been looking at- Someone was looking at his files? No, someone was looking at his files that weren’t supposed to be easily accessible.

“The hell,” he muttered before he could help himself, gesturing the screen closer and swiping through the details of the alert. The basic scan hadn’t been able to locate the point of origin which was interesting on its own, but the fact that when he scanned it showed the signal was not only scrambled, but coming from the military base he was trapped on?

He didn’t even try to stop his laughter, too amused that Walters had actually managed to send a spy and babysitter his way that would be actually fucking interesting. It wasn’t hard to make a guess, after all, as to who would be searching up his military history.

“Agent Stone, I am going to make your life fucking miserable,” Ivo promised with a jolt of glee that he hadn’t felt for a while. “Let’s see how long you last, hm?”

Crafting a message, Ivo began swiping away holographic files, pausing on one with a snort. “You studied coffee in Milan?” Hm. Well. Maybe that meant Ivo would get a halfway decent cup of coffee in the miserable hellhole that he was forced to live in. He made sure to add it to the message he was sending.

Leaning back in his seat, he watched his badnik circle the room before heading back to its charging port, Ivo left to dismiss the last of the information.

“Alright, Walters,” Ivo chuckled, rolling his chair back over to his main console and pulling up his playlists. “I’ll play along.”

If nothing else, he could at least aim to beat his record of getting an assistant to quit. So far, his best was three days.

He could get that down to two.

—

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Writing Commissions.

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#stobotnik #eggman #agent stone #sonic the hedgehog #scu #sonic live action #my writing #original

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canary-prince · 2 days ago

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Additional Ramblings For You

Adult Misty calls Young Misty "Little Me" and Young Misty calls Adult Misty: "Me". As in calling through the house: "Hey, Little Me?" Answered me "What, Me?!" They get along VERY WELL. Young Misty thinks Adult Misty is so cool. Adult Misty loves Young Misty's admiration and "spunk". everyone wishes they didn't get along. Young Misty is RELIEVED to be in the presence of someone who knows every terrible secret and doesn't judge her, someone who teaches her, someone who praises her and encourages her to be bolder, to work harder, to believe in herself MORE. Adult Misty wants to heal this child SO BADLY, even if it doesn't heal her.

Adult Shauna and Young Shauna literally just call each other "Shauna" but also refer to each other in third person. "She". As in, "No, it's not weird to call her Shauna. Why would it be? That's just her name." They understand each other but treat each other as two distinct people. There's a weirdly healthy degree of respect but whoever's "house" they're in is harsh in establishing dominance and the fights they have are AWFUL. Like they immediately get PHYSICAL kind of awful, but then the dust settles and they act like nothing happened. Young Shauna makes peace with her Older Self "dreary life" mostly because she believes she will change her future and therefore doesn't harp on it much. The relationship is sooooo mother-daughter it makes Adult Shauna feel guilty and Callie VERY jealous if she witnesses this.

Adult Taissa calls Young Taissa "Tai" and Young Taissa calls her adult self "Taissa". Adult Taissa feels off-kilter and judged and anxious when talking to her younger self and often becomes defensive. Young Taissa IS quite judgemental and is borderline tearful (IN PRIVATE) when she realizes that she gets everything she worked for and then loses it all to scandal and shame. She also takes her fears about her Other self persisting well into adulthood out on her older self, who struggles to blame her at all. Tai warms up to Taissa as time goes on, starts to realize that she was doing At Home exactly what she did Out There: adapted and survived and tried not to lose her mind.

Both Vans refer to each as "Dude" and "Man" and "Hey, you," basically avoiding names all together. Whenever somebody says "Van?" they both go "Yes?" in cheerful or smug unison, even if it is PAINFULLY OBVIOUS which one is being addressed. They mostly get along, except for when Young Van starts to feel frustrated by the "weakness" and lack of fight she sees in her older self. She sometimes needles her and Older Van often takes the bait, at least to some degree. Then they both feel shitty about it. Young Van does not handle the news of her diagnosis well, initially questioning the "point" of surviving the Wilderness only to die of cancer...but they talk each other out of that stance. More life is more life regardless of how it ends.

Adult Natalie tries to call her younger self "Natalie" and is told to stop. Young Natalie calls her older self "You" and its not kindly at first. She is repulsed by her older self, is horrified at the life she thinks she's doomed to live, can't stand the way her and Travis' story ultimately ends. Her older self tries to sneer and tries to avoid and tries to deflect and Young Natalie hits harder, screams louder, until she realizes how Tired she's going to get when she's older. Until she realizes that after the Wilderness comes the rest of her life: jobs and taxes and relationships, and all that bile turns to heartache and from then on she wants to heal her older self as much as Misty wants to heal her younger one.

Young Lottie and Adult Lottie also both avoid names. Sometimes, when they "squabble", Adult Lottie tries to call her "Charlotte" and they both hate that. Young Lottie also tries to call her "Charlotte" a few times and that also feels weird. They try calling each other "Lottie" when they have to speak to each other but they rarely do that voluntarily. They do NOT like being around each other because the outside-looking-in perspective gives them too much clarity: Young Lottie sees her Adult Self continuing to teach lessons that belong in the Wilderness, sees her refusing to move on and embrace the gift of returning home; Adult Lottie sees a dangerous, spoiled child playing with fire and wielding power she isn't ready for, breaking herself and Natalie and Shauna (and Misty and Akilah and Van) [and everyone] under the pressure.

I want to write a Yellowjackets crackfic where the adults get stuck with their teenaged selves in the same house for a few days and have to like...Confront The Horrors.

Mostly because I want Shauna to deal with her younger self for a while. I feel like after about 36 hours she'd go to the rest of her friends like "Hey... sorry about all the--" *gestures at Baby Shauna killing a coyote with a rock* "I mean, my god. Why didn't you guys, like, poison me? Or smother me in my sleep? I would have! You were basically living with a werewolf!"

#yellowjackets #the monster speaks

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vmures · 2 months ago

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Art is a tool for expression and conveying emotions, ideas, and experiences. While art always carries seeds of its creator, it also becomes so much more than that once it is let free into the world. It becomes a conversation, a layered thing with different meanings and impacts on different people.

Humans are complex beings and everyone can create art. It can be heartbreaking and infuriating to learn that the creator of a piece of art that profoundly influenced you and changed you, that has become part of you, is a horrible, vile person. But it is important to remember that their art is more than the creator themself. Liking the art and finding meaning in it doesn't make you a horrible person.

It is also very valid to be unable to see the art the same way after you learn about the creator. Everyone has to wrestle with their own relationship to the art in question and how they know view it. You can still appreciate the meaning it had for you once upon a time while acknowledging that it hits differently now.

Often the hardest thing is not the fact that the creator is a vile person, but that they built a convincing mask of being kind and encouraging to others. While we often understand that public personas are not who people really are, when someone makes kindness their brand, it feels like a betrayal to learn that they have been using that mask to prey on others. I know for me, there is a part of me that is mad at falling for the con and that knows I would have been perfect prey because I fell for it.

So when such an unmasking happens, as it so often does, the best advice I can offer is this: be kind, to yourself and to others, as you all wrestle with this paradigm shift. Give yourself space and let yourself feel what you feel. Learn from it. Remind yourself that what we know of creators usually fills less than a thimble if we could distill knowledge into liquid. We know their art, but not them. We can appreciate that they make compelling art without putting them on a pedestal. Remind yourself that all creators are human and pedestals are dangerous places to put anyone, because inevitably you will be let down.

#yes this is about neil gaiman #but it is also about other creators who had similar unmaskings #marion zimmer bradley #orson scott card #jk rowling #to name a few that come to mind immediately #and those who will have similar unmaskings in the future #thus I kept the names out of the post itself #neil gaiman

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thaeon · 10 months ago

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obviously late to the party on this like 9 years later and not saying anything that hasn't already been said but its sooo interesting going back and watching blind playthroughs of undertale bc its so funny how many of the people drawn to the game immediately fall into the very first pitfall set by it by being so unimaginative that they cannot imagine a game system existing that does not require grinding up levels even as they say to themselves they don't want to kill the characters AND the npcs reference the game mechanics TO them

#obviously its really hard to judge bc from my pov by the time i knew what undertale was in 2015 i already kinda knew how it worked #but its fascinating bc i only ever thought that people would choose to kill the monsters on purpose to get the no-mercy run #OR because they did it accidentally bc they encountered froggits before they got to the point where you are outright told that you can and #are encouraged to show mercy to anything with a yellow name #but ive watched a few people now who immediately get into the game and are somewhat engaging with the story? but on a completely different #level from using the mechanics of the game. theyre like “i dont want to kill this creature” on a story level but can't tie that to their #feelings of how the mechanics SHOULD work in their minds. the only game mechanics they know are Press Kill Button To Progress Forward.#so many of them are like “ahhh but i need xp tho... need to get to a higher lvl...” and its like... Why Exactly DO You Think That?#idk. its incredibly fascinating. its media literacy for video games. why do you think the fighting system and story are disconnected from #one another? so maybe ppl saying “aww this npc is so cuuuute” and then just kill them and im like. What do you THINK the ending is going to #be if this is how you think the game is going to be played? just unwillingness to attach themselves fully to the story. its soo interestin #gamers get away with a loooot when it comes to media literacy in the games they play #anyway alexa stream Conquest of Dread's decolonizing videogames video essay

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tonycries · 4 months ago

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FEVER FEVER FEVER

Synopsis. Sèx pollen - it’s never felt so good.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, sèx pollen, PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, creampíes, bréeding, making them whímper, oraI (fem), true form Sukuna, Sukuna’s two mouths, ínappropríate use of jujutsu, 7:3 technique, GOJO’S POWERS, matíng presses, overstím, bóndage, first times (Choso), losing control, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Can you guess the title reference heheh?

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - WICKED!

Toji Fushiguro swears he isn’t affected - he swears that stupid, stray technique didn’t actually hit him when finishing off today’s job.

After all, it’s not like he’s some weak, pathetically needy-

“Please, doll.” Toji gasps - he heaves - hot and heavy between your pretty legs. Letting his roughened tongue slide its pathway across that perky scar sitting right on the edge of his white-glossed lip, re-tasting you. Himself. And he can feel the way his overworked tip twitches at that cute wide-eyed gaze of yours, mouth dropping at him begging. “Don’t make me ah- say any of that s-stupid stuff again.”

You huff out a low bout of teasing laughter that makes him flinch, “Hmm, but I don’t think I heard you properly, baby?”

God, he wished he couldn’t smell your sweet saccharine scent fogging up his mind, he wished the mere sound of your honeyed tone didn’t have him gushing out in another sweltering hot wave. Growling, “W-when this is over I swear—”

“Time’s ticking…”

Damn.

“P-please-” The word comes out strangled - pained. “Can I p-put it back inside, ma?”

It’s a beg - a plea.

One that has Toji’s ears flushing an angry red, and his eyes looking up at you tearily in a way that uttered he’d die right now if he didn’t get another taste of your heavenly cunt.

You can barely even start to let your head shake with a nod before a choked-up groan bursts from Toji’s wobbly lips. And he’s flipping you over with one simple push of his large, strong arms attached roughly onto your hips. Pushing your pliantly face into the soft, silken pillows on all fours like he couldn’t bear hearing any more of those sweet sounds of yours. For the sake of his sanity.

“Yes-” he gasps, digits curling around his thick hilt to guide them into a pretty peck against your cunt. “Yes yes yes yes- finally- ah finally-”

He’s drooling. Still so greedy even after hours now.

Swollen cock so rawly red and angry, he’s splattering out freshly translucent swashes of precum against your puckered hole. Creamy and drizzled with rings of cum from just before that he hadn’t been able to lap up mere moments earlier.

Toji couldn’t get enough- he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t think it’s even physically possible.

“Can’t believe what ya d-do to me-” His words are hushed, unsteady - like they were on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. Pressing a lingering trail of kisses down your arched spine, he gulps in your heady pheromones. “-oh, s’not even that fucking p-pollen, ya have no fuckin’ idea.”

But ah he gets even harder at your scent. Shuddering out a heavy groan, every powerful limb of Toji’s utterly loosening at the way your toasty cunt was hugging him so tightly all over again. You’re being massaged against his mouth-watering abs when he pushes even further in-

“Where the fuck do you think you’re g-going, huh?”

It takes you a few cockdrunken seconds to realize that this is Toji talking to you - deep baritone a few octaves higher, cracking ever-so-slightly at the end in a way you’d never even imagined before. And a few more to recognize that you’d been clawing at the rickety headboard, jittery hips sneaking mere inches away from his ruthless size.

You’re gasping, letting go immediately. “I-I didn’t mean- you’re just so big, Toji.”

And, truly, he was.

There’s so much of him.

You didn’t know whether it was the sex pollen that had him fitting out the snug inches of his girth so massively bigger than usual. Strawberry tip red and painting your puffy pussy lips to be dripping wet, it seemed like just the tiniest piston has his rotund head spreading open your taut insides.

Has Toji’s head reeling. Has him getting angry at the slightly melty recoil that had his bawling tip parting from your insides for a split-second.

Addicted.

But this makes Toji hiss, it makes his strong arms wrap around your waist in a vice-like bodylock. Eyes crinkling with watery beads of tears, he catches your lips in a filthy, filthy kiss. “No- don’t fuckin- you can fucking take it- want it- need it, ma, please- think m’gonna die without ya-”

Gripping harshly onto your hips to slam into the very depths of your pussy, he’s feeding your sopping slit with every his girthy inch. All the way until his hefty balls kiss wetly up against your ass.

THUD!

“Oh shit-” your voice quivers, eyeing the sagging end of the bed. “Toji, you broke the-”

But that didn’t matter to Toji. Why would it?

SLAM!

