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fresamilkwrites · 1 year

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COLLIDE ━ Javier Peña [Narcos, 2015]

summary. Javier's profession has been getting in the way of your relationship for far too long, and you two seem to have become passing ships. What's the worst that could happen if you went out drinking with some friends in an attempt to forget about your misfortunes? original request. Ok so, Javi Peña x fem. You've been together a while, during the height of the Escobar case he's always at the office and you're just passing ships. You're feeling a bit down and go to a club with friends. You harmlessly flirt with a stranger all night only to discover you're in a narco hotspot and Javi&Steve are about to raid it. author's note. This is my first requested fic and I'm so excited to finally be posting it! I also chose happiness and ended up starting a narcos rewatch while working on this... someone save me from this addiction (please don't).

[ ❥ ] pairing. javier peña x fem! reader

[ ❥ ] word count. 2.7k

[ ❥ ] genre. angst

[ ❥ ] warnings. No actual use of "Y/N". Angst. Explicit language. Mentions of alcohol and intoxication. Mentions of guns and gun violence. Mild physical abuse if you squint (not ill intentioned, just an accident).

Check on Javi.

You read the sticky note on the fridge, licking a spoon clean of peanut butter after making yourself breakfast. The eternal reminder staring right back at you like it had done for so long now.

You actually hadn’t for a few days, checked on him that is. It was getting hard to.

Javier’s job was never an easy concept to get around. DEA agent appointed to the highest profile case they ever had on their hands… they had it tough and you were perfectly aware. You basically signed up for this, but after weeks that turned into months of his endless work days, it felt like there was close to no room left for you in his life outside of when he’d randomly show up at your door looking for some stress relief, desperately kissing you without a hello and later leaving almost right after he was done.

And you tried to be supportive, as much as you had it in you to be. It started with dropping off lunch for him every morning at work, that slowly turned into a big coffee jug just a few times a week and now it was only the occasional call. A call you almost dreaded to make, specially since everything you did in an attempt to keep up with him was rarely received the way you wished it to.

It wasn’t that Javier was trying to be rude or hurt your feelings, you knew that. But he was so stressed… he never managed to pick up the first time you called, and whenever you’d go by his office it was hard to not feel unwelcome when entering his hectic environment, even if he didn’t let you go without a swift and rushed kiss on the lips. A kiss that to you felt like a “thanks, doll. Now go away please, I have things to do.”

A faint, melancholic smile appeared on your lips as you moved through your apartment and fell onto your couch, looking back at how things were before the case got so serious. The summer Javier and you met was like a fever dream… day trips to the beach, constantly waking up together, trying his horrendously strong coffee for the first time, any time he playfully laid his full bodyweight on you, his shooting lessons, going out drinking and dancing even though he has two left feet.

Then you realized, it’d been forever since you had gone out dancing. Something had to be done about it… you were so caught up with feeling abandoned that the fact there were still enjoyable things to do out there and other people to do them with, went completely unnoticed within the valley of your thoughts. You decided to take some action, and after basically jumping to the phone and dialing every single one of your girlfriends’ numbers, all of you collectively agreed to attend a new cumbia night club downtown that none of you had gone to yet.

By the time the night came, you were ready for your plans. Your hair down, flowing in waves and a tight, beautiful, sequined, one sleeve mini dress perfectly wrapping your figure. You finished the look with some matching heels and jewelry, giving one last look at the mirror before you went right out the door after hearing the familiar honk of one of your friend’s cars.

The ride to the club was the perfect way to start the night. All the girls looked beautiful, and while catching up, laughs and excitement quickly bubbled up from within their souls. Everyone was getting on the party mood, specially since they knew you wanted to relax and forget about the streak of bad luck your relationship was going trough. They knew well about your relationship with Javi, and while a few of them sometimes mentioned that “you should find someone who can give you the time you deserve,” they still were aware you loved him and stayed supportive of you and your decisions.

Upon arriving to the packed club and getting assigned a table, it was in no time that all of you had bright colored cocktails in your hands. After little observation, it was evident that the place was beautifully decorated, neon lights and mirrors bringing the tropical party vibe. The music was amazing and the energy was immaculate; people drank, laughed and danced around, making it inevitable to easily loosen up and get lost in the celebration spirit.

Looking around, something caught your eye. A man at the bar watching you with a slight smile and a glass in hand. His dark hair, big nose and mustache immediately reminded you of a certain someone. The mystery man held your gaze, and in return you raised the glass between your fingers towards him.

He reciprocated the gesture. Cheers!

“I just flirted with some guy!” You screamed over the music after bringing your attention back to the table full of girls. A mix of surprise, excitement and cluelessness spread amongst all of you. “He kinda looks like Javi.”

Some laughs and sarcastic eye rolls this time. Of course he did. “That man lives in your head rent free!” Claudia dropped.

And how could he not?

“He can be Javier tonight. Just have fun!” It was Marina dropping some input this time. “He isn’t here to do anything about it.”

That was true. Besides, it didn’t have to be more than just some innocent fun… feeling the joy and validation of having some stranger’s attention at a club.

“You’re right! You’re right!” A shrug before you downed the rest of your first drink. “It’s not like that’s bad anyways.”

Perhaps it was, you wouldn’t be happy to find out the man you loved and had been with for over a year, was going around town flirting with pretty girls at the bars.

Did you just call this random stranger pretty? Looks like it. You needed another drink. Fast.

And you did get it, and another one after that, and then you stopped counting… some of them sent as presents by the man sitting at the bar. The effect of the alcohol of course being unforgiving towards you. Suddenly you were a social butterfly, laughing and dancing around along with all your friends who were now in very similar positions, except for the ones that were now flirting and having fun with their newly met, club boyfriends for the night.

After doing a small turn in your place, your body was met with a hand shamelessly being placed on your waist. Suddenly the man from the bar had moved all the way to you, and he seemed to be making himself too comfortable within the bubble of your personal space. “Wanna dance?” He offered and you quickly nodded your head, the alcohol clouding your reflexes as you were simply glad he didn’t straight up ask for a kiss.

You were now at a point where your head was a blur, you started to feel clumsy. Maybe it was time to go home but everyone else seemed to be having so much fun, you didn’t want to ruin that.

As you continued to dance around with the man you hadn’t even bothered to put a name on, you started to notice a lot of weird movement around the club. Some people quickly moving from one side of the room to another, some also seemingly leaving with urgency… it felt like things were happening quickly in your surroundings and your foggy brain was barely catching up.

But as the friendly stranger pulled you closer, the music stopped and the lights were turned on. People complained and looked around in confusion, but trough the door quickly came a swarm of armed men. Either police officers or a cartel, you could only assume considering your understanding of what your eyes were seeing could easily be ambiguous. Without a warning, all hell broke loose; people ran around, screamed, law enforcement tried to control the situation. You desperately wanted to think of something; move, run, hide… but you froze, and didn’t snap out of it until the first gunshot was fired.

“Fucking hell!” You screamed like many others in the room, absolutely terrified. One of your friends pulled you quickly, almost dragging you under the table. The man you had been dancing with now nowhere to be found. “What the hell is happening,” a terrified murmur left your lips, the shooting continued.

