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inkedtae · 25 days ago

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the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART II

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

⬅︎ PART I

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.6k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ this is a continuation of the original post as the overall word count exceeds the character limit on tumblr posts. this is not an official part 2, but rather the second half of the one shot.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Your vision blurs, head spins. Movements slow, you sit yourself up. The zip-ties, previously binding your wrists and ankles, have been removed. So have your platform ankle boots, fish-netted feet brushing against the fur of your coat. Willing your sight back, you screw your eyes tight, blinking until your vision finally clears to take in the room.

A masterpiece of modern elegance, the room is a blend of minimalist design that indulges comfort. It is expansive, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows to offer a panoramic view of the Crimson Heights skyline below. You shuffle yourself off the comfortable bed, eager to get a closer look. The red lights of the city twinkle back at you and cast a soft, ambient glow throughout the space. You’ve never seen the city from such a height, swallowing thickly.

In the reflection of the glass, beyond your haphazard image of dried tears and ruined lipstick, the bed you have only just climbed out of summons your attention.

Draped in the finest linens with a dark charcoal-grey duvet and plush pillows arranged neatly, it must be king-sized in order to fit the extensive space of the room. The headboard is a stunning work of art in itself—made of dark walnut wood, with soft leather inlays that give the room a sleek, masculine impression. The bed sits on a low, streamlined platform, reinforcing the room's minimal yet luxurious aesthetic. And, on either side of the bed, are matching nightstands, both topped with geometric lamps that are made of brushed steel and frosted glass.

Your eyes fall to the polished, dark hardwood floors. A rich, handwoven wool rug in deep, muted tones lays over it, warming the room and offering texture underfoot. You catch the gleam of the recessed lighting overhead, installed in the high, coffered ceilings. You lift your gaze and take in each panel. An awed sigh leaves you at the sight of the meticulously crafted slots, indirect LED lighting embedded into the coves to cast a sophisticated, layered illumination.

Against one wall stands a sprawling built-in wardrobe. The seamless doors are made from smoked glass and brushed steel accents. And, to the left of the bed, a small seating area invites relaxation, consisting of a sleek leather armchair and a low-profile marble coffee table. A few books rest upon it, alongside a single crystal whiskey tumbler, hinting at quiet, contemplative moments probably spent here.

You wander further around the room, spotting a door that leads to the master ensuite bathroom in the corner. It’s visible through frosted glass sliding doors. You debate on going in, curious to see what breathtaking architecture it will offer.

But then the walls captivate your attention, or rather the art that hangs from them. Large intricate pieces, each one probably chosen for its muted palette and contemporary feel, enhance the understated luxury that defines the room. The only splash of colour comes from a vase of white orchids resting on a sleek dresser, their delicate petals standing out against the otherwise neutral tones.

You resist reaching a hand out and tracing rigid lines of dried paint.

“I don’t give a shit,” you hear Chris growl on the other side of the black door.

You stiffen.

This is his room, you realise. The heart-wrenching events of the night return to you in a fast wave, flooding you with the same shame and anger that plagued you in the van.

As quietly as you can, you rush back to the bed for your coat and dig through the pockets for your switchblade. However, both are empty of your belongings, not even your lipstick remains. If you really are left without a weapon, you know what you must do.

Scooping up your coat and boots, you make your way to the door. It was one thing to be caught tangled in a bright dressing room with witnesses. It’s another to be cornered alone in his room. If he has a view of the city this marvellous, he must be tightly connected to within Stray Kids. You cannot, will not, subject yet another gang to your reckless behaviour. It will be best for everyone if you just leave. Besides, Vinny is probably worried sick about you, having witnessed you kidnapped.

“Call him,” Chris orders, his loud voice a bit clearer as you open the door. “Tell him she’s safe.”

You look up and down the long corridor. It is just as exquisite as the bedroom. Grey walls, remarkable artwork that looks to be of Korean origins. The hardwood floors extend beyond the room too, covered by a narrow carpet of lavish Persian design.

The left side leads to a number of rooms, one of which has the door wide open. Warm light seeps into the hallway with the natural grace of the sun, momentarily disrupted by shifting shadows. You don’t need to hear his voice again to know Chris is in there, the oversized silhouette of his frame confirmation enough.

You feel a grin involuntarily spreading on your lips.

“Good, you’re up,” a familiar voice says behind you.

Turning, you meet an unfamiliar face. Features nearly feline, the indigo haired man stands on the other end of the hall, compromising your path to the exit. He crosses his arms over his chest, dragging his gaze over your frame, attention lingering on the coat and boots clutched to your chest.

“And we were worried you’d try to run,” he jokes, though his face is void of friendly notions.

That stern dryness of his tone, sharpness of his voice triggers a memory.

“Shut up,” he had hissed before informing you that Vinny was alive.

“That’s what you do, right?” he asks. “You’re a runner.”

You narrow your gaze. “You say that like it’s some secret.”

He flashes a knowing smirk, as if well aware of your secrets. What is more astonishing, however, is the way that suggestive grin resembles Chris’s. It lacks his charisma and cynicism, and that flicker of darkness, dimming whatever light might have snuck through with indications of loss and trauma. So while the one before you is a good copy, it is not perfect. Those onyx eyes gleam of playful interest, twinkling with subtle notions of hostility instead.

You wonder if he learned it from—

Chris says your name.

The speed in which you turn to answer his call is downright disgraceful. Shame heats your chest, spreading up to your cheeks. Your instincts scream at you to avoid his gaze, to focus on anything other than that teasing smile he’s trying to bite back, but you find yourself helpless, unable to tear yourself away.

He must have showered, the smears of lipstick and splattered blood gone. His hair is pushed back, displaying his forehead. And his handsome face is on the way to recovery. Though his bruises still look tender, the cut on his brow is all clean and bandaged. Leaning against the doorframe, he wears a black shirt, that still emphasises the large muscles of his biceps, and a pair of matching sweats. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to look just as good clothed as they do half-naked.

“Come’ere,” he beckons before tonguing his cheek. The twinkle in his gaze is enough indication that he knows you’ve been checking him out.

I need to go, you know you should say.

Your body has a mind of its own though, diminishing your voice, shackling your sanity and nudging you towards him. Completely compelled by the pull of his charm, you obey, only stopping once you’re pressed against his buff chest again and cranking your neck back to maintain his enamoured gaze.

“Let me get these out of your way,” he smiles, voice a mere notch above a whisper.

No, thank you. I have to go.

His fingers brush yours, prickling goosebumps along your arms.

You release your tight grip. He hands your things to the man you met in the hallway. Barrier of your belongings removed, you fully lean into him.

Grin widening, Chris cups your cheek and rubs his thumb against your chin. “You know, I resent the fact that you think I’m dramatic,” he mumbles, inches away from your lips. “I just like making statements.”

“And what statement were you planning on making by abducting me?”

His eyes darken, swirling with sinister intent. As if remembering he had an agenda beyond seducing you, Chris’s soft caress on your chin becomes a tight grip. He forces your lips onto a pucker, using his new hold to guide you into the room and shove you into the nearest chair.

You softly grunt upon the impact. Chris clenches his jaw to suppress a smirk. You know that you’re fighting your desire based on the fact that you do not deserve to have it fulfilled, being the treacherous person you are. But why is Chris suddenly shoving down his sexual urges? He didn’t have any qualms about using them to lure the truth out of you before.

The magnificent state of the office disrupts your thoughts. It maintains that same elegant, minimalistic aesthetic of his bedroom. Tall windows that offer views of the pier, gleaming hardwood floors decorated with luxurious, handwoven carpets of varying muted shades, all working together to become the backbone of comfort and professionalism within the room.

In front of you, Chris leans on the large, polished walnut desk. You notice a sleek laptop, and a few notepads and pens, all of which are neatly arranged. An ergonomic leather chair looms over the desk and you find that you are thankful he is not sitting on it, knowing you’d be incapable of enduring his scrutiny from such a position of power without wrestling the overwhelming urge to touch yourself.

In one corner, a small lounge area features a plush velvet sofa in a deep navy hue, flanked by a glass-top coffee table. A handful of his friends, including Seungmin and the icy-haired man from the dressing room, occupy the space. The other side, by the wall of windows, linger the remaining few, including the man who took the position of his coach in the recent match and the one you met in the hall.

The artwork in the office does not resemble that of his room, or even the corridor. It is more abstract, sometimes broken up by black and white photos of himself in the ring. He barely breaks a sweat in each photo, clenching hard around his mouth guard as he glares at his opponent. A championship belt is framed and pinned behind his desk too, under a collection of trophies and gold medals.

You wonder how many people have been invited here, blessed to witness the wonders held within these walls.

“I need to know everything,” Chris says, pulling your attention away from the layout of the room.

You furrow your brows. “I told you everything.”

Chris crosses his arms over his chest. “Word for word,” he clarifies, voice void of the softness it once cradled.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Disappointment lances around your heart, ensnaring your high-hopes like barbed wire. You thought he was making a statement of affectation or, at the very least, interest. You thought that his body was reacting to yours as well, that he felt your pain within a shared kiss, understood your damage within an exchanged breath. You thought that maybe he just wanted to see you again and didn’t know how, his efforts extreme but he is a Stray Kid after all.

You now understand the forced meeting for what it really is— an interrogation.

Told you so, a little voice in your head gloats. If you put up a fight and ran when I told you to, you wouldn't feel this way.

Sucking on the insides of your cheeks, brows knitted and eyes reverting to the floor, you shake your head and humorlessly laugh at your desperate short-sightedness. You’re no better than Aiden in the ring, flailing yourself around for a chance to be accepted somewhere, anywhere.

Perhaps this is for the best. You were going to ruin his life at some point anyway, possessing the damned knack of cursing him with your existence as you had done with the others that have come before him, friends and lovers alike.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you begin your tale, thinking back to everything you overhear in the alleyway. You give him a detailed description of Mickey, his features and breaking voice as Andy threatened his life. In greater detail, you describe what Andy looks like, from his messy crew cut to the nasty scar on his forearm. You describe his voice and his manner of speaking, the jittery bounce in his step as he lets his impulsive thoughts win and presses a knife to Mickey’s throat.

Chris nods along. Every so often, one of his friends shifts their weight or adjusts their position in their seats. You notice a few of them captivated by the floor whenever you mention Mickey and you can’t stop yourself from wondering who he was to them before he was outed as a traitor. Was he merely Chris’s coach, or really part of his inner circle?

“And you?” Chris asks when you finish.

You shrug. “What about me?”

“What makes you a traitor?”

You didn’t think such a question would summon tears, not after how much time has lapsed since you last called Vince, Danni and Andrea your friends. Yet, your eyes water. Jaw clenched, you narrow your gaze at him. Insults perch on the tip of your tongue, prepared to fire upon your frustrated command, but your despair holds your vicious voice hostage.

Blinking, you look down at the expensive hardwood floors. Breathing deep, you muster enough courage to quietly answer, “Delusions.”

“I need details,” Chris clarifies. You can hear the annoyance drenched in each grunted word.

You look over your shoulder at his friends. Tense, they stare with carefully neutral features.

“It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

“The answer is no.”

Chris reaches behind him. He pulls out a black handgun, the letters SKZ scratched on the side of the barrel and aims it at you. “I think you should reconsider,” he says, chambering a bullet.

You cannot help smiling at the sound of the cocked gun, like a toy in his huge hand. You relax back in your seat, and tilt your head. Gesturing his hand upward, you advise, “Higher if you’re aiming for my head. You’ll only shatter my collarbone from this angle.”

Features flinching with confusion, Chris looks between you and his gun. He quirks his head to the side as he schools his expression once more, poking his tongue against his cheek.

“Are you stupid or suicidal?”

“A lot of people would argue both.”

The slightest impression of a smirk flickers on the corner of his lips. It's quite endearing, really—the way he tries so hard to stay focused, yet can't help but be distracted by your charms. You smirk for him instead, once miserable eyes now filled with playful defiance.

He takes a step closer, then another and another, until the cool barrel presses against the centre of your forehead. You try not to moan from the kiss of cold steel upon your skin, the proximity of his lips hovering over yours.

“Reconsider,” he orders in a whisper.

Sultry eyes, half-lidded and drowning in lust, you shake your head. Originally, shame shackled your truth. You didn’t want him nor his friends to lose respect for you, unsure if they even possess any for you at all. But now, all you want is to see how far he will go with his trigger, with you.

Chris moves the gun to your right temple, dragging the cold tip of the gun against your warm skin.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

He peers down at you with a lust-ridden gaze that mirrors yours and leans on the arms of your chair. He slides the gun down your cheek, along your jawline then finally pushes it firmly under your chin.

Your eyes roll, head tilting back.

“How about now?” he whispers. His voice is deep, heavy with lust as he breaths over your face.

Voice as breathless and even weaker than his, you practically whine, “No.”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Seungmin mumble, “This is what I was telling you.”

“Shut up,” someone else replies in a quiet hiss. “I’m watching something.”

“It’s fine. Minho’s recording,” the one with the deepest voice reassures.

Chris pushes himself off the arm of the chair, uncocking his gun and removing it from your head.

You can��t help the dissatisfied sigh that escapes you at the loss of contact.

Turning to his friends, Chris demands, “Get out.”

“You’re ruining my footage,” Minho, the one you met in the hall, scolds, looking at Chris through his camera phone.

Chris merely points to the door. They sigh, grumbling protests as they shuffle out of the room. He shuts the door behind them and makes his way back to you.

“Listen,” he starts, wiping his nose with his wrist. He leans back against his desk again, meeting your gaze.

You press your thighs together at the sight of him all spread out along the edge of the grand desk.

He continues, snapping you out of your horny thoughts, “I want to fuck you senseless. I want you to take that little top off again and shove your tits in my face.”

Swallowing thickly, you sink into your chair, flushing at the confession.

“But before I ravish you,” he says, unable to fight off a smile, “I need to know what you did that made one of the most powerful families in Crimson Heights, levy such a steep price on your head.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “It’s stupid, Chris,” you try to argue. “And childish.”

Gaze supplying tender understanding, Chris ever so sweetly encourages you to share with a gentle nod of his head. “Tell me everything,” he repeats, this time as a plea rather than demand.

Licking your lips, you confess, “And I don’t regret it. Before I tell you what happened, I need you to understand that I would do it again.”

At this, the compassion in his gaze wavers. Nonetheless, he sets the gun down and waits for you to begin.

You draw in a shaky breath, and upon the exhale, you explain, “Vince was flirting with me. I didn’t know it at the time, but at a certain point, it became obvious. He started to touch me more, and would find reasons to get me alone. We both lost someone ‘cause of overdoses and I guess it was a topic of bonding? I thought it was just as friends. He clearly had a different idea.”

Chris furrows his brows. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

A tight lipped smile momentarily tugs on the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Danni,” you confirm. “That’s how I met him. She was like my best friend. We accidentally met while knocking over the same liquor store. She wanted the booze and I wanted the cash. It worked out perfectly.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself at the memory. Chris allows a small smile to break through his assertive expression in response.

“Anyway, one night we were supposed to meet up by the pier. But, Danni wanted to stay in for the night, which she of course told us after we already got there, and she was Andrea’s ride so neither showed up. Vince and I got to talking about the people we lost— his was more recent than mine. I thought he just needed some more support. He looked devastated at the time.

But then he reached for my thigh. I didn’t push it off right away because I couldn’t believe he was touching me like that. And I guess he took that as a sign that I liked it. He moved his hand further up my leg and leaned in.” You pause to swallow your disgust, the memory panging your heart with anxiety.

Chris sharply exhales. “Please tell me you pushed him into the sea,” he says, tone laced with anger.

“I wish,” you dryly chuckle. “No, I went to shove his hand away, but Danni showed up after all, after Andrea begged her for the ride. She saw my hand over Vince’s and how close both were to my crotch and just lost her shit. I tried to explain but she hit me and I figured running home would be easier. And they followed me. They banged on my door all night, flip flopping between wanting to just talk to kill me. I waited until they were gone to run to Vinny’s.”

“So, she thought you were trying to fuck her boyfriend?” Chris asks, laughing at the obscurity. “Half the port is being gambled away because of some horny piece of shit and his stupid girlfriend?”

You can’t help smirking, yourself, the stupidity not at all lost on you. “No, that is just some context for why I…” You trail off, crossing one leg over another and taking another deep breath.

Chris raises a brow, only to hiss in pain.

“Careful,” you warn, earning a slight smile, before resuming your story.

“They went around the city slandering me. It got bad enough that certain gangs wouldn’t let me in their territory, worried I’d be more trouble than I was worth. At one point, I was confined to my apartment— Vinny suggested that laying low might help minimise the accusations. Everyday I spent alone, I would think about that night at the pier. I would wonder what Vince told them on their way to my apartment to make them so vile and murderous towards me. I knew both girls for nearly five years, and it killed me to know that in all that time, they really thought I was capable of such disgusting behaviour.

I was seething alone for almost three months, replaying that day over and over. I thought about what I would have said if I stayed and fought back. I thought about kicking Vince right in his tiny balls and punching Danni in the face until all her teeth fell out. I came up with a new way to torment them every single day I was locked away.”

“What was your favourite?” Chris asks, the allure of a fond smile settling on his lips.

You carefully meet his gaze and answer, “Bullets. I thought about lining them up and shooting their brains out. I wanted to see them with half their face still intact, the rest splattered all across the pier.”

Chris shares your tranquil smile, falling silent to let you continue.

“At a certain point, I wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe I finally found clarity— I don’t know,” you shake your head, sitting up in your seat. “I knew that Vince’s father owned a fleet of boats on the pier. ”

Realisation instantly sparkles in his big, brown eyes.

“I snuck out and studied the crew’s shift rotation for two weeks. I found out that by Christmas Eve, there would be a skeleton crew and no one would be on the boats. They were only planning on securing the perimeter. So I set my plan in motion. I syphoned some gas, stole a pack of matches and set them all on fire. I shouted my name as the crew rushed to put it all out. I wanted them to know it was me, the person they exiled, who burned them to the ground. I needed them to know it.

The weight of what I had just done didn’t hit me until I got home and realised I couldn’t stay there. So I packed up some essentials, and ran to Vinny’s instead. Turns out there was an astronomical amount of coke on those boats. The bounty was placed within the hour.”

Chris sucks in a breath as you finish. “I see,” he hums, reaching for his gun again. “Stand up.”

You eye the firearm. “Are you going to use that?”

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

Jaw tight, you uncross your legs and stand. You look up at his towering 6’9 frame from your 5’8 position. Hands moving on their own accord, you grip onto his shirt, right by his hips, and press yourself firmly against him.

His clothed erection pokes at your stomach. You wonder how long he has been throbbing for you. Which part of your story made him this hard? The shared rage against Vince’s sliminess? The festering resentment? The violence? The retribution? You noticed his posture remained still, expression plain, but his eyes gleamed with something like pride.

“You’re so pretty when you’re following orders,” he murmurs, luring your attention. Before you can answer, he fiercely jams the barrel of the gun against your cheek .

You cannot stop a loud, whiny moan from tearing through your throat. The moment that cool tip digs into your skin, your arousal pools, eyes roll back. Your grip on his hips tightens and toes curl into the soft carpet beneath you.

“No, no,” he tuts, applying more pressure. “Open your eyes.”

You obey.

Chris peers down at you over the bridge of his nose, desires casting shadows in those brown eyes at your compliance. He grinds the barrel further into your skin, tilting slightly to watch your face contort under its cold pressure.

You lean into it, maintaining his lust-lost gaze.

“Take off your shorts.”

Looping your thumbs into the waistband, you make a show of wiggling your hips to push off the tiny short-shorts. You kick them aside once they fall to the floor.

Chris first smirks at the swish of your hips, but then tongues his cheek in sexual frustration at the sight of your panty-less crotch.

“Laundry day,” you shrug, feigning innocence as you peer at him under your lashes.

“My new favourite day,” he smiles before cupping you.

Your hips grind into his hand, legs slightly spreading for his wide fingers. Knowing he wants you to maintain eye contact, you do your best not to roll them back at the light, slow friction.

Voice already trembling, you moan, “Fuck.”

He puts some force into his languid ministrations as he opens his mouth and arches his brows, hinting at you to mirror his actions. The condescension of his expression makes your hips buckle, clit throbbing for more stimulation.

God, he’s so perfect.

If you continue, if you let him bed you, ravish you as he previously put it, you’ll eventually regret it. You’ll wish you left when you had the chance, or at least thought you did. You know you can’t stay here. Your heart already bursts with infatuation, wetness collecting at his meticulous attention. If you stay, you will end up hurt and disappointed, all alone again with nothing but a knock-off fur coat and switchblade to console you once everything is said and done. Or worse— he will be the one hurt, dying or dead, plagued by the curse of your reckless existence.

Right now, Chirs exudes success, reputation built on the brute force of his powerful fists and swift footwork. He has friends who respect him enough that he doesn’t need to repeat himself when he speaks. He has the support of the most nefarious gang in Crimson Heights, prepared to defend him, stand for him.

You can’t ruin that. In fact, you refuse to do so.

So why are you standing on your toes, leaning into his broad chest for stability and rolling your hips into his calloused hand? Why can’t you tell him to stop, instead echoing his movements as he silently requested?

The moment you part your lips, Chris slides the barrel into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the cool metal, the taste of gun powder bitter on your tongue, you loudly moan and eyes rolling back.

He tsks, pulling your head back down using his grip on the gun. “Eyes on me,” he reminds through gritted teeth.

Oh? Is it a performance he’s after?

You recall his words— I like to make a statement— and wonder if he is waiting for you to do the same thing.