In fact, it’s the fucking last thing he could think about before swiftly maneuvering your body to press against the fucking floor with a strained gruff.

And in a split-second, something muscular and weighty is being pressed onto the back of your head. You gasp when you realize that it’s Toji’s foot, angling his gyrating hips perfectly right to swipe an oozing glide of wispy precum down your battered g-spot.

He’s panting - heaving out, “Heh, s-spread ‘em-” Frantically kneeing apart your limp legs wider, “oh, yeah tha’s it. Shhh sh sh-” You didn’t know whether Toji was trying to soothe you or his greedy self. “Take this f-fuckin’ cock f’me, alright?”

Splaying out one palm midway down your stomach to massage and feel for his riotous nudge, exactly where he could feel himself ramming in for the nth time. Over and over-

Hmm…maybe this sex pollen wasn’t too bad.

“W-what?” You’re whirling your bleary gaze over your shoulder to sputter and Toji registers that his drunken mouth has accidentally babbled out loud.

But the only response you mercifully get is Toji spooning his fingers down to swirl over your neglected clit. A sleazy grin smearing all over his face at the way his thick digits slip and slide from how coated your sensitive nub was with his seed.

“M’jus’ s-sayin, ma-” he grins, and you feel his tight, cum-filled balls thwack! thwack! thwack! against your overstuffed cunt even harder. More wickedly. “This sex pollen’s making me a bit…hungry again.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 7:3

“M-my love-” Nanami hisses through a wince at the way his rich baritone was breaking pathetically - hoarse, choked-up. He’s never felt this way. Never. “J-jus’ one more?”

Never been so greedy. So horny.

Like he’d die if he doesn’t paint your pretty pussy white.

And if the way your husband had you folded into a mean mess of a mating press wasn’t enough to agree, he’s planting a pretty peck right against the battered bullseye of your g-spot with his swollen tip. Hard.

The spongy cushion making him collapse onto his elbows with a groan, repeating his same, syrupy mantra. “Please o-one more-”

Nanami’s stamina was incredible by itself but now?

Now it had you blinking back your sobbing tears, swiping away the sweat-dampened strands of blond from his face with a trembly hand, “Only one more?”

Oh, Nanami’s voice opens to agree, his lips crack open to repeat them- those words barely babbling out of his loose mouth before your clingy walls suddenly give him a tempting squeeze. And any and all rational thought is sucked thoroughly out of him-

“I-I don’t know-” he’s breathing out, letting his head fall into the safety of the crook of your neck. Hips still stuttering forwards to spearhead into your gummy depths. Mindlessly. He could feel the drippingly wet slosh of his cum coating his shaft. Drinking in your sweet, sweet scent, “Don’t- don’t know why this is happening. Don’t know if it’s ‘nough- don’t hngh- know if it’ll ever be. J-jus’ want you a pretty m-momma, darling.”

And it’s all that he’s been thinking about for the whole day now.

Right from the very second he’d been hit with a special grade technique during a mission, to the moment that Nanami had stormed up to your apartment and taken you right then and there on the living room floor.

Hours ago.

“P-please-”

Nanami doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, but it’s just about all that he can sputter out like a little prayer.

However, you do, apparently. Flashing him a cockdrunken smile that makes his breath hitch, and his tip bawl out a new velvety wave of precum that splatters against the ends of your cervix. You hum, “Mhm- o-one more, Ken–”

Immediately being shut up by a sudden slam! into your sweetest spots, he’s rutting in so deep, so thoroughly that you’re left deliriously wondering whether the circumference of his girth would be left indented onto your melty walls. Again. And again and again and- shit, was he using his jujutsu?

Was he even in control?

“Can’t stop- can’t stop can’t stop- I-it’s like-” Jackhammering pound after angry pound so hard that you’re being pushed further and further up the floor. “You’re too good to me- no!” he cries, accidentally sliding out from between your glossy folds to smack! smack! smack! his furiously reddened cock down the splatters of seed that drip down from your slit. Twitching until he bullies back in- “-promise m’gonna m-make it up to ya- hah- promise m’not gonna miss.”

And then he’s letting your unsteady fingers clutch tightly around the silky fabric of that yellow, speckled work tie that he hadn’t even bothered removing. “H-hold onto this- hold- in case I get too…”

“Ken-” you hiss, feeling the cold circumference of Nanami’s wedding ring prod at your clit. So full you have the distinct thought that you could almost explode. “M’not s-sure if it’ll fit though-”

But Nanami didn’t want that - couldn’t even bear the thought-

“W-won’t fit?” Nanami shudders, eyes wide. “It won’t…won’t fit?”

Sounding so devastated.

Cracking a low whine at the very back of his throat when he immediately flinches away - spreading out his rounded fingers across your stomach to press. He coats his warm cock with a sudden gleam of cum eagerly, “S’this o-okay now? Will- will it fit, my love?”

And it’s so, so filthy.

You’re mewling like such a slut, “Yes- yes yes yes yes- m-more-”

Nanami was practically burning up, heaving for air. His feverish pleas panting out condensely against your face.

“Gonna fill this ngh- cute cunt up until she’s overspilling.” Rummaging his dick inside your gooey cunt dangerously accurately, grazing up the thumping pace of his veins down the crevices of all your sensitive spots. Even hidden ones. “Have you all round and ah- glowing with my kid.” Uncharacteristically leaving a sodden swat! at your plump clit to watch your gush out in another creamy ring. “Can’t rest- can’t fuckin’ stop until I do. Feels like m’burning.”

Your fingers wrap even more desperately around his tie, pulling - hauling.

Yes, he gulps. This is what he wanted - what he needed. What the pollen was begging him for.

His lips leer down to glissade wetly across your own, not even a kiss because he could barely even manage one. Unable to even raise his droopy eyes to meet your stare, “-hah- what do you want- t-tell me what you want, my wife.”

Your own lips quiver. “I-I want two babies, Ken-”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

When Nanami was out of control, he was unrecognizable.

Hips slamming against yours in a few more sloppy strokes, before filling up every empty space with hot pumps of his seed. Voluminous. It’s spurting against your walls with a wet thwack! and not even your hand around his tie makes him slow down.

The air crackles with a few more sparks of jujutsu - except Nanami couldn’t control it. Couldn’t grasp the way even with his technique, he was so drunk on your pussy that his cock was just barely drawing wet glides of cum down your g-spot. Almost missing.

Making him malfunction his cursed technique.

Yet, the only thing you can register is when your own orgasm hits, white-hot tingles flashing down your spine. Toes curling, pulse thundering so loudly in your ears that you almost miss-

“O-one…just one more, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - (Un)affected

“I don’t…I don’t-”

Now, Geto Suguru had absolutely zero idea what he was about to babble away - maybe that he wasn’t affected by that sex pollen curse he’d swallowed, maybe that he wasn’t losing a slight bit of his sanity with every feverish drag of his fingers down his painfully hard cock.

“-don’t need anythin’ but your hngh- pretty face, gorgeous. Help out your leader, would ya?”

And oh, you looked like such a dream below him - with your glassy eyes blinking up at him, tongue darted out so obscenely to catch the stray splatters of his aphrodisiac-like precum. Pearly, winking beads that drip! drip! drip! down his visibly throbbing length.

His beautiful second-in-command.

And he was so ruined.

Sounding so pathetic when he whispers, scared at the way he knew his words would crack pathetically at the very end. “B-bring yerself closer, no need to be hah- shy- let me- let me…please.”

But he looked so pretty above you.

Splayed out in such a messy way on the throne for the association leader, dark brows knitted, sweat trickling in glistening rivulets down his forehead. Strands of Geto’s long, dark hair stick to his forehead when he smacks your pouty lips with his angry cock until they’re rubbed raw.

“Wan’ you to cum, Sugu–” you’re batting your lashes in a way that makes his swollen cock twitch in his hands. Smearing your palms up and down the creamy skin of his muscular, manspread thighs, “-cum on my face, please?”

Fuck, he was so unfairly sensitive right now that just the singular gust of your words hitting his cock made Geto’s abs ripple. Make his entire body wrack with shudder after shudder as his weepy tip spits out a translucent few beads of precum.

“S-such a naughty mouth.” he’s hissing, trying for the life of him to not act like the simplest glide of your palms had Geto fighting back his high already. “Better be ah- careful. Can’t talk like that n’ not end up s-stuffed full, honey–”

It’s a warning.

For both of you.

Geto’s finding his roughened digits fly down faster and faster his length, squeezing ever-so-slightly harder near his mushroom slit.

You whine, “But I want that, Sugu.”

You little minx. You evil, evil little-

And he can’t fucking stop the way his hefty balls clench - painfully, obscenely, sluttily in a way that has the pinkish divot at the very end of his cock spurt out in a ribbon of steaming hot seed.

You’re closing your eyes, waiting for more- but Geto has other plans.

Plans that have him swiping over the thick pad of his thumb to press down hard at the very ruby head of his erection, choking back a slew of swears when he wavers off his orgasm for just a second. Just long enough to drag you upwards with one free hand attaching to your waist.

Up, up, up-

“Sit on m-my cock, gorgeous-” he’s spitting, wet and panted against your lips. Dizzying. You gasp at the sodden drag of Geto’s bawling tip down your pre-soaked pussy lips, meshing in a wet, wet French kiss. “-c’mon. Ride me. Ride me please- m’burning up.”

And it was the only opportunity you’d get to hear the dangerous Geto Suguru whine, to see him blink his long, teary lashes up at you when you sink your drooling cunt down his girth just an inch.

He was so warm splitting you open.

So steaming hot when your tight pussy floods with string wads of cum, such a mind-numbing orgasm that Geto can feel it before he even registers it. One that has his toes curling, his arms locking around your waist to fuck up into you like he hates you.

“D-don’t get it twisted m’early because of the ah- p-pollen.” he groans, back muscles flexing with every perfect curved arch upwards into your greedy hips. The wet thwack! of skin-on-skin resounds throughout the tatami room and makes Geto drool. Unable to even spell out coherent sentences right now - well, not until he feels your sloppy hips slow down just a tad.

“Sugu- m’tired.”

Truly, his stamina was too much.

Swat! His fingers leave branding little imprints, before roughly attaching to pinch your pulsing clit, “Work on it, gorgeous- tha’s an order. Because m’not hngh- anywhere near done. Jus’ milk me- milk me dry…oh, yeah let that pretty pussy have her fun-”

“O-oh fuck fuck fuck-” You clutch precariously at the mahogany woodwork of his chair, thighs aching with the sheer effort to try and bounce your drippingly wet pussy down onto his rudely jostling cock. “-there’s so much- ah- can feel it drippin’ down my thighs-”

“Sh-shut up.” Geto’s managing to get out through grit teeth, planting another unabashed smack on your cunt simply to prove his point. Begging, “God, please- mercy-”

Because your honeyed tone is so sweet, your words so filthy that they have him spurting out a few more fatigued rivers of cum.

Rasping out the tiniest of whimpers with each of your damp bounces, he makes you work. “O-open that mouth.” And you listen - of course, you do - letting those pretty, spit-glossed lips fall open into a soft ah! All so perfect for him to spit- the taste makes you hot. Burning, like an aphrodisiac. And now you’re feeling dizzy. “Bein’ way too talkative f-for a ngh- second-in-command. Aren’t ya?”

And obviously you don’t point out the slight drizzle of drool that makes its way down the corner of his coral pink lips, obviously you don’t point out just how hot and heavy he was swirling lewdly inside your walls. Stretching you out to the max - still so hard despite cumming for the nth time already.

No, instead, you smile drunkenly. “Why? D-does it affect you, sir?”

Smack!

“Sh-shut up n’ keep riding me, gorgeous.” And you could’ve sworn that Geto’s voice broke.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Bed chem.

Choso was ruined. Absolutely fucked out…and he was so pathetically embarrassed about it.

Unable to wrangle the teary ah! ah! ah! ripping from the very depths of his throat every time your drenched cunt was dragging down his sensitive shaft. Still clothed, still glissading along his thumping veins teasingly - but he felt like he could cum already.

“P-please, baby-” The thick pads of his jittery fingers find their way to the edges of your soaked underwear, hooking inside ever-so-slightly - and the tiniest sneak peek of your puffy pussy lips makes him gulp. “-please I feel like m’gonna hah- die without ya.”

“But, Cho—” And that nickname in your sweetened tone is enough for him to buck right off the silken sheets. “-how am I supposed to help you with the pollen, otherwise? M’jus’ being a good friend.”

You wanted him to say it.

You wanted your best friend to beg.

“I-I…”

And oh, he trails off - because you’re helping him slide your sticky panties just enough down your thighs. Flashing him such a dangerous smile right as you watch Choso’s mouth drop, dark brows scrunching together when he heaves out a moan.

“I d-don’t know, baby- I don’t- I don’t know-” And he felt like he was burning, he felt his melty mind getting dizzier by the minute as your slobbering cunt drags in determined gyrations against him faster. Swollen folds spreading to coat the pattern of his throbbing veins in a gleaming sheen. Humping so ferally. “B-but you smell so good and f-feel so oh- all I want is…”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his sentence.

Within a split-second, your panties are left in tiny tatters for him to breathe in. Filthily.

Drinking in his fill before he has one pinning both your wrists behind your back. The other plugging into your cunt to circle a slow swivel enough for him to bully inside-

Heaven. He was in heaven.

“This. This is what it oh- feels like? This is a-all I want-” he’s hiccuping, voice breaking into such a pretty whine every time his raw cock is tapping against the softest areas of your gummy walls. “-to fuck my p-pretty best friend. All I’ve ever wanted- S’my first ngh- time, y’know?”

You’re fluttering your eyes back open to bore down at Choso’s fucked-out expression. “S’your first time? Wh-why didn’t you ah- tell me, Cho?”