Serves you well for trying to have fun.

You remained under the table, desperately trying to ignore the situation you were in while the palms of your hands fixed over your ears in an attempt to muffle the noise. At some point the piercing sound of the gunshots ceased, but arguing continued. Other attendees closer to the door seemed to start moving, probably getting evacuated, and suddenly, you felt yourself get pulled from under the table with a firm tug to what you thought was going to be your first time being used as hostage.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?” He screamed in your face and you immediately felt yourself get small in your place. The world around you two seemed to be moving erratically, but your eyes were fixed on Javier; the man now holding you harshly from your arm. His fingers digging into your skin, the fear born simply from the thoughts of what could have gone wrong now turned into anger.

Forming a sentence was impossible, not even a peep while a million thoughts and emotions ran trough you, the main one being how he had never yelled at you like that. Javier screamed your name and shook you slightly, but once again he didn’t get a response, causing him to curse and start pulling you towards the exit quickly. Anger and frustration oozing out of him in waves. From what you could see on the way out, the raid was a conjoined effort between the Colombian police and the DEA which now seemed to be under control. Some people were arrested and the evacuation had started. Javier managed to easily avoid the crowds, his hold strong around your wrist while he did this.

The two of you made it to his car, where he finally stopped dragging you around. The brunette looked at you with a frown, his body towering over you as your back clashed with the door of the vehicle. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your eyes immediately moving down to the pavement.

“Do you not know all the shit that’s happening with all these fucking narcos right now?” Javier spoke with gritted teeth, his hands now placed on his hips as you looked back up. He was trying to keep his cool, but his efforts were proved to be unsuccessful when he yelled again. “You couldn’t just pick up the damned phone and talk to me instead of running to make stupid decisions?”

“Even if I had tried, it would have taken me five business days to get ahold of you!” Now it was you yelling back, anger bubbling from deep within you, born from all the emotions you had been suppressing for weeks. The alcohol and adrenaline running trough your veins making you react badly to his entitlement. “By then I would have already been killed in—!”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that!” He raised his tone even higher, forcing you to shut up as he moved his hand to your face, pressing his fingers on each side of your jaw so firmly that it hurt. His body now pressed against yours, pushing you against the car.

“It’s the truth, Javier! I never see you anymore, I can barely get you on the phone!” You immediately clapped back, the anger seething trough your teeth before you sighed heavily, tears immediately pooling in your eyes before they spilled like bottled up emotions, streaking down your cheeks until they got your lover’s fingers wet. You closed your eyes, embarrassed. “I’ve missed you so much, I just wanted to have a good night for a change."

Javier’s expression was suddenly painted with confusion, this feeling within him being born from the realization of what he was doing. His harsh hold relaxed before he completely let go of your face, your tears had instantly brought him down to earth. He fucked up, he hurt you in more ways than one and now the way he was acting seemed to be almost as if he was trying to punish you for that too. It crumbled him to see you cry, even more when he knew it was his fault. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he ran a hand over his face with frustration before he pulled you into his arms. The closeness immediately getting the box you’d locked your feelings inside to open wide, your salty tears immediately forming stains on the fabric of his button up while he held you close, his thick fingers getting lost in the strands of your hair. “For screaming, for hurting you and for making you feel that way.”

“You’re everything,” he said your name softly, you could only sob in the familiar safety of his arms. It was freeing that you finally said how you felt and that he understood, but it didn’t make it any easier to get back to normal. Inside you’d felt like your relationship was beyond saving for weeks, all while being unable to bring yourself to bother him with that conversation. “I can’t lose you.”

Another familiar voice was heard from afar over the noise of the commotion. “Hey, Peña,” it was Steve, but Javier quickly shut him down by making a dismissive gesture with his hand. He realized it was about time he prioritized you over the job, at least this once. It’s not like they needed him when there were over a dozen other officers on the scene.

Right now he just wanted to be with you.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you managed to mumble as you hugged him back, your small hands being softly placed on his back. It was true, that man leaving your life had become your biggest fear the moment you fell for him and it had gotten hard to see that possibility appear to be closer and closer every day.

“You won’t.” Javier dropped without even thinking about it. “That’s not on the table, it’ll never be.”

And you believed him. He was a man that kept his word after all.

You breathe in deeply, calming yourself down. “Can we go home?” There was still many things to go over, and a lot of stuff to put on the table together for the sake of actually seeing a change in your current dynamic, but it felt like you’d had enough for a day. It brought you peace to be with him in that moment, and after the stress you had been submitted to in the past hour, on top of the high alcohol levels in your system, you couldn’t think of anything better than to get in bed and leave any worries for another day.

“Of course, sweetheart.” The brunette let go of the embrace and placed a kiss on the top of your head, moving his hands to clean the leftover tears off your cheeks. “Let me just go find your friends so they know I’m taking you and, uh, sort some shit out. Is that ok?”

With a faint smile on your lips, you nodded calmly. “That’s ok.”

After that, he moved to open the door and help you into the passenger seat of the car. “I won’t be long,” Javier reassured before he left you inside the comfortable warmth of the vehicle, and from there you followed him around with your eyes, watching his moves intently. He quickly found your friends and while they seemed to get into a small argument, mainly because they appeared to be mad at him, he looked like he stayed calm and the issue was quickly settled. After that you saw him walk over to Steve, he seemed to explain the situation to him, and his partner nodded calmly in agreement.

As he walked back to you, you heard him yelling over the noise, “call me if you need anything!” To what the blonde replied with a simple, “don’t worry about it!”

Finally, he got into the driver’s seat. Your sight not leaving him for a second.

“Did I mention you look beautiful?”

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kairoseas · 3 days

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god this sukufush/itafushi/ eventual sukufushiita fic i is so manipulative and obsessive and " i know what's best for you more than/before you do " flavor and I love it. MDNI. part of the current WIP.

The futon is luxurious for a few hours, and Sukuna boasts about being more comfortable than the brat, much to Megumi's personal amusement… these two really could get into a competition about anything, couldn't they? How warm they both were, how comfortable, Sukuna ends up practically spooning him from behind, as Megumi buries himself in the blankets for the mere fact that the material was comforting. Internally, maybe it was also something to do with the creation of an artificial barricade between what he fears and desires at the same time. Maybe that was the worst thing about seeing Sukuna again after all this time devoting himself to Yuuji, knowing that he had a choice to make… and it was encroaching on him quickly.

He fears his own body's wants. Terrified that they might betray their lover, it was unthinkable for him. There was simply no way he'd ever be so disloyal to his most loved person in the world, the one who fought back to back with him for years, even when Megumi had been rendered effectively useless by the terror Sukuna implanted into him. Yuuji didn't give up on them, didn't fail to see them as a sorcerer and a powerful person… that was perhaps the most vital thing: unlike a lot of people in his life, Yuuji didn't give up on him and disappear out the door the second he wasn't useful anymore.

