#I can’t blame him tbh it slaps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

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no, please don’t kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel!

>>> you didn’t think you were making it out of kinktober without a visit from ghostface, did you? all cute and sweet pieces, blegh. it's time to play...happy halloween—don’t hang up on me you bitch!

>>> cw: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION. NO MINORS. dark content ahead. inspired by scream 1996. murder, blood, gore, stalking, yandere!characters, ghostface!characters, manipulation, major character death, alternate no curses!reality, physical harm to reader, manhandling, knifeplay, costumed sex, prone bone, dub con, non con just in case tbh, biting, choking spanking, face-slap, degradation (whore, slut, bitch, etc), praise, breeding, doggy, blood consumption, mating press, throat fucking, edging, double penetration, fingering/knife-fucking (?) (f!receiving) anal. threesome mfm/mmf, breeding. let me know if i missed anything. >>> wc: 15.8k >>> event masterlist: >>> playlist

you were starting to get majorly freaked out. the past year or so had been the worst of your life. your college professor was murdered last fall—sending the small town into a frenzy. some people were mortified. how could someone so brutal be lurking in the shadows of this cheery town? they stopped walking to school and carpooled instead, kids no longer played in the yards, and women rarely went out unaccompanied. some people thought it was funny—something interesting to talk about after years of mundane crimes barely making the news.

you were feeling something much more complex than just fear or interest; you were battling grief. grief that no one else even knew about, adding to the complexity of your feelings. toji was just your business professor—one that you paid frequent visits to on and off campus. you did a good job of covering your tracks, coming up with lie after lie to keep your friends well distracted from your taboo hook-ups with the community’s favorite teacher. they would bully you to tears if they knew you gave your virginity to dr. fushiguro—and between satoru and suguru’s relentless teasing, you would never know peace again.

plus, it’s nearly been a year, and you were nothing more than the other woman, a young girl that caught his attention over the monotony of marriage. it wasn’t going anywhere, and you knew that. in a way, the emotions you grappled with weren’t grief at all—but guilt. toji had young children—what you did was wrong. you felt that way when he was alive and you were actively doing it—but something about him pulled you in. maybe it was your own naivety that was to blame for believing him when he promised you he would leave his wife for you–all just to get you to put out again and put off your friends. maybe it was the subconscious belief that he was the best you would get, the best you deserved. your parents were hardly winning any awards for their methods, and the only other men in your life have been around you since high school, the aforementioned relentless teasers: satoru gojo and suguru geto.

you like to think that you put it all behind you, but you can’t stop this creeping feeling that toji fushiguro was murdered because of you.

and that wasn’t the end of the weird happenings. your lab partner—kento nanami unceremoniously dropped out this month, so the rumors around campus say, but you have a bad feeling about it. you’ve been calling him for days with no response, he has no after school work presence, and his best friend looks like he’s seen a ghost anytime you’re around. it was all the school was talking about, especially approaching the anniversary of dr. fushiguro’s death.

“i say he was murdered, just like the professor. we have a real serial killer on our hands, ladies and gents!” ieiri shoko—a haphazard extension of your friend group—wiggles her brows, reclined back on her hands to survey the rest of you as she puffs her cigarette.

gojo rolls his eyes, giving the speaker an unimpressed look. “i think they gotta tick a few more boxes before it’s a serial killer, no? only two murders, and so far apart?” he shakes his head to discount the theory. he makes a good point, perhaps it was just a creepy coincidence after all. there’s no reason to freak yourself out over nothing.

“yeah? well i think it’s connected too.” iori says from her spot on the ground, her head laying in your lap as you braid and unbraid her hair, just keeping your brain occupied on something other than the death that seems to follow you.

“yeah? and that’s why you don’t get paid for thinkin’.” gojo snickers, utahime’s annoyed attempt to swat at him blocked by suguru’s body, the two of them sitting behind you at the picnic tables out in the open sun. it made you feel a little safer, surrounded by friends and in a place where you could keep an eye out. you trust gojo and geto to watch your back.

satoru continues to giggle on about it until shoko interrupts, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and pointing gojo down with it. “what if they just pick one of us every year–some kind of halloween sacrifice?” she posits, and your eyes widen. the boys exchange a look, and suguru’s voice of reason cuts in.