And maybe because he was embarrassed, maybe because all it takes is a single clench of your saturated cunt around his girthy shaft for him to shoot out a few wisps of cum. Half-orgasming already.

But Choso only plants his powerful thighs flat on the mattress to pressurize his slow drills upwards.

Tentative, almost. As if he wasn’t utterly rummaging your insides, poking at your glossy cervix with sopping wet glides of his fat cock, stretching out your taut channel to massage spots you didn’t even know existed.

The pollen had him greedier than ever.

“Mhmm– because th-there’s no one else f’me.” His lower lip wobbles cutely, dewy eyes drooping to an almost closed state with every drag of his cock down your elastic walls. Filthy. Feverish. “S’jus’ for a bit- just- hah- just for the pollen, remember?”

Oh, right. You’re shuffling your hands precariously onto Choso’s bulging pecs to determine your grinds even more thoroughly. Pound after pound that left your ass stinging with impact. It was so hypnotic that you’d almost forgotten about the entire reason you were…helping in the first place.

You fingers bully between his plump lips, muttering, “Open f’me, Cho?”

And of course Choso would do anything you command in a heartbeat. Anything. The only thing on his mind when he lets his mouth fall slack - just in time for your syrupy stream of spit. Hitting right onto the middle of his tastebuds, swallowing.

So heady that he half-wonders whether you were the cause of the sex pollen itself.

Holding back a few strained pleas for mercy, he’s placing a wet line of pecks down the side of your teary cheeks- shit, when did you even start crying? Choso can’t help but let his pinkish tongue loll out to lick a languid stripe up those salty dredges, groaning.

“Just for the p-pollen and…”

“And what?” you’re crying out, feeling one set of his ringed fingers curl deftly around the nub of your clit. Swiping a wet drag of his rotund pads down the very sensitive edges of the hood, it makes your thighs shiver down even faster to meet Choso’s addicted pace.

“And then…”

In a split-second, you’re being flipped over so meanly. Splayed out like such a slut on the plush mattress when Choso drags your limp legs up onto the curves of his deltoids, abs flexing and rubbing up against your ass when he folds in half down, down, down into the meanest mating press you’ve never thought possible.

Choso’s gleamingly sharp canines sink into your ear lobe, breath feverishly hot against your ear. In fact, all of him was absolutely burning right now. Heaving. “-then m’gonna hngh- marry you.” Spitting into your open mouth - broken. Desperate. “F-fuck the talking stage, fuck dating- m’gonna wife you up.” You feel his hips get sloppier and sloppier, spearheading Choso’s fat cock to the very bruised bottom of your pussy. “Shit- gonna propose. Be my wife- the mother of my kids. Breed this cunt- Let me please- ngh- please by my wife.”

Maybe it was the sex pollen that had him babbling so much, maybe it was you.

But either way - Choso doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a shit when you’re opening your lips enough to mumble, “I-I do- Cho.”

His best friend. Enough to make him rut up into you wildly like an animal. Clashing his wet tip over and over in sopping slides down your g-spot. Again. And again and-

And the only answer is Choso’s whimper, “A-and please…can your h-husband cum inside, baby?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Mouthy?!

Sukuna’s hooking two of his fingers into the corner of his mouth - his other mouth. A wide, ravenous smile. Larger, greedier, positioned right underneath your shamefully spread cunt. “Move that damn hand before I hafta do it myself, woman.”

And oh he sounded so impatient - so utterly strained like just a few seconds longer would have Ryomen Sukuna rampaging.

Your entire body burns with embarrassment, jittery legs almost coming to a close at the feverish pant of his second mouth. Drooling, ravenously condensing out little droplets of saliva that splatter onto your quivering hole like a blank canvas.

“B-but are you sure, Kuna?” you’re whimpering, biting back tiny gasps at the way his tongue drags its sodden taste-buds along where you were straddling him with your sheeny inner thighs. Face sitting but…not quite. “Y-you’re that needy?”

Oh.

Oh, you should’ve known better than to accuse the infamous King of Curses of being needy - no matter how utterly true it was right about now.

Sukuna didn’t know what potion Uraume had accidentally knocked into his last meal, but it had him so ruined. He couldn’t even breathe without all the blood in his towering body rushing straight into his painfully swollen cocks, couldn’t even think without feeling like his veins were boiling with the sudden greed to taste you.

Because Sukuna might have had his meal…but he was still starving. In a way he didn’t even know before rolling his tongue past your glossy folds.

And he was chuckling out a dangerous bout of rumbling laughter that makes your lower lip wobble, “Don’t fuckin’ call me n-needy. M’jus-” Addicted? Hypnotized? Battling with the feeling that he’ll die without your pretty pussy? Deep voice petering out when he couldn’t even begin to justify the way that Sukuna was dragging his lolling tongue down your sodden folds, twirling the very pointed tip over the hood of your clit. “-fuck- I don’t need to give you an explanation, p-puny human. Just ride me.”

That’s all the answer you’re getting before he hunches over - long tongue tunneling even deeper around your melty walls and Sukuna was drooling. Smacking many, many wet kisses.

He’s throwing his head back into the decadently royal pillows with a slight, cracking whimper at the sweet, sweet taste of you on his tongue. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Swivelling wetly so that every single bead of your juices drip its silky way into his widely opened mouth. “Jus’ need a taste- just one taste.”

Your juices were like nectar, making the pollen rush.

“C-can you even taste like this, Kuna–?” your voice comes out in tiny whines. Positioning your shivery hands on either side of his shoulders to steady your legs - it just felt so unbearably good.

Swat!

And even with his thick, calloused fingertips, it felt like Sukuna was putting in twice the strength to plant a branding smack onto the curve of your jiggling ass. “Silly girl, of course I can taste this pretty cunt of yours-” Smoothing over the raised digits, and bearing you with such a sleazy grin. “-askin’ soo many q-questions, huh?”

“But-”

Smack!

“Shh, why don’t we let her speak for a second, now- hm?”

Silencing down his own grunts until all that resounds in the chamber are those sloshing squelches of your cunt dragging back and forth Sukuna’s monstrous tongue. The sounds of his wet muscle gyrating in and out hotly - it was almost burning.

“Heh, real talkative this one is, too.” he’s snickering. Two of his arms attaching roughly onto your trembly hips, and a third covering your sagging mouth. “-why dontcha hngh- play with this pretty cunt of yours a lil’, brat? Make her all nice n’ even wetter f’me to taste?”

And it’s all you can do to dance one hand down to run over your poorly neglected clit, toying with that nub just the way you liked - and the way Sukuna liked, too. If the way his mouth - both his mouths - were smiling told you anything.

Yet, he wanted more.

“Fuck- fuck, wait.” And Sukuna smacks! away your hand with his free one - he couldn’t even last a few minutes with anyone other than himself staking a slutty claim on your cunt. “Let- let me.” Every roll of his tongue goes hand-in-hand with the meanest little drag of his fat thumb down your clit. At your surprised yelp, “Shut up and ride it.”

You’re clenching your teeth, bouncing your thighs up and down to glissade a ride everywhere from the ridges of Sukuna’s defined abs to the edges of his slurping tongue.

“Heheh yeah-” he’s giggling - giggling. Drunk on you and your ravenous hips, you were moving against him so filthy at this point and he almost feels himself - the king of curses - blush. Head lolling backwards but eyeing down to watch how spearheaded you were on his tongue, surging in and out in wet sloshes to fuck your pretty cunt open on him. “Clenchin’ around me so tight- looks like you’re gonna cum, hm?”

“I-I am…so close, Kuna-”

“Don’ needa tell me- this cunt is speaking ‘nough for the both of ya. Right about-” Your eyes spark with sudden stars as he leaves another sudden smack! on your ass, your clit, and then one on your thigh. Before pulling- hauling- “-now.”

And the very moment you feel that build-up within your stomach snap - gushing out in wet wave after wave of your orgasm. All you can do is grab on helplessly to the- the headboard?

Blinking open your bleary eyes to realize that you were sitting on Sukuna’s mouth. His actual mouth. Cracked wide open for him to lap up every single bead and splatter of your squirting.

Such a filthy mess.

“There we go-” he’s groaning, eyes falling half-lidded. And through the corner of your eye, you catch the way his second mouth licks its lips devilishly. “-now I’m almost full.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “D-do you hate me?”

“What?” you’re blinking down at your dear boyfriend. “Of course not, Toru-”

“Then, y-you really think this will hold me back, sweetheart?”

The words are barely out of Gojo’s mouth before he already knows that they’re bluffs, already knows that the strongest is powerless against those thick black blindfolds restraining his wrists to the bedposts - and you.

You, you, you-

With your trembly legs straddling his lap, hovering your cunt just above his strawberry blushed head so deliciously. Your sodden pussy lips slobbering all the way down his length in a way that Gojo finds dizzying. He just can’t help but tug-

“Now now, I said no pulling.” Your honeyed tone makes his fat tip twitch despite the way it was dripping with a filthy warning. “Jus’ the tip, Toru. Remember?”

Right…not.

“Yes yes yes yes-” Gojo gasps wetly, feet planting on either side of the mattress to buck up and push. To smear a pretty peck right past your folds and against that tight ring of muscle, hot. And, shit, maybe it was that fucking pollen but Gojo whimpers, how he wished he could touch you. “-jus’ the tip. The tip hngh- please jus’ take me I don’t even c-care.”

But he did.

Oh, how much Gojo cared ever since he’d let himself be hit by that weak sex pollen jujutsu as a joke.

Never expecting to end up babbling thoroughly pussydrunkenly like this, to have his twitchy cock sinking in a mere inch into your melty walls and feeling like he was about to burst.

“You say that but this is way more than ‘just the tip’, Toru–”

And Gojo can’t help but look, to snap his teary eyes downwards and drink in the way your puffed-up pussy lips were bulging all around his thick cock. Just barely past his sensitive slit, he could catch that thumping pulse at your cunt like you wanted to milk something delicious.

“A-are ya sure, pretty?” he’s snickering, gripping on tightly to use the lewd leverage of his ties to rut up, up, up- “Doesn’t l-look like hngh- s’enough to me.”

Shit.

He can’t help the way his prattling mouth sags open when your tight cunt swallows up another greedy inch. And if any of you two had been in a slightly less delirious state of mind, then you’d have noticed the way the dim bedroom lighting flickers, the way your bed shifts.

Keening at the slight thickening where his hilt was fatter, spearheading your taut pussy so open. It’s like his prominent veins were throb throb throbbing to massage forbidden sweet spots that you didn’t even know existed.

You’re taking a few sloppy seconds to find your voice, gathering up every shred of will in your body to make sure it doesn’t break. “D-don’t act like you’re hah- forgiven for g-getting yourself into this mess, baby-”

Ah, Gojo practically purrs underneath you. “Jus’ feel like m’gonna d-die without ya-” Bed creaking when he riotously thrusts upwards to match your tantalizing pace with a much sloppier one of his own. That smack-on-smack after every pound music to his ears - but not enough. “But, if you let m-me outta these ngh– ties then maybe I could-”

“Toru…”

Oh, he was in trouble.

But that angry scoff on your pretty features only had Gojo moaning, gulping in desperate heavals of your scented pheromones. Dizzying.

“Satoru.”

Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, Gojo was out of control.

Head throwing back at your voice, lips gasping. Furiously ramming upwards into you with every ounce of strength he had - and Gojo could feel his limbs weaken, his bones ache with fatigue but he needed more.

Maybe it was the pollen, probably it was him.

Burning for it.

“Aww don’ be like that. J-just the tip- just the tip-” he’s hiccuping out, eyes rearing almost half-closed. Sweat drips down the middle of his spine, your slick smears down in a wet gush onto his tufts of white when your pussy lips kiss his toned pelvis. Way past the tip but Gojo couldn’t stop- “-a little more-” Pushing mindlessly deeper, “-the tip- fuck you can take it- jus ah-” Wouldn’t stop. Can’t stop.

“Toru-” your words pitch into something pathetically whiny now. “-m’so close…”

He already knew

Of course, he already knew. His six eyes could catch that extra wad of drool coating your inner walls, the way your rapid pulse was probing even louder against his overwhelmed cock. Almost painfully.

“Mhm– I know I know-” he gasps, ripping out a guttural moan when you’re craning over your pretty self to lick a path down the side of that sliver of drool at his mouth. “-cum f’me then- cum- hngh- cum on my cock, please?”

“I should hah- leave you right now, for lying about j-just the tip.”

But who was Gojo Satoru against you?

The slight threat only just leaves your glossed lips before he feels a stubborn pricking behind his eyes. Fuck, what a spectacle this would be to anyone right now. Big, bulbous tears crinkling down the side of his cheeks, Gojo bats his wet lashes innocently up at you. “Please?”

And with a shudder, you’re cumming - crashing headfirst into your orgasm.

Fuck, you’re wondering whether this curse was contagious with how strong those waves of your high are. Peak after peak and only much, much later do you realize that Gojo’s already ripped straight through his restraints.

Left as mere tatters by the pillow when he latches on roughly to your waist and pounds up his drilling rams, over and over to target your poor, bruised g-spot. Fucking you through your high, vision swimming, lights exploding-

And Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s cumming until he’s managing to crack his glowing eyes open to bore down at the milky ring of white painting around his thick hilt. Gasping in wonderment, he’s running a singular digit down the glossy puddle - before popping it into his mouth. Sucking.

“Sweetheart…would you h-hate me if I said I’m ah- still feeling the sex pollen?”

“...”