… but then, neither had Sukuna. In fact, Sukuna had even protected him multiple times. Mahoraga, all the cursed spirits that would have overcame him in one way or another, all his vulnerable moments where he truly couldn't handle himself. Sukuna had done his best as a cursed spirit himself to protect him, as a real master of the jujutsu arts, he'd pulled feats of strength hitherto unheard of for his sake. The only reason Sukuna had gone was because of Megumi's exorcism of him at the end, where he stared the curse in the face as he got rid of him, even with tears threatening to line his eyes, with blood sticky and wet between them, with his own weapons no less. It was a betrayal. Yet, Sukuna mentioned nothing about it but once, did not use the incident against him, rather… he was a seductive kind of cruel, an evil that thrived on being wanted, as all evil in this world did. Wanted, seeked out, exploited by fools.

That's why what wakes him… startles him.

Two large hands exploring his form shamelessly, lazily, running down to the dips of his hips to linger on the bend of his skin, not a sound from behind him as Megumi peeks his eyes open from the firm touch's awakening. Naturally, he first tries to twist away from the touch, tries to get the curse to cease whatever they were planning to do with him, as a heat flushes across his cheeks. Megumi screws his eyes shut stubbornly-- he wasn't about to let this happen, he wasn't about to betray Yuuji like that. If he gave into the feeling of those hands, it'd be a dangerous decision. Even if they were searching for complacency that did, in fact, exist within Megumi's tired form… he refused to admit that there might have been even the slightest possibility that Sukuna might overpower his will.

Eventually, that idea goes out the window entirely as Sukuna finds themselves eventually climbing on top of him, talking in his ear as he leans down to invade their personal space, the breath lingering along with the heat of his breath, the satisfaction of finally getting them into this malleable state, a state where he clearly wants what Sukuna is offering, Personally, Sukuna found the very idea of bumbling hands being the ones to pleasure his Megumi abhorrent and offensive. Awkward, clueless, useless hands of the brat could not satisfy the person who Sukuna chose, surely. Luckily for Megumi: Sukuna knew what could.

“ There’s no use refusing me… allow yourself the opportunity to feel true pleasure… “

Even when Ryomen Sukuna's weight is atop of their body and Megumi's existence is a stubborn one, the raven isn't very good at keeping his meek sounds of pleasure to themselves. Even their fight dies a bit when Sukuna is situated on top of them like he is, only pulling back to lean back on Megumi's body and get himself out of his upper kimono, the obi tied around the middle like a thin string the only thing keeping the lower half together. In the dim illumination of the candles, he really does appear more like an overlord of hell than anything else, it was impossible to tell what was more attractive: his chiseled, tribal-tattooed body of the look in his eye as he stares them down, diminishing Megumi's fight even further.

" S, Sukuna…"

Sukuna's hand inches its way down Megumi's outstretched arm to crawl and worm his way between their fingers, clutching the hand with his claws as a mockery of intimacy. A low rumble in his throat resounding, reverberating, a groan against the skin of the raven's throat, a husky response being offered as his lips graze against their skin with every shaping of their mouth, " Mmn? This isn't your world… this is mine. Your vows of loyalty to the brat don't exist. However what does exist… is what's in front of you. Me. This. Allow me to introduce you to another plane of pleasure… the heights of wanting… "

There's a haze already gathering in Megumi's brain, settling right where logic should be operating, and in Megumi's chest, his heart races at the physical closeness of the curse. Admittedly, he's only ever touched a curse in a fight with his fists or with his cursed blade, never with his hands, never like this. The King of Curses was surprisingly human… everything from the feeling of his flesh to the warmth radiating from his body screamed the classification of human if he didn't already know better. Megumi was placing a hand on Sukuna's wrist, breathing heavily as their cheeks flush— someone like Yuuji wouldn't even dream of being so rough with them. Yuuji was too gentle a soul to imagine it.

And his lips move on their own with a husk he didn't know he had in him to even create; " I… I want it… "

"Say it again." Sukuna orders him, their eyes locked as Sukuna searches to make Megumi admit it to himself that he does, in fact, desire more than the brat can give. He had to make what Sukuna saw as clear as glass just as clear to Megumi, and the repetition, the admittance of his own desires, was a good place to start.

Sukuna knew the brat could never be so deliberate with his touches either, clumsy fingers and even worse touches were exactly what he imagined from the boy. He felt like Yuuji couldn't take care of Megumi in the way that Megumi deserved, and he deserved so much more. Perhaps he just needed to show Megumi what he needed before he knew he needed it. To show him his own desires, to show him what he could have. To show him that it wasn't too late not to settle with someone lesser than the best of the best, the strongest in history, the only one who deserved such a precious blessing in his world.The brat's choice of environment wasn't where Megumi would flourish to his full potential, and that much was clear to Sukuna.

" One more time. "

#sukufushi #kore's posts #kore's writing

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asha-mage · 4 months

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WoT Meta: Prophecies, Fated Lovers, and Robert Jordan's knack for finding the nuance underneath the myth

One complaint I've never understood about the way Jordan writes romances is the persistent claim that he over uses the 'prophesied love' trope.

In part for me, I think it's a little bit folks not seeing the forest for the trees. WoT is fundamentally about the relationship between myth and reality: the place where the fallen angel meets the disgruntled academic, the bitter accountant, and the man who never got over being too short. It's a story where the messiah is real and dealing with chronic pain and PTSD from his stigmata. Where a legendary High Queen has to deal with both marching armies to the apocalypse, and the irritating banal realities of being pregnant at the same time. Of course Jordan digs into the idea of prophesied love- it's a huge theme in folklore and mythologies the world over. Jordan wants to dig into what it really means for there to be a person out there that you are destined to be with: that is a match for you, decreed so by the universe itself....and that you get absolutely no agency and choice in choosing. If anything Tumblr, which adores the 'red string of fate'/'soulmark'/'soulmates share pain'/'world is black until you look into your soulmates eyes' (to name a few of the more prevalent ones- some of which Tumblr practically invented), should be super on board for the parade of fated lovers to be found in WoT. It's nothing short of baffling to me that their not more fondly viewed.

And I think that is tied to the follow up complaint: the criticism that Jordan 'uses prophecy love as a replacement for a romance arc'. But that is something that is just. Patently untrue.

Cause the thing is that is how soulmates are often used...in the majority of soulmate au fanfics you find here and on AO3- an excuse to get the really hard part (two characters realizing they are right for each other and love each other, then having the communication skills to articulate that so they can start a relationship) out of the way, so the author can focus on the fluff or angst or other part they and the audience want to get to. And that's fine! But that's not at all what Jordan does. Just like he does with the Prophecies of the Dragon, or Elaida's fortellings, or even just most of Min's viewings- Jordan takes the idea of the prophecy soulmate, this person decreed by some higher power to be Perfect For You and being right about it, and digs deeper, shining it in different lights and attacking it from different angles. Jordan gives the concept of the soulmate teeth, explores the spines and the sharp points of it: is it real love if it's fated and not your choice? Can you trust your own feelings, or are they fate's design working against you as surely as Aphrodite worked against Helen or Eros against Apollo? What is it like, to see someone one day, and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would love this stranger? This question mark? This wildcard?