Hollowing your cheeks, you pretend to suck on the barrel, careful not to swallow more fumes of explosive powder than humanly capable. You bob your head back and forward, enchanting him with your most innocently lustful eyes.

A certain darkness diminishes the sweet tenderness that often glimmers in his gaze, even when he is sinfully intrigued by your shameless desire. Once a chocolate brown, swirling with smug delight, now a deep umber, whirling with lethal ecstasy. He feels it— the power of a mighty gun, the weight of life and death confined within sleek, curved edges of a silver bullet.

Fear and pleasure collide in your gut, becoming a force of thrilling anxiety.

What if the safety isn’t on? What if he fires?

Your mind laps around the questions, hips desperately jutting into his palm, as you trebly whine around the gun.

Chris removes his arousal-glistening hand from your crotch to wrap it around your neck. You shiver at the slimy sensation of your excitement against your skin. He pulls out the gun with more force than necessary at the squeaky whine you sound upon the lost contact. Your hips, still desperate to chase a release, fidget against him, much to his sinister amusement.

Pointing the gun to your temple, he shuffles and shifts your position so your back faces the desk instead. Then he shoves you against it by the grip on your neck.

You stumble back with a breathless yelp, the tail of your spine ramming against the expensive wood. Upon the impact, body buzzing with signals of pain and pleasure alike, you choke out a gratified giggle.

The clatter of objects on the desk falling from the force of his shove, the sound of your stricken surprise, flashes fear in his gaze. But then the melody of your laughter tumbles and tunnels his vision with carnal hunger. A vicious smile stretches on his supple lips, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of his mouth, like a famished predator upon trapping its prey.

You lift yourself up onto his desk as he approaches, immediately spreading your legs as a way of welcome. He appreciates the gesture, sliding the barrel of the gun along your breasts and stomach, then down between your drenched folds. Chest to chest, lips on lips, you exchange hissing breaths and curses. You grip onto your shoulders as he wraps his free arm around your waist, hugging you firmly against him. He’s caged you in, his body too large to move around now, even if you wanted to (or so you tell yourself, while feverently rolling your hip in tandem with his wrist.)

Terror knots in your gut, right where your climax builds. You wonder if his finger is still on the trigger. If he gets too excited, if he loses his concentration, if he ever so slightly shifts his finge—

“Kinky, little whore,” he croaks, picking up the pace. He then mimics the pitches of your waver voice and mocks your pouty expression, cooing, “You like that, yeah? You like my gun rubbing against your wet cunt, baby girl? Hmm?”

The patronising tone is reason enough to tremble, nails piercing skin as your scratch along his strong shoulders. His filthy words and ravenous gaze, however, have you releasing your scarring grasp to pull off your shirt and arch your back.

An approving growl resonates from his chest, attention now trailing down to your bouncing breasts.

“Lean back.”

Heat floods your face, your neck, your chest. You place your hands behind you and do as you’re told while his arms slither from around your waist to grip onto your hip, firmly sinking his fingers into your supple curves. Heart rapturing from the amorous attention, you fight off a smile. And the darkness that once brewed in your lungs, twisting around your ribcage as you rue your existence, dwindles with every salacious stare.

Other men have been passionate, but hasty. Eager to chase their own highs, they merely used you as a means to a satisfying end. Their hands would only roam if they required a better grip on your hips and eyes mostly screwed shut while they thrusted to an unsteady pace. It was mediocre at best, often having to think of your own turn ons to not fake an orgasm.

Chris deliberately studies your features, instead. He sips on your bare body like he might die if he does not memorise every roll, curve and fold. More than that, he revels at the sight. He croaks throaty moans and hisses when your hips stutter against the gun, the stimulation momentarily confounding your senses.

Your insecurities wane, allowing confidence to flourish in their stead. Even your self-loathing cowers under the judgement of his wanton gaze. You suddenly cannot remember why you needed to leave before. You can’t understand how a thought like that could enter your mind. Never do you want to leave him.

“I feel you clenching,” he notes, voice raw with authority. “Do you want me to fill it up for you?”

Your breath hitches, body quivers. Gaze flitting down to his erection, brutally evident in his black sweats, you moan, “Fuck, yes!”

He smirks and you already know he won’t give himself up that easily.

“Beg.”

Voice tangled in deplorable desperation, you keenly plead, “Please, please, please fuck me! Pl-ease,” you take a moment to swallow thickly, hoping to compose yourself enough to continue. “I don’t th-think I can cum without you.”

His smirk widens at that.

You pick your next words carefully, voice wavering. “Only you could r-really make me fe-feel it in the m-mo-morning.”

Jaw flexed, he softly growls.

“P-pretty ple-ase?” you add with a pout.

He tongues his cheek, hiding a smile, but does not reach for his waistband.

You part your lips to beg more, prepared to offer your soul if that’s what it would take to feel him inside you. Instead, an ear-piercing shriek escapes.

“Oh, god!”

Your voice breaks, peaking at a near whistle from the abrupt sensation of the barrel pushing against your tight, needy walls. Jaw slack, you look down and watch as your core engulfs the gun, clenching tightly around the arousal slick metal. Even after being shoved against your clit for so long, it still feels cold.

Chris chuckles darkly as you breathlessly mewl, the sight of the gun disappearing in you all too erotic. “Is this what you wanted?” he taunts, raising a cocky brow. He hums in mocking agreement with your hurried nods.

Between the thrusting gun and his belittling behaviour, you’re not sure you possess the capabilities to endure him for much longer.

“Ch-chris,” you attempt to warn, risking a glance back down at that barrel ramming into you.

His finger is on the trigger, force powerful enough that even the slightest pressure could set the firearm off.

Your toes curl, nails claw against the rich wood of the desk. The continuous friction, steady, speedy and strong, encourages the coiling of electrified excitement deep in your gut.

So, so cl—

A devastated cry tears through your throat as the sudden loss of contact. Your eyes snap open (you don’t even remember screwing them shut), and you glare at him.

“You fucking asshole!” You seethe, pushing yourself up from your leaned back position. You obeyed every order, leaned into every touch and embraced every vicious word only to have your orgasm ruined.

Chris dismisses your icy eyes, slowly dragging his tongue over the barrel of the handgun. His eyes radiate sexual satisfaction as he savours your taste.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckles, offering you the tip of the gun, “Did you want to clean it up for me?”

You are not a violent person— not unintentionally anyway. So why do you wind your hand back and whip it against his cheek?

Chris moans upon impact, twisting his head with the slap, as if embracing it.

You gasp, hopping off the desk and clamping a hand over your mouth only to remove it seconds later to apologise.

“Chris, I’m—”

He advances towards you with a fierce groan. Seizing you by the waist, he forces you against him and latches onto your lips. His hands slide down to grip onto your rear, kneading fistfuls of your plump cheeks. Both hands suddenly release your ass to smack back down against it and squeeze.

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck as your guilt disappears.

His tongue puts up more of a fight this time, but is nowhere as aggressive as the rest of his actions, half-heartedly wrestling yours simply to delight in the wet and warm sensation. He yields to your rhythm eventually, muttering against your lips, “Do it again.”

You rip yourself away in pure confusion, brows knotted. “What?” you heave, as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Hit me again,” he demands, voice rough and raspy.

Your gaze bounces around his healing wounds, remorse resurfacing.

Chris must have read the guilt on your face, endearingly tilting his head at your hesitation. “I’m a big boy,” he smirks. “I can take it.”

That breathy, throat voice and haughty tone seems to be enough of a trigger because you smack him again before you have a chance to second-guess yourself.

He moves with the hit again, groaning as he grinds his erection against your stomach. Sucking in a breath with a sharp hiss, Chris tosses the gun to the floor. You brace yourself for the firing round, shoulders shooting to your ears. However, the gun does not go off. You narrow your gaze to find the clip missing, wondering when the fuck he slipped it out and how he managed to do it so silently.

The shuffle of fabric redirects your attention back to Chris. You’ve been so absorbed by the fear of triggering the gun, you hadn’t realised he untangled himself from you to take his clothes off.

His torso is as glorious as you remember, buff, broad and boasting with robust strength. Then he pushes off his sweats and your jaw slackens. Your gaze first lingers around the three-lettered tattoo of his gang on his left hip. SKZ – the ‘K’ coloured red. Then, as he shoves the pants down, his cock monopolises your attention. You knew he would be wide, the impression of him alone previously leaving you shaken. But you did not expect him to be as long, easily measuring at around eight and a half inches.

Your bottom lip whimpers and a hand comes up to steady it as you gawk. Saliva dampens your fingers. You lick your lips, wipe your chin and tentatively sneak a glance at his face, hoping he didn’t catch you shamelessly drooling.

That smirk widens as your eyes meet. “I need to be inside you,” he pants before closing the distance between you with a tug of your body into his.

You can’t agree more, biting back your own smile as you cup his face. “I need to ride you,” you reply just as affectionately.

Dripping with dominance, you thought he would ignore your request and bend you over the desk. Instead, he back pedals towards the chair you originally sat on, and commandeers it.

The sight of his muscular thighs has you biting your lip. You seat yourself upon him, just like you did in the dressing room. You know you can just lift your hips, align his length and begin bouncing. However, as you gaze down at his staggering size, pre-cum oozing from the tip, the urge to spit on it overrides your thoughts. You gather saliva and splatter it over him, earning a croaky groan.

You moan through a bitten lip in reply.

Wrapping a hand around him, you gasp at the fact that your fingers are unable to meet. Your core dampens.

Chris spits down on his length too, rubbing your thighs as you jerk and twist your wrist.

“You’re really big,” you shyly comment, maintaining a sluggish pace.

Just as sincere a smile hovers over his lips before he presses them against yours again.

Emotion bursts through your chest, desire unable to remain restrained. In hurried movements, you release your hold on his cock and lift your hips to finally accept the fullness he offers.

Chris helps you, aligning himself for you to easily sink down. He wraps both beefy arms around your waist as you gasp into his mouth. The kiss momentarily breaks, noses smushing together amidst blissful hissing.

You rest your arms on his shoulders to hug his head close, fingers tangled in his hair. You tug on the ends as he pushes between your tight walls. You move slowly, thankful for his steady grasp on you, inching further downward only to rise back up a bit and do it again. Inch by inch, you find a way to accommodate his girth, all the while whining his name.

“Just let go,” he whispers. His hold on your waist tightens, referring to the concentrated control you’ve adopted. “I’ve got you, baby.”

His delicate tone unravels your composure. You relax into his touch and find that he really does have a good grasp on you. He maintains your slow movements, acknowledging that you still need time to adjust. You wonder if it was the lack of speed itself, the crumpling pleasure etching your features, or how you’re tensing oh-so tightly around him that tips him off. And as he lifts and lowers you upon him, groaning between shared breaths, you realise that it really doesn’t matter what the reason was.

Clarity settles— Chris tunnels his vision when it comes to you. Within a night, he has noted your sexual boldness, recklessness, and affinity for guns. He knows you like to be harshly handled, tightening his grip only to roughly release it. He lets you strike him back, knowing you like to act out and does not only encourage it, but embraces it. He observes your features, searching for particular indications of pleasure to focus on or circle back to when he thinks you can take it again. Beyond that, he provides a space for vulnerability that does not centre around pity but rather a shared rage.

As you look at him now, hissing moans through gritted teeth and quivering lips, you cannot help but allow his words to splinter your previous philosophy. Perhaps it is not your existence that is cursed, but rather the world. Perhaps Crimson Heights is the beckon for misfortune— a city of survivors and casualties. You do not cause death; you simply outrun it. And when catastrophe rumbles the foundation of your life, claiming your family or friends, you do not need to feel guilty. Life ebbs and flows, grips and lets go— just as Chris does when he unwraps his arms around your waist, to grip onto your hips.

“That’s my slutty little girl,” he praises before grazing your chin with his teeth. “Arch your— Yes! Lean into me.”

A frail whine is all you can muster as he becomes more daring with the pace, speeding up.

Breasts glued to his chest, your back arches the way he instructs and you feel the hammering of his heart against yours. You cup his face. Your thumb brushes over the bruises on his cheek.

“Y-you know ex-actly what I n-need,” you whimper, internally cringing at your lust laced stutter.

A prideful smile plays on his lips. His grip tightens with newfound confidence as he uses your encouragement to experiment with the possible indication of fully submerging himself into you.

The moment your cheeks smack against the muscles of his thighs, an ear-piercing scream rips from your throat, heavy with delirious delight. So deep, so fucking full, he reaches far to stretch you wide. You doubt that you’d be able to tighten around anything other than his length again, hole now completely adjusted for his cock only.

“Like that?” he questions, voice still swirling with mockery. “Is that what you needed?”

You quickly nod, unable to find your voice.

Chris lifts and drops your hips with renewed force, ordering, “Speak.”

“I like that!” You confirm. “I love that!”

Grunting and growling in satisfaction, Chris decides that your hips do not give him the best leverage as he grasps on your rear instead. His fingers sink into your voluptuous cheeks, surely marking your skin, as he guides the rolls and rises of your thrusts.

You squeal, throwing your head back at the waves of excitement lapping over you. “Yes, yes, yes,” you pant before looking back at him. “Is this how you like it?” you ask, gaining confidence with every shudder sigh he expels. “Does this drive you c-crazy?”

Chris breathes a chuckle, mumbling, “You most definitely do,” before pressing his lips to yours.

Euphoria envelopes you, coursing through your veins and rattling your bones. You immediately submit to his rhythm, already content with the warmth of his lips on yours and taste of his tongue. Satisfaction swells, throbbing your clit upon the build of your climax. As emotion shines through the cracks of your armour, delirious delight flourishes.

You break the kiss with a breathless giggle, allowing the pleasure to travel from your core though your limbs. The base of your spine, centre of your chest, tips of your fingers, toes and ears, your nerves dash and dance with a degree of joy you did not believe you were capable of ever feeling. You cannot help your laughter between breathless moans.

Chris, voice croaky and deep with lust, joins you. He playfully nips at the skin under your jaw then peppers the light sting with kisses, laughing all the while.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he revels in whisper.

Your giggles waver upon the sincere emotion flooding his eyes.

You clench. “Chri—”

“You feel so perfect around me,” he groans, cutting you off. “It’s like your body was made for me.”

Whimpering, all playful humour darkening within your bones into desperate ecstasy, you can’ help but squeeze tighter, the knots of your high becoming more and more undeniable.

Your voice rises in pitch as you moan,“Use me however you want.”

His hips snap up to meet yours with a dark, loud groan.

You jolt from the force, body shaking. Panting whines tumble from your lips as your grasp on his hair tightens. Over and over, he sinks you down on him as he rams himself into you, meeting you halfway. Your breasts bounce against him, only encouraging his aggressive speed as he shoves his face between the valley.

The brutality of the force, the pace is unbearable. Toes curling, core gripping, you stutter through your next intake of air. All at once, a wave of satisfaction crashes over you. Muscles tense, you stiffen with a shrill cry of his name and gush, gush, gush your release. Your eyes roll back, jaw slack as he wraps his arms around you to keep you upright.

As he did in the dressing room, Chris peers up at you from between your full breasts. He offers a pleased smile before leaning back against the chair. Now, with you laying on top of him as your orgasm ripples through you all— dazed and drooling, Chris grinds your hips down into his. His own muscles flex, skin flushing. Through gritted teeth, a deep moan emits from the base of his throat.

His cock twitches. His release shoots, warm and erratic, filling you so well, you already feel it smearing around your folds.

Face buried in the crook of his neck, you whine his name quietly at the sensation. “Fuck, yes,” you moan, circling your hips around his. “Fill me up just l-like that!”

You swear you feel another shot of his cum, the wet sloshes of arousal slick with every grind of hip on hip.

After watching Chris endure seven rounds of boxing, with his composure still intact and sweat barely breaking, you should have known better than to think that he was done with you. He doesn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. Still heaving, he stands.

You wrap yourself around him, holding on tight. Has he forgotten that he is still deep inside you or does he not care, simply eager to continue using you? You moan from the new angle all the same as he walks you back into his room.

“You don’t need a break, do you?” he asks after kicking the door shut behind him. He grips onto your waist and rips you off his torso with a forceful shove. “Hmm? No break?” he teases.

A cross between a grunt and whine fills the room as you land on his bed with a little bounce. Before you can reply, he yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. You yelp your pleased surprise, unable to fight back a giggle as he turns you over on your stomach. He pulls your hips up to roughly guide you into a downward dog position. Knees on the bed’s edge, face smushed into the soft duvet, your backside is now perfectly exposed for him.

His tongue slips between your folds, lapping the mess of your mixed climaxes with a deep-chested growl. The vibrations resonate upon every overwhelmed nerve ending around your core. You cannot deny the wiggle of your hips and strained mewls of distress from the overstimulation.

“Stay still,” Chris orders, voice muffled. His hot breath, the tenor of his voice all directed towards your overused hole, only further your squirms.

You want more of him, need more, but the unrelenting stimulation of his lapping tongue, slurping and groaning, makes you tremble. You find yourself attempting to crawl away from his mouth only to be harshly pulled back.

Chris wraps his arms under and around your thighs, locking you in place.

“Just where do you think you’re going, darling?”

You whine incoherently.

He mocks you, pitching his voice and mimicking your unstable syllables.

Your desire pools at your core all over again, eyes water. “Too much,” you whimper into your fist, overwhelmed by the all too desperate yearning to stop yet still continue. “Its—”

Chris groans, cutting you off. “We taste so good, baby,” he murmurs against your heat. “This might be the closest I get to heaven.” He then pulls himself away long enough to look at you over the full curve of your cheeks. “Wanna try?” he asks with a smug smirk, face glistening from the smear of your combined orgasms.

You flush, nodding.

He dives back in to slurp on your sex. Then he grabs a fistful of your hair and gently, despite the rough grasp, pulls your back towards his chest. You tilt your head back for him, parting your lips. He smiles at how quickly you’ve caught onto his intentions and spits the cum into your mouth.

Your pussy quivers upon the bittersweet taste, eyes fluttering shut. You moan your delight upon swallowing.

Chris takes the advantage of your proximity, stealing another quick kiss before using the grip on your hair to shove you back onto the mattress. He adjusts the position of your hips again but does not dive down between your folds this time. Instead, he grabs fistfuls of your cheeks and spreads them apart.

You hear the throaty gathering of salvia and then the splatter of spit before feeling the warmth of it upon your tightest hole. Heat scorches your skin with humiliation from his laughter when you clench.

You part your lips to say his name, ask what he’s doing when his tongue reappears, circling your hole. A breathless gasp sounds instead.

Chris transfers more of your wetness to your tensing hole, scooping the cum with his finger and rubbing it against you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes as you whimper and wiggle in his grasp. “Relax, babygirl. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You lean back into him upon his soothing tone. You’ve never touched yourself there, never let anyone else do the same, certain they would only hurt you. From the way Chris takes his time however, you can tell he knows what he’s doing.

“You have the cutest fucking asshole,” he chuckles before spitting over it again.

Gratification tickles the darkness looming in your chest, allowing you to giggle in response and push yourself back against his finger.

“I mean it,” he says, misunderstanding your acceptance for teasing protest. His fingers then glide between your folds, down to your clit. He twirls the pad of his middle finger around the bundle of nerves, then spreads the folds as if to take a better look at your cum-leaking hole.“You have the prettiest pussy too,” he groans before his tongue dives, reaching farther inside than you expected.

Pride blossoms, boastfully overpowering all your emotions and triggering a loud, moan of approval. “Please don’t stop,” you beg while attempting to writhe out of his grasp.

Chris pulls himself away long enough to laugh at your conflicting movements. He quietly hums, content with himself, as he smacks each cheek halfheartedly, like you made a joke and he’s nudging you because of the wit and humour. You can’t help joining him, wiggling your hips in his hands with every slap.

There have been times where you felt at ease, perhaps even happy under setting suns and sneaky nights on the roof with your foster siblings. Watching a fusion of magenta and maroon cascade in the sky, as the sun disappears behind the Crimson Heights horizon, has been the image you conjure on cold, lonely nights between nightmares and distant gunshots. But being here with Chris, bent over and exposed from angles no one else has ever witnessed, absolute contentment engulfs you. Like a warm, tender hug, his patient presence nurtures your soul and caresses your darkness. And it feels natural as if the universe conspired to ensure that you do have at least one moment of true happiness amongst the death and betrayal.

He brushes your hair from your face, pulling you from your thoughts. You shyly meet his gaze to which he smirks. His hand then trails from the naps of your neck to the base of your spine, drawing you away from the memory of your trauma.

“Stay with me, yeah,” he coos.

You nod.

Is it your sudden silence? Is that what indicated that you’ve let your mind wander off? Though, you do remember moaning between giggles. Maybe you had a distant look in your eyes. Maybe you stopped responding to his touch. Does it even matter? Because whatever it was, whatever you did, he saw it.

He sees you.

Chris kisses each cheek before spreading them again. You feel his tongue on your heat, swirling once, twice then dragging up. You moan loudly, pushing yourself further into him. But his tongue does not return to your needy pussy. Instead, he circles the edge of your tightest hole.

You clench, whimpering.

He licks, chuckling.

His hands rub your cheeks, silently soothing your tense muscles. You try to lean into his calm, but the feeling of his warm tongue twirling around the rim of your hole is much too stimulating to ignore.

“More please,” you find yourself whining, fisting the sheets beneath you. “I-I need more.”

Chris presses a wet kiss upon your puckering hole before replying, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You draw in a long breath and release it.

He gives it another kiss, spit on it then orders, “Again. Take your time with it, baby.”