A/N. Hope you lovelies have a great dayyyy <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

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chuluoyi · 2 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍

- sylus x reader

when your husband went away without so much as a proper notice, you thought you wouldn't forgive him so easily. but he tries everything to capture your heart back: spoiling and indulging you… little do you know that he expects a reward in return

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—rotten fluff, domestic bliss, explicit smut, cunnilingus, fingering, mating press, taking elements from sylus' card night of secrecy, secret times approaching dusk and spoilers! from myth beyond cloudfall

note: my first sylus x mc fic! with this i'm spreading the soft!sylus agenda and that spicy 4-star approaching dusk has destroyed me :') loosely based on this post

Sometimes, you do wonder... does Sylus really think you're that easy to placate?

On one chilly morning, you woke up only to discover your hunk of a husband gone... and in his side of the bed, a sticky note.

Your eyebrow twitched as you read the audacious message scrawled on it:

Hey, kitten. I need to leave for a few days. There are things I have to handle on my own. Take care of yourself while I’m away. I’ll come back soon.

That was it. No clear explanation, no further details. Just those vague words in such short notice. The day before, he’d seemed like his usual self, not a hint of this sudden departure in sight.

It irked you. It made your heart clench at the same time. Because even after marrying you, Sylus remained elusive, playing his cryptic games. It was beyond you how he didn't even stop to consider how you were left worrying about him while he drifted in and out of his dangerous world without a second thought.

You understood the reality of your lives—that you were a hunter and he was the Onychinus leader, and that to be with him meant you had to walk that fine gray line between light and dark.

And you'd already made your choice. You had accepted it—accepted him—wholly. Even when your marriage had been a rushed affair and registered under false names to protect both your identities.

Things couldn't go on like this. You had to teach him a lesson too.

As your irritation simmered into determination, a devious plan began to take shape in your mind—a way to spite him just enough to make your point crystal clear.

Two days later

Sylus was done with his dirty business faster than he thought, and to appease you, he had come bearing gifts.

The precious little thing that is now his wife, of course he missed you too. But your safety was a price he wasn’t willing to gamble. If going away to take care of those pests meant your peace would be unperturbed, then he would leave without hesitation.

However, as he stepped inside the base, his relief quickly turned to unease. The space was eerily empty, the usual hum of activity conspicuously absent.

Normally, you’d be at the center of some commotion, locked in a spat with either Mephisto, or Luke and Kieran. But now—

“What do we do?! She’s gone!”

Sylus immediately rushed to the source of the ruckus, thinking something bad had happened to you. He found his henchmen standing in a tight, anxious circle around the coffee table.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Without a word, they stepped aside, revealing the object of their concern: a single note lying on the table.

He snatched it up, scanning the words. Then, he let out a sharp exhale of relief, a smirk began tugging at the corners of his lips.

Catch me if you can.

Typical. Absolutely typical. And maddeningly you.

. . .

That night, you had a very strange dream, it felt almost felt like stepping into the pages of an ancient tale.

You were a fallen princess wrongfully accused as a sorceress, who began consorting with the fearsome fiend from the Abyss.

The sorceress and her dragon. Together, you were an infamous pair, a dark legend whispered across generations. Your union had ignited Doomsday itself... and yet, amidst the turmoil and destruction, the sorceress fell in love with the dragon... deeply and irrevocably.

The dragon, in turn, was utterly bewitched by his little witch. He indulged your every whim, no matter how mischievous or perilous, and though he rarely spoke of his true feelings, he always found ways to show his affection.

The lucid dream felt as though it might go on forever, but you were pulled from it by the soft brush of lips against your forehead. The warmth lingered, blurring the lines between dream and reality, until your eyes fluttered open.

“Sylus...?” His features, fresh from your dream, now materialized in your reality. It took you a few seconds to realize that he had come here—

“Morning, sweetie.” His voice was rich and smooth, with that familiar, mischievous edge. A smirk curled on his devilishly handsome face as he leaned in, garnet eyes gleaming with playful intent. “Caught you now, hmm?”

The haze of sleep vanished in an instant, and you were suddenly wide awake. In a flurry, you shoved him away and turned your back on him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You’d left the N109 Zone for one of his safehouses in suburban Chansia City, thinking it would take him some effort to track you down. Clearly, you’d underestimated him.

“Oh. The kitten is in a bad mood, it seems.” Sylus’ gaze lingered on you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do I owe the ire for?”

“...”

“Silent treatment, huh? The lady of the house is getting better at our little games while I was away.”

“...”

“Remember, sweetie, there’s no divorce in our relationship, hmm? If you’re tired of me, keep taking naps.”

You felt the weight shift as he rose from the bed and stalked away. The door clicked shut, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You wanted to resent him for coming and going on his terms, for never offering even an apology. Yet, no matter how much you tried, a part of you remained hopelessly tethered to him. The part that couldn’t ignore the reminder of the dragon from your dream—captivating, powerful, and infuriatingly hard to resist.

You love him, really you do.

. . .

When you didn’t come down for breakfast some time later, Sylus barged into the room once again, and this time he came up with a different approach.

“My lady,” he began, his voice sickeningly low and sweet, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of mischief. “You haven’t had breakfast yet. Please come down.”

You shot him a look, unamused, and decided to play his game as you crossed your arms together. “What if I don't want to?”

His smirk only grew, his tone dripping with mock formality. “And what must I do to change your mind?”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice his persistence. He had chased you here, given you more time to sleep in, and now stood before you to get you to eat. You felt your resolve beginning to soften—maybe just a little.

“Carry me there,” you said with a hint of defiance, lifting your chin high, daring him to follow through.

Sylus tilted his head, failing to restrain his snort. “As you wish, my lady.”

He placed his arms around you effortlessly, one hand beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, lifting you into a flawless princess carry. You instinctively put your arms around his neck, and he turned to you.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire off a sharp retort, but before you could, he dived in—

Smooch!

—and planted a bold, wet kiss on your lips. You, wide-eyed, punched his chest in retaliation. “Sylus!”

He chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Careful now, sweetie. Wiggle too much, and you’ll fall.”

He carried you downstairs, effortlessly navigating each step with you still in his arms. Once there, he gently set you down onto the dining chair, and that was when you noticed the table.

Salad, slightly burnt toast, scrambled eggs, milk—simple dishes by all means, but the thought the big, bad Sylus making them?

Wait. When you arrived last night, this place was a dusty shell, and the refrigerator had practically nothing—

“You cleaned the place?” you asked, your tone laced with surprise as your turned from the spotless room to him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is that so surprising? I can cook and clean just like everyone else.”

It sent a wave of warmth through your chest. He’d prepared food and cleaned the place knowing you’d be hungry and uncomfortable with dust all around.

You huffed, trying to hide how your heart fluttered. “No, your cooking skills are questionable at best.”

As if to prove you wrong, Sylus disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a tray of warm, freshly baked dough that filled the room with a heavenly aroma.

“You are... baking?” You approached him, mystified at the sight of your husband, who usually at the scene of crime, behind the counter and started frosting the cupcakes.

He set the frosting bag down and picked up a cupcake, holding it to your lips with a teasing smile. “Here. Open up.”

Dutifully, you nibbled on the cupcake, and the sweetness immediately spread into your mouth. “It's tasty,” you mumbled, blinking at him. His eyes crinkled with satisfaction as he gestured toward the tray.

“Go have some more.”

Grinning, you grabbed another cupcake and eagerly took a bite. Munching away, you missed how Sylus’ gaze softened, his bright red eyes focused solely on you.

He couldn't resist pinching your full cheeks at that moment.

“Sy-wus!” you protested, glaring at him. His laughter broke free that instant, warm and unrestrained.

Utterly funny, utterly precious—that’s what you were to him.

Indignant, you scooped up some icing from the cupcake and smeared it right across his face. The stunned look he gave you was priceless, and before he could react, you burst into a fit of giggles and bolted out of the kitchen.

But as you reached the base of the stairs, a strong arm caught your waist from behind, halting your escape. You squealed in surprise, “Noooo!”

Sylus leaned closer and pressed you to his chest, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Ha. Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

He lifted you up with one arm and brought you back to the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and trapping you in place with his arms braced on either side. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he leaned in, and with a grin, he bumped his frosting-smeared nose against yours, leaving a sticky smudge.

“This is unfair!” you protested, still caught in a fit of giggles as you looped your arms around his neck for balance. Sylus chuckled along with you, his gaze steady and warm, never leaving yours.

Being with Sylus in the kitchen like this, savoring simple meals and smearing each other with frosting, it made you realize that you craved this domestic bliss more than you thought.

As the laughter subsided and you both settled into the quiet, your expression softened, all your previous grievances forgotten. The tenderness in your eyes said everything you didn’t need words for, and Sylus could see it clearly—you adored him, just as much as he adored you.

The one who gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul and sang to him in the night wind... is once again in his arms. A part of him was almost sentimental at the thought.

Instinctively, he closed the distance between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. But as they were about to meet, he paused, as if hesitating, leaving you puzzled.

Then, without a second thought—

To hell with it.

You chose to abandon all senses. You seized the moment—yanking him to you and capturing his lips, claiming him for yourself.

“…!” Suck, suck, bite, suck— You were relentless, and you didn't really know why. At first, even he was taken aback, but then his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in an intoxicating rhythm.

“Mmm...” You sneakily began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, your fingertips grazing his warm skin with each deliberate motion. Feeling it, Sylus broke the kiss just enough to smirk, his voice husky. “Getting bold, aren’t we?”

But before you could respond, his hands trailed down your sides, firmly pulling you closer, leaving no space between the two of you. His gaze burned with desire, as if daring you to keep going.

Then, without warning, his lips began their descent, grazing your jaw softly before trailing down to your neck and chest, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers across your skin. The feeling was intoxicating, even as his hair tickled you, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Ahh,” you couldn’t help but sigh, pressing him closer.

His lips left wet marks on your neck, and he whispered, “Now tell me... what made you so upset that you left home?”

When you didn't answer right away, one of his hand slid beneath your blouse, unhooking your bra and grazed your skin—

“You... keep coming and going as you please...” you stammered, feeling him begin to cup and squeeze your breasts, your breath growing erratic.

Sylus bit down on the skin at the nape of your neck, and you almost gasped.

“It's almost as if— Mmm—” The way he fondled your chest made the space between your legs grow warmer. “—you wouldn’t... miss m-me at all...”

How untrue. He stopped his ministrations, and the steel behind those eyes you loved so much met your gaze once again.

His wife was a mess of sweat already. He swiftly hooked your thighs around his waist and claimed your lips once more. With effortless movement, Sylus guided you to the long recliner in the room, laying you down there, still lost in the heat of the kiss. His hand intertwined with yours, pinning you to the soft surface.

“So...” he rasped, breathless against your lips, “You’re upset that I didn't miss you when I was away...”

His other hand worked to unzip your skirt. “But don’t you know? I... was worried about my wife getting into trouble when I wasn’t with her too... That’s why I was in a hurry to go home...”

Sylus pulled away, both of you panting for air, and he took a moment to savor the sight of your glazed eyes.

“But then I couldn't find her anywhere.” His voice was low and taunting, trailing his fingers on your belly. “I made it back as soon as I could, just like I told you and you are the one who misbehaved... Don’t you think I deserve something as a compensation?”

It took you three solid seconds to realize that the lower half of your body was now exposed. Your husband parted your legs and settled his face between them, pressing a kiss on your knee.

“So I believe at the very least... I deserve this.”

He dived straight for your clit then and you let out a loud gasp.

“Ngh! Aaah...!” You let out incoherent moans as he devoured your folds, lost in the cloudy haze of pleasure. It didn’t take long to unravel you at all.

“Mmnh—!” Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head. Ticklish, hot, wet— all in all, it felt like a sin, but you just had to get this heavenly taste. “…a-ah!”

Sylus felt how you were this close to get your orgasm, so he moved faster, licking and sucking your clit, while adding a couple of fingers to bring you to the peak faster. You unconsciously moved your hips against his face— too far gone to be thinking anything else, grasping the leather of the sofa and pulling his hair—

“Ahh— S-Sylus!” And then you came hard, screaming his name, feeling how much it was— were you squirting?

You didn't know, didn't care either, as it was the sight of his ruby eyes that grounded you. You were spent, spread on the sofa (most probably ruined it, even), your chest heaving to catch your breath.

Sylus let out a low rumble as he wiped your juices off his lips with a thumb and tasted it, looking so sinfully sexy like a forbidden fruit while at it.

“You said... I wouldn't miss you.” He traced one finger on your face with such tenderness. “Now, I'm going to show you, and you'll be judge of it. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?”

If you said no, he would comply. That was the kind of person he was and you knew it. Sylus had always looked out for you since the very beginning, no matter how nonchalant he made himself to be.

“No.” You met his eyes, your voice steady. “Show me.”

It was the only affirmation he needed. He began unbuckling his belt and pants, keeping his unclouded gaze on yours, and soon he too was bare before you.

He was thick and long, and while you had taken him many times, it was never fully easy to ease the intrusion. His tip was already slick with precum, and he spread it along his length.

“You know the rule,” he murmured with a meaningful smile. “If it becomes too much, you scream, and I'll stop.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, sliding in slowly. The sharpness of the stretch seeped into you bit by bit, and you couldn't help but groan.

“—!” A sharp hiss escaped you as he fully sheathed himself inside, hitting that sensitive spot. Had your eyes deceived you, or was there a slightly noticeable bulge in your belly from where he was?

Sylus seemed to notice it too, but he folded your knees, spreading you further. His gaze intense and filled with something deep, something possessive. The room seemed to narrow, your entire focus consumed by him as he settled in close.

“Eyes on me, kitten.” He gave you a smile, and with that, he started pounding you—

“Ah, hah, ahhh!” You couldn't stop moaning beneath him as he thrusted into you. The feeling of him so deep inside, coupled with the way you tightened around him, sent waves of blind pleasure through you.