Rand's relationships with Min and Aviendha, as well as Mat and Tuon's courtship are great examples of this conundrum. Min and Aviendha have completely opposite reactions to the same information that demonstrates their unique strengths and weaknesses as characters and people, while Tuon and Mat's courtship is all about two people who know they will marry trying to figure out what that means, without ever confronting the reality of those prophecies directly.

Min, as befits a Seer who has learned time and time again that her viewings can not be changed, has resigned herself in an almost fatalistic fashion to all of them, and to loving Rand no less. Min knows that she, and two others, will love him, and she accepts its inevitability the same way she accepts Colavere's death, or Logain's glory, or the shattering of the White Tower. What is, is, and there is no sense or point in struggling against it. What concerns her a great deal more is what she doesn't know- she doesn't know if Rand will love her in return, she doesn't know the identity of the other two women who will love him, and she doesn't know if he will fall in love with one or both of the others but not her. Add to that Min's own insecurities about how she stands out and doesn't fit what her society deems 'proper', between her crossdressing, and her offputting manners, and it makes perfect sense that she's worried about making Rand love her. She doesn't mind sharing him- she hates the idea of being in love with a man who doesn't love her in return, of being stuck like 'Elmindreda' of the stories, sighing and pining endlessly for a man instead of being able to act, to take control of her own fate.

So she takes control: she learns to flirt from Leane, works hard at making herself desirable, and also indispensable: with her visions, her advice, even just her emotional support to Rand when he otherwise has no one else. The irony is that whenever Rand thinks of Min prior to her return to his side in LoC, it's about how much he liked her earthy honesty and lack of wiles: how she was earnest and made him feel at ease, and didn't 'spin his head like a top'- and that's still what he loves about her after they get together: the fact that she isn't fooled by his front, that she sees him clearly and refuses to be driven away the way so many others are so easily. The point is that Min never had to change, and in the ways that matter she didn't- she only thought she did because of her own fatalism.

Contrast that with Aviendha, who, after learning about being destined to fall in love with Rand, does everything in her power to prevent that outcome- because she is a warrior, a soldier, who has never yet met a problem that could not be killed, endured, or retreated from. Aviendha values nothing so much as her honor and her word- she has promised to keep Rand safe for Elayne and what greater act of dishonor could there be in that situation then not just failing in that promise, but despoiling (and she does view it that way) said man herself? So she is awful to him in the hopes of poisoning the well of affection or at least keeping him far enough away that she is never tempted. Aviendha hurls contempt and anger at him, berates him, does everything short of trying to stab him in an effort to make him hate her, and it doesn't work. Despite all her efforts to keep her thorny wall up, they are literally made for each other and can not help but be drawn together time and again. Despite all her efforts to insist, to him and herself, that she hates him, she can not hide entirely that the opposite is true: that she likes him, sees his strength and courage and resilience, and is a little in awe of his generous kindness.

This is why she vacillates wildly between wanting desperately to get away from him in The Fires of Heaven, to not wanting to leave his side: they are two planets caught in each other's gravity, with about as much chance of escaping each other. When she resorts to the last recourse of a soldier- retreat- and runs headlong into a blizzard that would surely kill her, Rand follows to try and save her life and she can deny the truth that she loves him no longer, nor can she resist taking him, even knowing that to redress that balance, she will one day have to offer her life to Elayne (as she attempts to do in LoC)- though fate still has other plans in store.

But in many ways the apex of this, the relationship that really shows Jordan's deconstruction of this trope, is Mat and Tuon. Before they ever lay eyes on each other, each is given a prophecy that they will marry the other: not that they'll love each other, not that they will be able to trust each other, not even that that will like each other: just that they will marry. And their strange courtship is a result of this knowledge, as each attempts to suss out the other, to try and understand them without ever overplaying their own hand. Each believes that the moment they admit their prophecy they will destroy any chance of real connection or understanding.

To Tuon, if Mat learns he is destined to wed her he gains something she can not abide: power over her, leverage that could be used to subvert her own plans and visions- because nothing matters more to Tuon than control, especially over herself. So she keeps her 'fortune' secret and tries to figure out: What will it mean to be married to Mat? Will he be a pretty trophy? A liability? A threat to her Empire? Will she have to kill him once she gets her heirs?

To Mat, if Tuon learns of his prophecy, she gains the power to take away his freedom, to snare and collar him and bind him to her, because that's how Mat deep down views marriage: as a binding cord, a loss of freedom, and nothing matters to Mat more than freedom. So he keeps his *Finn gained knowledge secret and tries to figure out: What will it mean to be collared by Tuon? Will she she treat him as a pretty and plaything the way Tylin did? Will she try to use him against Rand and the Westlands? Will she make him a slave and sent him to be beaten anytime he disobeys her? Will he have no choice but to fight her one day, this woman he is going to swear to spend his life with? Will he have to kill her the way he did Melindhra, and carry that guilt of mariticide on top of all else?

So the two stay in their strange limbo, because as long as they don't admit it out loud to the other, they can pretend they are still two people forced together by happenstance, and (each thinks) they can continue to try and understand and figure out the other, to find out where this inevitability of their marriage will really leave them, and if there can be even the faintest possibility of love in such circumstances. And that limbo- that protracted refusal to act as if they are under fate's direction- is what allows them to build a genuine bond of trust and respect for each other, and to start seeing the other person with the clarity that love requires. All this, so that when Tuon finally does play her hand, and reveal the truth....it's obvious they've long since fallen in love with each other (even though Tuon won't admit that to herself), and come to trust each other (even though Mat won't admit that to himself).

And the thing is- all of Jordan’s prophecy romances are written like this: from Egwene seeing that loving Gawyn might be both their downfalls in LoC and seeking him out anyways, to Perrin misinterpreting the 'falcon and hawk' viewing and thinking Faile is a danger to him when she's the love of his life, to Galad and Berelain not even being AWARE they’re fated to fall in love and just....do, at wild first sight (Another classic folklore/mythology trope). They also never find out: always remaining unaware that the Pattern had long since decreed that they would be together and being incredibly funny/annoying about it. The prophesied love is an example of classic Jordan: taking a common, maybe even ubiquitous premise, and asking those complicating questions that allow him to write it as something much more nuanced and interesting and fascinating. And he gets no credit for it, send tumble.

#Wheel of Time #WoT #Robert Jordan #WoT Meta #Wheel of Time Meta #Min Farshaw #Aviendha #Rand al'Thor #Mat Cauthon #tuon athaem kore paendrag #randmin #avirand #mat x tuon #matuon #WoT Book Spoilers #TOM Spoilers #I wanted to write more about some of the other Fated Lovers pairs in the series but this already got insanely long

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

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sebchal + magic au

"It's a dangerous idea," Pierre had told him when Charles, stupidly, amateurishly, got just a bit too drunk the last time they went out and found himself telling his best friend more than he intended to. "And what's even worse, it's a stupid idea."

"You're stupid," Charles had said, stupidly, and drank the rest of Pierre's Red Bull-vodka. Pierre didn't even notice, staring at Charles like a wide-eyed lemur. Or maybe a meerkat? Charles was never good at animal species. He prefered demon classifications.