The pet name prickles your skin with goosebumps, face flushed as you inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

You can’t see him with his face between your cheeks, but you swear he’s smirking as he praises, “Good girl.”

A giggle was meant to be your only reply. Instead, his tongue pushes through your hole and you moan in a voice so unlike yourself, so innocent and weak.

“Daddy!”

Chris growls, tightening his grip on your rear with one hand, while the other harshly rubs your dripping core. Slobbering, slurping, he bobs his head, in and out, up and down, shoving his tongue between your tense walls. His fingers are relentless, playing with your clit in quick, forceful waves only to abandon the bundle of nerves all together. He pushes them into your pussy instead. Three long fingers draw in and out of you to the rhythm of his tongue.

Moans meek and breathy, you writhe under his onslaught of pleasure. That pet name is on the tip of your tongue again, but you refrain from using it, clenching your teeth instead. You’ve never called anyone that and have even judged the people you know who have said shit like that during sex.

It feels so right when thinking about Chris, when feeling his tongue attempt to breach through your tight hole. If anyone was to embody that mindset of a Daddy, it would be Christopher Bahng. Chris with his tall, towering frame. Chris with his commanding voice. Chris with his charismatic confidence.

“Daddy,” you whine again despite your futile attempts.

He hums in question, tone oh-so condescending. Your nerves burn from the wetness of his tongue, the pace of his harsh fingers. You thrash into the sheets, further smothering your face in the soft duvet and screaming out your pleasure.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Your voice is muffled, hips ramming back against him with every plea.

Chris merely moans in reply, as if delighted by the sinful taste of you. He continues his dual stimulation, insatiable tongue bouncing in and out of your untested hole. His fingers curl, over and over and over right where you need him most.

Turning your head to the side, cheek pressed against the mattress again, you gasp for air and cry out your new favourite name, “Daddy! Fuck, yes, yes, yes!”

His breath staggers as you hear him chuckle, but you don’t care. He can laugh himself hoarse if he wants. You just need him to continue, your orgasm building all over again. Toes curling, eyes rolling, you quake and claw at the sheets, desperate to get a hold of yourself.

However, Chris, upon feeling you clench particularly tightly around his fingers, pulls himself away.

A sexually frustrated sob tumbles out of you at the all too sudden loss of contact. Your orgasm falters at the lack of stimulation. Once again, he has dangled you over the edge. Fury surges through you, propping yourself up on your elbows and glaring over your shoulder at him.

“Why do— Ah!”

Chris grips onto your hips, pushes himself back into your core. He rams his hips into yours, holding enough force to knock you off your elbows, cutting you off.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of you,” he groans, voice husky and deep.

You whimper in response, all words actively being fucked out of you. No one can even stand you, yet he ploughs into you, eager and deliberate, and still craves more of you. That realisation alone could coax another bone-bending orgasm out of you.

Apart from the first, initial thrust, you do not feel his hips smack against yours again. Instead, Chris restraints himself, offering moderate, yet fast thrusts. He still reaches deep, still stretches you out oh so deliciously, but you can tell he’s holding back.

And it ignites your veins with anger. You refuse to have him spoil yet another orgasm rattle you into calling him ‘daddy,’ only to then half-heartedly fuck you.

“Please fuck me,” you beg before echoing a version of his previous words. “I’m a big girl, Daddy. I can take it.”

Chris growls lowly under his breath. “You’ll get hurt,” he warns.

You cannot fight back your smile. “Good.”

The impact of his thrust upon your reassurance is so powerful, the bed shifts forward. You hiccup his name and hiss at the sting of skin on skin. Vigorous momentum grows with every mighty thrust of his hips. You feel your entire body jiggle, shaking with the squeaking bed.

“You have no idea,” he begins, breathlessly growling, “how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

He has no idea how many times you’ve been told the opposite.

“Show me how beautiful you think I am.”

His cock twitches. You swear you feel it quiver deep inside you.

A gasp so erotic, so pornographic escapes you at the sudden sensation. Clenching, you’re eager to feel it again, to feel him release his warm, thick arousal, especially so soon. You’re already giddy with pride, preparing to tease and mock him for becoming undone upon a few simple words.

Instead, Chris pulls himself out with a croaky groan. He’s heaving, breathes staggering as he swallows thickly. “Move up to the pillows, baby. Lay back for me.”

You slowly push yourself up, sitting down on your ankles. Just as breathless, you peer at him over your shoulder. His hair is tousled, face glistening with your excitement as he slowly jerks himself to the sight of you so messy and dirty.

“Was it something I said?” you ask in your most innocent voice.

Chris tightens his jaw.

A shiver dances along your spine at his silence. You give him one last once over, shamelessly letting your gaze linger around his erection, before leisurely crawling towards the pillows. Your legs already ache. You feel it most around your thighs and hips, bones stiffen and muscles tight from the exposing angle.

The fluffy pillows and duvet melt around your sweaty skin, engulfing you in a cocoon of comfort. Your eyes flutter shut, embracing the chill of the cool silks. The sheets in your tiny apartment are scratchy and rough, and prior to laying here, you had thought it was the most comfortable fabric a thrift store could sell, which is why you stole them.

The bed dips. You open your eyes to watch as Chris crawls over you, spreading your legs to welcome him. His face hovers over yours. You cup his cheeks, grazing your thumb over his lips.

He lowly groans. His nose brushes yours as he leans down for a kiss. You think it was meant to be quick, just a tiny peck before he buries himself in you again. But the taste of your lips proves to be intoxicating, or perhaps he felt the spark you did when your lips touched. He indulges in another kiss, then another. Even one longer than the last, Chris eventually integrates his tongue and forces you to taste yourself.

Heaven, hell, the worlds collide. Purely sinful, his tongue subjects you to his pace, swirling around yours slowly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants you to savour the bittersweet taste of your orgasms and holes.

Your lips part with a wet smack, breasts heaving. Chris pushes himself back to sit on his ankles. He lets his attention trail down your curves, ogling your rolls and fullness. He pants like a dog, mouth agape and saliva leaking from the corners at the mere sight of you.

People tend to either discard or objectify you. One look at your figure and you are either invisible, disgusting, or a drunken mistake that awakens a shameful desire for fuller frames. Your mother told you it would happen when she noted your curves for the first time. She told you that you’d be nothing in a bigger body, that no one will want to be seen with you. A part of you always wondered if that’s why she opted for heroin, knowing she too had curves and rolls at one point in her life.

It doesn’t really matter because the sentiment snared your consciousness. You noticed how many people ignored your presence the moment you walked into a room or the sudden distaste of those who did happen to acknowledge you. Every wrinkled nose, every avoided gaze only reinforced your mother’s philosophy.

And here Chris sits, bare and breathless, leering over your naked body. Ravenous, lascivious, he devours every full inch of you, eyes drowning in lust. You suddenly cannot recall the words your mother once spat, the dejected feelings that bruised your pride when you walked into a room. All you know now is Chris— obsessive, gluttonous, shameless Chris and his insatiable appetite for everything that you are.

He blinks repeatedly, as if pulling himself out of his thoughts. You bite your lip and wonder what you must look like, staring back at him. You know your liner is smudged and lipstick smeared. You know your hair is a tangled mess around you. You know your skin gleams of sweat, hot to the touch from the exhilaration of submitting to him. You know your core is a mess of spit and cum.

Chris reaches behind you. The sweaty scent of leather, sandalwood and amber secretes from the pits of his arms hovering inches away from your nose. You inhale deeply through your nose and wet your lips. Chris’s attention flickers down at the sound of your heavy sighs. You flush under the subject of that knowing smirk.

“Lift your hips for me?” He asks, voice deep and delicate.

You do as you’re told and he slides one of his plush pillows under you. The new angle provides better support to your lower back. You shift yourself further into his comfortable mattress with a pleased sigh.

“Better, yeah?” Teasing amusement twinkles in his eyes, brows quirked as he tries to fight off a prideful smile.

You suppress your own, and nod. “Are you going to fuck me now?” you ask, exaggerating the breathlessness of your feminine voice.

His eyes darken.

Perhaps, you proudly think to yourself as he takes your bait, if he is desperate enough, he’ll finally let me cum.

Chris traces the span of your shoulders, down to the fullness of your breasts and the curves of your waist. He drags his hands over your stomach and trails his eyes to your pelvis. He traces the lines along your heat only to redirect his callous fingers to your thigh before he can reach the place you need him most.

You clench, hips instinctively rolling forward. You mentally curse at your desperateness, your ploy to rile him up into a lustful rage crumbling as your body betrays you.

He barely even smirks, as if expecting your body to react to his touch like that. “I was fucking you,” he corrects, taking his hard, throbbing cock into his big hand.

You watch as he thumbs his tip and the space between his brows creases. Swallowing a moan, you wiggle in place and bite your lip. Your nerves impatiently buzz through your veins, and you resist the urge to arch your back to their desperate will.

He continues to slowly jerk himself as he watches you stiffen only to squirm seconds later. “Now,” he starts, leaning over you. He aligns himself, tonguing his cheek. Tip teasing your clenching core, he whispers, “I am going to ruin you.”

The weight of the crude promise resonates deep in your gut, gathering your arousal at the entrance of your needy heat. You grip onto his shoulders, features already crumpled in desperate pleasure, and dig your nails into his smooth, pale skin.

You gasp a whine as he emits a throaty groan, pushing in, in, in. You begin to understand the purpose of the pillow beyond simply comfort. The leverage of your hips provides a new angle to explore, his length shoving its way to your most sensitive spot. And he does not even allot time to adjust as he first did in his office, moving quickly to bottom himself out in you. His weighty balls rest against your rear, burning your face with the thought of sucking them. You finally give into your body, too needy to continue to police its movements, and arch your back into his chest.

Chris, hands on either side of your head, grabs your wrists and pins them above you. He growls as his thrusts take off. The force of his hips continuously shifts the bed forward. The headboard slaps against the wall, the pounding of wood on plaster so loud, it almost drowns out your squealing moans. Even the mattress whines, springs shrieking under the rhythmic bounce of your colliding bodies. Perhaps the closest rival to the noise of the bed, however, is the sharp slap of skin on skin. Your rear and thighs tremble from the powerful smacks, sensitive skin stinging all too exquisitely.

Pain highlights pleasure. In addition to the sting of his skin on yours, the tight grip of his strong hands around your wrists, aches from joint to bone. Tears gather in your eyes, the friction of his pulsating erection against your wet, tense walls all the more sweeter in light of the consistent pain.

A series of hissing profanities leave his full lips and you open your eyes to find he is drunk on the sight of your erotic features. Your tears slide down along your temples as a sob hiccups through your throat, clashing with the moans you shamelessly release.

His vicious dominance falters. Letting go of your wrists, Chris leans himself down on his elbows and affectionately nestles his nose against yours. You like the softness of his touches, the tenderness of his most mundane gestures, like the brush of nose on nose or the exchange of heavy breaths.

However, you were promised ruin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you question, voice harsh even with breaking into a whine near the end.

Chris furrows his brows. Something about your tone triggers even more might behind his thrusts. It takes everything in you to not arrogantly laugh at how quickly he shifts from ferocity to concern to anger.

You push against his shoulders. Chris yields to your silent request, flexing his jaw and knitting his brows in quiet confusion. His hips do not hesitate once, though. They continue to forcefully shake your body, breasts and rolls bouncing with the bed.

Once Chris is leaning on his hands again, you strike him across the face.

“Mmm, fuck,” he groans, voice hushed and husky. Dark fury engulfs his features as he snaps his attention back on you.

You slap him again, and again, and again until your hand radiates heat, nerves stinging from the impact. His cheek is a bright red, jaw tight as he looks down at you.

You lift your other hand to smack him only to have him seize both your hands with one hand. You yelp at the swift motion and attempt to break free. You figure it wouldn’t be too hard, considering he is only using one hand to pin both of yours, but find that one hand is all he needs. Your wrists barely budge from their place over your head.

“My turn,” he purrs, red-stained face bright with amusement.

You clench your jaw, steeling yourself for the impact of his hand against your face, only to feel it upon your right breast. You curve yourself further into him with a loud, whiny gasp. Your nipple stings, coaxing tears as he does it again and again. He gives the left one the same amount of attention, smacking against the heavy curves over and over.

Core tightening with want around his cock and breasts burning with a feverish ache, you wail, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Your voice breaks, sobs of incessant pleasure overwhelming you. He’s so, so big and so, so ruthless. You barely catch your breath with every thrust, let alone every slap of your breast or pinch of your nipple. He clamps your taut nub between his thumb and the edge of forefinger to squeeze and twist. You fall into a state of devilish delight, embracing the pain like a warm hug.

Chris, perhaps growing tired or just wanting to be closer, releases his grip on your shoulders and gives your chest a break. He falls back on his elbows and catches your lips in his. He swallows your sobs, your uncontrollable moans as he ram-ram-rams into you. The strength behind his thrust is ever so prominent, even his heavy balls smack against your rear, the pain watering your mouth.

“You wanna cum, baby?” he mutters against your lips in hushed tones. The depth of his voice slithers along your spine.

You keenly nod, tears splitting freely from your eyes. “Yes, yes, yes!” you whine between tumbling sobs. “P-please?”

He rests some of his weight on you, stunting your breathing. You now wheeze through moans and pants.

“Please what?”

His voice is a cacophony of primal growls and feral snarls, resonating against your chest right down to the marrow of your bones.

A whine of a syllable begins and falters under the combined weight of his frame and relentless hips. His dominance may demand your reply, but still shackles your voice, your very consciousness with every brutal thrust.

“Use your fucking words, you little slut or I swear to God, you won’t cum for the rest of the night!”

His threat sends a tremor through your entire being. But that voice, that croaky, hissing voice of pure power, curls your toes and rolls your eyes back. You clench tightly, forcing your orgasm back.

“Dad-dy!” You scream, voice breaking mid-way through into hysterical sobs, body overpowered by pain and pleasure alike.

A gratifying groan grumbles from the depths of his gut and you cannot hold yourself back any longer. Your muscles stiffen, legs lifting high to the ceiling with pointed toes and nails scratching at his biceps. Your jaw clenches, bouncing body trembling as a ripple of your release rushes over you.

Chris falls over you, his full weight now crushing you as he too tenses all over. The suffocation only heightens your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy now swelling into typhoons of rapturous bliss. Your mind spins, vision dims and sound muffles as you finally release around him.

Your lungs fight for air, the restriction becoming all too fatal. You swat at his biceps, attempting to gasp for air as you catch distant throaty groans between deliberate, harsh thrusts.

It takes him a handful of seconds, but Chris eventually realises his mistake, rushing to hold himself up on his elbows again.

You gasp upon the first breath of air, heaving as you eagerly consume mouthfuls of oxygen.

Chris mutters quiet apologies, voice nearly wavering as he tucks his face in the crook of your neck and peppers the soft skin with tender kisses. He’s careful about dispersing his weight on you, even as his muscles tremble from the struggle of holding himself up. He shifts his balance to his knees as his thrusts decrease in speed and power eventually stopping all together.

You let your eyes flutter shut, your mind floats as your orgasm continues to cascade over your consciousness. Your limbs fall limp onto the mattress, full chest heaving with heavy pants and whines. It’s not until Chris pulls himself out that you finally feel your combined cum leak out of you again and you realise he came too, probably when he lost his balance and fell on top of you.

You feel the bed dip beside you, but cannot hear anything beyond the rush of blood in your ears. If you try hard enough, you might be able to catch the muffled squeak of the mattress, or the creak of the wooden frame. However, transcending into a state of pure euphoric bliss, all thoughts swirling around a phantom boxer and his towering build, you cannot dwell on the sounds of the fading world around you.

Rough hands delicately caress your face. A trail of kisses start on your lips. Full, plush lips move down your neck, collarbone, valley of your breasts, stomach, left thigh down to the knee, then back up to the right thigh down to the knee. They take their time with every press against your sweat-slick skin, each one just as wet and tender as the last.

There is another shift beside you and strong arms pull you into their embrace. You allow them to cradle you into a buff chest. The distant pound of a hammering heart beats to the same fast pace as yours. Those strong hands brush your hair back as they pet your head.

You’re not sure how long you laid there or when you made it into the bath, sitting between two muscular thighs as those calloused, yet gentle hands lathered shampoo into your hair.

The warm water grounds you back into the present. You squint your eyes open to a dark wood slatted ceiling, finding that your head is tilted back as a detachable shower head washes the shampoo out of your hair. You take a moment to inhale deeply, letting the notes of vanilla sandalwood remind you of where you are.

The water shuts off, the steel shower head returns to its place on your right, and you right your head to take a look around the bathroom. Spacious, the room radiates sophistication and calmness. Walls clad in dark grey and black, polished chrome fixtures, and a deep, freestanding bathtub, room enough for two, you cannot help but feel a sense of luxurious serenity. The lights are hidden behind the crevices of the room, warm and soft in their illumination. You wonder if he purposely designed the room to reel himself back to reality after a match.

Chris clears his throat, the sound soft and subtle as if he is worried he might scare you.

The possible implication furrows your brows. You peek at him over your shoulder before twisting your torso to face him.

“Are you…” he trails off, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Alright?”

You’re not sure how to decipher his hesitation or the oddly shameful look in his eyes.

“Of course,” you reply.

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Are you hurt?”

The question finally registers the faded red of his cheeks where you slapped him and the pink lines along his biceps. You swallow thickly as remorse tightens your chest.

“Are you?”

A ghost of a smirk hovers over his lips. He leans forward to comb some conditioner through your hair.

“I’ve never been better.”

“What…happened?”

You chew on the inside of your cheeks. You know what led up to this moment, but cannot fully place what happened between your orgasm and the bath. Your past sexual endeavours usually remain in one position and location. Chris has moved you between three rooms now, his office, bedroom, and bathroom, and tested your endurance in multiple positions in a single night.

Did you pass out? Were you sleeping?

“Have you heard of subspace?” Chris continues upon the furrow of your brows. “After sex, when some people in more submissive positions orgasm, they might get put into a certain euphoric headspace. You might not feel pain or even be in your body. Some people completely pass out,” he explains before reaching for the shower head again. Tapping the bottom of your chin with a single finger, he gestures for you to tilt your head back again. “Others,” he continues as he watches your hair, “are conscious but unresponsive.”

“Like I was?”you ask, eyes fluttering shut to prevent the sting of soap.

He hums in confirmation. “Do you remember anything?”

You shrug. “You were kissing me,” you pause, swallowing thickly, “and then I remember feeling you hug me.”

“Do you remember saying anything?”

Your eyes shoot open. Moving your head away from the spray, you meet his gaze again.

He bites back a sheepish grin.

“If you’re messing with me,” you begin, gritting your teeth. “I’ll—”

“Save your cute threats,” he teases, cutting you off. He rinses the last of the conditioner out of your hair, adding, “I’ll tell you what you said.”

You nervously gnaw on your lip waiting for him to continue. When he turns off the shower head and puts it back in its spot, you think he would finally say something. Instead, he pumps some body soap into a washcloth and lathers it up.

“Well?”

“I never said I would tell you now,” he chuckles.

You splash water at his chest, oh so tempted to scoop more directed at his face but decide against it when you catch that dark, daring gleam in his eyes.

“You’re an asshol—,” you mutter, cutting yourself off before a moan slips as the cloth scrubs against your skin.

Chris smirks, features unamused as if he’s used to this sort of reaction. How many other women has he washed in here after a particularly rigorous night?

The question fosters a flame of envy, and sears through the flesh of your heart.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. You try to ignore the way he dips between the valley of your chest, then circles under to rub and squeeze the soap around your breasts. Your body betrays you again, however, back arching into his touch.

Chris furrows his brows. “I fucked you senseless and you expect me not to take care of you?”

You blink, baffled by not only his tone, but his words. Your cheeks burn at the realisation that he did indeed thrust every last one of your senses out of you. What’s more peculiar is that, even after all that, he didn’t kill you. He didn’t cram you into a cab and send you on your way, high on your orgasm and unable to fight back.

“I lied to you,” you dryly chuckle. “I told you I was commissioned.”

His smirk widens, hinting that he might still believe that after what just happened in his office and bedroom.

You roll your eyes. “I- You’re a Stray Kid,” you try again. “Isn’t killing what you do?”

Chris scrubs down your shoulders and back, then your arm, lifting it up as he replies, “Yes.”

A shaky breath escapes you as he drags the soapy cloth across the pit of your arm.

“You saved my life,” he adds, moving onto your other arm. “I had a rat in my gang and you helped identify it.”

Your spine stiffens.

His gang?

Chris flashes you a cautious look under his brows, tonguing his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “You’re the leader of Stray Kids?”

Chris nods, submerging the cloth under the warm bath water to drag it along your thighs.

Does he want to have sex again? Is that why he’s keeping you alive? You don’t really mind, you just need to know because his hands are dangerously close to the apex of your thighs and he is telling you information you do not need to know and, in fact, have no right to know. It’s the kind of information that can possibly remove the bounty on your head.

“You once told me information you didn’t need to,” Chris explains as he gently cleans the previous mess he made between your legs.

Curling in your lips, you suppress a moan.

“You didn’t need to tell me your name, but you did. So I’m telling you something I don’t need to as an act of good faith.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I tend to get religious on top of the right woman.”

You press your legs together, squishing his hand.

He laughs, scorching your chest and cheeks with embarrassment.

You push his hand away from your core with an annoyed huff. You don’t have time for this. Though you are not in pain, your body is still exhausted. You just want to get back in his comfortable sheets and finally sleep this enough night off, if not go to your own bed.

“Do you want to go again?” you suddenly ask. “Is that what all this is about?”