Sylus’ eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he watched you squirm under him. Your skin glistened with the heat of the moment, and the sound of your breaths, frantic and needy, filled the room. His control slipped, just a little, as he pushed deeper, his movements faster, chasing the release that quickly building within both of you.

A pretty mess, his wife is. Your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain as he bred you, and he swore, of everything he had gone through, this look in your face was always worth it.

“Sylus—!” you almost wailed, nails digging into his back, and he growled, knowing full-well that he was finally losing it.

Just like that he shot his cum straight to your womb, his own body shuddering, thoroughly rutting into you. You cried, tears falling from your lashes as you too reached your climax.

Full, too full... Yet you knew that you wouldn't have it another way.

. . .

It felt warm and comforting.

Your eyes fluttered open hours later, and the first thing you noticed was Sylus' sleeping face, and that you were now in the bedroom.

He looked so vulnerable like this. You couldn’t help but be drawn to how serene and unguarded he was, a side of him that only you got to see. Even in his sleep, his arms were wrapped around your waist, as if to protect you from anything that might disturb your rest.

Your lover... and then husband. He was rough around the edges, sometimes didn't make any sense at all, and often reckless enough to burn himself playing with fire.

“You sly crow…” You gazed at his profile, still in awe that this elusive man was your husband.

Sylus was easy to read sometimes, and you couldn’t help but smile at your earlier doubts about him. How could you not see just how deeply he was attached to you?

Just like the inseparable pair of dragon and sorceress in your dream, you knew you’d stay by his side until the very end.

Out of a playful surge of affection, you tapped his nose, and he grunted softly but didn’t wake, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, seeking more of your warmth. It was cute, how he was so worn out that he sought comfort in your embrace.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then, vowing with everything you had that you’d never let him go, and that with him by your side, you would definitely made this life you shared a happy one.

Several weeks later...

“Thank you, miss!”

The boy bowed his head with a wide grin as soon as you handed him the red pocket money for Linkon New Year. You waved at him, smiling warmly as he skipped away, clutching the envelope in his hands.

The festive occasion inspired you to pay a visit to a nearby orphanage, driven by a desire to share more of the joy and blessings. You brought small gifts and red envelopes, hoping to bring a little light to the children’s lives and make the celebration even more meaningful for them.

Of course, Sylus tagged along too. He was the benefactor, after all.

“Sir, thank you for your generosity.” The headmistress approached Sylus, who looked effortlessly sharp in his red suit, and gave his hand a shake. “The children are really happy with the cupcakes and pocket money.”

He merely chuckled and pointed at you with his chin. “Thank her, my wife is the one with the idea.”

You joined the conversation shortly after, and it didn’t take long for the topic to shift from the orphanage to your personal lives.

“So, do the two of you have plans to start a family soon?” the headmistress asked, her tone warm and curious. “Both of you are still young, and you're so good with kids. Having children of your own might bring even more joy into your lives.”

You mustered a polite laugh, the words to gracefully deflect her comment forming on your lips, when—

“Soon,” Sylus interjected smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Very soon, in fact.”

You blinked at him, startled by his bold declaration, while the headmistress’s face lit up with approval. You nudged him discreetly.

As soon as the headmistress went on her way, you turned to him with a frown. “Why would you tell her that?”

Your gaze met his, clear and utterly clueless. Sylus snorted, so tempted to pinch your cheeks, but settling instead for a tender pat on your head.

“You'll see soon enough, sweetie,” he replied, his tone laced with playful mystery.

Epilogue

It was the dead of night when a sudden wave of nausea overtook you. Stumbling out of bed, you rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before retching up the contents of your stomach.

Your body trembled as you stood, dizziness threatening to topple you. Leaning heavily on the sink for support, you rinsed your mouth, trying to steady yourself. The effort left you shivering, your legs almost buckling beneath you.

Before you could even comprehend the blur in your vision, a pair of strong arms got a hold over you. “S-Sylus...?” you murmured faintly.

Without hesitation, he lifted you into his arms securely as he carried you back to the bedroom, his expression shadowed with concern.

As he settled you onto the bed, he held you close, pressing your face against his bare chest that peeked from his unbuttoned shirt. “Take deep breaths,” he urged softly, his voice grounding you.

You inhaled shakily, letting the familiar warmth of his scent calm your frayed nerves. Slowly, your breathing steadied, though the nausea still lingered in the back of your throat.

“Is it the first time?” he questioned, smoothing your hair. “Have you thrown up before?”

You shook your head. “No... I get dizzy spells but that's it... This is the first time.”

Nausea, dizziness, vomiting. It wasn't hard to piece together what it was. Amidst your dazed thoughts, the realization hit you, and you turned to your husband almost in wonder. “Sylus... a-am I...?”

Sylus broke into a smirk, ruffling your hair. “Told you. I know your period is late.”

Your heart skipped a beat—and it was the only thing you could hear in that moment. The thought that a baby would enter your lives left you briefly speechless.

“Yeah, at the rate we're going, it’s like we’re bunnies,” you quipped sullenly, trying to regain a sense of control as you leaned into his broad chest.

You really thought he would poke fun at you for your highly possible pregnancy, but instead you were taken aback when he pressed a fond, lingering kiss to the side of your head. His arms tightened around you, his soft chuckle reverberating through his chest.

And when you found his gaze again, his jewel-like eyes softened into such an extent that made your heart soar.

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest man— having this fair lady be the mother of my child?”

#sylus x reader #love and deepspace #lads sylus x reader #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #l&ds fluff #lads fluff #lads smut #l&ds smut #sylus fluff #sylus smut #lads sylus #sylus x mc #l&ds sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x you #l&ds x you #lnds

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kamitv · 7 months ago

Text

▷ What You Need

Sypnosis . In which your dad, who’s worked closely with jujutsu sorcerers his entire life, finally allows you to meet his best friend— who’s half-curse, half-human, and 100% your type. / Pairing . dbf!Choso x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, age gap (reader is 20 & Choso is like 150 lol), jjk au, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart, etc), dry humping, teasing, reader’s pretty blunt, dirty talk, Choso is so soft with the reader, heavy tension, filth, pussy slapping, squirting, creampie, semi-soft sex, semi-rough sex, overstim, etc . / wc . 10k (heh..)

A/N: I can’t even explain where this idea came from. Just know I was listening to ‘What You Need’ by The Weeknd & then my mind went from there. If you have Daddy issues, you’re welcome. [MDNI]

You wanted to fuck him.

Plain and simple, straight to the point, your first impression of your father’s best friend was that you wanted to have sex with him. Unfortunately for you, the problem with such fantasies was that you had a boyfriend at the time.

A really really shitty one but, still. You were in a relationship when you first met Choso. And you remember meeting the man so clearly too— partially because you ran right into him, and also because one conversation with him had you forgetting your sorry excuse of a boyfriend’s name.

——

You were yawning as you glided down the flight of stairs of your home with your phone in your hand, the smell of coffee simmering into your nose, and a deep unfamiliar voice heard coming from your kitchen.

And to think you nearly regret coming home to your father’s estate for the summer. You’d left all your friends in the city just to come out to the countryside and spend time with your parents. More specifically, your father.

The first week home you were bored out of your mind. The most exciting part of your day would be a lengthy phone call with your best friend about whatever drama you’d missed out on while you were out of town.

Your mother was out on a business trip and your father spent most days holed up in his office despite pleading for you to spend the summer home. The days dragged on and the hours felt endless.

Up until a rather particular Friday morning.

Time and time again over the years, your father had always mentioned one name when it came to his friends; Choso Kamo, his best friend. For whatever work-related reason, your dad always told you that you weren’t allowed to meet the guy. And yet, something had changed— apparently, the man needed a place to stay for a few months.

And yeah, sometime throughout Thursday night you briefly remember talking to your father about meeting the mysterious ‘Choso Kamo’ the next day but, you didn’t expect to run into the guy first thing that following morning.

Standing in the middle of your kitchen as you’d carelessly waltzed in, large hands latching onto your waist from the initial contact of your forehead meeting his chest, and husky deep tone hitting your ears with a sexy, “Woah,” The man uttered, causing your body to tense up from head to toe, “Careful, sweetheart.”

His voice was heavy in such a low purr, prompting a chill to slip down your spine before you angled your head up to look at the source of such a tone. An immediate lump was caught in your throat and you think you forgot how to speak properly because you’re blurting out a startled little curse before you even realize it.

“Sorry I-, damn.” You breathe out in reaction to the man in front of you.

His hands, which you’re only just now realizing are at your sides, are steady to leave you after assuring you’re not going to fall forward. The deepest set of dewy brown eyes settle on your face and you think you’re in love. Dark bags from lack of sleep weigh sexily beneath his low-lidded eyes, a jet black shade of ink is printed across the bridge of his nose, not a single blemish in sight, and a sweet yet masculine scent rushes into your nose all at once.

It was as though God decided to deliver an angel directly to you in the form of a very very attractive man— only thoughts of sin clouding your mind as he tips his head to the side and studies your face carefully, the messy strands of hair at his forehead swaying slightly with his little movement.

And then this man, whose skin noticeably has a deep red undertone, has the nerve to smirk at you. Pretty plump rose-tinted lips curve so suavely that you’re staring way harder than you meant to and watching his mouth move as he says something to you once more.

Although, you don’t hear a thing he says. You’re in a daze, stuck staring so rudely at his lips and how perfect they appear until your name is said.

You flinch and lift your gaze to meet his, “H-Huh?” You stammer, getting flustered all over again by the intense eye contact.

He lets out the softest little chuckle and you can feel your heart swooning, “I asked if you were alright,” The brunette repeats for you, studying your eyes closely, “You walked right into me so…”

“I-I’m fine,” You stutter before clearing your throat and taking a slight step back to gather yourself. That rich scent of cologne oozing off of his body was making you dizzy with desire, “Sorry for walking into you.”

That smile on his face only seems to grow softer, “It’s alright,” He says, soon extending a hand out to you, “I’m sure your father wanted to introduce us to one another but, this works too. I’m Choso-“

“Kamo,” You finish for him as you meet his hand with your own, shaking it firmly, “I-, wait,” You can finally feel the thumping of your heart settling down— meaning you can return to a proper reaction to that information, “You’re my dad’s best friend?”

Choso gives you a little nod, “I am,” He hums before eyeing you up and down, “And you’re…” His eyes freeze somewhere for a split second but then he’s snapping them back up to your face, “A lot older than I thought.”

Your brows pinch together, “I’m sorry? How old did my dad say I was?”

“That’s the thing, he didn’t say at all. I just assumed you were a little girl,” He admits, finally retracting his hand from yours after becoming overly aware of the way your thumb was slipping across his knuckles while you shook his hand. “And as we can see,” He lets off a little scoff, “You’re far from that.”

The way your eyes widen at that has him rushing to correct himself.

“Well, n-not that that’s a bad thing, I just-, I mean, you’re a grown woman and I wasn’t expecting that,” Choso manages out quickly.

Then you’re chuckling and it’s like a sweet melody to his ears, his entire facial expression simmering to a look of ease. “It’s okay, I know what you meant,” You tell him, flashing the prettiest smile he thinks he’s ever set his eyes on, “After all, I was expecting an old wrinkly man but no, Dad brings home some 6ft sex symbol with tatts.”

His brows meet for a second as he bats his lashes at you as if to see if you were gonna realize what you just said. Little did he know, you’re aware of what you said and you meant every syllable— boldly making your attraction to him known from the very beginning.

And maybe that was where it all started. Maybe that was the calm before the storm of whatever it is you’d call the things you and Choso experience over the remainder of the summer.

Because after that little encounter, you and Choso get along a little too well.

——

The first day was a breeze. After getting friendly with one another in the kitchen, you were sure to skip over to your father’s office and inform him of having already met his best friend so he wouldn’t try to awkwardly introduce you two later.

Your dad made sure to ask you how you felt about his best friend staying there for a few months— to which you explained that you didn’t care too much, you’d be leaving back to the city for school again in like a month and a half so who cares?

That, and why on earth would you complain about that sexy curse living just down the hall from you?? Which was another thing in itself, you were aware of what he was, your dad briefly explained it to you before which is all the more reason why you expected some old wrinkly person.

As such, you needed to express your infatuation to someone as soon as possible. And what better victim than your best friend back in the city?

Now laying on your stomach across your old bed, your legs swing back and forth in the air as you thoughtlessly chat it up with your friend, “No, you don’t get it. He’s sooo hot,” You exclaim for like the millionth time since the call connected.

She chuckles from the other end, “Girl, this is your sixth time reminding me within the past thirty minutes, I think I get it.”

“But you don’t,” You whine dramatically, “His eyes, they’re so pretty, the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen-, ugh,” Your face drops down into one of your pillows for a second as you smile to yourself and recall the countless times you and Choso have made eye contact, “And the way he smells— like fuckin’… roses or something, but roses in the middle of a dark rainforest with-“

“Okay, okay,” Your friend laughs, “We get it. He smells good. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me about how you want this guy, who’s probably in his forties, to fuck you on the nearest surface as soon as possible-“

“Yes,” You huff, “Yes, I do. I want him to fuckin’ ruin me.”

The sound of your friend scoffing can be heard, “Uh, I think you’re forgetting something.”

Your face scrunches up, “What?”

“You have a boyfriend,” She scarcely reminds you, her tone light and gentle with you.

To which you roll your eyes, “Oh whatever. You mean the same ‘boyfriend’ who cheated on me two months ago? The same asshole who I’ve given chance after chance even though he treats me like shit? The ‘boyfriend’ who took like two hours to make me cum that one time? The guy I literally told you I’m gonna break up with soon??”