"No, I'm pretty sure you're being stupid just now, calamar. Do you even know what all can go wrong?" Pierre had asked.

"Yes," Charles had replied, insulted. "I read, Pear. And I studied the ritual in detail."

Pierre huffed in what Charles was sure was derision. He reached for the drink that wasn't there. Charles played stupid (hah) as Pierre refilled both their glasses. "You could lose your soul if you do the binding wrong. Or your virginity." He paused. "Or, you know. A limb."

Charles frowned. "I'm not a virgin."

Pierre laughed that fox-like laugh of his that always grated on Charles' nerves.

"A blowjob doesn't count." Charles felt himself blush as Pierre leered at him. "No matter how good it was."

"Fuck you, Pear," he mumbled and used the momentary distraction of Pierre's laughter to change the Red Bull in his drink into Monster, just because he could. "You're so full of yourself."

Pierre shrugged. "I give good blowjobs." His face turned somber. "I just don't understand. Why do you need to do it?"

Need, Pierre had said. Not want. That may be why Charles answered truthfully.

"I need to prove how strong I am to them," he had said, much more softly than he wanted. "I need them to understand. I need them to choose me." His voice was steady, but he knew his hands were shaking.

Pierre hadn't said anything after that. What could he say, really, when he understood intimately what drove Charles to even contemplate this? What could Pierre say, when his own binding ritual had failed, and ge was discarded into a lower class, with empty promises of some future, second chance that was no more than courtesy and placating? He just added more vodka to Charles' glass, and moved so he sat closer to Charles on the couch.

Being where he was right now, Charles kind of wished Pierre had pushed, had insisted on talking some more about what Charles was going to do.

"You're very beautiful."

Well. Technically, what Charles had already done. Did. Was about to do. Stupid semantics.

"I, uh, thank you?" Charles replied, confused and scared in about the same amount, which was quite a lot.

The demon standing in the middle or the ritual square licked its lips. His lips. Whatever.

"You're welcome," he purred, and Charles felt himself blush, like an idiot. Or a virgin, he thought. The demon's smile widened. "Oh, you're going to be interesting, aren't you?"

"I am going to be binding you," Charles replied. The demon's smile didn't falter. "I need you -"

"Oh, do you?" The demon leered. Its- his, it took a male form, and it was an appealing form, to Charles' despair. Blond curls, wide smile, and blue, blue eyes which looked black when the candle light hit them right. "And what do you need me for, Charles Leclerc?"

Charles didn't flinch. He knew this level demons had telekinetic and telepathic abilities and so he anticipated the demon would know certain things about him. True, the summoning ritual wasn't quite as it was supposed to be, as it was described in the grimoire. The shadows coalescing were much thicker than Charles expected from a Level Four demon, and the feeling of thunder and heat and monsoon wasn't really what he had been expecting. There was also the small matter of that moment of absolute darkness which seemed to last less than a second and more than a century simultaneously, and the way Charles' very magic seemed to burn around him in the air ever since the demon appeared. It was probably the adjusted summoning circle. The square was Charles' own idea, based on studying interdimensional geometry and runes in his spare time. It was nothing to worry about. Really. It was nothing.

Charles inhaled deeply, sulfur and incence filling his mouth and nose. "I need you to give me your price for a low-level binding. I need you for fifty-four hours, until midnight Monday, so I can show my Instructors that I have managed the Level Four binding." The demon's eyebrows went up, but Charles couldn't decipher it- his expression, so he went on. "I will give you an Oath on my magic that after the alloted time period, I will dissolve our binding. Oh, and that I will not try to amend the parameters of our agreement at any point, unless we both agree of our own free will that the parameters should be amended."

The demon kept silent for a while after Charles finished his speech. The candles flickered over his face, and Charles couldn't catch any emotion in his eyes. They were really pretty eyes, and intense, and Charles forced himself not to follow that train of thought because, well. Telepathic demon. Not smart to give him more ammunition against Charles. Demons were, at their core, deceivers.

As if he heard Charles' last thought, the demon laughed. "That's an interesting proposal. And what would you need me to do for you in these fifty-four hours, Charles Leclerc? Which desires of yours am I to fulfill, with my Level Four powers?" he asked, and his voice was ice.

Charles blinked. "Uh." The demon kept staring at him. "I don't - nothing?" The demon's eyebrow rose. "I mean, it's - it's pretty obvious that you're a demon, and our binding would show to any magic user with enough power to discern, which my Instructors have. I wouldn't - I don't need, or want you to do magic tricks? That's not - I don't think you'd appreciate that very much?" he ended on a question, and if it wasn't absurd, he'd think that the demon looked bewildered. He shut his mouth and tried not to shuffle in his place, and was determined to wait the demon out.

The demon sat down in the middle of the circle suddenly. "Sit," he ordered, and Charles did so before he could think about it. It wasn't a - he wasn't compelled by the demon's magic. It was worse than that, but the demon spoke again before Charles could die of mortification because of his stupid kinks.

"I can see the insignia on your bracelet. You are a Cavallino?" The demon asked, and the way his tongue curled around the word Cavallino spoke of danger to Charles.

"Yes," he replied as calmly as he could. "I am in their training programme, but I am hoping this binding will show the leadership that I can become a full-fledged acolyte."

The demon hummed. His tail - and fuck, how did Charles not notice his tail, red and scaly, fuck - came up, and the demon petted it. "I see. And how did you choose me for your binding?"

"I read through the Grimoires," Charles said. "There are books in the library, books that we have to read. But I found a grimoire that wasn't on the curriculum, a hand-written one by a former, old Cavallino acolyte - Vettel, his name was," Charles said, and the demon pierced him with his gaze. His eyes were pitch black now, and Charles put his hands in his lap so as not to wring them under the demon's furious gaze. "He - he must have lived a long time ago, and must have been under the patronage of Master Schumacher, because I found some texts - but never mind." He cut himself off, because he had the tendency to ramble, and he didn't think the demon was interested.

"Anyways, he hypothesised heavily about certain things. Different ways of summoning, and binding, which did not have to be as - as final, and as..." he trailed off, wondering if he should tell the demon this. It was against the Guild's policy, but he also didn't want to lie to a proper demon. He didn't want to get murdered, or eaten. "Vettel hypothesised that the bindings did not have to be so imbalanced in power. That the demons didn't have to be - slaves, to us mages. And I," he swallowed, kewping eye contact, " I don't much care for slavery. Even if it's a demon in question."

The demon's tail twitched. "You are speaking the truth," he said, and Charles let out a short, nervous breath. "So you went through all the trouble to adapt the standard summoning ritual into this, on the off chance that this Vettel was right?" Charles nodded. "So that you wouldn't have to enslave a demon, despite us being the biggest evil out there?"

Charles scoffed. At the demon's questioning expression, he spoke, somewhat too empathetically, perhaps, but still the truth. "I've seen evil men can do. I've seen evil mages are capable off. I don't think demons are the worst evil out there. Your kind can't help but be who and what you are. For me, human evil is worse, because for us, at least there is a choice. To be bad, or to be good. And that makes all the difference, and illustrates monstrosity as very much a human condition."