Chris quirks a brow. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

A submissive, desperate part of you whines at his belittling tone and implication. If you wanted to, you most definitely could endure another round. However, you catch its outrage before it can make itself known beyond the knotting of your brows.

“So what then?” you ask.

Chis wrings out the cloth and tosses it aside. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone. You saved my life. I’m going to save yours,” he states matter-a-factly. “You are now under Stray Kids protection. You will have round-the-clock surveillance and train to learn to defend yourself properly against threats should your security fail.”

You blink.

Protection?

You remember thinking of Chris as your protector when he was touching you, but even then, riddled with lust, you knew it was only a fantasy. You are not worthy of protection. You are barely worthy of friendship. You almost lost Vinny. How can he really think you are worth saving?

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Right,” he nods, tone descending in depth as his gaze sharpens. “Because I will be protecting you against the bounty.”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“It’s my life.”

Chris casts you a look of sarcastic confusion. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re eager to end it,” he practically sneers.

You tuck your chin into your chest, averting his stern glare. “You don’t know what you are getting yourself into,” you mutter as a means of warning.

I’m damaged. I’m broken. I am not a life saver.

“A life for a life— That is the rule of the city,” Chris reaffirms. “You saved mine. I am saving yours.”

You fall silent. Keeping your attention locked on the black, marble floors, you let him wash all the soap off. You are not going to argue with the leader of Stray Kids, not tonight anyway, not as exhaustion is slowly claiming you, one limb at a time.

Fuck it— If he wants to fulfill this delusional debt of his then that is his problem. You warned him. You tried to fight this. When he eventually realises that you are more trouble than you are worth, you will gladly laugh and tell him you told him so.

“My bed or the spare’s?” he suddenly asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you want to sleep in my bed or the one in the spare bedroom?”

“Um,” you start as Chris grabs a towel. “Am I allowed to go home?”

“Of course,” he nods, “ I can get Seungmin and Felix to take you.”

You wonder which one is Felix before tentatively meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to sleep in your bed?”

Chris suppresses a little smile with a bite of his lip. His eyes do not gleam with their causal mischief or amusement, rather a hint of adoration— if you squint. “I would sleep better if you did,” he confesses, voice dropping an octave.

And so you find yourself in one of his shirts, the fabric barely brushing over the full curve of your rear, under layers of soft, silk sheets. Behind you, Chris wraps a strong arm around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. You can feel the beat of his heart against your back, feel how it echoes the race of your own.

You want him, want this so badly you can feel the aching desire deep within your bones. But the fear of shattering his world, of absorbing him and everything that matters to him into your vortex of ruin, shackles you in place.The red lights of Crimson Heights illuminate the room. As you watch the city, his steady breath fans against the nape of your neck. Mind exhausted, body slowly aching, you allow yourself to lean into him just this once and shut your eyes.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

#chantober 2024 #bang chan smut #chan smut #stary kids smut #chris bang smut #chan x reader #bang chan fanfic

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fuzzybirdie · 3 months ago

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Hero of Changing Faces

ch.1 pt 2

The line for the ride was a bit shorter than expected, but then again, it was 9 in the morning. There also seemed to be an event going on somewhere in the park, some people (actors?) were walking arround in the restricted area wearing clown masks and absurdly large shoes. After the ride, he'd have to ask where the event is so he could avoid it. (Clown trauma)

The ride had 12 seats, 6 rows of 2. And danny was sat right in the middle, row 3. The bar came down, securing everyone in their seats, and they were off. The lift part was covered in a bat themed tunnel, to give people something to look at during the slowest part of the ride. There was a PA system installed as well to welcome people to the ride, or warn of emergencies when getting off the ride.

"Welcome one, Welcome all, to the Ride of your Life!" The announcer/operator had a flamboyant cadence to his voice and was very openly enjoying his job. "About halfway through the track, riiight after the loopdeloop, there is a hole in the tracks! And unless our Dear Batsy can find a way to stop the ride, everyone here will take aaaa eeehhh 20-30 meter drop to their deaths!"

Danny no longer thought the person cackling on the PA was an announcer.

Sure enough, as they saw when they exited the bat-lift-tunnel, right there, after the loopdeloop was a giant gap in the tracks.

Now, Danny would be fine. Being in his ghost form would ensure that - heck, just being a halfa would ensure that! Everyone else though? Very very solid humans. And humans, being solid rather than gasseous would go 'splat' very easily. So, Danny Needed to stop the ride.He could freeze the wheels to the tracks, and the gears to each other? Worth a shot.

Danny grabbed the sides of the ride, reaching over the gentleman beside him, which he'd appologise for later, and began carefully branching ice toward the rails. The ride was slowing down, but not enough. "Holy shit!" The mother behind him whispered "Are you freezzing the wheels?"

"Not enough" Danny grunted, his ice reaching more towards the gears and couplings."You can do it, chum." The gentleman soothed, placing a warm hand on his back.

"Focus on the axles," a girl in stained overalls advised, "they run right along a vehicles undercarrage, and are integral to making wheels move. If this is anything like a car there should be some."

Danny nodded, slowly expanding his ice all over, as everyone whispered encouragements. The ride got slower and slower until they got to that loopdeloop. Everyone closed their eyes and braced for impact as Danny let out one final push of ice.

The ride climbed,

Jolted,

And stopped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

prev / next

Thanks for reading! This is chapter 1 done, chapter 2 is written, and I'll post that maybe in a week? Anyways! Hope you enjoyed! And even though it's not quite showing it yet, this story is fully based on the prompt i've linked below. Go check it out!

Edit: I FORGOT HALF THE TAGS!

#Title is absoloutely a work in progress #If anyone has suggestions #PLEASE!#dpxdc #danny phantom au #danny fenton #bruce wayne #danny is every hero #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #HOCF

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mynameismckenziemae · 4 months ago

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A Little Bit Stronger

Part 1

(next part here)

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x OFC

Summary:

Fear is the only thing Shae Williams feels after years of abuse at the hands of her ex-husband. After an encounter where he nearly takes her life, she’s finally free of him…until he finds out where she’s staying. Fear forces her to take the help of the only person who’s offered and is introduced to Bradley Bradshaw in the process.

The last thing Shae needs right now is a relationship and the fact that Bradley understands and respects her wishes makes him that much harder to resist.

Warnings: Just like everything else / write/post: this story is for 18+ only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language. Please also note this story may be triggering due to the topic of domestic abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) violence-feel free to message me with any questions before reading.

*This is the Bradley from All of Me (Jake and Reese’s story). You should be able to be read as a stand-alone but it doesn’t hurt to start there.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

2 months prior.

“Why don’t you stay here for a few minutes,” Chad sneers, pushing his seed back inside you that’s beginning to leak out. He’s not gentle; it hurts, causing tears to prick at your eyes, but you refuse to wince, “give my swimmers a few extra minutes to find that egg,” he laughs.

They won’t. The Depo injection you got a few weeks ago at Planned Parenthood after Chad had found your hidden birth control pills will prevent that. It would be a cold day in hell before you brought an innocent child into this mess. The bruises from that beating were nearly healed now.

“Okay,” you reply, cold and numb.

“Dinner reservations are at tonight 6, so I’ll be here at 5:30 to pick you up,” Chad says from the bathroom as he starts the shower, “wear that black dress with the low back I like.”

“I will,” you lie.

If all goes to plan, you’ll be a few hours away by then, where he can’t find you.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You get up as soon as he leaves, wanting nothing more than to get out of this hellhole but needing to wash the evidence of his abuse off of your body.

Your heart is pounding as you pull your suitcases out from the bottom of your closet, already packed and ready to go. Your sweaty hands tremble, barely able to pick up your last-minute supplies to toss them in a tote.

You lift the mattress and reach under where you made a slit, locating the cash you’ve been hiding there and pulling it out before packing it too.

With that cash and the money you transferred into a secret account when you had been working, you should be set until you find a job.

You set your phone on the kitchen table and take a slow, deep breath before walking towards the door.

The handle turns as you reach out to open it; your stomach does too.

“I’m so fucking glad I installed those cameras last week when you were at Pilates,” Chad chuckles darkly as you drop the suitcase, backing away in terror.

He grabs your ponytail when you turn to run, and you cry out loudly at the burning pain in your scalp as he yanks you back. “You’re not going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever,” he seethes in your ear. Your stomach rolls in disgust as you can feel him hard against your ass; he’s getting off on this. “You belong to me.”

He pushes you into the table by the door, causing the flower vase atop it to fall and shatter.

“Stupid, ungrateful bitch,” he seethes, stepping over the mess before kicking your hunched form in the ribs, stealing the breath in your lungs from the sharp, searing pain as you land on the hardwood.

It only takes two steps before he’s on you again, gripping your shoulder and turning you to face him. His eyes are full of rage, his pupils dilated from the line he snorted in the car as he spits, “I thought you’d finally learned after the birth control incident. I should’ve known…”

Your head whips to the side and you taste blood when he backhands you, splitting your lip.

You can’t catch your bearings as you try to appease him with an apology; pain radiating from your cheek and there’s a deafening, high-pitched ringing in your ears, “I’m sorry Chad, let me explain-“

Pain explodes in the left side of your face a second later as he punches you as hard as he can before the world goes dark.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Shae?” says a familiar voice, sounding so far away. “Shae, honey, wake up.”

Your right eye slowly blinks open to the bright fluorescent lights; the left is swollen shut and pulsing painfully. The beeping of the heart monitor increases and the pain in your ribs makes itself known as everything comes rushing back.

The police officers arriving, the EMTs putting you on the stretcher, the chilling look in his eyes as you were rolled past, the favorite doctor you worked for giving you a sedative when you arrived in her ER panicking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Dr. Akins murmurs, putting her hand on yours, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you.”

You slowly nod. “Where,” you croak, tongue feeling like sandpaper, “where is he?”

“Sitting in jail,” she replies.

“But-“

“For 24 hours,” she assures you, “even with his connections, he won’t be getting out early.”

You nod, still a little dazed and disoriented as you take a drink of the water she offers. “Thank you.”

“He’s why you quit, huh?” Dr. Akins asks. Not judging, just observant.

You nod again.

“What happened? Today I mean,” she clarifies.

“I was leaving,” you whisper, wincing when you look down from the pain in your eye from the movement. “He came home.”

“How did he know? Did you tell anyone?” She asks gently.

“No,” you reply, “not a soul. He said something about installing cameras last week.”

“That’s not legal in the state of California, Shae,” she says softly, stroking her thumb over your hand, “neither is beating your wife half to death.”

You nod once again, gasping from the pain in your ribs when you sit up, “I’ve gotta get out of here before he’s released.”

“Where will you go?” She asks.

“I’m going to rent an Airbnb in San Diego,” you wince as you try to smile, quickly reminded of the split in your lip, “My parents met there when my dad was in the Navy. I visited after college and fell in love. It was the first place that came to mind the…” you trail off.

“The what?”

“The last time this happened,” you whisper, “he found out I was secretly taking birth control since we started trying for a baby…he thought being a family man would help him get a promotion at work…as if that canceled out the alcoholism, drug use, and anger problems.”

“Oh Shae,” she replies. Your eyes fill as you look away when you hear the tears heavy in her voice.

She stands and gently wraps you in a hug, letting you cry for the next few minutes. She hands you a tissue before taking one for herself.

“So…you’ve got an orbital fracture that thankfully doesn’t need surgery, no concussion but you’re gonna have a helluva headache, 3 broken ribs, a split lip, and a few other bumps and bruises,” she says finally, not sugar coating it.

You close your eyes, knowing they’ll want to keep you overnight for another observation.

“There’s two officers from Sacramento PD waiting to talk with you,” she continues, “but I’ll get you discharged when they’re done. As a nurse, I trust you know what signs and symptoms to watch for?”

You open your eyes and nod, “Thank you.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You’re tight-lipped during the conversation with the officers with the entire police department in Chad’s back pocket.

You do ask for a restraining order, knowing it’s just a piece of paper, but it gives you a little peace of mind. You don’t press any further charges either; nothing will come of the ones already existing and you refuse to add fuel to his fire.

“Here’s your discharge papers,” Dr. Akins hands you the stapled stack after they leave, “and a little something from a few of the doctors here. We haven’t forgotten you, Shae.”

“Dr. Akins, you-“ you start but she interrupts.

“Just be safe, okay? My number is in there too, please let me know when you’re settled.”

“Okay,” you whisper, ignoring the shooting pain in your ribs as you pull her in for a final hug, “thank you.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You try not to, but you can’t help but cry when you open the envelope in the Uber that Dr. Akins ordered. A letters of recommendation from her and two other doctors you worked with also, and enough bills to make you feel light-headed.

“Here’s fine,” you tell the driver when he pulls onto your street and is a few houses from yours.

You feel paranoid, but knowing Chad, he’ll check the Ring as soon as he gets released. If he sees a man brought you home, you wouldn’t put it past him to look up the license plate and have his cronies at the police station pull him over; it doesn’t matter that it’s just the man’s job.

“You sure?” He looks skeptically over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah,” you sigh when you try again to smile, tasting blood again when you open the cut in your bottom lip, “thanks.”

Ed, your sweet old neighbor, comes running when he spots you gingerly getting out of the car. “Shae!” He cries when he reaches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, afraid to hurt you, “oh your beautiful eye,” he whispers, tears filling his eyes as he scans your face. “I happened to see him come home, and I knew he wasn’t happy the way he slammed his car door. I’m sorry I called 911, but I heard you yell and then a crash.”

“It’s okay,” you begin to cry too, hating how distressed he is. You’d had quickly befriended him and his wife, Jean, when you moved in. They reminded you so much of your late parents and that’s exactly why Chad put an end to the relationship. “I’m glad you did, Ed.”

“I’m so sorry about Jean,” you continue, guilt overwhelming you. “I wanted to go to the funeral so badly.”

She had passed away nearly a year ago from cancer. You earned a slap across the face when you asked Chad to go to her funeral.

“It’s okay, honey. She knew you loved her and she loved you too,” he replies, pulling you in for the most gentle, tender hug.

The gesture breaks the dam inside you and you begin to sob; body-shaking, from-the-soul sobs.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Come inside,” Ed asks when you finally relax, “Just for a minute. I’ve got a slice of apple pie with your name on it. You’ve gotten too thin.”

“Okay,” you whisper, letting him take your hand.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Do you have my number in your new phone?” Ed asks by his front door after he feeds you not one, but two pieces of his homemade pie. It was your favorite and yet another thing Chad didn’t let you have.

You insist Ed stays home while you get your suitcases, not knowing the whereabouts of Chad’s cameras. The last thing you want is someone else getting hurt, especially Ed.

You nod, “It was the first number I put it, I still have it memorized. Promise you’ll come to see me when things settle?”

If they ever settle. Your heart sinks with the thought that this mess will never stop; not until he’s in prison or one of you ends up dead.

“I will,” he kisses your forehead, and hands you an envelope from his pocket, “here honey, take this.”

“Ed, no. I can’t,” you argue, eyes widening as you feel the wad of cash inside, “Really, I’ll be okay. I’ve been planning this for a while.”

“It was Jean’s idea,” he smiles sadly, “she knew you’d get out someday and we both wanted you to have a cushion.”

“Ed,” your voice breaks and you start to cry again. Your head was pounding, your ribs screamed with every breath and you were getting more anxious as more time passed.

“Take it and use it,” he says, putting his hand in his pocket so you can’t hand it back, “hire a lawyer, get that dog you always wanted, take a nice vacation, whatever you want, honey. Besides, he can’t track cash like he can a card.”

That thought crossed your mind too before you finally nod. “Thank you,” you whisper, giving him a final hug and heading back to your former home.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You step over the drips of your blood and avoid the dead flowers and broken glass, feeling nauseous from anxiety and the pain pulsing through your body when you pick up your discarded bag and right your suitcases.

Your lip still quirks in satisfaction when the wheels of your suitcase drag the sharp pieces of glass over the floor, scratching the hell out of the hardwood he loves.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Ed watches from his front door as you struggle to get your suitcases in the back, but you discreetly shake your head when he opens the door to help. Chad is going to take his anger out somewhere, and you don’t want to make Ed more of a target.

You suppress your groan as you lift the floorboard in the trunk to find your secret cell phone hidden by the spare tire and turn it on after plugging it in while you fasten your seatbelt.

After typing in the address into GPS, you take a deep breath and pull out of the driveway, waving goodbye to Ed and starting your new life.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A few weeks later (current day).

“Friday at 11,” you confirm, “I’ll be there, thank you again,” you say before hanging up with the recruiter.

You smile softly; things are looking up. You have an interview scheduled for a nursing position with a general practitioner at the Naval Base, you secured a nice apartment that’ll be ready to move into in a few weeks and Chad would be served with divorce papers any day now.

With the money you saved, the generous gift from the doctors you worked with at the ER, and the downright obscene amount from Ed and Jean, you didn’t need to rush into finding a job. So you had taken a few weeks to find an apartment and hit the beach while you healed; physically at least.

Emotionally though, you were struggling. Most nights you woke up soaked in a cold sweat, shivering in terror from your nightmares. Loud noises made you flinch. You were constantly having to remind yourself that it’s okay to go out and do what you want.

Dr. Akins checked in with you twice after letting her know you arrived. Ed texted or called almost daily; it was so nice to be able to talk to him freely.

You decide to walk a few blocks to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant you discovered on your first week here for dinner.

Taking a different way back, you come across a large, brown, and white dog tied outside a clothing shop.

The sign in the window above him reads, ‘Dog is for sale. Inquire within’.

His big, fluffy tail begins to wag when he realizes you’re approaching him and he lifts his head when you kneel, “Hi buddy.”

“Hi,” an older woman with a kind smile comes out when she sees you, “are you-“ she cuts off with a sneeze when she gets close.

“Bless you,” you smile.

“Thanks,” she sniffs, “I was trying to ask if you’re interested in him?”

“Oh,” you say, “I can’t…” you trail off as you realize there isn’t anything stopping you. The Airbnb listing said pets were welcome; same with your apartment. “Well…maybe?”

She laughs, sitting on the bench by the door, inviting you to sit beside her. “His name is Hank, he’s a 2-year-old, Great Pyrenees mix. He belonged to my daughter but…she can’t take care of him anymore; she checked herself into rehab,” she sighs sadly, “and will be for a while; she asked me to find him a good home since I’m horribly allergic and there’s too many kill shelters around here,” she answers before you can ask.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, petting his big head when he rests it on your knee, “he’s so sweet.”

“He is,” she confirms before sneezing again, “he listens well, I’ve never heard him bark and I think he’s house trained-I’ve had to keep him in the garage at my house or I can’t breathe-but he hasn’t had any accidents there. I guess he’s a little leery of men too, but she wasn’t hanging around the best crowd either. I took him to the vet-in my car which was a terrible idea, I still sneeze when I open the door,” she laughs, “but they gave him a micro-chip and updated his vaccines. He was given a clean bill of health, I have his records in the store.”

He looks up at you with those big brown eyes; staring into your soul while tugging at your heartstrings.

“I’ll take him,” you hear yourself saying as you pull out your wallet and pull out all the cash you have in your wallet; around $500. She begins to refuse but you insist, “Please. I know the vet wasn’t cheap, and your daughter will need help getting back on her feet.”

Tears fill her eyes but she eventually nods, “Thank you.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

It doesn’t take long at all for you to fall in love with Hank; his personality is as big as he is. He just had one accident the first night and hasn’t barked a single time.

“How do I look?” You ask him, spinning in front of the mirror as he watches you from his spot on your bed. Dressing up felt nice, even if it was just for a job interview.

You did your best to cover the healing yellow bruise under your eye, but it was still noticeable in certain light.

He hops off the bed and nudges your thigh with his head before looking up at you in the mirror.

“Thanks, I think so too,” you smile down at him. “I’ll be back in a little bit, you be a good boy.”

He’s asleep on the bed before you shut the door.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Hi, you must be Shae,” the pretty woman greeting smiles as she offers her hand. “I’m Reese, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you reply.

“Please,” she gestures to the chairs across her desk as she sits, “have a seat.”

Your eyes squint when the sunlight catches your face as you sit before giving her your resume. “I also have letters of recommendation from my nursing instructor and a few of the doctors I’ve worked with,” your cheeks heat as you hand them over next.

Your stomach sinks as her gaze pauses on your concealed bruise before she scans the information given.

Your nerves settle as she asks questions and gives you different scenarios. Dr. Kerner is confident, witty and you get the impression she doesn’t take shit from anyone; which is needed when the majority of her patients are cocky men.

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” she smiles, “you can expect to from HR soon for the formal offer,” your heart soars and then sinks when her brow furrows slightly when she glances down again at her resume, “Oh, is this current?”

Your nerves come back full force and your hands twist nervously in your lap, “Yes, it’s current.”

“It’s okay,” she replies softly, picking up on your anxiety, “HR will ask why it's been 2 years since you worked last. What should I tell them?”

You feel yourself dissociate as you look out the window. “My husb-I mean, ex-husband…he didn’t want me to work.”

She nods, looking at your healing eye and piecing together where it came from. “Shae?”

You flinch slightly as you snap out of it, before meeting her eyes.

“I’m just going to tell them it was due to family reasons,” she says, watching as you sag in relief. “Are you safe though?”

“I am,” you reply, touching the slight discoloration under your eye, “I am now. He’s…a few hours away, and I have a dog now.”

“Okay,” she replies with a small smile, reaching for a pen and notepad. “Here’s my number if that changes okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, touched by her gesture. You had very few people in your corner, and they all lived hours away. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, rising to her feet. “Hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so too,” you smile genuinely for the first time.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“HR will be in touch soon,” Dr. Kerner says as she escorts you from her office, smiling down the hall. “Have a good weekend.”