“W-Well,” She lets out a heavy sigh, “Yeah… that asshole. I know you’re leaving him soon but please don’t go fucking your dad’s best friend before you break things off with him-“

“I’m not stooping down to his level, don’t worry,” You hum softly as you flip over to lay on your back, “Though… I did consider it.”

“Seriously?” She scoffs in surprise.

You nibble on your lower lip and smirk, “You don’t get how hot Choso is.”

Your best friend chuckles, “Girl.”

“I’m jus’ saying! I can’t even think of any other guy when he’s around. He’s so…” As you continue your ramble about the small crush you’ve developed for your father’s best friend— you’re completely clueless about the man having heard almost everything.

Choso wasn’t spying on you or anything, he was simply walking down the hall and happened to hear a thing or two since your door was left cracked open. And sure, he took the slightest peak inside to spot you resting atop your bed but he was about to walk away until he heard you describing him.

Of course he was inclined to stop and listen to you ramble about his appearance— he thought it was cute. He’d seen how you’ve been looking at him anyway, he’s not dumb.

The problem is that you’re his best friend’s daughter. The last thing he should be doing is taking any kind of romantic or sexual interest in you. You were off-limits in his mind.

Or at least, you’re supposed to be.

——

But God do you make things difficult.

You and Choso share your small interactions in the morning usually, asking each other how you slept and whatnot, basically making casual small talk every morning. You learn more and more about the man, asking him questions about what it’s like being half-curse and half-human, questions about his cursed technique and the things he can do.

Most of which he waters down for you since, even though your father’s a part of the jujutsu sorcery world, you aren’t. You know a few basic things like how cursed energy works but that’s about it so Choso keeps his answers to you very simple.

That aside, you are a goddamn enigma to Choso. He’s always caught between wanting to stare at you for hours on end and knowing he shouldn’t have his eyes on you for longer than five minutes because then his mind’s drifting elsewhere.

But again, you make it so fucking difficult.

One hot Tuesday morning, Choso notices he hadn’t run into you in the spacey kitchen of your father’s estate yet. He was busy making the same coffee he prepares daily, wondering what time you were gonna make your way downstairs. He can’t lie to himself, he has grown quite attached to your little morning talks with him.

Tapping his fingers across the counter as he watches his coffee brew, his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a splash. Lifting his attention, Choso glances back over his shoulder to the direction of which the sound came from— looking out the large sliding glass door that leads out to the pool and wondering if your father was out there or something.

To his everloving surprise, the source of that sound is anything but your dad. It’s actually you, swimming around peacefully until you’re floating toward the edge of the pool, right in Choso’s line of vision as you lift yourself up.

Everything moves in slow motion like some cliche film, Choso’s eyes widening at the water rolling down your body and the goddamn bikini you have on. Holding yourself up on the edge of the pool, not yet exiting the small body of water yet, Choso finds himself studying every inch of you (that’s visible at least).

And then, as you finally push up, there’s that natural arch in your back that has Choso swallowing-, no, gulping down something thick in his throat. His lips are parting and he’s letting out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was keeping in as he watches those small droplets of water glide down along your glistening wet skin.

And fuck when you’re out of the water and you lift your arms into the air to stretch, your body on full display to the man— slick with water, exposed skin sparkling beneath the morning sunlight, and that bikini leaving hardly anything to the imagination.

Choso has to physically fight himself to rip his eyes off of you, turning back to the coffee in front of him and clearing his throat. The image of you in that bathing suit is doing wonders for these wandering thoughts he’d been trying to avoid. You were so wet— literally soaked before his very greedy eyes, your entire body dripping in sex appeal, and the sight of you like that steadily rushing heat down to his c-

The sound of the sliding door opening makes Choso flinch like crazy. He lets out a little huff and glances back to see you with a towel now wrapped around your waist.

Your tits were sitting so prettily in that bright red bikini top-

“Morning’ Mr. Kamo,” You greet sweetly as you enter the kitchen.

Choso gulps down his nerves, “Mornin’ princess,” He says casually whilst moving to grab his mug of coffee.

That little pet name he’d randomly picked up for you somewhere along the line makes your heart warm every time you hear it. A smile forms on your face as you approach his side and glance around his little setup for coffee making, “Aw, you didn’t make me one this time?” You say with a little pout on your face as you glance at him.

He shrugs, “Didn’t know you were up yet.” Then Choso avoids looking in your direction at all costs by turning to the other counter to grab a spoon, “What made you go for a swim this early?”

“I dunno but,” You hum, following right behind him and approaching his side once more as you watch him stir nothing into his coffee, “You should join me next time.”

He swears his entire body heats up as you say that. Just the thought of being in the pool with you, hardly clothed, swimming together, and wetting each other up makes his mind spin. “Dunno if that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” Choso says casually, as if he wasn’t having thoughts of pressing you against one of those poolsides and-

“Hm?” You bat your lashes up at him and he glances at your face for a split second before ripping his eyes off you, “Why not?”

“What would your dad think?” Choso sighs, continuing to stir nothing into his coffee as if that’ll help him forget about you standing half-naked beside him.

You scoff, “Nothing? It’s just you and me swimming together.”

Choso rolls his eyes at your innocence, “Alone,” He adds on, “Me and you swimming alone together.”

“Are we supposed to have an audience?” You tease, leaning closer to him and entering his peripheral line of vision, “Or, are you uncomfortable being alone with me?”

He freezes, slowly turning his head to look down at you, “Not at all,” Choso quickly tells you, “Being alone with you like that is just…”

Your eyes widen slightly in anticipation and he can feel his body warming again. Then, you glance off to the side innocently, “…Tempting?” You offer.

To which he answers without thinking, “Exactly.”

You part your lips to say something snarky in response but he’s moving away from you yet again. Cursing himself mentally for letting that slip. He didn’t want you to realize he was growing just as interested in you as you were him.

Then, with perfect timing, your father comes from around the corner with his mouth wide open as he lets out a hefty yawn.

“Mornin’ you two,” Your dad grumps as he shuffles his feet toward the fridge.

Choso had somehow made his way to the island in the middle of the kitchen already, now sitting comfortably on one of the three bar stools, his eyes low on his phone screen as he lifted his cup to his lips, “Good morning.”

Your eyes are directly on the man as you replay his response to you moments ago over and over in your brain. The nerve he had to go and sit down casually as if he didn’t just he didn’t just imply something very-

“Daughter,” Your dad sighs out, to which you snap out of your daze and glance at him.

“Father,” You hum in response.

He looks at you, sending you a kind and tired little smile, “I’ll be gone for a few days for business, you okay with that?” He asks, subtly nodding his head back at Choso and silently asking if you’re comfortable being alone for a few days with the man.

Of course, you have to physically contain your excitement— being alone with Choso means no more interruptions like what had just happened, “Yeah, that’s fine by me.” You say with a little shrug.

Your father nods at that and then tends back to the fridge to prepare himself something. You smile to yourself before tiptoeing your eyes back over to Choso, only to find his eyes already on you.

All of you, drinking in the sight of you in that damn bikini top before he boldly and directly cracks a lazy smirk and lifts his gaze to your face. You can feel a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as he tilts his head and sends you a little wink from across the kitchen— bluntly letting you know that he’s thinking the same thing you are and your excitement is mutual.

——

Day one alone with Choso was actually really fun. The two of you spent time together in your father’s massive basement, lounging around together and even indulging in a friendly game of pool.

It was nice, comforting even, to have Choso around. He was very respectful and kind with you, subtle with flirting with you because he didn’t want the true levels of his desire to be known, and so gentle with you that it made your heart turn to mush every single time.

Day two was even better. You both finally went on that swim you offered— to which you nearly drooled when he first stripped himself of his shirt, eyeing his washboard abs that were decorated with such pretty scars from previous fights he’s had.

The two of you just swam and talked, you’d splash him a bit every now and then and he’d splash you back whenever you uttered something way too flirtatious.

At some point you felt like that was his way of turning you down. Sure, he was interested in you but, Choso had his way of silently telling you it wasn’t gonna happen. Or at least, it shouldn’t happen.

Day three was when things changed. Well, night three specifically.

Choso was in the kitchen, where the two of you always seem to run into each other, sitting on his favorite bar stool while working on something on his laptop until he heard you coming downstairs. His ears twitched and he glanced up to see if you were coming into the kitchen a few times, noticing your steps sounded oddly determined.

When you do enter the kitchen, the enter mood shifts. Choso opens his mouth to greet you since it’s past midnight and he hadn’t seen you in a few hours but he freezes when he sees the look on your face.

Flushed and fuming with emotion, your breathing unsteady and ragged as if you’d been crying, and your hands shaky as you make way for one of the wine cabinets. He almost doesn’t move. Choso sits there in shock for a minute, watching you rush to grab a glass and a bottle of alcohol at random, slamming it down on the kitchen island and moving to find something to open the bottle with.

It’s then that Choso’s standing to his feet and walking toward you, “Hey, hey,” He coos, seeing the frustration in your face as you jerk a drawer open with an upset pout on your face, “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?” Choso asks as he nears your side.

You don’t even look at him, pulling your lower lip into your mouth and biting back tears. “I-Isn’t it obvious?” You snap back in an annoyed tone, responding to his first question and first question alone as you swipe up a corkscrew out the drawer and push it shut with your hip.

Then you shuffle back over to the island where your unopened bottle and wine glass are sitting. Your hands are shaking due to the rush of adrenaline throughout your body and Choso follows your every move, standing to your left as he leans against the counter and tilts his head at you.

He carefully moves to slide the bottle of alcohol away from you, which earns him an angry glare from you. Choso only grins kindly at your expression, “Aren’t you a little too young to be drinking?” He teases.

You scoff, in no mood for his teasing right now, “Oh fuck off, I’m twenty years old.”

“I know,” He says calmly, his tone as soft and sweet as ever, “But the legal age for drinking is twenty-one, no?”

“Depends on where you live,” You huff, reaching for the bottle once more only to receive his hand being placed over yours.

You freeze and Choso tilts his head a little more, “Talk to me, pretty,” He hushes out, inching closer to your ear and furthering the softness of his deep rich voice, “What happened?”

You can feel yourself melting at the warmth his body brings as he gets closer to you, your breath hitching slightly due to his attentive curiosity, “My… My boyfriend jus’ broke up with me,” You grit out.

He can tell you’re more upset than you are saddened but either way, he wants to help you, “The asshole you told me about?”

“Uhuh,” You nod, making a small attempt to pull that bottle toward you again.

Choso smirks and his fingers weave through yours slightly before pulling your hand away and pinning it to the counter, “So talk to me about it, princess,” He hushes out, “The last thing you need is alcohol right now.”

You’re quiet for a few seconds before you sniffle, relaxing under his small touch, “Well… I just, I hate feeling like this.”

“Like what?” He whispers, carefully rubbing his thumb against the soft skin of your hand.

“I was gonna break up with him but he fucking beat me to it and now I just-, I dunno, I feel like shit,” You huff out before you slowly turn your head to look at him again.

Your eyes are all glossy and your lashes are noticeably wet, a small tear slipping down your cheek. Choso moves without thinking.

Taking his hand off of yours and bringing his palm to cup your cheek, watching you lean into his touch as he thumbs that tear of yours away, “You feel like shit?” He repeats.

Nodding against his hand, you mumble a little response, “M-Mhm.”

“I’d love to say you shouldn’t but,” His gaze kindly flicks back and forth between your left and right eyes, “I understand. Break-ups are hard.”

You pout, “They shouldn’t be. He was fucking terrible to me. I was supposed to break things off, not him. H-He doesn’t get to just do that. It’s not fair.” Your voice comes out in a slight whine at the end and he can see your eyes glossing over again.

“I know, I know,” Choso coos, bringing his other hand to your vacant cheek and cupping your face in his big hands.

“Do you?” You unintentionally huff out to him, “Have you ever even-“

He scoffs playfully, “Yes, princess. I’ve had multiple relationships in my lifetime.”

You snort, “‘In my lifetime’, you make yourself sound old as hell,” A slight grin forms on your face amist your sorrows and it makes his heart churn.

Choso’s gaze rakes over your face in his hands, “Baby, how old do you think I am?”

“I dunno,” You shrug, “You look like you’re not even a day over twenty five.”

He smirks, “Do I?”

“Mhm. How old are you?”

“A hundred ‘n fifty.”

You choke, “Holy shit, seriously??” You gape as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Yeah…” Choso trails off for a moment, tipping his head to the side, “Does that scare you?”

You almost laugh at that, “What? No, I love older men,” As you say that, there’s almost a look of bliss on your face.

To which sparks Choso’s interest as if he hadn’t picked up on that fact a long time ago, “Oh?”

“I-I mean-, wait,” You stammer, looking away from him, “N-No-, actually, yeah… I meant that.”

“Careful,” Choso says simply, “You’re gonna make me think the wrong thing if you speak like that.”

Slowly, your eyes trail back over to him and he removes his hands from your face, “Would that be so bad?” You murmur, leaning closer to him ever so slightly.

His eyes bore directly into yours, “Yes. You’re my best friend’s child.”

Your face twists up, “Yeah but I’m not literally a child.”

“I know-“

“So don’t treat me like one,” You cut off, gazing intently up into his mesmerizing brown eyes.

His look softens, “I’m sorry if I have.”

“Don’t see me as one either,” You continue, earning a light scoff from his lips.

Choso shrugs, “I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Your eyes widen slightly and the room feels so unbelievably warm right now.

“Never have,” Choso admits, licking his lips for a moment before continuing, “Even though I should be.”

Your brows furrow, “Why?”

He flashes a small smile, “I’m literally seven times your age.”

“So?”

“So this-,” He gestures between the two of you, “Whatever ‘this’ may even refer to, is horribly wrong in so many ways.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “But ‘this’ isn’t anything yet.”