The silence that fell between them wasn't opressive per se as much as it was significant. Charles thought of the Bulls, and what they did to their acolytes who didn't reach their standards. He thought of the Silver Arrows, and of the ice cold of their pragmatism. He thought of his own Cavallinos, and the atmosphere that sometimes felt fundamentally tainted, like a spell that misfired. The demon wasn't looking at Charles as he thought on world-knew-what, his eyes far away and long unseeing of the things before him. Of Charles.

"My price," the demon suddenly said, and Charles did flinch this time, lost in his own musings of hypocrisy and secrets, "is for you to listen to a story I will tell you in full." Charles said nothing. "My condition is that you listen to a story I will tell you, about betrayal, and things worse than murder, and corruption, and the vileness of humans sesuced by the promises of power, and that you listen to it from start to finish and think on it, and then tell me if you still wish to bind me to you and parade me before your Cavallino leadership." Charles' heart was beating wildly in his chest. "And after you listen to it, if you are still of the same opinion about certain things, I will let you bind me." The demon grinned. "And I shall not harm you lest you seek to harm me, and I may not even take you virginity." Charles blushed. "Accept you these terms, Charles Leclerc?"

There was a crackling of electricity and thunder in the air as Charles said "I do."

The demon nodded. "Good." He smiled. It was a smile with too many teeth. The shadows around the room coalesced, condensed, and Charles' skin broke out in goosebumps as the demon's strength suddenly surged forward. The light from the candles brightened into balls of light, and the crackling of the electricity in the air became even stronger. It did not feel malicious to Charles, though. Not at all. He settled more comfortably on the floor and tangled his fingers. "I am listening."

"You are, aren't you," demon remarked to himself, his eyes closed. "Alright."

When the demon opened his eyes, they were the bright blue Charles had only ever seen in the paintings of angels. "You made a mistake, Charles Leclerc. You thought you were summoning a low, Level Four demon, but you were not." Charles' breath caught in his throat as the demon spoke from what sounded like a hunder voices at once. There was a huge shadow behind him, and Charles realised in that moment it was a shadow of wings. Fuck, he though. What the fuck. Demons don't have wings. What the fuck, he kept thinking as the demon spread his wings and his arms and laughed loudly.

"I am a Level One demon, Charles Leclerc," he said, and Charles blanched, because - those were fallen - impossible - no no no, he thought. The demon pinned Charles to his place merely by the inhuman blue glow of those eyes, and said the words that would change Charles' life, and the fate of the world.

"My name is Sebastian Vettel, and I am going to tell you my story."

#sebchal #f1 rpf #magic au #my writing #effervescentdragonwrites #this was vaguely inspired by spn. but kore i spired by a certain genre of fics #idek how to tag this #i found this in my drafts #im too tired to write more atm but as is usual w me. there is a whole lore here xX

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lagt-duck · 2 months

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A simple drawing inspired by this fic "picnic date" on AO3 by peacheshadow

It's adorable! Like I wanna hug em, tho I warn you guys it has nsfw themes for people who wanna look out for that

#lagt yells #fanart #this is how i trick writers to write kore #it probably doesn't work BUT STILL #lmk #sun wukong #lmk macaque

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cranberrie07 · 3 months

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Ok guys, my favourite character trope has become

Sunshine x Bad Boy who’s really just anxious

Thank you webtoon

#character tropes #character traits #writing #Amy and Oliver #space boy webtoon #space boy #hades and persephone #hades and kore #lore olympus #lore olympus webtoon #Sirin and kappa #castle swimmer #castle swimmer WEBTOON #webtoon

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genericpuff · 9 months

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Love how Persephone’s internal dialogue is “aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just wanna go apeshit?”

Persephone and Uzuki are two halves of a whole hot mess ♪(´▽｀)

#is it any wonder i was so compelled to write about kore and persephone lmao #ama #ask me anything #anon ask me anything #anon ama #lore rekindled #lore rekindled ama #lore rekindled comic #time gate #projectreaper #projectreapercomics

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neopuppy · 3 months

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What's the point of reading y/n smut if y/n cannot be whoring around getting dick drunk 🥰

I think its because I’m not writing soft love making vanilla smut..

but again, so many people write that! and if that if anyone’s preference, totally fine. that is not *my* preference to read or write. I love reading the more raw nasty extremely detailed and ridiculous stuff- AND writing it.

I don’t care to write love stories or a lot of fluff, I never have and I’ve been pretty vocal about that. this all started from an anonymous message saying they’ve never read such explicit smut before and I’m like yes, well, that is my specialty.

some people really excel at fluffy soft stories and if that is more comfortable for anyone to read, than by ALL means, no one is being forced to read my fics! this goes hand in hand with anything I’ve ever said before, if my fic warnings are not up to par with your preferences than please do not read! AND dont waste my time with a message just bc you did and didnt like what you read.

#asks #got another long ass one like ‘i love y/n BUT—-‘#NO.#i dont care #if you have any kore negative shit to say keep that to yourself #im not changing my y/n to fit what YOU want #i write for *me* the end.

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ogradyfilm · 5 months

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Recently Viewed: Monster (2023)

Like Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon, Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Monster revolves around the theme of conflicting perspectives, adopting a triptych structure in order to explore the convoluted events of its deceptively simple plot through the eyes of three distinctly different protagonists: an aloof adolescent boy, his fiercely protective single mother, and a naïve schoolteacher. Each character’s inherently biased point-of-view shapes (and distorts) how they perceive the morally complex dilemma at the heart of the story; consequently, the audience’s sympathies vacillate dramatically as new information is gradually revealed. The director, however, intentionally leaves several significant questions unresolved and open to interpretation; by the time the end credits roll, there are still gaps in the narrative—even outright inconsistencies, contradictions, and discrepancies. Thus, the puzzle remains fundamentally fractured, fragmented, and incomplete.

And that ambiguity elevates and enriches the film. “Truth,” after all, is ultimately subjective—as insubstantial and illusory as the shimmering reflection of raindrops trickling down a windowpane. Monster embraces the uncertainty of life itself—and is all the more sublimely beautiful for it.

#Monster #Hirokazu Kore-eda #Hirokazu Koreeda #Japanese film #Japanese cinema #film #writing #movie review

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halfpintpeach · 8 months

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📓

You knew I was coming 😘

My arms are always open for you PAS

Here's an idea I've had rolling around and never really tried to do anything with until today:

Hades and Persephone Arranged Marriage AU

Andrew as Hades, god of the underworld.

Nathaniel as Kore, goddess of springtime

(Layout and very VERY vague plot line below the cut)

Due to the time of the earth, disease is running rampant and it's a struggle to survive. They give offerings to Andrew and plead to the other gods to find a way to end their constant death. Never mind the fact that Andrew isn't in charge of nor does he rule over death, he's simple the king of the underworld.

Still, the gods above are out of options as they cannot directly interfere with mortals lives. A cure for their disease is coming, but they can't rush it along.