“let’s leave the detective work to the police, yeah? i’m sure sheriff zen’in wants to solve his nephews murder.” he leans back against the table while gojo balances his weight with his elbows on his knees.

“yeah right. the sheriff couldn’t give a damn. ” you scoff, biting your tongue at the fact you spoke on the subject at all, but especially something so vague—implying you know more about toji than the normal student, and your cautious friends are also perceptive, you fear.

“what’s that s’pposed to mean? our loyal piggy doesn’t wanna protect the community?” gojo leans forward on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours. he’s studying you—every nervous shift of your eyes, the seconds you let pass before you answer, everything, and you know it.

“of…course he does. i only meant—”

“pshhh, everyone knows those zen’in families are weird.” utahime swings in to save you—feeling the way your body tenses under your best friends interrogating stare “why d’you think his last name is fushiguro instead, hm? probably left the family to be a better person—how dreamy of him.” she sighs wistfully, having been another one of the many girls that would have killed to be in your place. “and that old bastard probably doesn’t care. he probably did it himself, knowing how corrupt–”

“smoking on campus, are we, students?” headmaster yaga walks up to send the conversation to a screeching halt. shoko quickly snuffs out her butt on her boot, crumpling the evidence in her hand as the man comes closer. suguru’s never quite cared about the opinions of his elders, and he won’t start now. he keeps slowly dragging his—making eye contact with the headmaster as he comes to a stop before your group in the grass. “geto. you mind?”

he arches his brow in annoyance, sticking out his tongue to burn the ash on. gojo giggles. “what an anarchist!” he cheers jovially, nudging his friend with his elbow. “we didn’t see any no smoking signs sir, swear.”

suguru cracks a lazy grin at the defense, looking at yaga patiently. “i’m sure you’ve heard the news about your fellow classmate.” he starts, and utahime sits up properly to question him more specifically.

“that he dropped out? yeah–we heard that days ago.” she confronts with furrowed brows. you can tell by the clench of yaga’s jaw that there’s more news. your heart sinks to your stomach, that bad feeling you had making an ugly return with the shifting of yaga’s stance.

“what–did they find him?!” you push yourself up to stand, heart pounding in your ears. if kento was dead, was it your fault too somehow?

yaga turns to you with a sad and curt nod. “they did. he was…strung up outside of his house–brutally murdered. his parents found him. all we know so far is that he was on the phone when he died. his mother heard him.”

you cover your mouth with shaky hands. how awful, to hear your own son gargle his last breaths? what a horrible way to go, you can’t believe your stoic and stern lab partner was no more, meeting a fate so horrible you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemies.

“how awful…his poor family.” iori shakes her head, too stunned to speak further. shoko replaces her cigarette with a fresh lollipop, lost in her own head; no doubt contemplating the morbid horror film most closely resembling the current situation—she has a fixation with death.

“there will be a memorial fundraiser to help his family with the funeral costs.” yaga nods, arms folded over his chest. he was clearly at a loss for words, though what could one even really say? he settled for, “be wary, kids. the sheriff’s department will be issuing a curfew. please be safe.”

iori nods as the headmaster walks away—turning back to look at everyone. you hug yourself, feeling a chill in the air that only reminds you of what time of year it is—halloween. you’re still lost in thought, wondering what toji and nanami could have possibly had in common outside of knowing you and being at this school. what motive could be, who was next.

satoru and suguru exchange a look. they can see how wound up you are, noting that you seemed to know that something had happened to nanami before you were told. shoko breaks the silence first.