“Yet?” Choso echoes.

“Oh c’mon, Mr. Kamo,” You purr, “The only reason we haven’t given in to what we both want is because I had a boyfriend.”

“Choso,” He corrects, “I’ve told you to call me Choso.”

Your gaze becomes noticeably sultry as you lower your eyelids and soften your voice, “I know, sorry sir.”

“Stop that,” He huffs, glancing off to the side.

You lean toward the direction he’s looking off to and fein innocence, “Stop what, sir?”

“That.” Choso rasps, clearing his throat seconds later to collect himself.

“Why?” You urge, inching closer and boldly speaking your mind, “Does it turn you on?”

He scoffs but you see his lips twitching into a smirk, “No.”

Growing curious, your brows pinch together, “Wait, does anything turn you on?”

“Huh?” Choso breathes before looking at you.

“Like, since you’re half-curse… does that affect your bodily functions or anything? Can you even get aroused-“

He lets out a chuckle in reaction to your ignorance, “Yes, yes I can.”

“Really?” Sparkles seem to light up in your eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m more human than I am curse.” He states simply.

You smirk, “Everywhere?”

“Yes, everywhere.”

“Like… even your c-“

“Yes.” He cuts off, “Now stop it.”

Your lower lip gets caught in between your teeth, “Stop what?”

“Trying to get me to have a sexual conversation with you,” Choso says in a commanding tone before taking a respectful slight step back.

“I want a lot more than just a conversation,” You whisper loud enough for him to hear.

Choso becomes cold with you in an instant, “And I don't care, it’s not happening.”

At that, there are several twinges in your heart. You grit your teeth and turn for that not-so-forgotten bottle of alcohol, quickly popping it open and pouring yourself a glass. Then, before Choso can even react, you’re gulping it down and he’s sighing in defeat.

After which, you send him an annoyed glare and he frowns softly at you, “Princess-“

“Don’t call me that.” You cut off curtly, licking the bit of liquid intoxication that rests on your lips.

His eyes flicker down for a split second, “Why? ‘Cause I won’t fuck you like you want me to?” Choso asks boldly.

“I-, yeah…” You utter, “Y-Yeah. That’s exactly why I don’t want you to call me that.”

He shakes his head softly and moves to push the bottle away from you again, “I told you alcohol isn’t what you needed.”

“What I ‘need’ won’t let me have him,” You say, pouting yet again.

Choso sighs as he returns his eyes to your face, grinning at your expression as he lifts a hand to your chin, “You don’t ‘need’ me.”

You lean into his touch instantly, “I do-“

“You want me,” Choso corrects, his gaze narrowing on your mouth as his thumb wipes up a small slip of alcohol that missed your lips.

“No” You huff, tipping your head toward his thumb and pushing your lips against the pad of it, “I need you.”

The man can feel his resistance thinning, “You need me?” He echoes lowly, his voice dropping suddenly.

“Yes, I-“

“Need me to what, exactly?” Choso’s thumb applies slight pressure to your lips before he’s parting them and feeling against your lower lip. Then, before you can even answer, he’s looking into your eyes and leaning close to you, “Hm? Need me to fuckin’ ‘ruin’ you?” He quotes.

You were too caught up in experiencing his teasing to realize he gave away the fact that he heard one of your previous phone calls, “Please?”

“Say it,” Choso whispers as his free hand slips over to your waist.

“I need-“

“Want.” He scolds, weighing your bottom lip down a bit.

You whine, “But-“

“Speak properly to me ‘nd I might give you what you want,” Choso says.

You perk up at that, “I want you to ruin me, Choso.”

He takes a deep breath and leans in, “I shouldn’t.” The man whispers to you.

Your eyes are lowering to his lips, “But you want it to,” You point out, yearning for the soon connection of his lips to yours, “I know you do.”

“You don’t know anything,” He argues.

“Choso, you’ve been undressing me with your eyes from the moment you first set them on me.” You refute in a low whisper

“I…” He trails off— refusing to deny or agree with that.

The way your arms unfold and you slowly bring your hands to his shoulders, leaning in and tilting your head, has him in a trance, “Just take me.”

He chokes, “I won’t.”

You scoff, “Then I’m turning back to my drink…”

“No. Instead,” Choso swallows thickly and retracts his hand from your face. “We can do something else.”

You miss his touch already, “Like what?”

“Watch a movie.”

“We both know exactly what that’s going to lead to.”

It’s then that he seems to finally give in, “Let it lead there then since you want it so bad.”

——

And that’s why you don’t regret coming home for the summer. Because how else would you have ended up like this?

Yeah, you and Choso watched some random movie together to get your mind off things but, just like you’d said— you both knew what it’d lead to and it did. After the movie, you find yourself asleep, all your emotions and adrenaline having caught up on you.

The thing is, you fell asleep on Choso. He was right there with you, deep in his slumber just as you were for a while. So perhaps that’s how you ended up the way you are now.

Both of you had woken up to your body right in front of Choso’s. He was laid out against the stretch of the couch, his head resting on a pillow that was propped up against the armrest of the couch. You both woke up at the same time and you were lying on your side.

He had an arm around your waist and his crotch was flush with your ass. Slowly, you turned your head back to look at him and he met your gaze intimately. Lifting his head slightly from the pillow, leaning in toward you, moving a hand to angle your head up some more, his thumb gently rubbing against your chin.

“Choso,” You whispered, earning a groggy little hum from him.

His eyes lower on your lips. So soft, they look so fucking soft. He’s always thought that but the closeness right now and the dim lighting coming from the TV was killing him, “What?” Choso whispers, “Y’still want it?”

You shake your head, “Not ‘it’ Choso, you.”

He gulps and begins to inch his face closer to yours, his breath carefully hitting your lips as he whispers to you, “You sure? Once we start… I won’t hold back.”

“Don’t want you to,” You utter, trying to lean up to him some more.

He smirks at that, “Alright…” Then his lips are practically on yours, “Jus’ remember you asked for this.”

That’s the last thing said before he’s kissing you, lightly too. Choso’s always so gentle with you as if he fears you’ll break.

And hell, maybe after tonight you will have been broken. Because what starts out as a slow testing taste of lips, soon turns hot and needy. His tongue glides past your moist lips, eager to taste you, to feel you, to make you feel good.

Then his hand is sliding down your body, ghosting your chest before he pulls away for a second to whisper, “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah…” You utter, trying desperately to place your lips back on his.

He smirks, “Where?”

“Everywhere, Cho. M’all yours,” You claim.

Choso groans as his lips press into yours again, his hand sliding down just to slip under your shirt and grab a very firm hold of your breast. His touch is gentle for a second but then he’s squeezing the fat of your boob in his hand, his lips slipping over yours eagerly.

He’d only pull away for air for a split second before he’s sucking on your bottom lip again, intertwining his tongue with yours, and shifting his hand under your bra to wrap his fingers around your perky nipple. He gives the sensitive bud a small little pinch to test the waters and grins at the way you whine.

“Like that?” He whispers gingerly into your mouth.

You nod and the rest of your body is simply squirming against his, his cock twitching behind the fabric of his pants at the way your ass rubs against him just right. Choso rocks his hips forward ever so slightly, pressing his erection against you and nibbling on your lower lip hungrily.

Your mouth was so damn sweet— he just couldn’t get enough. Touching all over your breasts, pinching and lightly tugging at your nipples just to feel you moan against him. Then his hands, which are just so big, simply knead your breast within his palm as his mouth slides off of yours and he begins kissing your neck.

“You’re so tense, sweetheart,” Choso whispers into your skin, his warm breath tickling your neck, “Relax f’me.”

You let out a small sigh, “I’m tryin’…”

He smiles against you, “You nervous?” Choso asks as his hand slides out of your bra and rests against your stomach.

“No,” You huff.

Then, Choso’s moving to sit up and you move with him. He slips back against the armrest of the chair, his hands going to your hips to pull you on top of his lap with your back still facing him.

Choso’s hand trails to your stomach once more as his lips near your ear, “Lean back f’me, baby.” He guides, feeling the way you do just that and rest yourself against his chest, “There you go,” God his voice had you soaked, “Lemme take care of you, princess.”

You gulp loudly at that, your breathing beyond unsteady as you comfort yourself in his lap. His chest is so firm against your back, the feeling of his heart pounding within his ribcage so vividly felt behind you— he was just as anxious and nervous as you were. Cute.

His lips meet the space just behind your ear and his hands slither around your body. Choso carefully positions his fingertips at your inner thighs, “Do I have to guide you through everything, hm?” He hums playfully.

“N-No but,” Your eyes are glued to his big veiny hands playing with the skin of your legs, “I like the way you talk me through it.”

“Yeah?” He hushes out, “Alright then, go ‘head ‘nd spread your legs for me, pretty girl.”

You’re so horny you can hardly think straight. The air feels heavy and every touch from the older man has your skin tingling and your pussy pooling. As your thighs part, Choso’s quick to move his fingers to the waistband of your shorts, teasing you by running his fingertips under it.

“Tha’s it,” He purrs, “So good f’me.”

Your hips lift involuntarily as if to force his fingertips where you want them but he moves to grip onto you.

Choso snickers at your eagerness, “Patience, baby. I’m tryin’ to take my time with ya’,” He admits, pressing his lips into the crown of your ear, “Wanna show you what sex is supposed to feel like.”

“H-Huh?” You gape in a breathy tone, “Choso, y’know m’not a virgin, right?”

He grins, “Mhm, I know. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take things slow for a bit,” He explains lowly, steadily pulling your shorts down as you help him with small wiggles of your hips, “Plus,” His middle and ring finger inch toward your panties, lips curving into a smile at the noticeably damp red fabric, “I gotta prep you anyway.”

You scoff, “For what? Is your dick that big?”

He shrugs, running the pad of his middle finger over your clothed center lightly, “You’ll find out soon enough.” Choso promises.

Then, he’s tugging your panties to the side, biting his lip as your cunt is exposed to him. Choso’s such a tease, caressing your soaked hole but not yet pushing his fingers in, kissing the side of your neck as he taunts you until you’re whining for him.

“Cho-“

“Two hours, right?” He suddenly asks. Your brows furrow and he senses your confusion, smirking slightly, “Your ex, he took two hours to make you cum one time, no?”

“I-,” Your jaw drops slightly as Choso easily draws his finger up to your clit, tracing soft circles around it, “H-How do you know about that?”

“Heard you talkin’ about him a few weeks back,” He whispers to you, “S’kinda sad, y’know. Two hours?” As he casually converses with you, his finger is providing you with slow stimulation.

You rest your head back against his shoulder, “Uhuh… he couldn’t figure anything out.” You explain as a pout pulls at your lips.

For whatever reason, that seems to boost Choso’s ego a bit. As such, his fingers dip back down and finally start pushing into you, “Oh yeah? Bet I can make you cum in two minutes.”

A brief chuckle leaves your lips, “He said the same thing…” You huff.

To which Choso scoffs, delving his fingers deep past your folds and groaning at that slick squelch that enters the air. “He’s not me, princess. Listen to how wet this pussy is f’me already,” The man taunts as he works a careful pace inside you, “So tight too… shit.”

The first moan you let out makes his cock twitch against your ass. Your lips part and you let out heavy breaths as Choso fingers you skillfully, talking you through his every movement.

“Tell me somethin’ baby,” Choso says, pushing another finger into you and curling his fingertips upward against your gummy walls, “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

You pant, “Hah… U-Uh, I dunno…”

“Oh c’mon, don’t lie t’me,” He scoffs. He can’t help but watch the way his fingers disappear inside your cunt, your slick coating his skin and making the most obscene noises imaginable.

“Maybe last week,” You eventually utter in response to him, words coming out all in one short breath.

His cock is felt throbbing against your ass, hips rolling up slightly for the slightest bit of friction, “Yeah? Who’d you think about when you touched yourself? Hm?” The curse asks.

“Y-You, Choso,” You admit honestly, recalling the week prior when you had the man in mind as you relieved yourself.

He lets out a throaty grunt. The thought of you touching yourself to him was making his tip drip excessively within his boxers. “Mmh. Thought about me?” Choso huffs, fingering you a bit faster now as he searches for a particular spot.

When he finds it, you moan, “Yeah.”

“Fuck…” Choso groans against your ear, “Thought about me doin’ what? This?” He emphasizes his words with a firm rub of his fingertips against your sweet spot and watching your sloppy pussy drip off of his knuckles.

“Yes Choso,” You gasp with your back arching off of him.

He bites his lip, “Anything else?”

His two thick fingers pick up in pace, pumping deeply in and out of you and earning pretty moans from your moist lips. You were losing your mind. Choso’s fingers were so damn skillful and deep inside you, dragging his touch all along your walls, and digging into your g-spot over and over again.

“I-, ah… I thought about you-,” You mumble in between your moans, “Mmgh, f-fuckin’ me.”

“Where?” He purrs, his fingers swiveling inside you and making you gasp loudly, “How? Gimme details, pretty.”

“E-Everywhere-, fuck, right there… ‘Specially the kitchen, wanted you to bend me over the counter so many times…” You whine, cunt clenching around his fingers desperately.

He places a small kiss on your cheek and whispers, “Shoulda’ said somethin’.”

“You wouldn’t have done it,” You argue through slightly gritted teeth.

As you do so, your hips are lifting to meet his fingers while they thrust inside you. Your moans become more constant, more confident even, as he explores your pussy with his two fingers.

“I might after today,” Choso hushes out before pulling his fingers out of you for a split second just to deliver your cunt with a messy little slap that has you spasming.

“Please,” You mewl, your legs threatening to close on him as he rubs his fingers over your cunt in a sloppy manner, smearing your sappy slick all over the same place and making even more of a mess of you.