There's a young god, one who makes the flowers bloom and the sun shine bright. He's a rebel, running off to the mortal realm and away from his mother, Mary. Bringing good harvests to the fields and ignoring the rule about interfering with the mortals.

The gods figure sending the young god to the underworld, a place where his tremendous powers (regardless of how young he is) will be muffled.

A marriage is held. The wedding is large, it's the wedding of two gods after all. There's drama as some don't want it to happen, but rings of black obsidian with golden ichor are exchanged. Three mortals are invited to the event so that they may spread the good news to the others.

Andrew is a quiet god, content to remain in the underworld and build the cities of the dead. They're marvelous things, works of art from times long ago and ever changing as the world above does. The space is limitless, ever expanding and making room.

Nathaniel is not quiet. He stomps through the palace halls and makes noise wherever he goes. He takes up space and makes himself known. Surprisingly, it took a week for him to step outside of the palace, bare feet sinking into the ash and coal.

Even more surprisingly is when sprout push their way up around his feet.

I think the overlap of Kore becoming Persephone and Nathaniel becoming Neil is fun to play with.

#aftg #andrew minyard #all for the game #neil josten #andreil #andreil fanfic #pint answers #hades and persephone #hades and kore #greek myth au #AFTG Greek myth AU #pint writes #pints wips

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sidesteppostinghours · 18 days

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WIP its-not-Wednesday-but-close-enough

tagged by @autistic-sidestep! thank you for the tag :D i have,,, so many wips rn. pulp stop starting a million projects challenge. all of these are very rough, and a lot of them feature other steps, but i wanted to share a few :]

for writing, ive got these:

“What the hell, man!” Mitchel hisses. He’s let go, but he hasn’t bothered lowering his voice. Too loud, but real. Caine groans, pulling themselves up from the mattress. At least it wasn’t the floor– this could’ve hurt a lot worse. They wince at the throb in their shoulder as they reach for the wall, probing for a light switch. When he flicks it on reality re-establishes itself once more. It’s Caine’s room, familiarly bare-bones. There’s only a singular twin sized bed in one corner of the room and a desk just across, with a heap of laundry they haven’t bothered to do taking up the chair. Mitchel stands on the mattress in the middle, both parts pissed and bleary eyed. His cheek is a lightish colour that’s a telltale sign it’s going to bruise, and a portion of his blanket stubbornly clings onto his shoulder. There’s no threat in here, or at least nothing more threatening than Mitchel annoyed. The knowledge doesn’t stop the blood pounding in their ears.

-caine wakes up and gets jumpscared by @hyper-pixels mitchel. they react to this calmly.

Marshal Steel has hair stuck in his finger joints. That's the first thing Daniel noticed when he came in to work this morning. Steel has his civilian hands on, which is normal when he has admin work. Those civilian hands will usually have hair in it too, mostly from Spoon. That's also normal. What's not normal is the colour; because instead of the odd tufts of grey fur Daniel's used to seeing scattering Steel's joints, this is a single, longer strand that he's sure wasn't left on purpose. Because the hair strand is brown. Suspiciously similar to Ortega's own brown hair.

-herald is suspicious that his boss is having another secret relationship with a pretty old man, but its none of his business! not at all. thats why hes eavesdropping on them from the breakroom pantry.

“What are you two talking about?” Ortega jerks, nearly spilling coffee all over Wei, tearing a curse out of him as he yanks his head to the direction of the voice. Speak of the devil. Caine glances between the two, head cocked. When did he get here? Ortega doesn't remember inviting him, and nobody told him he was coming either. Not that Ortega isn't happy to see him, but the timing… “Dios mio, Spot, how long have you been standing there?” he mutters. He gives his coffee a once over, but nothing's spilled. He turns back to Caine and double takes. The poor guy looks like he's just run a marathon– he's drenched in his own sweat. He's not wearing his raggedy sweater, for once. Instead, he's got a skintight suit with a simple white tee over it.

-a multi-pov fic featuring the same conversation, but told from the perspective of ortega, chen, and caine. trying to practice voices with it, and so far its been fun digging into each of them!

as for art wips:

-arde and vera based on the song "the villain i appear to be"! i actually made this today after playing the new revelations demo lmfao. i do not remember what arde looks like 😔 im so sorry ive done you a disservice

the next two have blood+mild gore in them, so im throwing them under the cut!

-cyrus gets Fucked Up by a dream version of fawn from @villainsidestep, based on this absolutely vile(/pos) soul read of him:

because why not fuck him up even more??

-mitchel painting i have yet to put down colours for that i am lovingly dubbing "cannibalism (NOT ROMANTIC)". chew it out with your teeth mitchel!!!!

ill be tagging everybody mentioned in the post, plus @idlenight, @disastersteps, and maybe @euelios if you all wanna give this a shot?

#caine is a cringefail loser that cant place the fact that he is. fucking scared of mitchel. and i love dancing around that fact in writing #herald is fighting for his Life trying to mind his own business but his gaydar is beeping incessantly at him everytime chen is in the room #theres a line in the multi pov fic that is. accidentally really sus. but i find it so funny im keeping it like that #i love vera so much yall you dont understand #no spoilers for the rev demo but something about her that gets brought up makes me want to gnash my teeth w the implications of it #think its actually really fucked up and evil of me to make fawn hold both of their brothers tenderly by their faces #during the two times ive drawn things between their brothers for this fight #pov: u are cyrus getting held by your younger sib and realizing theyre way better at protecting and loving u all than you ever will be #the last drawing was based on a line kore casually threw out there while talking about ortega being a bitch #and it made me so insane i opened medibang like. immediately. help #caine lynzal #cyrus becker(s)#nmoc: mitchel becker #nmoc: fawn becker #sidestep #ortega #chen #chentega #herald #dove #arde #fhr #pulp writes #pulp draws

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fresamilkwrites · 1 year

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LIGHTHOUSE RELATED HEADCANONS ━ Bruce Wayne [The Batman]

author's note. Many of you have been asking me for a continuation to my lighthouse fic, and while no particular idea has come to mind, I did mention before that I had a whole plot of Bruce and reader's life... so I decided to tell you some more about it in the head canons format! Anyways, if you have any prompts or want to know anything particular about their relationship, don't be afraid to leave it in my fic requests!

They're low-key together simply because she has a savior complex.

The Wayne Enterprises investors wanted Bruce out of the company because they thought he didn't give a good impression. It was then that under Alfred's influence, Bruce decided to take his public life and image more seriously.

He goes to a charity dinner and keeps to himself the whole time, he does not know how to interact actually.

But she's there.

She was the typical social butterfly, the people's delight and very kind regardless of the fact that she'd grown in wealth.

She realized Bruce was alone and that everyone seemed to be nitpicking everything about what he did or how he looked. That made her decide to take some action.

She approached him and started a conversation that surprisingly flowed naturally. They simply got along, which was a rare occasion in Bruce's life.

After that, they always found each other at events and social functions. They stuck together and slowly but surely became closer. Things naturally flowed that way.

Her family didn't like him, they also thought of him as a social reject and didn't want their only daughter close to him. It was bad reputation, they said.