“Thanks, you too,” you reply, eyes following hers to two men approaching.

The blonde gives you a friendly smile before locking eyes with Dr. Kerner. While he’s attractive, it’s evident he only has eyes for her.

The darker-haired one with a mustache is downright hot. The way he gives you a quick, appreciative once over before flashing you a grin has you blushing like a virgin.

You quickly head outside, feeling an odd mixture of emotions; unnecessary guilt for looking at another man, excitement that someone so good-looking finds you attractive, relief that you can still feel attraction, and nervousness that you might/might not see him again if you get the job.

Once inside your car, you blast the AC to cool your heated cheeks as you make your way back to your temporary home.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A few days pass before receiving the call that you have the job and you agree to start the following Monday.

You hardly sleep the night before and arrive before nearly everyone.

“Ready for your first day?” Dr. Kerner smiles when she sees you at your desk.

“I am,” you answer, “I looked over your preferences while I waited. It all looks familiar so I shouldn’t have any problem getting caught up to speed.”

“I didn’t figure you would,” she replies, “let me give you a quick tour and we’ll get the day started.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

By lunch, you’re already getting the hang of things.

“I don’t know how I’ve survived this long without you,” Dr. Kerner smiles as she checks the time, “seriously, you’re doing a great job.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, flushing as you look down at your shoes, so unused to compliments.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, “I usually have lunch in here with Jake, my boyfriend, and Rooster, an old friend of mine. They’re both naval aviators.”

“Rooster?” You ask, looking up confused.

“Ah, sorry, that’s his callsign,” she laughs, “his real name is Bradley; you can call him either. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve gotta let my dog out. I haven’t found anyone to walk him yet; I’m pretty sure he’d be fine all day but I’m staying at an Airbnb until my apartment is ready in a few weeks so I don’t want to risk any accidents,” you reply. It’s the truth, but you’re still unsure and uneasy about a lot of things.

“Understandable,” she replies, “the offer stands if and when you want to.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile of your own.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Some friends of mine are having a get-together for the 4th at their house on the beach,” Dr. Kerner says at the end of the first day, “you’re more than welcome to come if you’d like.”

“You don’t have to answer right now,” she continues when you clam up, “and there’s no pressure, either. You can say no.”

The rising tension inside you falls when she gives you a choice.

“I’ll think about it,” you answer truthfully, “if that’s okay?”

“Of course. There’s no rush; Penny will be plenty of food and drinks either way,” she gives you a reassuring smile as she picks up her keys. “Have a good night, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks,” you smile back, “you too.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

The next few weeks pass quickly and June turns to July.

You were still in the rental and hadn’t had lunch with Dr. Kerner yet, but you could feel yourself slowly opening up to her.

“See ya after lunch,” she calls as you pick up your keys to head out, “tell Hank I said hi.”

“I will,” you laugh, “be back in a bit.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

Something is off when you unlock the door to the rental.

Hank, who’s normally asleep on the bed, is restlessly pacing.

“What’s up, buddy?” You ask, crouching to kiss him.

He’s distracted though, aggressively sniffing the welcome mat.

“Gotta go potty?” You ask, grabbing his leash, “Let’s go.”

He sits down right beside you when you get to the grass, sniffing the air and looking around.

“C’mon bud, go potty,” you coax.

He eventually takes a few steps to do his business but comes right back when he’s done.

“I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Be a good boy,” you murmur as you close the door while he stands there and watches, again so unlike him.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Hey,” Dr. Kerner says when you come back from lunch, looking down at her phone, “the last patient canceled, so we’ll be done early today. How was Hank?”

“Acting a little weird, but good,” you reply, brow furrowed, “he’s usually asleep when I get home, but he was up and pacing by the door. I thought he had to go potty really bad but he didn’t go without some coaxing. Who knows, probably just heard a squirrel or something.”

“Probably,” she agrees, her tone giving away that it doesn’t sit right with her.

It doesn’t sit right with you either.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

After saying goodbye to Dr. Kerner, you head home a few hours later.

Hank is again, or still, by the door.

You order food to be delivered while he eats his, sitting down on the couch with a beer while you wait.

You mull it over in your head before pulling your phone out to compose a text.

Shae: Hey Dr. Kerner, I’ve thought it over. I’d be happy to join you tomorrow if the offer still stands.

But there’s a knock at the door before you send it.

You rise to your feet, Hank gets up too, surprising you as he growls in your presence for the first time.

“It’s okay, just the delivery driver,” you coo before calling, “just a minute,” as you grab some cash for a tip.

“Wow, that was fast-“ you start to say as you open the door, but your head whips to the side. You hear the sharp slap to your cheek and eye before the pain can register.

The force of his backhand knocks you back a step and Chad follows you, gripping your arm so tightly you cry out in pain. He’s full of rage, his breath reeks of bourbon as spits in your face, “You think you can divorce me?! After everything I’ve done for-FUCK!”

Chad screams when Hank latches onto his clothed arm with a low growl. The force of his lunge pushes Chad back into the doorframe but you grab Hank’s collar to haul him off before he sinks his teeth into something more vital.

“Leave,” you say, voice shaking and barely audible over Hank’s snarls, “now.”

“This isn’t over,” he says, holding his arm as he takes taking a step back, “and that dog is dead.”

You slam the door closed behind him, locking it before falling to the floor with a sob.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Hank lays down beside you, setting his head in your lap as he senses your distress. “You’re such a good boy,” you whisper, stroking his soft fur.

But he starts to growl again a few minutes later when a loud knock startles you both.

“San Diego PD, open up.”

You hold Hank’s collar as you crack the door to verify. “Just a minute, I’m going to put my dog in the bedroom; he’s a little worked up.”

The host of the AirBnb shows up shortly after, holding the bag of your forgotten food.

Adrenaline wearing off, your face begins to throb in time with his fingerprints on your arm as you explain what happened to the officers. You feel numb as they take pictures of your injuries, but you don’t hold much hope when the officers say they’ll find him.

The Airbnb host gives you more bad news before leaving too.

You try to compose yourself as you start to pack but hopelessness of the situation begins to set in, and you feel suddenly feel completely overwhelmed. Your thoughts begin to race before you pick up the phone; feeling as if you have no other choice but to turn to the only person that might help.

Your heart races as the line rings.

“Shae?” she answers, “what’s up?”

There’s faint music in the background.

“Hi Dr. Kerner,” you say, trying to sound calm, “I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“Please, call me Reese,” she reminds you gently, “you’re not bothering me. Is everything okay?”

“No,” your voice breaks, “it’s not. Chad…my ex, he found me.”

“Where are you? Is he there now?” She asks, anxious now.

“No, he took off when Hank bit him,” you sniff, zipping one of your packed suitcases closed, “I’m still at the Airbnb, packing my stuff.”

“Okay,” she sighs, her relief evident until your last words sink in, “Okay. Packing your-wait, why are you packing?”

“The police came a few minutes after he left; one of the units heard the commotion. The unit owner came while I was giving my statement,” You answer, walking down the short hallway to the living room, “I guess the other tenants complained to him and are scared-understandably so-but said I needed to be out…tonight.”

“Oh Shae,” she says, “I’m so sorry. Let me come help you?”

“Okay.” Both of you are surprised when you agree.

“I’m at the Hard Deck-which is a bar-with Jake and Bradley. Oh shoot, I forgot we rode together. Hang one sec,” she pauses, “I’ll order an Uber.”

“They can come too,” you say, more anxiety setting in as you look at the clock, “if they want to, I mean. I…I think I need all the help I can get. I’ve got to be out in about an hour.”

“Okay,” she says, murmuring something before coming back on the line, “they’re happy to help, Shae. Text me the address, we’re getting in the truck now.”

“I will, oh…” you cringe when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror above the couch. Your right eye is bloodshot from the trauma, below on your cheek is puffy and still red, and his fingerprints already purpling your arm. It’s nothing compared to last time, but it’s still startling, “and Reese? I should warn you, I look…rough.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: Well…what do you guys think? Did everything make sense (especially for those who haven’t read All of Me).

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than you know.

Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) my taglist…and if I forgot to add you-it wasn’t intentional, just let me know!

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hookslove1592

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@djs8891

@lonelysoul504

@mrsevans90

@landpiranha-blog

@bellaireland1981

@shanimallina87

@writtingrose

@fandomology101

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@psuedochakra

@lyn-js

@averagereader35

@emma8895eb

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@seitmai

#top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun smut #bradley rooster bradshaw x ofc #bradley bradshaw x ofc

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serickswrites · 3 months ago

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Unhand IV

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Ok, y'all. I don't normally post installments this close together, but the last installment cause quite a lot of feelings and I feel like it would be cruel to leave you all hanging lol. Please enjoy this next installment. There is one more after this one.

Warnings: nightmare, blood, burns, captivity, torture, restraints, rescue, unconsciousness

Caretaker woke up screaming. They were in the conference room and Teammate Two was shaking them awake. "Caretaker, Caretaker, you're ok. You're ok. You fell asleep."

Caretaker began to sob. "Whumpee?" It had to be all a dream. It couldn't be real. It had to be a dream.

"Still missing. But," Teammate Two said with a smile, "I know where Whumper is keeping them."

Within three hours, Caretaker found themself storming Whumper's compound. It was newer and not registered to their name, so the team had taken longer to find it. They hurried behind the rest of the team members, repeating their mantra to themself over and over.

You're ok. I'm here. We found you. You're ok. You're ok.

Caretaker had one job and one job only according to Teammate One and that was to get to Whumpee. The rest of the team would handle Whumper.

But as they surged through the door, immediately peeling away to look for Whumpee, Caretaker's mantra stuttered to a stop. Whumpee was strapped to a table, their wrists bond by coarse rope, and they were completely still and unmoving.

"NO!" They shouted as the rushed forward. They couldn't be too late. It was a nightmare. Whumpee had to be alive.

But as images of Whumpee's slit throat and burned body filled their mind, Caretaker began to cry once more. Whumpee was deathly still as Caretaker reached them. "Please, please, please, Whumpee."

Whumper had burned Whumpee in several places--used them to put out cigarettes from what Caretaker could guess. And Whumpee's chest was cut up. Whumpee's hair was filthy, but not matted. Their eyes were closed and their features were lax. But as Caretaker cupped Whumpee's cheek, they breathed a sigh of relief. Whumpee was warm and breathing.

"Come on, Whumpee. Come on, I've got you." Caretaker said as they began to saw through the rope.

But Whumpee didn't wake.

They didn't wake as Caretaker tapped their cheek. They didn't wake as Caretaker freed their wrists. And they didn't wake as Caretaker lifted them up.

"Hold on, hold on, I've got you. I've got you," Caretaker murmured as they ran with Whumpee in their arms. Whumpee was a boneless dead weight in their arms. But it didn't matter. Whumpee was alive. ALIVE! And they were getting Whumpee to help. Whumpee would live. Whumpee had to live.

Tags: @cpt-winters@thequestingbunny@bloopdydooooo@tiny-feral-arachnid-man@inscrutable-shadow

@bookworm7543 @lgcgjd @madmadder @mefattortoise @lthrboy

@st0rmm @whumppsychology @gala1981 @whumperofworlds @hiding-in-the-shadows

@artisticdemon @alluringleopards @orangeduckweed @madmadder @mousepaw

@eight-littlenightmares

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #tw nightmare #tw blood #tw burns #tw captivity #tw torture #tw restraints #tw unconsciousness #rescue #queue #one more to go after this #and it's all h/c

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lcdrarry · 5 months ago

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LCDrarry 2024 Master List Part 2: More Fic

Dear lovely Participants, Creators, Alpha and Beta Readers, Cheerleaders, Readers and Fans of this fest,

The 6th installment of LCDrarry has come to an end, and we'd like to thank you all for taking part in this fest, for creating so many amazing new Drarry works for us all to enjoy, for commenting on your favourite creations, for sharing and recommending the LCDrarry gems with and to your friends and blog followers, and for making this fest another amazing experience for everybody!

Fests would not exist without their participants or readers! You're all amazing! And we're so happy that you chose this fest in the vast and wonderful offerings of HP and Drarry events.

You can find out under the cut who created what ;D

~Your LCDrarry Mods Tami (@celilasart) and Suzi (@erin-riwen)

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information and more detailed warnings. Thank you! PPS: You can find a link to Part 1 of this Master List under the cut. Enjoy!

Part 1 of this Master List with all the lovely podfics, art and more fics can be found here.

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More Fic

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If The Boxers Fit (A Cinderella Story)

Prompt: "100 Girls", 2000 Author: lettersbyelise Word Count: 8,360 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: When Draco ends up shagging a hot, mysterious stranger in a broken Ministry lift and is left with nothing but a sexy pair of red boxers to remember them by, Draco’s friends go sleuthing.

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surviving the mist

Prompt: "The Mist", 2017, TV Show Author: gnarf Word Count: 7,153 words Rating: Mature Warnings: one homophobic slur, Uncanny Valley, Blood, Trauma Bonding, mentions of past starvation, hinted at child abuse, Torture (off screen), Post-War, Minor pining, Clueless Harry Potter, Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, involuntary housemates, Inspired by The Mist - Stephen King, LCDrarry 2024

Summary: Everything was perfect for Harry, until Draco moved into the cottage next door. He thought that Draco Malfoy being his neighbour was the worst that could happen to him. Until the outside world got turned into a death zone. Trapped by a mysterious fog, Harry and Draco have to try and get along while surviving the nightmares hiding outside, waiting, luring...

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Listening to the Manor

Prompt: "Spirited Away", 2001, Hayao Miyazaki Author: meandminniemcg Word Count: 11,183 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Summary: When Dudley gets turned into a bird on a roadtrip, Harry has to save his cousin. He meets a mysterious blond man and a sentient manor house that needs his help. But first he has to do his new job at the Magical Creature spa, the only reason he can stay...

***

Twin Blades

Prompt: “Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith”, 2005, George Lucas Author: lucio Word Count: 3,525 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: lightsaber combat, nightmares

Summary: Harry advances a few steps toward Draco, who doesn’t move, only watches him approach with narrowed eyes. “If you’re so sure the Jedi have no power, duel me. If you win, your master will be proud of you.” Draco’s eyes glitter. “And if you win?” “We’ll find out, won’t we?” Harry raises his lightsaber, readies himself. “Come on.” Without another word, Draco lunges at him.

Or, a Drarry-flavored reskin of the battle on Mustafar.

***

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

Prompt: "Thelma and Louise", 1991, Ridley Scott Author: Stillwriting Word Count: 33,335 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator chose not to use Archive Warnings

Summary: Harry is disillusioned with the Aurors, his relationship with Ginny, and is tired of all the hero worship but feels trapped. Draco, still hated by the Wizarding world, decides to get away and shares his plan with Harry, his only friend. Harry jumps at the chance to go with him.

They share in the freedom of their adventure, but things don’t go according to plan. Amidst their misfortunes, they discover new talents, courage in the face of tragedy, and above all, love.

***

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Prompt: "Mamma Mia", 2008, Phyllida Lloyd Author: TheGoblinMatriarch Word Count: 11,378 words Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: sex while on drugs, drinking

Summary: Recently-divorced Harry returns to Serenity Commune, site of his wildest youthful romps and the beginning of his recovery from trauma, to get out of a rut (and because Hermione made him). Unfortunately, sex, drugs, and dancing aren't all that await - he'll have to confront his past and what life might have been.

***

Romancing the Dragon

Prompt: "Romancing the Stone", 1984, Robert Zemeckis Author: jtimu Word Count: 34,382 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Action movie typical violence

Summary: Harry Potter writes romance novels from the comfort of his London townhouse, with the assistance of his beloved cat, Juliet. He does not engage in rescue missions, talk to dragons, or develop feelings for Draco Malfoy. That would be absurd.

***

first, she fell

Prompt: "Anatomy of a Fall", 2023, Justine Triet Author: luminae Word Count: 1,648 words Rating: Mature Warnings: angst, referenced character death, open ending, referenced adultery, speculated murder

Summary: Harry's wife is dead. No one knows quite what that means.

***

Caribou Garden

Prompt: Nature Documentaries (genre, any year) Author: CreepingMyrtle Word Count: 2,641 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: Alone with his swotty, posh, nemesis-turned-colleague on an uninhabited island in the far north, cinematographer Harry Potter grapples with his inconvenient crush. A nature documentary-inspired fic with magical caribou migrations, dramatic landscapes, and only one tent.

***

Leap Year

Prompt: "Leap Year", 2010, Anand Tucker Author: youhavemyswordandmybow Word Count: 29,064 words Rating: Mature Warnings: None apply.

Summary: Draco Malfoy has come a long way. He has a successful business and a muggle-born high-flyer boyfriend.

One tiny thing - it's been four years and he has no ring. No matter, he'll take things into his own hands. Feb 29th is an Irish muggle tradition that he'll happily jump on. Archie (boyfriend) is in Ireland - he'll simply portkey over and pop the question.

One (LARGE) problem. The portkey office messed up and he's landed outside Harry Potter's pub.

The same Harry Potter that hasn't been seen for ten years.

*Big sigh.*

***

Runaway Groom

Prompt: "Runaway Bride," 1999, Garry Marshall Author: skotini Word Count: 30,044 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Arranged marriage (not between Harry and Draco), Infidelity if you squint (not between Harry and Draco)

Summary: OK, so Draco's feeling so nervous about his upcoming wedding to his fiancée Astoria Greengrass that he could faint. That's one of the pitfalls of an arranged marriage, right? Just because he's run out of his past three weddings, doesn't mean this one won't go ahead. He just has to keep his eyes on the finishing line, and ignore the sudden reappearance of Harry Potter, who seems to be determined to turn his world upside down. Again.

***

we were born to be national treasures

Prompt: "Legally Blonde", 2001, Robert Luketic Author: calledityellow Word Count: 4,979 words Rating: General Audiences Warnings: There is nothing triggering in the work, although it does heavily rely on the subject of needing academic validation as a woman in a patriarchal society.

Summary: Danica Malfoy is determined to study law and move forward in life. But is anything really ever that simple?

***

The Potters: Possessed Case

Prompt: "The Conjuring", 2013, James Wan Author: Nelween Word Count: 12,039 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Horror, blood, vomiting, mention of suicide, possession, exorcism

Summary: After a lecture, Harry and Draco meet a frightened woman, telling them that her entire family is scared to death of their new house.

But Harry and Draco wanted to take a break after a traumatising case. Maybe it's just natural causes and the house isn't haunted, right?

***

By the Book

Prompt: "The Proposal", 2009, Anne Fletcher Author: Olena Word Count: 14,586 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: It’s hard being Draco Malfoy: workaholic publishing professional extraordinaire. Between revolutionizing the Wizarding World and fighting with Harry Potter, his chief of staff, it makes sense Draco forgot to check his mother filed some paperwork. Oops. Easy enough to avoid deportation by saying he’s engaged to said manager.

Too bad that plan involves visiting Ottery St Catchpole, a gaggle of redheads, and defrauding the government.

***

this strange effect

Prompt: "Killing Eve" (2018 - 2022) Author: harDeehar Word Count: 30,670 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Violence, Blood and Injury, Assassinations, Killing Eve AU, Murder, Light Poisoning, Obsessive Behavior, Reference to past addiction issues, Presents

Summary: Harry hated his job, his cousin, and his inability to figure out how to fit into the boring, depressing world around him. He kept his peace until Draco Malfoy turned out to not be dead like Harry thought he was. Deadly, though? Harry was going to figure that out.

***

The Heart of the Heart

Prompt: "Howl's Moving Castle", 2004, Hayao Miyazaki Author: Poljupci Word Count: 52,775 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: Harry Potter’s boring routine comes crumbling down when he takes the wrong shortcut at the wrong time; he almost ends up in a brawl, gets rescued by a handsome stranger, successfully escapes sentient tar, learns to walk on air and then becomes victim to a spiteful, petty and undeserved ageing curse - and all that within a single afternoon! Now transformed into an old man, Harry decides to run away in search of a way to reverse the spell, but the path is precarious and the journey long. As he's trying to make his way through magic and treachery, danger and deceit, it's becoming abundantly clear that something more is hidden behind petty magic - something deeper and more valuable and connected all too thoroughly to what may only be classified as love.

***

End of Beginnings

Prompt: "All of Us Strangers", 2023, Andrew Haigh Author: LouisIsSoGolden Word Count: 5,324 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Canonical Character Death

Summary: As Harry and Draco start developing a relationship, Harry finds himself drawn back to the Potter house in Godric's Hollow, where his parents appear to be living just as they were on the day they died.

Based on the movie All of Us Strangers (2023) though you don't have to have seen it to understand the fic.

***

Love Will Abide

Prompt: "The Last of Us", Episode 3: "Long, Long Time", 2023 Author: dodgerkedavra Word Count: 39,547 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death, Suicide

Summary: Harry and Draco survive the apocalypse. This is what happens after.

***

Theme and Variations

Prompt: "Rush", 2013, Ron Howard Author: lucifergraced Word Count: 24,890 words Rating: Mature Warnings: brief mentions of (canonical) child abuse

Summary: Draco had fucked him over, yet again. Harry was sick of it.

With music swelling from the orchestra below, lights beating down on him hard enough to break a sweat before the first variation, the audience rapt with attention, this should have been the greatest moment of Harry’s life. But it wasn’t. Of course Draco fucking Malfoy had to ruin this for him too.

Harry took a shaking breath and began to dance.