“Hey, keep these thighs open,” Choso huffs, landing yet another light smack onto your pussy and watching the way you quiver and clench around nothing, “M’not done, c’mon.”

Then he’s stuffing you full of his fingers again. In and out and in and out— so melodically pressing against your g-spot and then spreading his two fingers apart inside you, invoking a gasp from your throat, “Feels so g-good Choso.”

“So keep feelin’ it then,” He smiles, “Stop runnin’ from it, baby, give it t’me.” Choso requests.

And he knows you’re getting close, he can tell by the way your pussy greedily sucks his fingers back in every time he tugs them out, the way you’re moving a hand to cling onto his arm, and then there’s your legs struggling to remain open for him.

Not that he minded anyway. Choso had no problem with forcing your legs to stay open for him, it was cute watching the way you squirmed and the constant rutt of your ass against his achingly hard dick was what made things better for him as well.

“Cho,” You whimper as your back arches off of him yet again, your toes curling when he hits this particularly sweet and juicy spot inside you.

“Gonna fuck you real good after this,” He speaks right into your ear with that deep husky tone of his, his words making your pussy clench even tighter around his digits, “Ruin ya’ jus’ like you want me to.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from whining, “Please.”

“Look at me,” Choso directs, earning a steady turn of your head. As your eyes meet his, his fingers curl against you, “There she is, such a pretty girl.” The man whispers, watching your jaw drop and listening to the moan you breathe out in response.

“S-Stop that,” You pout, batting your lashes at him.

He chuckles, “Stop what?”

“Bein’ gentle with me.”

Choso almost scoffs, his fingers digging into you, “Why? It turns you on.”

You can’t even think straight enough to respond properly— your legs trying to shut on him again and your reply coming out in a lazy, “Nuh uh…”

“You’re so cute,” The way he’s talking to you, holding you, looking at you, it made you want to just melt away.

Your body was so damn hot, you could feel a coil in the pit of your stomach as your orgasm neared. Shit, he knew how to hit every spot inside you with ease. So much so that even his palm was pressing against your clit and providing you with even more stimulation to the point where your eyes were lulling back.

“Shut-, ah, mgh-, fuck. S-Shut up,” You blurt out in between breathy moans.

Choso’s eyes lower on your expression, “You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you?”

All you can do is nod, “Uhuh..”

Then you’re losing it again, seeing stars as he moves his free hand to roll a finger over your clit raw. Choso’s voice is rough with you, “Gonna cum f’me?” He asks, and you’re nodding desperately before he lets out a lower rasp of, “Say it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands mindlessly move in an attempt to push his away so you could fucking breathe for a moment, “Oh fuck, I-I’m gonna cum.” You whine.

“For who? Say my name, baby.” Choso orders with his fingers moving in and out of your cunt faster and faster, the sounds only getting wetter and wetter.

“For you, Choso,” Your voice is hardly even there but it’s loud enough to satisfy him, “Gonna cum f’you…”

He leans in a bit and looks you dead in your eyes, slamming his fingertips deeper and deeper, “C’mon then, give it to me. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. It felt so abrupt too, as if he hadn’t been coaxing you to that point anyway. Choso’s fingers are digging in and out and in and out, his pants hitting your lips as he softly rubs his hard cock against your ass. Your legs tried to close on him but his arms wrapped around you prevented you from doing so, both of his hands firmly stroking you through it.

Then there was the eye contact, intense gaze pouring into yours as you came around his fingers with a whiny cry of his name. “Good girl,” Choso praises, “Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me— makin’ a pretty mess ‘round me like that. Think you can gimme another?”

“Choso,” You puff out, shaking your head no in response.

He just grins at you, “Jus’ one more baby, one more. Promise.”

——

That was the biggest lie you’d ever heard. ‘One more’, yeah, and then he’s asking for another, and then another, and then another.

At some point, you could hardly move because of how intense your orgasms were, making the filthiest mess around his fingers and on his hands, and grinding against his hard cock as you cried out his name for what felt like hours. Choso had you geeked, high off of your own arousal because even though you were whimpering about it being ‘too much’ your pussy was singing an entirely different song.

Literally. The sloppy squelches from your cunt made Choso so unbelievably hard. He couldn’t wait to have you on his cock, whispering in your ear about how deep inside you he’s about to be, telling you to just give him one more so he can have his way with you, and rubbing himself against you so he doesn’t lose his damn mind.

He swears he almost came in his pants from just fingering you alone, especially when he brought his drenched fingers up to his mouth and fucking tasted you. The groan he let out came straight from deep within his stomach, causing butterflies to swirl in your stomach.

Followed by that was him sucking your juices off his skin and then moving to your ear, “You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” Choso practically moaned before moving his fingers to your lips, “I don’t wanna be selfish with it either so, here, taste y’self f’me.”

You gradually take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them tentatively with Choso’s eyes all over your face. And you suck on his fingers so skillfully, sliding your tongue in between them, taking them deeper into your mouth and almost into your throat, and even gagging against them.

“Fuck,” Choso breathes, his cock on the verge of nearly exploding in his pants. “B-Baby…” He pants.

With his fingers still in your mouth, drool slipping down your chin, “Hm?” You hum innocently.

“If I don’t fuck you right now, I’m gonna embarrass myself.” That was his final warning to you before he was snatching his fingers from your mouth and quickly moving his hands to your hips. Choso pushes you forward slightly and he suppresses a whine, soon placing a hand on your back, “Do me a favor ‘nd bend over f’me.” He requests.

You don’t hesitate to do just that, lifting yourself off of him and then leaning your upper half down against the couch, arching your back, and parting your legs for the man. Choso felt like he could cum from the sight alone. Your pussy was on full display for him, your thighs wet with your own cum and sweat, red panties still tugged to the side, and legs spread just for him.

Then Choso moves to his knees, positioning himself behind you as he rushes his sweats and boxers down— bulging cock springing out and slapping against his abdomen. He had precum dripping from his fat tip, his veins twitching, and his entire cock hot with an aching need.

You barely look back at him for a second, only for your face to be pushed back down to the couch as he presses his leaking tip against you. Your pussy lips twitch around his thick cockhead, feeling him rub against you as Choso groans.

“Too long,” Choso whispers, “We waited too long for this.” He starts rutting his hips forward ever so slightly, teasing his tip in and out of you as he tests your tight ring of resistance. “S’gonna be a big stretch, baby,” He warns, trying his hardest not to just ram himself inside you all in one go, “Need you to relax f’me, alright?”

If anything, you wiggle your hips back against him and force more than his tip inside you, moaning against the couch cushion your face is still being pushed into. “I can take it, Cho,” You whisper, “Jus’ give it t’me, please. Fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to start pushing himself inside you, immediately tossing his head back at your pussy gripping onto him, and tugging him deeper inside your warm entrance so damn welcomingly. He tries to go slow as he hears you hissing at the sheer stretch his big cock causes, your fingers curling against the couch and your back arching even further.

But the way your cunt just swallows and sucks him in has him letting out the prettiest groan you’ve ever heard from a man. There’s a tinge of a whine laced within that groan of his, feeling your saturated walls squeezing around his hefty shaft has Choso panting as he pushes into you. The last thing he wanted to do was cum too early so it doesn’t take much for him to just snap his hips forward.

Ripping a moan of his name from your throat, you feel all of him poking just everywhere. Choso’s cock is so damn big and thick, curving into that syrupy spot his fingers were teasing moments before. He reaches the hilt of your cunt with ease and watches the way your legs quiver.

“Choso,” You’re practically drooling into the couch whilst he reels his hips back and eases them forward again.

He lets out a loud huff that fans over you as he leans forward a little, pressing his hands into the cushion beside your sides, “So fuckin’ tight, mgh.” He grunts from behind you, “Been holdin’ out on me, huh?” Choso suddenly comments as he tilts his head and peers down at the sexy curve of your arched back.

You shake your head stupidly, “N-Ngh.. n-no,” You murmur softly, “Been tryin’ to… mgh, give it to you…”

“Yeah?” Choso smiles while slamming his hips forward a little harder than before, “You’ve been tryin’ to give this pussy t’me?” He huffs out with a heavy thrust.

Your jaw falls open, “Uhuh, but you k-know that, Choso.”

His smile widens a bit when he recalls the countless times he rejected your advances, “Hah, maybe…” As his worlds trail off a bit, his focus goes to your ass and the sexy recoil that’s caused every time his toned pelvis meets your ass.

Everything about you was so sexy, his hand instinctively lifting to land a harsh slap on your ass. Cock plunging in harder-, deeper, you found your legs quaking with every thrust and your eyes glossing over completely.

“Ah, oh fuck-,” You choke out as his achingly hard tip narrows in on your g-spot, hammering into you mercilessly.

Choso lets out a heavy breath of air and grabs a handful of your ass, glancing down to your sloppy folds, taking his glistening cock so well over and over. Inch by bruising inch, your cunt swallowed him gratefully every time he fed it to you.

“M’not gonna last long, baby,” He soon admits to you while his eyes roll back at the way you’re clenching around him simply because of his voice alone.

You throb at that, “H-Hngh.. you gonna cum s-soon?”

Choso nods almost drunkenly, “Uhuh, been holdin’ it in.” He explains to you before grabbing a firm hold of your hips and pinpointing his hips, sharpening his thrusts, and thrashing his throbbing cockhead against your dripping pussy.

He was addicted. He didn’t even have to finish yet to know he was never going to get enough of this— enough of you. All he can do is think back on all those times he could’ve flirted with you, and could’ve brought you to this very moment sooner.

Like that morning when you came out of the pool, Choso knows he could’ve found a moment alone with you. He could’ve seduced you just as you did him, found any worthy surface to hoist you up against, and then fuck you to tears in that slutty bikini of yours.

Thinking back on it now, the bikini you wore then resembles the lace red panties that are hanging off of you by a thread right now, messy tugged to the side, and soaked with your earlier orgasms and wetness.

Choso’s so lost in his head, he doesn’t realize he’s drilling his cock into you, fucking you down into the couch and nearly making you lose the arch in your back.

You let out a broken cry of his name, “Ch-Choso-, oh.. fuuck, m’gonna cum, Cho.”

His brows tense and he settles both of his hands on your hips, tugging your ass back to meet his thrusts, “Again, princess? Gonna make a mess on my cock? Hm?”

“Mhm,” You mumble, practically clawing at the couch to hold yourself stable as he pounds into you.

Then he’s reaching for your hair and a moan is ripped from your throat as he tugs your head back, furthering your arch and making your legs go numb with the way you could feel his heavy girth in every corner of your sappy pussy.

Lips parted, eyes rolling back again, and legs shaking, you let out a cry of pleasure as you come undone before it even registers to you.

Choso’s in your ear all of a sudden, “You feel so good,” He grunts, gifting your cunt with another hard thrust, “So fuckin’ good.”

His other arm wraps around you and sneaks down to your clit, causing your entire body to spasm against him. “C-Choso-, s’too much, hahh… p-please,” You’re whimpering, feeling an entirely new sensation build up whilst he rubs his fingers over your clit.

Then he’s jamming in harder, breathing hot against your ear, pulling your hair firmly, and even giving your cunt light smacks as you suck him in just as he’d secretly always imagined you would.

Grunting against the shell of your ear, Choso’s fingers pick up the pace on your clit and he grinds his fat tip against the spot that has you seeing stars, “Feel that?” He whispers, “Feel me in there, pretty girl?”

“Choso,” You squeak, “I-I’m… mmgh, f-feels different, Cho.”

“I know baby, I know,” He hushes out so softly despite the complete contract of his mean cock fucking you full beyond belief. “Want you to squirt f’me,” Choso coos, “Think you can do that? Hm?”

You’re shaking your head no, your body feeling as though it were on fire with how hot and overwhelmed you were by pleasure. To which Choso simply chuckles, his dick aching for release.

“Please?” He begs quietly, “I need it, princess.” He sounds so sweet and soft but it’s completely opposite to the way his cockhead is stretching you open from the inside out.

“Want,” You correct breathily as if to mock him from earlier.

He flashes a fucked-out little smile, “Uhuh, want it so bad,” Choso admits, his thrusts growing desperate and frantic, “Wanna feel it, wet my cock up, sweetheart. C’mon, squirt f’me.”

Your legs are attempting you shudder shut, the pleasure overwhelming your senses as your eyes cross, “C-Cho-, s’too much, I-I can’t-“

“Yes you can,” He kisses the space below your ear softly, “Jus’ let go for me. Stop runnin’ from it,” The sound of his voice is all you can pay attention to aside from his desperate jabs at your insides, leaving you pooling around his shaft and slicking up every delicate vein that trails along his cock, “You wanna cum, so do it. Cum for me, princess.” Choso groans heavily against your ear.

You are. And then so is he. Both of you reach an entirely different level of orgasm— your body trembles as you make a filthy mess of the couch when you squirt just as he’s requested and he makes a mess of your insides by releasing thick gloopy ropes of cum deep inside you, fucking in every drop with a loud whine of your name rolling off his tongue.

So much so that you’re both collapsing against the couch as your highs die down. His body weight rests on top of yours but you’re shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm too much to care. Choso softly humps his dick in and out of you just to keep his cum from dribbling out of your puffy folds, letting out soft breaths against your skin.

The two of you simply lay there for a while, unable to move for a vast many reasons.

Choso soon whispers a calm, “You okay?” And you hum softly. “Need a verbal response, pretty girl.”

“Yeah,” You practically mouth the word instead of saying it but that’s just enough for him.

Then, after a few more minutes of relishing in what had just occurred— the fact that you slept with your dad’s best friend finally weighed in on you.

Though, you guess you’ll deal with any guilt later. Even though the sound of the house’s front door clicking open from just down the hall moments later was rather concerning…

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