But she didn't care, she was falling for him.

And she always thought it was unrequited. He never showed how he felt and that was misleading when it came to this matter.

"He just likes hanging out with me. As friends." She'd go around saying.

But Bruce also had feelings for her.

Feelings that he also didn't quite understand. But he did know that being with her felt right and always worked as a way for him to escape what tormented him. At least for some time.

So that to him translates into a marriage proposal, somehow?

And he does propose.

Randomly over dinner.

He struggled to and stumbled over his words trying to explain the proposal he had, of course he didn't just ask the usual "will you marry me?" Bruce made it sound like a business agreement to a point.

She was confused to say the least.

But also extremely happy to know that after all, her love was reciprocated. And then she accepted.

She understood Bruce was a man with broken pieces, but she was set on the fact that with all the love and patience she had for him, things for him would eventually get better.

When she broke the news to her family, they weren't happy and tried to convince her to give the ring back. She wasn't willing to do that, ever in a million years.

"You simply don't get him like I do," she'd tell her mother.

After the wedding and moving in together, she thought she could see improvement in him and their dynamic. He was still pretty warded when it came to his emotions, but he seemed to put an effort and everything went well.

He never verbally told her that he loved her, but she knew he did. She learned he didn't smile at anyone, but he did at her. He made jokes. He asked her to cook special foods for him like a kid. And at night when they slept, Bruce held her so close that it felt as if he were afraid she'd leave.

And she was happy that way, that was enough.

Even if sometimes she felt like his behavior was neglectful towards her emotional needs, she never focused on that because she understood it was never intentional, and knew that he was always trying his best. Besides, seeing him "happy" (it's not like he really projected much happiness when they weren't in private but that was besides the point) was all she cared about.

#kore's fics #kore's writing #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x oc #battinson #headcanon #Robert pattinson #Bruce Wayne x y/n #fanfic

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kairoseas · 27 days

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Sukuna who's always gotten some kind of twisted amusement out of teasing Satoru endlessly. Pinning down the sorcerer like a toy. Like the only reason Satoru's ever been able to function independently is because Sukuna allowed him. Holding him down with only one of his rather large, muscular four arms just to prove that he can control the sorcerer with little to no difficulty. He knows how Satoru's mind is endlessly racing, and he doesn't help slow it at all when he speaks in Satoru's ear, the breath of the two-faced demon causing every hair on the back of Satoru's neck to stand on end with a strange, attentive chill. "Sukuna, I can't think with you this close..." Satoru hisses at him with pure and simple fact, flat on his back, and he can just hear Sukuna let out a low sound, something that originates deep in his throat, gravely from the depths of his lungs. Everything Satoru's body does is due to Sukuna, it bends to his will just as it should. "You're not supposed to think. This is about feeling." Sukuna tells him smoothly, directly into the ear of his prey that rests on their back just underneath him, ready to be consumed and have their insides exposed for the fleshy, vulnerable organs that they're made of. A being so human it hurts. " ... And all you should be feeling... " he halts the finishing of his sentence, until he breaths it out against their throat. This whole time, he makes sure to keep both of Gojo's hands restricted in one of his own, trapping him between the body of the strongest sorcerer in history and ruin. Slowly, he withdraws from their neck, looking down at his prey with both sharp, inescapable eyes. Every breath and squirm drives him insane, mixing amusement and satisfaction into a dangerously intoxicating concoction for even the King of Curses to become beholden to. " ... is the urge to beg. "

#sukugo #wow this is spicier than i usually write.... ✨ i had good banter in mind #kore's posts #suggestive //#???? i guess #dont..... look at me 🫣

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inkwell-and-dagger · 2 months

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Sew Up My Mouth if I Can't Keep It Closed

MADILYN MEI LYRIC GRRGRGGRGGRHR anyway! I am SO sorry for not posting a lot of HAH content but here's an aarin drabble feat a new design idea for them🙏🙏

HAH Taglist: @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

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Aarin had long stopped acting defiantly towards Kore, but the urge to slap that smug little grin off the demon's face blazed like a fire inside their chest.

Of course, it wasn't like they could verbally express this anymore; the golden thread sealing their lips shut, dried crimson still staining their lips, made sure of this. After one too many times of lashing out at him, they should've realized that Kore would probably do something to stop them. So here they were now.

They had gotten used to the pain — either that, or it had dissipated, moving to the muscles in their wings right now. Stretched out in a marvellous display, each feather was pristine and silky smooth. Unfortunately, however, Kore tended to forbid moving their wings until the visitors left; so that meant that, in whatever position that Kore decided on, Aarin had to stay perfectly in place for hours, perhaps days, on end.

"You should be used to this by now," Kore would repeat. Aarin hated his voice; every fibre of the demon's being made them want to rip him apart, put his horns on display like how he's doing with their precious wings. "You've been down here for years. In my home. Following my rules. Under my protection." It wasn't protection. It was torture. So, so much torture, just to be gawked at like the 'statue' Kore believed it was. The 'statue' that Kore made them pretend to be.

"Aarin."

They were fucking sick of it. Sick of him. Sick of being forced to stay still while this— this devil etched patterns into their flesh with a scalpel, making meticulous incisions just because he couldn't be bothered to paint onto their skin every day. Sick of not being able to speak freely, move freely. Sick of not being free, full stop.

"Aarin!"

They just wanted to rip his heart out, treat him like how he treated them. Give him a taste of his own fucking medicine. They wanted to make him the one to stay still for hours, make him the one to be stared at and admired for being a perfect little fucking statue—

"Fuck's sake— Aarin Malchediel!" The angel's head snapped to the side as they were backhanded by Kore, their cheek blazing with pain. They only winced, giving a silent glare to the demon in response as they turned their head back.

"Keep your fucking wings in place or I'll rip them out myself."

The angel couldn't help but whimper in reply, the muscles in their wings twitching with exertion as they stretched them out further. In the meanwhile, Kore placed a delicate veil over their head, nestling it in their hair. The fabric was opaque and — thankfully — hid their entire face, so they doubted they had any need to close their eyes. It was probably because of their sewn-up mouth, as well.

Kore hummed in satisfaction when he stopped fiddling with their hair, and when Aarin's wings — and breathing — stilled. But still, a threat lay beneath that silver tongue as he spoke again: "Keep zoning out like that and you'll end up like my little Zuriel."

Aarin had no clue what they were supposed to gain from the threat. Perhaps it was an attempt — a pathetic one at that, in their opinion — to make them behave, make them listen. They had no clue who, or even what, this 'Zuriel' was. It wasn't like the angel could ask, though. But given the look in Kore's eye, and the poorly scrubbed blood staining the marble beneath the rug in the center of the room...

Aarin wasn't sure if they wanted to know in the first place.

#aarin malchediel #kore orion #Halos And Horns #angel whump #demon whumper #angel whumpee #wing whump #whump #oc whump #whump writing #whump oc #nonhuman whumpee #nonhuman whumper #captive whumpee #captivity whump #defiant whumpee #whump drabble #whumpee #whumper

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