***

Happiness Seems to be Loneliness

Prompt: "Saltburn", 2023, Emerald Fennell Author: newskyillusion Word Count: 29,811 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Unhinged Harry Potter, Dark Harry Potter, Obsessive Harry Potter, Character Death, Animal Death, Fat Shaming, Minor Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Inspired by Saltburn (2023), References to Frankenstein, Necrophilia, Off-scene suicide (mentioned)

Summary: Fucking Pansy was like fucking a fish. or Drarry meets Saltburn

***

Count On Me

Prompt: "Put Your Head On My Shoulder", 2019, Netflix Author: Shewhxmustnxtbenamed Word Count: 23,044 words Rating: General Audiences Warnings: fake dating, forced cohabitation

Summary: University students Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy run into each other one day. Literally. On bikes. After that, they can't get away from each other, no matter how hard they try. And then, it seems, they might not want to. Based heavily on the C-Drama "Put Your Head On My Shoulder" on Netflix.

***

Part 1 of this Master List with all the lovely podfics, art and more fics can be found here.

As always, reblogs here on tumblr are very much appreciated to promote all the wonderful works of LCDrarry. But of course, please also shower our creators with comments and kudos on AO3 ;D Thank you! Read you next year ;)

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searchingforserendipity25 · 9 months ago

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Trials By Fire (After).

Maglor afire post-Bragollach, for @maedhrosmaglorweek. Also on AO3.

Part 2 of this installment, with no need to read it first.

It does not seem possible that Maglor may survive the year.

So Maedhros wrote to the king - his new king, Fingon, along with his vows of fealty and the full promise to avenge Fingolfin, written and sealed in his own blood.

Maglor nearly followed his half-uncle. His flesh burned with a terrible fever. The whites of his eyes were fully red with smoke; he kept weeping, not with grief, but the poisonous grit that had become the fertile plains of the East.

He had refused to wash the last of the ash that had been his land; and barely permitted the healers to attend to him. He nearly went back to the Gap - would have gone without warning, if Maedhros had allowed it.

"Let go, release me," Maglor demanded.

Maedhros stood before him, between the landing and the gate. He had risen with a cold clarity of premonition, the sudden certainty - One whom you love is to die.

His voice broke and broke, until blood shone on his teeth. The power in it was a monstruous thing, filling the tall, tall stone halls of Himring.

He had been out of the healer's room and nearly down the staircases, enough beastly might in the ugly scrap of his throat to make ruthless warriors turn into peons, opening doors and gates for his passed.

Maedhros wielded in his hand his sheathed sword, the one he slept with like a lover beside him.

Release me, Maglor ordered with the fury of his mind, all his spirit warring against Maedhros; outraged, and betrayed truly to be held hostage.

Maedhros expelled his followers from the room - an effort of will, his dominion fighting against his brother's, and their own awareness flickering at the corner of his mind with animal terror.

And then he raised his blade from its sheath, without hesitation.

Maglor's best weapon had even been his voice - he had meant to make his way back to the Gap unaccompanied, none of his riders were about him.

He had ridden into safety for them, the lives bound to die with him if he had stood fast; he fled, now, as a thief in the night, dying of his wounds, alone, so that they might outlast him.

Maglor in his clear mind would not do such a thing. Maglor, Maglor as himself, took loyalty too solemnly; he would have given them the choice to follow him to the last, if he had been thinking clearly, and not wild with anguish. That was when Maedhros knew for certain what he must do.

Maedhros had his warriors close all the doors and all the windows, and leave them to their reckoning.

Maglor's face looked at him, repelled more than afraid at finding himself trapped. The worst of it was the bubbling foam at the corners of his mouth as he laughed, incredulous. Maedhros, he called. Nelyo, so you too are my enemy?

How could you allow this - how could you permit it! The East was yours to keep - look at what your keeping has made of us, O Lord of Himring!

Maedhros ignored his insults, his threats, his bragging and begging. He loved him too well not to press him back, back, back, down staircases and corridors.

Maedhros had to lift him up - bearing against his teeth and clawing fingers, pressing him down on the cold springs at the secret base of Himring's thermal baths. Maglor only went limp at last when Maedhros dunked and dipped and half-drowned him back to sense, when at last the terrible blood-fever in his receded.

It took many days, for that. A fortnight and more; and the harm of that time never lifted from him, and left its deep marks.

And years of silence. The healers did what they could, sang the open sore that was his mouth whole; it broke apart, again, again.

He coughed blood at night, stained scraps of cloth scarlet - Maedhros remembered the sail-cloths of Alqualondë, red on white, whenever he saw him wiping his mouth.

White scars engraved his cheek, from the broken length of his spread as it broke in many parts a gnashing dragon's teeth; and he did not speak for years.

Maedhros knew too well this despair, and loved him too much. He kept his closed away, at first. A high tower, the highest, with not even an arrow-slit to escape from.

Maglor's voice, closed like a fist in his throat; Maglor's face terrible and worse than terrible, the flaring of him as he paced the battlements, when he was permitted to walk, under Maedhros's own guard.

He sought always to see if someone was riding towards Himring, or away from it. Few of his riders had survived the great conflagration; few survived their flight. They went off into the wilds to ride against bands of orcs, or the rumours of Balrods or wyrms, as King Fingolfin had.

They meant to die, as King Fingolfin had.

Maedhros took to sharing his brother's cot, arms holding close his trembling limbs, lest he rise again in the dark before dawn and make for the stables, the scorched plains, the long homeward path back to what remained of the Gap.

Maglor wished it. Maglor wanted it with such a burning desire it left Maedhros breathless, painted the mirage of leaping dragon-fire behind his lids.

He went quiet and cold, that winter, once the fire left his veins - too cold, coals turning to cinders. He shook with chills, until he was wan and exhausted, and then longer still, and made no sound, gave up on the making of sounds.

He looked at Maedhros with a face empty, one eye blind - but it was the loss of his voice that defeated him. That, and Maedhros's unrelenting determination to make him live.

Let me go, release me, he had howled, until he could not any longer. His voice overlaid itself over memories of Angband, when Maedhros slept. The chains of Thangorodrim, and Maglor riding barely in front of a wave of fire, Maglor behind the thick steel-and-stone of Himring's highest tower, sweating through his fever and his fury.

The look on his face, when Maedhros raised him up from the water. At times he woke with the bones of his arms reverberating with the force of pressing him down, certain as he woke that he had done it - drowned him dead. He had to turn and check, make certain he was not in bed with a corpse bloated blue and black.

It did not seem possible that Maglor may survive the year. Maedhros was a mad fool set on accomplishing the impossible - in this one instance, at least, he earned a bitter victory.

Fingon, he suspected, envied it terribly - his dearest person, saved from the aftermath of Morgoth's flames. Maglor, Maedhros knew for certain, did not forgive him. He had not wished to live.

("Let me go," he had screamed, with the last of his beautiful voice wrecked to disharmony. "Do you not know it was always meant to end in this? Let me at the flames, Nelyo, it is my land, mine, no good shall follow if I do not die in it. I know this, if you bear me in your heart with any love at all you must release me -"

He kept fighting for the words, even when he could not speak, choking on them. Maedhros dreamed of that, too).

"Not this year yet," he cautioned, when at last he judged his brother well enough to be able to leave the tower, and give him the freedom to pay his due respect to the king. "Call your standards, your vassals and all the forces at their disposal, and all shall answer in full faith. But wait only one year more; the time is not yet come."

Maglor's voice should be fully his own again, by then. The healers agreed; and Maedhros knew it.

He dueled in the grounds, and fought anyone who dared to try him. His body, forged anew from a terrible crucible, healed its shattered ribs, its splintered femur, the cracks in his skull, the fine, fine fractures in his long fingers. He trained as the healers dictated, drank the bitter tinctures, ate well, worked a sweat of pain for hours as he strengthened his body again, and readied himself for the harp again with plucking loose strings.

Even Maedhros lost against him when they crossed blades, not once, but time and time again. It was a sight of beauty and dread, watching the two lords of the fortress spar.

Down on the training grounds, hands and knees in the dirt, looking up at his brother standing taller than him, for once - taller, fiercer, the whites of his eyes alight - Maedhros was very aware of the picture they painted, and the road he meant to take to keep that fire kindled.

For Maedhros had been brought to life himself with his brother's insistence, by the shores of Mithrim, knew to be patient. Ruthless, and patient, for the times when their blades crossed, and Maglor's face shone with a new passion, a flare of mirth.

It made no difference that Maglor grew dire, afterwards, and evaded all company, and would not look at him. Maedhros might lose the duel, but those brief smiles were his prize, and those he stole more and more often.

Maglor was nearly whole. Kept court once more with his own warriors, and kept some from their fateful rides, and blessed the ones who took their leave in honour.

Slowly, with his customary discipline, he learned his voice-box anew; carefully, inevitably. The face he turned always eastwards looked at Maedhros without resentment, now.

When he won, Maglor held out his hand to help him rise. Maedhros started to wait, to hope almost.

And when at last, at last, Maglor pressed close in his arms, weeping trails of salt against his neck, that was when Maedhros knew it was time to go to war; for together had never been as strong, or more certain to succeed.

#maglor #maedhros #maedhrosmaglorweek #silm fic #my fics #tolkien fanfiction #sons of feanor #feanorians

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hypersomnia-insomniac · 1 year ago

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TKR Men Taking Care of Their Sick Partner HCs

Characters: Hakkai, Mitsuya, Taiju

CW: None

Reader: GN w/ high fever/super sick

Part 2

Mitsuya

As much as he loves you, he will be wearing a mask and maintaining a 3 feet distance at all times. He has little sisters to take care of and a sewing club to run, getting sick is not an option.

He'll sit you on the couch swaddled in blankets with your favorite show/movie playing while he goes and cleans. Mitsuya's the type to clean so well that he'll leave things better than when he arrived.

If you're the type that has a chronic illness or get sick often, he'll make you a few sets of custom of PJs that are so comfortable you feel like you're floating on clouds.

Since he often cooks for his sisters and mom, you bet you're gonna get an easy to eat, nutritious meal that is so good you groggily propose to Mitsuya right then and there.

"I'll think about it. Get better first," he says calmly. Deep inside he's already designing your wedding outfits.

Once you're asleep, cuddling the plushy he made, Mitsuya will gently push your hair out of your face and just bask in your beauty.

"Sorry I can't cuddle with you, baby. I'll make it up to you when you're better, promise."

Hakkai

Even though the both of you have been dating for some time, Hakkai is still nervous when it's just the two of you. So, his visits will usually be with Takemichi or Yuzuha and you guys might play some games or watch some shows if you're up for it. He'll slide you some sweets or takeout you're craving as well.

If he visits by himself, however, that's different.

When he first enters your home, he's flustered. He hasn't been in your room before, especially not with just the two of you alone. But when he sees you passed out on your bed with a flushed face and heavy eyebags, he puts all his nervousness aside.

If you end up waking up a little, Hakkai will bend down beside your bed and caress your face.

"Ho- How ya feeling? Have you eaten yet?" He'll whisper, eyebrows furrowed.

You say no, and he gets straight to work. He lifts you gently from your bed and props you up on the couch. After opening the blinds just enough to let some needed light in without adding to your migraine, he'll unpack the soup he brought.

Let's be honest, no one can top Mitsuya's food, but he tried and that alone made you feel better.

Once you're done eating, he'll let you hold his hand or let you lay on his lap if you ask. Of course, Hakkai's face will be just as red as yours and trembling like a leaf. But, he loves you and you're already his partner, so he'll brave it.

Taiju

My HC for him is that he's a germaphobe, total clean freak. He hardly ever gets sick, but something about snots and boogers grosses him out. Taiju runs a tight ship, a clean ship.

He probably won't visit very often. If you're just sniffling a bit, he'll drop off food and snacks before leaving. Maybe a hug, and definitely no kiss.

If you're having a full on coughing fit and sneezing like your lungs are filled with dust, he isn't coming within 10 feet of you. Taiju will use his long limbs to keep you faaaar away from him.

Taiju is the type to call you and stare at you through a window scolding you for getting sick. You're tired of it, but you know he cares when he sends someone by with a goody bag.

It's usually Yuzuha or the cat and dog duo (Koko and Inui). Most often it contains medicine and food that he forced had someone make. If you're lucky you might even get a card!

"Get Well." It reads. You're unsure if it's heartwarming or a threat. Either way, you're happy.

Author's Note:

This is the first installment of my "Sick S/O" HC series! I'll be adding onto it as I watch the anime and read through the manga. I hope to do all the characters and eventually do a girl version, but I don't quite have a grasp on Senju's personality yet and I want to release all the girls in one post.

#mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi #hakkai x reader #hakkai shiba #taiju x reader #taiju shiba #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you

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teriri-sayes · 1 year ago

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TCF Author Q&A (Quick Summary)

Ridi, one of the Korean publishers of TCF/LCF, released an exclusive Q&A with Yoo Ryeo Han, the author of TCF, as a special feature for the release of the Korean ebook version of TCF.

The ebook has 5 volumes, spanning chapters 1-117 of Part 1. It costs around 12,960 won. The Q&A can only be viewed if you buy the ebooks.

Since the Q&A isn't publicly available for free, I won't post a full translation of it. Just a quick summary of it.

***

Q: How do you write the entire story? A: Set the overall flow, and write the details as I write. Ending has already been decided.

Q: Easiest or most difficult character to create a setting? A: Easiest - none. Most difficult - Choi Han.

Q: Character that changed the most from the initial setting? A: Alberu. Supposed to be an insignificant villain, but changed to someone who talks well with Cale when I came up with the glib tongue trait.

Q: Writer's block solution? A: Just write. Eventually, I become immersed and get ideas.

Q: Most important focus when planning the story? A: The characters. I like them to feel alive.

Q: Cat owner? A: Sadly, I'm not a cat mom.

Q: Writing routines? A: I write in the morning.

Open previous chapter

Play a puzzle game while listening to fave entertainment program

Choose music that suits the mood

Start writing

Q: Stress relievers? A: Before, eating. Now, weight lifting in the gym.

Q: Main characters's MBTI? A: Cale is an "I." I never thought about the others.

Q: Author's MBTI? A: Between INFJ and ISFJ. A relaxed J.

Q: Character you want to be a friend? A: Beacrox - he cooks delicious food Cale - he buys good meat Not CH because I hate strenuous exercise

Q: Modern AU of characters? A:

Raon: Kindergarten student On, Hong: Elementary school students Cale: Workaholic dreaming of a slacker life Choi Han: Fencer Alberu Crossman: Young CEO of the company Cale works in Rosalyn: Youngest professor Lock: High school student Ron: Doctor Beacrox: Chef Eruhaben: Building owner who runs a convenience store in his building and buys snacks for Raon, On, and Hong every day

Q: Character that makes you feel bad and care about because they're in pain? A: Lock. Lock-centric arc soon.

Q: Similarities with Cale? A: Doing nothing while resting and lying down.

Q: Best character line? A: Not a character line, but a sentence - "But it's worth a try." (Teriri: This sentence can be found on the first chapters of both Parts 1 and 2.)

Q: Fave scene? A: Raon Miru naming scene.

Q: Happiest scene? A: Cale coughing blood... When Cale and his friends are eating and resting.

Q: Most difficult to write scene? A: The past of the characters.

Q: How many chapters from start to end? A: No comment because I always get it wrong...

Q: Work environment? A: Write alone with background music. But no public places.

Q: What songs do you listen to? A: Pop songs.

Ed Sheeran – I See Fire

Sia – Alive

Sia – Floating Through Space

Keala Settle – This Is Me

Naomi Scott – Speechless

AKMU – Chantey

Ahn Ye Eun – Sailing

Younha – Oort Cloud

Q: Most important character setting? A: Disposition, way of life, goals, and atmosphere they exude.

Q: Setting that reflects author's preference? A: The Indestructible Shield.

Q: Scene you want to write the most? A: Has not come out yet.

Q: Do you like dumplings? A: I love them to the point my family is amazed that I'm not tired of it.

Q: You like misunderstandings, so are you a misunderstood person? A: No. I'm far from it.

Q: Snacks you eat when writing? A: Lots of water. I eat food during breaks.

***

And that's all. If you want to read the full Q&A and legally support the author, you can buy the ebooks on Ridi. It's only around 10 USD if you convert Korean won. Link here: https://ridibooks.com/books/111048924

However, you can't use Google Translate or screenshot it, so your solution is to have two devices. One has the ebook (either in PC view or in Ridi app), and the other device has the Google Translate app installed so you can use the camera to translate the text... Yeah, that's what happened to me. 🥲

#trash of the count's family #tcf ebook

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absolutebl · 1 year ago

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This Week In BL - These Are the Days of Our BLs

Aug 2023 Wk 2

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Laws of Attraction (Sat iQIYI) 5 of 8 - They cute making heart eyes at each other, but could we get back to punching & slutty silk shirts? OMG the poor rich kid & the bodyguard who wants to hug him SO BAD are KILLING me. I did giggle & yell “punchy punchies” during the fight scene before the fire. But Charn is a diamond-encrusted evil-gorgeous gremlin beastie, isn’t he?

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 1 of 10 - NO SINGING, but also.. wristbands! Sand is great = smart, snappy & over this shit. (Tired Gay 2.0) Neo & Mark are a revelation, where’d that chemistry come from? Force playing a douchenozzle is damn delight. Plus a counter lift in the first ep? Boys, you’re spoiling me. Mew is the least interesting, but Book is still adorable. Ray is the least likable character, but since it’s Khao, he’s the most likable screen presence. In fact, I’m enjoying all the messy messy gays & I know all their types IRL. I wish we had some femme & swish rep tho. Is this Thailand’s Queer as Folk? Seems like. Is it good? Not sure. But it is FUN as hell. Still, I gotta say it… they all dance like straight boys.

Hidden Agenda that isn’t hidden (Sun GMMTV YouTube) ep 5 of 10 - Zo just wants to turtle & avoid but Joke is not gonna allow that. GMMTV keeps having sub issues (usually fixed within a few days).

Low Frequency (Sat iQIYI) ep 6 of 8 - I do like the psychic gay detective trope. It makes this show more interesting and enjoyable. But they solved the mystery awful fast. I guess different drama spins the final 2 eps?

Be My Favorite (Fri YouTube) ep 12fin - It was fine. I was fine with it. A kind of Vice Versa situation. The usual with Jittirain, as it turns out, is pretty simple: one of her main characters is going to be a manipulative liar or extremely unlikeable or both. It got an 8/10 from me, but probably should get a 7/10 just because I’m so exhausted by this. But I have to be fair and judge each BL on its own & not in light of repeat author mistakes. Not much of a trash watch here. Final full review here.

Dinosaur Love (Sun iQIYI) ep 7 of 10 eps - Boyfriend trip together. Terrible overalls. What the fuck? No. Meanwhile, perfect choice for college star. (Could Ton please lead out a new BL? I know I’m 0 for 2 with him but I’m willing to try again if he is.) I actually enjoyed this installment for a change. Perhaps “enjoy” is too strong a word. Not much happened, dog days of BL, perhaps that’s a good thing with Dino?

Be Mine Super Star (Mon Viki) ep 6 of 12 - Mostly I was excited to watch this week because of Ben but there wasn’t much of him. Sadness. OK, I know it has STIFF competition but does this show have the worst music in BL, or is it just me? I still like Big Daddy & Hot Doc as characters but I am despairing over their arc (would we call it an arc?). All in all this week... Whatever.

Wedding Plan (Weds YT & iQIYI) ep 4 of 7 - I am officially being driven to drink. Trash watch is happening!

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Jun & Jun (Korea Thurs Viki) 4 of 8 - This show makes me laugh so much. It is so damn cute. And there’s so much language play going on. THEN . . . JUST ADD SIMON. I love a good Simon. Who doesn’t love a good Simon? I know SO MANY Simons. Now 3 boys are circling the ingénue (who I suspect is less innocent than he appears). So much delightful competition, postering & flirting. “My Jun,” is he, Simon? You are a precious angular stalk man, aren’t you? Pacing is great with this show. Every week I can’t wait for the next installment, that’s a hallmark of the best KBLs. If the language stuff confused you as much as it did me here is an EXCELLENT post on the subject that will help.

Stay By My Side (Taiwan Fri Gaga) 7 of 10 eps - Sweetest seme. He’s hurt & mad at his boy but still can’t help taking care of him. I do like the courting with snacks & sweet little notes. (It’d work on me.) YAY! Reunion kisses & nuzzles!!! Snuggling!!!! Gah! Taiwan, I love you. These 2 aren’t your best kissers but their cuddling is off the charts. I guess we are just gonna be plotless messy gay bfs for the final 3 eps? That’s cool with me.

Sing My Crush (Korea Weds iQIYI) 3-4 of 8 eps - it’s adorable, they’re adorable, I’m enjoying it a whole lot. It’s like a very soft, low-stakes Addicted.

Love Class Season 2 (Korea Fri Viki) 10 eps - I liked Love Class 1 (more than most on Tumblr) & I normally don’t want 2nd seasons. But this has an entirely new cast (in the “Replay” model). I’m fine with a 2nd season that has little or nothing to do with the first. J-min is an interesting choice of idols but he’s doing an unexpectedly good job. (He is a truly great rapper, by the way.) Trigger warnings out the gate... also this is complicated. Ready? We got 3 queer besties: artist gay Hyun (J-min), shy cafe gay Minwoo (in love with), sunshine gym bunny bi slut Maru (represent, my brother). Then we got Mr Put-upon-TA (+ boy who saw him nekid). And the twist = all black otaku Kim An (used to tutor artist gay in high school = exes ghosting DRAMA). This last reads as a hyung romance. Which you know I love. But it also feels v dark. All of which is to say, I am intrigued but a little nervous over the tone.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 1 of 8 - Classic JBL is back! This one is My Beautiful Man + Tokyo in April/Oh My Assistant. It’s odd and warped af but I like it. Very much has a the feel of old live action yaoi + VERY D/s. BRING IT JAPAN.

Minato's Laundromat Season 2 AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry Season 2 (Japan Thu Gaga) 6 of 12 eps - Shin is my sweet bean sprout and Minato should just boink him. Why all this waffling? I love the doctor. But mostly I’m as frustrated with this show as Shin must be in general. Minato 2- the season of blue balls.

Stay Still (Hong Kong Tues YouTube) 2 of 5 eps - I re-watched the first 2 eps & now find it a bit more comprehensible (yes 2: there is an ep 0). I don’t think we can expect this to end happy for either couple. It’s kinda sticky & grungy (in a way I’ve come to expect from the Philippines, although this is not as cluttered visually nor as brightly colored as the Pinoy stuff). I do kind of like that lived-in feeling, it reminds me of Taiwanese shorts. There is something very honestly queer about the primary leads (tattoo & babyface) in particular the way they dance queer? around each other: verbally, emotionally & physically - laying down breadcrumbs of gay for the other to follow. The secondary couple (reunion, cheating) is very sad. Although I do love a counter lift make-out sesh. (Occasionally Cantonese sounds like Vietnamese to me. Apparently I am not alone in this.)

Gossip - AKA P’ABL is Disappointed

I was gonna put a statement here but I just did it separately, earlier this week, since my ask box was overflowing regarding actor gossip and other stuff.

Meanwhile, Stay With Me ended exactly as expected. Can’t say I didn’t warn ya. You watched this anyway? You got what was coming to you. I am entirely unsympathetic.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Look at that PACKED week. NIIICEEEE.

Starting:

8/18 Dangerous Romance (Thai Fri GMMTC YT) 12 eps - Perth returns to lead out a BL, odds on that ever happening were slim. (Let alone Chimon.) Still here we are. Interesting times. Chimon plays a poor studious kid who hates the school bully but is forced to become his private tutor. Lurv results.

8/19 Love in Translation (Thai Sat One31) 10 eps - Two strangers start working in a cafe together. Looks very pulp. No idea on international distribution.

8/19 I Feel You Linger in the Air (Thai Sat Gaga) 12 eps - The time travel historical romance many of us have been waiting for. Adaption of y-novel by Violet Rain. Heartbroken architect is transported to the 1930s. From the producers of Lovely Writer.

8/20 My Universe series (Thai Sun iQIYI) 24 eps - This is sampler pack BL, 12 pairs, each pair gets 2 eps, not sure on the order they’ll drop. Known couples include EarthBank from Destiny Seeker and KaownahTurbo from Love Stage!!!, fresh faces otherwise. Jane to direct.

Still Coming in August 2023

8/22 Kisseki: Dear to Me formerly known as Miracle (Taiwan Tues ????) 13 eps - From screenwriter Lin Pei Yu (We Best Love, H3: Trapped) features a student doctor forced to take care of a gangster. I love the premise and like the writer, Viki or Gaga will get this one.

8/23 Why R U? (Korean remake iQIYI) is supposed to be out this month, filming started in sept 22. I find everything about this hilarious. I mean if Korea remakes it, we lose all the sexy and then... would we have a story at all? No we would not. Not even for six short eps. It’d be like one of those mesh shopping bags.

8/24 Man Suang (Thailand movie, domestic cinema release) - historical drama about Thai burlesque with KP’s MileApo.

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED)

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Talking grandkids. Made me snicker. (Low Frequency.)

The waist grab that launched a thousand gifs (Laws of Attraction). Okay it was last week but I gotta chronicle it here in the weeklies. For science.

Sing My Crush. They are so damn cute.

Thank you for the counter action GMMTV, please Sirs, may I have another?

Captain snark in the house. Of course they handed the best and most complex pairing to these two. Well done GMMTV. (Only Friends)

I really did not expect J-Min to be this good. (Love Class 2)

(Last week)

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thesims4blogger · 2 months ago

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EA Shares Details on the Upcoming “Reaper’s Rewards Event”

On a new blog post, EA shares detailes about the upcoming Reaper’s Rewards Event.

Unlike the last season of Login Events, this time players will actually have to complete tasks in live mode in order to get the rewards.

As previously announced, the event starts on September 24th. Read all details below.

Reaper’s Rewards Event

Work with Grim to discover the secrets of Ambrosia, earn Event Points, and unlock bone-chilling rewards!

Get ready for a free, limited-time Event where you'll need to venture into Live Mode to participate.

The Grim Reaper is reaching out to you…but don’t be afraid to answer since it seems Grim wants your help. And the best part? You'll be rewarded for your efforts throughout the Event, with one being a brand new Lot Challenge, Scare Seeker, where Sims will get excited instead of scared while on the lot!

How Does it Work?

Open Live Mode with an existing or new Household. After a short wait, The Grim Reaper will call upon you!

The Event will run for eight weeks, with two exciting Quests each week. Your journey begins by assisting Grim with researching Ambrosia, a special Gourmet dish that can lift any Sim’s spirits. As the weeks progress, you’ll continue to unlock the secrets of Ambrosia and eventually learn how to cook it! The more Quests you complete, the more Event Points and rewards you’ll earn.

Make sure you’re online. Log in to your EA account.

Enter Live Mode, and you’ll see the first pair of Quests, which start with a pop-up. In Live Mode, you can access the Event Screen by clicking on the Event Icon!

Earn Event Points by completing Quests and Goals. As you earn Event Points, you’ll be able to claim new rewards.

Claim your rewards through the Event Screen in the Main Menu or Live Mode by selecting Claim. Note: You must be in Live Mode to claim Consumable Rewards.

Claimed rewards will be available in Build Mode, Create a Sim, or your Sim’s Inventory. You can filter to view Event rewards with the Event Rewards filter under the Special category in both Create a Sim and Build Mode. For more help with claiming rewards, check out our EA Help article.

Each week, two new Quests will be available. Complete these Quests to earn more Event Points and unlock new rewards!

The Reaper’s Rewards Event will have six weeks of Quests and two extra weeks at the end, so there’s plenty of time to catch up and complete it!

Claim the Reaper’s Rewards to create a goth-chic Sim who revels in a good scare, or just enjoy a chance to get to know Grim a little better! Rest assured, your claimed rewards are stored on your EA account, so you do not need to worry about losing them.

Week 1

Summon The Grim Reaper with The Grimophone to listen to your favorite tunes! Sport your new Earrings of Imminent Demise while thrilling Sims with scares using the new Scare Seeker Lot Challenge.

Week 2

Get comfy in the new Trad Goth Jeans while simultaneously brushing up on multiple skills with The Green Lady’s Lost Tome. This Tome allows you to gain skills in Gardening, Cooking, and Fishing all at once!

Week 3

Make sure your Sims wear the proper footwear with the Trad Goth Buckled Boots while taking a ride around the neighborhood on Grim’s Cruiser Bicycle.

Week 4

Like the Life & Death Tattoo, the Portrait of Lady Mimsy Alcron Shallot in the Garden is a true piece of haunting art. Just don’t look too long, or things could get a little toasty.

Week 5

Get dressed up with the Trad Goth Button-Up while flexing your Mixology skills by crafting the new Spectral Spritzer drink. This drink will turn your Sim into a temporary ghost!

Week 6

If your Sim has bags under the new Prowling Peepers eyes, catch up on some eternal Z’s with Casket of Quiet Repose.

FAQ

Do I need to log in to my EA account?

A: Yes, by logging into your EA account, you save your Event progress and the rewards you earn from this Event to the account. That way, if you ever need to install The Sims 4 again, you simply need to log back in to gain access to your rewards!

Are these rewards really free?

A: Yes, these rewards are free when you claim them through the Event Screen. Once claimed, the rewards for this Event will be available in the Base Game.

What about SDX releases, I thought those were to provide free content and updates!

A: Sims Delivery Express drops aren’t going away, but we're always looking for new and novel ways to deliver gameplay, as well as objects and clothing to add to your Sims' lives. You can still expect SDX releases throughout the year as well as new Events to engage with The Sims 4 throughout the seasons.

What if I log in and don’t see the Event?

A: The Event starts on 9/24 at 7 a.m. PST and ends on 10/12. Please make sure you are online and logged into your EA Account. If you still do not see it, you may need to restart The Sims 4 or disable any UI mods you have installed.

Will this be available to Everyone?

A: Yes! The Reaper’s Reward Event will be available to everyone starting 9/24, and you won’t need any Packs to participate.

What are Event Points?

A: Event Points are a limited-time measurement for the Reaper’s Rewards Event that allows you to claim free rewards. As you earn Event Points, you progress along an experience track and can claim rewards along the way.

How do I earn Event Points?

A: Each Quest Objective in a quest gives Event Points. Mousing over the Quest will have a tooltip telling you how many points you will earn. Completing the entire Quest nets additional Event Points. Once you have enough, you can claim rewards.

Do I have to spend Event Points?

A: Your Event Points are a cumulative total. When you claim a reward, you still stay at the same Event Point total, so your Event Points aren’t actually “spent.”

What happens if I have leftover Event Points?

A: Grim is offering a finite number of rewards. If you claim them all and still have Event Points, don’t worry! Your Event Points cannot be used for anything other than the Reaper’s Rewards Event and will expire when the Event is over.

Can I still complete the Event if I start late?

A: Yes, the event will run for 8 weeks. If you start late, you will have access to all the previous week’s Quests.

#news #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4

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henrysglock · 8 months ago

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[Kazoo Kid voice] Wait A Minute...Who Are You?

ANOTHER installment of the Cracks and Mirrors series...this time tied (haha) to Brenner's ties. Yeah. Ties. Plural. This is going to be a long one. Where to begin.

#1: The Ties

If you can make sense of that, more power to you. Here's what you really need to know:

Meaning these 5 guys are different from each other:

Wonderful! I hate it here.

Interestingly enough, this guy is the only guy we see the doors to El's stairwell with:

Now, it finally makes sense why none of these blood patterns match:

BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT THE SAME GUY/SCENARIO.

All of this, of course, ties back to what I said in September about Ten's changing test room regarding shot choices, prop movements, and color grading fuckery: It's not the same room continuously.

These two, however, seem to be set in variations on the same universe:

And they both end in an infuriating camera cut to (in Brenner's case) a completely different guy. (smash cut to my post about how if El's experience is lifted from Brenner's memories, then Brenner should have seen One killing Two, like El did)

Anyway, what we can glean from this is that Running Brenner's universe is one of the top row, but not any of the bottom row:

(i.e. It's at least a variation on a) the taped version of El's first NINA experience and b) Henry's electrocution. It is not, however, any of the other versions of El's NINA entrance, as far as we've been shown...which is consistent with the multiple versions of NINA we seem to be seeing overall.)

Okay. Good? Good. Moving on.

#2: Tying the Ties (to the Rainbow Room)

As I just mentioned, the Brenner in the hallway isn't the Brenner who runs into the Rainbow Room. And as far as I can tell, Rainbow Room Brenner doesn't appear in the hallway shots:

Rainbow Room Brenner, as far as I can tell, seems to be this Brenner:

And so, of course, the part you all knew was coming...

#3: Tying the Ties (to the Cracks)

Yeah. We're fucked. We got a bunch of different guys.

If you're just tuning in, I suggest you take a peek at the original Cracks and Mirrors post (the other installments of which can be found in my pinned post)...but for time being I've lifted the most relevant portion:

Now. These cracks have associated Brenners:

No Gate and Gate, respectively.

Not only are these two Brenners not the same guy, they're also not any of the guys we saw running around or the guy who burst into the Rainbow Room:

Adding lines would make this more confusing, so just go ahead and squint at them all. You'll see what I'm on about pretty quickly, since I've circled the important bits.

But...Surprise! We now have seven Brenners! (My apologies for the fucking crunchy as hell "looks like the visual representation of an earrape video" cracks Brenners, it's just that the lighting is shit and I can see fuck all if I leave them as-is)

So. A Tale Of Seven Brenners...or so you THOUGHT. (Because fuck me, that's why.)

#4: More Fucking Ties!!

Of course, none of these Brenners are this weird fucker with blood all over his face:

Many such cases, because none of them account for this Brenner from earlier in 4.01 who's shown with a) an incorrect tie and b) incorrect hair (shown here with "correct" Brenner) either:

...Which I talked about here.

YUP. WE HAVE AT LEAST NINE BRENNERS.

Now...I still have questions about this last Brenner ^ being shown as a reflection in his mirror at home, as opposed to Brenner in the massacre who does not reflect in the Rainbow Room mirror (both in 4.01 AND 4.08, respectively):

But for now...that's beside the point.

Closing Tangential Note:

Isn't it funny how everything electronic is going super haywire...except the camera and the card reader...and the lights in the hallway that doesn't exist on any of the HNL specs we have..........funny how that works:

You could argue that the camera and card reader are on a generator/backup circuit...I just didn't think powers-usage picked and chose which circuits it affected like that.

And before anyone goes "Oh but James, there is a light flickering in the hallw—" YEAH. THE ONE SINGULAR LIGHT HENRY JUST SMASHED WITH THE BODY OF A GROWN MAN. LOOK BEHIND EL WHEN THE DOUBLE DOORS OPEN. FLASHING LIGHTS? I DON'T THINK SO.

AS OPPOSED TO WHEN POWERS ARE BEING USED NEARBY, WHEREIN ALL THE LIGHTS FLASH:

OKAY. OKAY. SO IT'S WEIRD THAT THE LIGHTS IN THE HALL BEHIND THE DOOR WOULDN'T BE FLASHING. THEY SHOULD BE FLASHING. BUT THEY'RE NOT.

It's almost like, by passing through those doors, El has entered the "plot", so to speak. Like when you hit a save checkpoint, or leave a "safe" space in a video game (staring at you, Resident Evil: Biohazard). She wanders through the safe but horrific "context" sequence, then she enters the unskippable "villain lore drop" cutscene, and then she's in the Boss Fight sequence. Babygirl, you are just a cog in the machine!!

#martin brenner #st makeup #st hair #st nina project #st set design

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angryschnauzer · 2 years ago

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As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 6

Summary: Finding a new life in a new town, you stumble upon a Honey farmer at the town market. You both have pasts that have shaped the way you now live your lives, but can you find a way of putting them behind you to find happiness?

Pairing: ‘Lucas’ Syverson x Female Reader

Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sandcastle (Movie).

Ongoing Genre: Fluff, Angst, and Smut

Story Warnings: Slight Angst, Talk of a car accident in the past, Anxious Sy, Mild Embarrassment, First Date Nerves, Kissing, NSFW, 18+, Smut, Fingering, Grinding, Hot Tub Frolics, Handjob, Titty Sucking, Nudity.

Chapter 6 Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Fingering, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Angst, talk of abusive past relationship

Wordcount: 2222

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5,

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert each time i post something new. My AO3 also has my entire back catalogue of stories (going back to 2013).

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 6

Sy had a spring in his step as he returned to his truck, the box from Antonios tucked under his arm and he was thankful he’d left Akia at home for this trip as she would be happy snuffling around in the yard on the long tether he’d installed. He made sure the box was carefully wedged into the passenger side footwell before circling the truck and climbing in, whistling a happy tune as he started the truck and backed out of the space. He was in his own little world and didn’t see his cousin Walter wave to him or hear him call out his name.

The drive to your place was fairly short, and as he waited at stop signs and went in turn he mulled over in his head all the things he was going to tell you and share the good news. When he finally reached your house he pulled onto the driveway and smiled when he saw you in the garden, hanging laundry on the line so it billowed in the breeze, that same breeze making the hem of your summer dress flip and dance, revealing your soft thighs and the curve of your ass. He didn’t even realise he’d done it but you heard the low growl of appreciation he’d let out as he stood near your porch.

“Sy!” you called, abandoning the remaining laundry in the hamper and running across the lawn to him. He wrapped his free arm around your waist and pulled you to him, holding the box out of the way as you kissed. When you finally pulled apart you rested your hands on his chest;

“To what do I owe this honour of a surprise visit?”

“Just been to Antonios” he said with a grin, lifting the box a little.

“Oh this sounds like good news… what’s in the box?”

Sy smirked;

“Something juicy and round i have to pour my honey over and sprinkle with nuts”

Raising your eyebrows you pretended to be curious whilst trying not to giggle, instead you let out a small shriek as Sy wrapped an arm around you, cupping your ass before hoisting you up onto his hip and you wrapped your legs around his waist; “I’ll show you inside”

In the cool shade of the cottage he set you down on the old wooden surface of your kitchen table, his arm never leaving your back as he stood between your legs. That arm slid up your back and to the back of your neck, curling in your hair as he gently pulled your head back so he could kiss you. At some point he must have set the box down as you felt his other hand cup your cheek, before his fingertips softly brushed over the top of your chest, and he all out grabbed a handful, grunting into your mouth. Breaking the kiss you pressed your forehead to his;

“I so want your mouth on me but i also want to know what happened at Antonio’s”

Sy smirked;

“I guess i could get you started with my fingers”

With a low growl he pushed your legs further apart, his big hand sliding beneath the skirt of your dress and cupping your pussy in his palm;

“Already so warm and wet for me” he muttered as he pulled the soft cotton to one side and his thick fingers tenderly dragged through your folds; “The meeting was incredible… the main man himself agreed that i have a by far superior product”

“I can vouch for that” you interrupted, grinning as you confidently cupped Sy through his jeans, enjoying the feet of his hardness growing beneath the denim.

“As i was saying…” he cut in as he slid two thick fingers into you; “With the onset of summer and customers wanting lighter flavours, he’s placed a standing order for twelve jars weekly for the next three months, to be reviewed at that point”

“That’s amazing!”

“Which part?” he grinned; “The honey order or what I'm doing to your honey pot?” crooking his fingers just right as he found that spot deep inside that made you see stars.

“Both! BOTH!”

“That’s my good girl,” Sy muttered.

Just as you were about to cum he pulled his fingers away, you were about to complain but were cut off as you watched him get to his knees in front of you. Those ice blue eyes stared up at you when he reached both hands under your skirt to push it up, before pulling your panties down. Leaning back on the table you lifted your ass so he could get them off, his strong hands holding your thighs open as he gratuitously stared your pussy.

“Such a beautiful peach” he praised before pushing closer, his wide tongue licking a firm stripe through your petals. He grunted at your taste hit his tongue and you watched as his eyes fluttered shut as if it was the sweetest nectar he’d ever tasted. His tongue worked magic against your clit, pulling you rapidly to the edge of an orgasm, before he pulled away;

“Hey!” you went to protest before you realised he was quickly pulling his t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside before he wrapped his strong arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table. He dived right back in, this new position having you spread wider as he could control the angle of your thighs, this time his tongue was pushing into your velvet channel as he curled one hand around the top of your thigh to rub firm circles against your clit. He was like a man starved; his mouth never leaving you and for a second you wondered if he would need to come up for air, but as the pleasure built in your body your mind went blank and you forgot of Sy’s need for oxygen.

Your hands reached for something to grip onto, your fingertips sliding on the wood of the table before you reached down and ran your fingers through Sy’s short cropped hair, silky to touch and just long enough to curl and hold onto. His grip on your thighs got tighter as he could feel your orgasm approaching, never relenting with his ministrations until you came with a cry, your legs shaking as they tightened around his head.

“Oh Sy…Sy…” you praised, laying on the kitchen table as he pressed tender kisses to your inner thighs. As your mouth was currently disconnected from your mind you kept whispering his name, until your brain connected with its auditory sensors and realised you could hear a light tapping on the glass window of the old door to the back yard; “Sy…” your mind caught up with what you were seeing; “Walter…”

Sy stopped and immediately popped his head up;

“Walter? What the…?”

You suddenly realised the Sheriff was standing at the door, a shocked look on his face as he saw you and his cousin in the positions you were. Your brain caught up and you hastily pushed your dress down as you squeaked and pointed at the door, Sy looking to the door and his face darkened; “What the fuck does he want?” he grumbled as he pulled himself to his feet and crossed the room in three strides, yanking the door open;

“Walt…”

The burly Sheriff held his hands up, the file he was holding hitting the door;

“Sy, i’m sorry. But this is important”

Sy nodded and went to step outside;

“Okay, we can talk in the yard”

But Walter didn’t move, instead he gripped the file with both hands and looked to you;

“Sy it’s not you i’m here to speak to”

A shiver ran down your spine as you saw the name on the file. With as much grace as you could muster you hopped off the table and tidied your skirt;

“Sheriff… Walter, please could you wait in the living room, i’ll be with you in a moment”

He nodded, waited for Sy to step aside before he quickly crossed the room and disappeared from view. Sy quickly came back to you, scooping his t-shirt from the floor;

“Is everything OK?”

You hadn’t realised you were hugging yourself, chewing nervously on your lip;

“I don’t know. It may be about the restraining order, that was the file he was holding”

Sy paused and blinked a few times before he shook his head as if trying to get his mind around something he hadn’t all the information for;

“Do I need to go?”

Shaking your head you pressed your hand to his chest, the skin warm to touch and a comfort;

“No, please stay. You deserve to know about my past”

With a sigh he nodded, turning his crumpled t-shirt in his hands before discovering the soft pink of your underwear, holding them out to you;

“Think these are yours” he said with a small smile.

It was tough but you matched his smile, and as the two of you silently redressed, your stomach flipped as it tightened with nerves. You didn’t want to leave what seemed like the comfort of your kitchen, but Walter had promised if he ever got an alert you’d be the first to know.

You sat on your couch, the photo gripped between your fingers. The still shot from a traffic cam at the state border on Interstate 94 was clear as day. Your blood ran cold.

“All deputies have been put on alert to look out for his car” Walter said quietly; “He told his parole officer he was heading to San Francisco when he had his final meeting a couple of weeks ago. I set the alert up at the borders and this is when he crossed from North Dakota into Montana. We’re all the way over the other side of the state, he could still just be taking this route coast to coast. I’ve reached out to the Butte City Police just for any alerts when he passes through to see if he heads south from there”

Walter’s words were not reassuring. You hadn’t realised you’d been nervously tapping your foot on the floor until Sy softly put his hand on your knee;

“Whatever you need Honey, i’m here” he paused; “But it would help if i knew what we were dealing with”

You took a deep breath. You were nervous, no, you were scared out of your mind to tell Sy, but he deserved to know. Nodding, you held the photo out;

“This is James. My… husband”

“Your… what?” Sy asked, cocking his head to one side, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Ex-husband” Walter added; “The Massachusetts courts granted the divorce without him present”

You nodded, turning to Sy and lifting your gaze to his. You could feel tears threatening to spill as you gathered the courage to speak;

“I…” you tried to continue but your words disappeared into a gurgle as tears started to flow, the memories too painful. You needed to get out of the room, to clear your mind. Standing you ran for the door, letting it slam shut behind you.

Sy looked from the door to Walter and back again;

“Could you please tell me what’s going on?”

Walter stood, pulling out his phone;

“I need to call her emergency contact”

He stood at the window as he started to make a call, handing Sy the file.

As Sy opened the battered brown folder his heart sank as he started to read the details. Page after page of background information, photographs of injuries, reports from First Responders and the ER Department. The final pages were details of the restraining order, of the change of last name for identity protection, and that her emergency contact was Tamara the veterinarian that Sy took Akia to for shots and flea treatments. Setting the file back down onto the coffee table he looked up at Walter who was standing silently by the window having finished his call;

“She’s standing out by the Lavender, looking out at the meadow… I’ve called Tamara, she’s on her way”

“I’m going out to see her”

“What are you going to say?”

Sy paused at the doorway;

“I don’t know. But i’m going to show her that i’m here for her”

The wind played over the long grasses in the meadow as you watched the dark clouds on the horizon building, a spring storm brewing to ruin the run of good weather. Heavy footsteps on the lawn brought your attention to the present, before you felt a pair of strong arms softly wrap around you, gently pulling you to rest your back on a firm chest. A bearded kiss pressed to the side of your head and Sy’s voice was quiet;

“Whatever you need, i’m here for you”

Turning you nodded, pressing your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of his aftershave and laundry detergent. You heard the tell tale squeal of Tamara’s car as it roared over the slight hill from town, the grinding of gravel as she pulled up abruptly at your cottage. Turning to Sy, you spoke with a quiet tone;

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead;

“Of course you can”

Chapter 7 >>>

#as sweet as honey #sy x reader #captain syverson #syverson #henry cavill

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siriuslysatorusimping · 5 months ago

Text

Fight Like You Mean It (Another Level - Installment 7, Part 1)

Summary:

Gojo froze instantly, his entire body tensing. From how his jaw unclenched, she knew his eyes were widening in shock behind his blindfold. “Did you just-?” Nanami cut his own question off, his laughter a genuine sound that had his shoulders shaking as he dropped his head and pushed his glasses up. “Oh,” he cackled, lifting his eyes to stare straight into hers. “That’s more than I wanted to know about either of you.” She wanted the ground to swallow her.

AN: I fell behind on posting these here because I decided to take this as my opportunity to make some revisions/edits. I also struggled with creating these panels that I feel too committed to making to turn back now 🙃

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Fight Like You Mean It - Part 1 2011

Rinko huffed as her back hit the ground hard, glaring up at Gojo as he grinned down at her smugly.

He still had his blindfold on, which infuriated her more than she’d admit aloud while he easily tossed her around the small clearing they were using to train.

With her solo exam only a few weeks away, she had to be ready for anything. The intense training sessions were pushing her to improve quickly, but they knew it wasn’t enough to match what they knew she’d be facing.

“Fuck,” she rasped, her double straining while it fought. Its view began taking over, and she struggled to stay present in her own body.

“Don’t focus on that,” Gojo ordered, scowling as he watched her lose her grip. He yanked her back to her feet. “Focus on the fight in front of you.”

“Technically, they’re both in front of me–”

He didn’t let her finish her retort, advancing on her swiftly and forcing her to dodge out of the way of his fists. Leaping back, she winced when Nanami slammed her double into a tree. She turned her head in time to see two different views of his wrapped blade slicing the tree in half when her double scrambled out of the way.

“Hey!” Rinko called indignantly, “I thought we said no weapons–”

Her words cut off, the breath leaving her lungs once again as Gojo took advantage of her distraction to haul her off her feet with a kick to her chest.

“Shit,” she gasped, her back hitting the ground hard and her double vanishing. “Timeout!”

“Denied.” Gojo crossed his arms as Nanami straightened and tucked his blade under his arm. “You’re not gonna be able to beat anything with where you’re at right now, forget passing that exam.”

The words stung, but she had no room to argue. She still wasn’t ready for her exam.

“Get up,” Gojo commanded, raising his eyebrows when she didn’t move. “Curse won’t stop attacking just because you’re tired, Kurisaki. Get. Up.”

A groan of pain escaped when she tried to push herself back up, her body refusing to listen to her pleas. She knew she needed to move unless she wanted to be in even more pain. After a few deep breaths, she managed to roll over and force her shaking legs beneath her to stand.

Gojo bore down on her immediately, drawing a startled yelp from her as she arched under his leg.

“Keep. Moving,” he instructed, not pausing his relentless flurry of blows. “You’d already be dead if I weren’t holding back.”

Narrowly blocking a punch with her forearm, the resounding tremor vibrated through her entire body. This was the strongest holding back. His blows contained almost no cursed energy, but he didn’t need it to force her to stay on the defensive and push her to her limits. The knowledge made frustration boil in her veins as she moved, clenching her jaw and ignoring the looming threat of her legs collapsing beneath her.

Without her double active, Nanami joined the fray, ensuring she had absolutely no chance to escape the onslaught of attacks. She ducked beneath his fist, her breath stuttering slightly when she barely managed to avoid his blade, the dotted pattern a blur as it whooshed past her face.

“Where’s your technique?” Gojo pressed, sounding irritated as she dropped to the ground to try and avoid his fist. “You’ve gotta use it if you wanna make this a fair fight.”

Nothing could make this a ‘fair fight.’ Not when she had two incredibly powerful sorcerers leaving no room for her to breathe. Even with her double, she was forced to split her attention between both fights, unable to focus entirely on either one.

Rolling out of the way, Rinko growled in frustration at the sight of Nanami’s blade sticking out of the ground where her head had been just seconds earlier.

“We said no weapons!” she griped, whipping around at the sound of Gojo’s tut behind her.

“I said you couldn’t use weapons,” he countered, landing a blow to her shoulder before she could move. “Nanami can use whatever he wants because he’s not the one who asked for help. You need to learn this technique without relying on your knives.”

He was right. She knew he was right. Still, she couldn’t stop the inhuman sound from escaping in response.

“Where is it?” Gojo demanded again, his leg sweeping underneath hers and knocking her to the ground again. “You’re already breaking the rules, Kurisaki. You’re supposed to have it up throughout this entire fight-”

“It’s fucking hard!” she hissed, her lungs burning as she sucked in labored breaths.

His expression didn’t change, telling her she was on thin ice with his temper when he ignored the chance to make a joke he would normally cackle at. He inclined his head, giving her a moment to activate her technique, but she was on borrowed time.

Focusing as she stood, she squared her shoulders and muttered under her breath, “Cursed Technique, Perfect Double.”

Her energy split, her double appearing behind Nanami to level him with a swift kick to his side. The grunt he released sent a twinge of satisfaction through her, feeling smug that she’d caught him off guard. She chose to ignore the fact that she knew the trick wouldn’t have worked on Gojo, which she’d been reminded of hours earlier when she tried switching things up.

The attack he used to annihilate her double had been filled with so much cursed energy that it glowed bright purple, sending a shockwave through the clearing. He’d looked almost insulted when he turned to face her, sliding his blindfold back into place arrogantly.

“Pathetic,” he’d stated flatly. “You thought that would get me? Really?”

She’d known it wouldn’t, but she had hoped–

“Don’t forget that you aren’t out of this yet,” the said devil-incarnate barked, resuming his attack now that she’d reactivated her technique. “You don’t get to take a break and let it do all the work. If you let yourself drift off like that, you’ll get yourself killed.”

The urge to use her knives grew with each second, and she clenched her jaw while he made a noise that sounded like a hiss.

“Don’t,” he warned, pausing briefly, feigning a break. She knew better than that, though. “You draw your knives, and I quit holding back. Shoko is a good thirty-minute hike away, an even longer drive, and I’m not warping you to her if you really get hurt. So you’d better think before you try to cheat in this fight.”

“The fight is already unfair!” she huffed indignantly, swapping with a duplicate so she could try to surprise him. “Cursed Technique, Shadow Step.” Using her echoes as cover, she continued to complain, “You’ve taken away my strongest–”

“They aren’t your strongest asset,” he cut her off, barely lifting a finger as he dispelled her echoes. “You’re stupid if you think they are.”

Ignoring his comment, she pushed forward, trying to stay on the offense with him while her double did the same with Nanami.

“You don’t get to use them as a crutch,” Gojo asserted, dodging her fists easily. “Your blades are a tool that you should use as such. Not a fucking crutch you get to lean on when things get difficult.”

She hissed at that, feeling her irritation start to rise.

“I don’t–”

“You do,” he cut her off, grasping her arm mid-strike and using her momentum to fling her into a tree. “You’ve got a fucking incredible cursed technique at your disposal, and you choose to rely on your knives instead because they’re easy. Honestly, I expected better of you, Kurisaki. You’re acting weak.”

The impact didn’t hurt as much as she expected, having braced for it just in time. Landing on her knees instead of her back, she growled in frustration.

He was purposefully trying to rile her up, and that made her angrier than the words themselves.

She’d worked hard on her knives, spent the better part of five years charging them with her cursed energy and creating her cursed sheath so she could have them at all times. And she was proud of them.

“They aren’t easy,” she argued, charging him again and splitting with a decoy, letting it speak with her. “They’re helpful–”

“A crutch,” Gojo repeated, his movements speeding up, dodging her kick and kicking her decoy in return. “If you honed your technique well enough, you could have this decoy as a double instead. Think about that, three of you fighting at once.”

She didn’t want to think about that. It sounded like a great way to get her brain to explode from strain. Using her double and a decoy was already enough to drain her energy like a leaking faucet. Her mounting irritation certainly wasn’t helping, either.

Gojo let her stay on the offense, choosing to block with his Infinity just to rub it in. Pushing herself to move faster, she knew what he expected her to do, and focused on her decoy as she moved.

“You’re holding yourself back by whining and complaining about how you think you can’t do it,” Gojo spat, turning to face her as she approached. His fist met her chest, the blow hurling her backward into a nearby tree. “What were you–”

Her decoy landed a hard hit to the back of Gojo’s head, forcing it to snap forward as Nanami dodged her double’s fist, his blade slicing it in half when it stumbled. The double disappeared, her decoy with it, as Rinko slammed into the tree and dropped the ground with a groan.

The world spun as she tried to force herself back to her feet, her limbs shaking violently. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten the decoy to mimic her double instead of her own movement but the amount of concentration it had taken to do it meant she hadn’t blocked Gojo’s punch as much as she should have. Gasping, she clutched her chest with her left hand and tried to focus on taking the deepest breaths she could manage.

“Not bad,” Gojo conceded, humming quietly as he knelt in front of her. “We keep going.”

“I can’t,” she wheezed, her head snapping up to stare at his blindfold. “That was all I–”

“That was just a fraction of what you’re capable of,” he stated, his brow furrowing as his eyes clearly narrowed at her behind the bandages. “If your decoys can mimic your double, then think about how impossible it’ll be for your opponent to keep up.”

“I can’t keep up,” she insisted desperately. Her lungs still refused to accept the air she tried to suck in.

His expression held no sympathy, one eyebrow rising in challenge at her words.

Ignoring her weak protests, he pulled her to her feet and stepped back as she scowled at him.

“Can’t I at least have a short break as a reward for landing a hit on you?” she pressed hopefully, already knowing the answer.

Gojo didn’t even acknowledge the question, crossing his arms when she pouted. Before she could wonder what he was waiting for, Nanami appeared behind her to strike. She flipped over his arm, ducking his second hit, and then smacked into Gojo’s fist when he anticipated her movement.

“Funny,” he deadpanned, not relenting even as she yelped and swapped with a duplicate to avoid his second blow, “this doesn’t look like your double.” His fist glowed with cursed energy, obliterating her duplicate. “Wrong choice, Kurisaki.”

Nanami’s blade slammed into her back as soon as she swapped, a small smirk on his face at Gojo’s statement.

“You’re getting sloppy–”

“For fuck’s sake,” Rinko cried, tucking and rolling away. She clutched her side once she was back on her feet. Her legs shook, threatening to crumble under her weight as she glared at the two smirking sorcerers. “I didn’t sign up to be fucking gang-banged today!”

Nanami guffawed as he pressed forward, his eyes glinting behind his glasses when she jumped back to run directly into Gojo as he clotheslined her. Her limbs felt like they had weights tied to them, and she knew her sluggish movements were going to force her to take some hits that were going to hurt.

“Give me a fucking break,” she begged, somehow rolling out of the way before Gojo could curb-stomp her. “Come on!”

Her legs collapsed when she tried to push herself back up, her entire body trembling from the strain. Her body was officially spent, and the blood dripping from her nose told her that her mind was, too.

Neither of her opponents showed any sign of stopping, and panic rose in her throat as they closed in on her, the word escaping before she could begin to think better of it.

“RED!”

Gojo froze instantly, his entire body tensing. From how his jaw unclenched, she knew his eyes had to be widening in shock behind his blindfold. Nanami stopped as well, albeit slower than Gojo, his face cracking into a giant grin.

“Did you just–?” Nanami cut his own question off, his laughter a genuine sound that had his shoulders shaking as he dropped his head and pushed his glasses up.

“Oh,” he cackled, lifting his eyes to stare straight into hers. “That’s more than I wanted to know about either of you.”

She wanted the ground to swallow her.

Her face burned as she turned away, trying to ignore the sound of Nanami attempting to smother his laughter and failing horribly as he gave in. In the ten months since she’d first started shadowing him, she’d never seen or heard him so giddy.

“I–” he snickered, gasping for breath as he continued, “knew you were both crazy, but–”

“Shut up!” Rinko snapped, refusing to look at him as she heard him cover his mouth to quiet the chuckles. “Fuck off, Kento.”

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she fought the embarrassment that made her entire body feel like it was on fire. She was suddenly full of energy as the undeniable need to be anywhere but near the two of them took over.

“I’m done for the day,” she stated, struggling to keep her voice even. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Or never, she thought as she wiped away the blood that had trickled from her nose.

Her movement seemed to snap Gojo free of his shock because he was right behind her instantly. His hand was gentle on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and darted in the direction of the car.

Faintly, she heard Nanami say something else, and Gojo snap a quick response before she felt him following her.

“Rinko,” he called, catching up with her easily. “Rinko-”

“Nope,” she muttered under her breath.

She wasn’t dealing with him now. She would talk to him when she crawled from her den of self-pity and absolute humiliation. As she walked, she decided she would go to Shoko’s and hide until she inevitably had to face Gojo and Nanami again.

Or she could just hide forever. Fuck being a Grade 1, it wasn’t worth having to face Nanami again after this.

Hell, it wasn’t worth facing either of them again after this.

Reaching the car and yanking the door open, Gojo caught up to her, slamming it shut before she could slide into the driver’s seat.

“Look at me,” he ordered, taking her face in his hands. “Rinko–”

“Don’t!” she snapped, knowing her face had to be red as she tried to pull away. “Just let me–”

“Not until you look at me,” he insisted, his breath hot on her face. “Just let me know you’re okay–”

“I’m fine!” Her voice was strained, still trying to break from his grasp. “Just–”

“Wait.” His voice sounded different, amused. Now she really wanted to disappear, and she fought against him harder. “You’re not mad.”

“Yes, I am,” she argued, clenching her jaw.

“No,” he countered, laughing now. “You’re embarrassed–”

She finally escaped his grasp, turning and opening the car door again, but he pushed it shut easily.

“Oh baby,” he cooed, laughing as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her towards him. “This is new–”

Letting out a growl, Rinko tried to smack his chest, but his arms only tightened until she couldn’t move.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I won’t tease you-”

“Liar,” she grit out when he reached up to grasp her chin and force her to look at him.

His expression was soft, amusement still shining in his now uncovered eyes.

“Rinko,” he whispered, his bright blue eyes positively glowing as they stared into hers. “Gotta admit it’s funny–”

“No, it’s not!” she spat petulantly. “Quit laughing at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he lied, still trying to smother his chuckles. “Baby, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“To you–”

He silenced her by pressing his lips to hers, working his tongue into her mouth immediately.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he murmured when he pulled back, grinning at how dazed she looked. “Really, baby, you don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s a sign of a healthy sexual relationship to have boundaries–”

“Stop talking!” she cried, burying her face in his chest. “Just– don’t say anything.”

His chuckles vibrated through his chest as he rubbed his hand up and down her back.

“Baby,” he murmured, leaning down until his lips were at her ear. “Don’t be upset. It could have been worse.”

“No, it couldn’t–”

“Think about it,” he cut her off, a grin in his voice. “Think about any of the other sounds you could have made–”

“Stop talking,” she repeated, recoiling when he laughed even harder. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he replied smugly as he took her face in his hands again. “The fact that that was the first time you’ve used your safe word says quite a bit about how much you happen to like me. Or at least how much you like what I do to–”

“You’re such a dick,” she clipped, glaring at him. “This isn’t funny.”

His response now was simply to lean down, capturing her lips in a truly filthy kiss. One of his hands tangled in her hair, angling her so he had full control –as if he didn’t already– while his other hand went down to grope her ass. Sucking her tongue between his teeth, he leaned over further to press her against the car, forcing her to arch into him to keep from falling over. His hips ground against hers deliberately, his erection rubbing against her crotch and drawing a breathy moan from her before she could stop it.

The sound of a throat clearing caused her to yelp as she felt her face flood with heat again. Wrenching her lips away from his, she tried to escape his grasp.

Refusing to let her push him away, Gojo simply turned his head to stare at Nanami blankly. His arms tightened when she tried to pull away again, swatting her ass swiftly when she smacked his chest.

“You can take the car, Nanamin,” he drawled, tossing the keys towards the blond, who caught them with ease. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What the fuck?” Rinko squeaked, feeling her now empty pockets. “Stop doing that!”

Gojo finally loosened his grasp as he pulled her away from the car so Nanami could open the door and slip inside.

Meeting the latter’s narrow eyes behind his glasses, she felt the flush creep back up her neck when he gave her a knowing smirk.

“I liked it better when you were boring and uptight,” she snapped, glaring at him as he started the car.

“I think I already have a very good understanding of what you like,” he said drily, his smirk growing into a grin. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

He pulled the door shut before she could say anything else, taking off down the dirt road back toward the city.

“Come on,” Gojo said cheerily, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

“You’re not hungry?” she asked, immediately regretting speaking. “Don’t–”

“Oh, baby,” he cut her off. Leaning down to press a kiss to her neck, he swept his tongue across her sweaty skin. “I’m fucking starving.”

Gojo’s fingers stroked mindless patterns against the small of her back softly, pulling quiet sighs from her lips. With each sound, his arm tightened, humming occasionally when she let out a whine if he stopped. Feeling her eyes beginning to grow heavier, she snuggled into his side and burrowed her face further into his chest.

“Rinko,” he murmured, his voice serious as she moaned in protest at being kept awake. He nudged her lightly. “Baby, you need to tell me what made you use it.”

Jolting back awake, she tensed against him now. His left hand grasped her right, pulling it up to press a small kiss against her palm.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice sounding small. “I just– I felt like I was about to collapse. But I knew that you weren’t gonna let me stop, and I– I knew that it would get you to stop, or at least listen.”

“Damn right, it got me to stop,” he agreed, his arm tightening around her. “Got my fuckin’ heart to stop, too. I thought I’d actually hurt you for a minute.”

“Right,” she deadpanned, looking up to meet his eyes. “Because the numerous physical injuries I’ve sustained over the course of knowing you don’t count.”

He pulled her closer so she was essentially on top of him, her chest pressed against his.

“You know what I mean,” he said, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “It’s honestly a bit crazy to me that you haven’t used it before.”

When she shrugged, he raised his eyebrows at her and moved the hand at her back to massage her ass softly.

“I think it’s a good thing,” he continued, smiling when she leaned into his touch. “As long as I know you’ll use it when you need to.”

“You haven’t given me a reason to use it,” she replied, moaning quietly when he dipped his finger lower, slipping inside her easily. “I’ve felt safe enough to not need it.”

“You’re still so wet,” he groaned, stroking her slowly. “Good to know, though, sweetheart.”

“I need to sleep,” she whimpered, her hips rocking into his hand of their own volition. “And I don’t think I can cum again–”

He pressed his lips to hers, moaning when she clenched down.“Almost sounds like a challenge, baby,” he murmured, stroking her tongue in time with his fingers. “I think you’ve got at least one more in you.”

Fight Like You Mean It: Part 2

#gojo x original female character #gojo x ofc #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x original female character #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #another level #jjk fanfic #gojo smut

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