“this is just like scream, you know? spooky phone calls and brutal killings—says here that he was gutted and suspended from a tree.” she shakes her head, reading the pixelated news article from her nokia screen—grossed out and intrigued at the same time.

iori gasps, “that’s awful—don’t compare his death to a movie, ieiri!” she scolds, noticing you off in la la land. “earth to y/n…hellooooo? i hope this isn’t a scary movie because you are so dying first.” she snarks, and gojo arches his brows and grins mischievously at the sentiment. he gets to his feet, creeping up behind you–jerking you by the shoulders and gasping just to scare you.

you scream and jump back—punching him in the chest. “you jerk!’ you huff as he covers his stomach with laughter, stumbling back into his bench seat. suguru gives you an apologetic smile, standing and offering you his hand.

“c’mon, let me walk you home.” he tilts his head towards the path you take. gojo jumps up too.

“i’ll come with! make up for my prank?” he pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder. his icy blue gaze stays trained on you until you finally give in and look at him, making a bright grin spread across his face.

shoko huffs, “you’re an insensitive asshat—i’m sure you’re not taking this seriously because you always picked on kento. i wonder if the piggies know that!”

“he was a nerd—that’s all!” he scoffs with an eye roll, “oh yeah, so now i killed the guy, huh?” he furrows his brows, insulted by shoko’s insinuation that he could stoop so low.

“no one said that, satoru.” suguru claps his free hand down on the other’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “let’s all relax. i know this is scary, so make sure we walk in partners, at least.”

utahime gags and rolls her eyes at the dramatics, stretching out before getting to her feet. you look to her, thinking you should make sure your fellow woman makes it to her dorm, but suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts again.

“we just want to make sure you get home safely with all of this going on, you look…worried.” suguru comments, stretching his palm out to remind you that his hand was extended for you. your heart warms at his kindness. he’s always been a gentle giant–especially compared to satoru; who has his own charms to him like his sense of humor and his striking good looks. he takes care of you in his own ways—but suguru’s always been more traditional. you place your hand in his, smiling thankfully. he turns to the other girls, but yu haibara is already escorting them the other way, careful to avoid you entirely. your shoulders slump at the idea that he blames you for nanami’s death.

gojo slings an arm around your shoulders and they steer you towards your off campus rental. it’s a little two bedroom one bath—no satoru mansion, but it does the trick. you’re rarely there anyways, bouncing between your friends’ residences for the “dates” you all go on—though ieiri and iori aren’t typically included.

“so this stuff’s really got you messed up in the noodle, huh?” satoru asks, exchanging careful glances with his opposite. you hum so he knows you heard him, settling into the rhythm they were walking for you. you don’t know if it’s the question or the crisp autumn air that makes you shiver—maybe it’s the way they both watch you so intensely, though the longer you think about it the more you realize they’ve kinda always been like that, letting their eyes stay on you too long, analyzing your features to decipher how you really feel. you can’t hide a thing from them. you can only buy yourself time.

“yeah. i guess so.” you settle on, tucking your cheek into your shoulder. you knew they would ask for more specifics, all in the due process of taking care of you.

“were you even close to that nanami guy?” suguru follows up, brows raised in curiosity. you know this trap. it was a miracle you’ve ever been able to keep toji a secret. they’ve always taken a special interest in your love life—they’re protective over you, and wanted to vet any potential match for you. but the boys you met in high school were easily scared off by the strong and intimidating friends of yours, so you figured college wouldn’t be much different. hence why you didn’t try—taking toji’s affection like a gift that fell into your lap.

“he was my lab partner, so we’ve done a few projects together. he seemed like a nice guy, never crossed any lines. responsible. the sort.” you shrug again, not wanting to seem too invested. “i guess it’s just…weird. he was here one day and now he’s not, and killed so brutally…it doesn’t feel real.” you explain, and suguru seems to reflect on the words.

“people die all the time, sugar. maybe he got caught up in something he shouldn’t’ve, maybe wrong place wrong time, or maybe he was eyeing something that didn’t belong to him. who knows. no use troubling yourself over it.” gojo shrugs, sliding his hand up to pat the back of your head.

“that’s easy for you men to say! if some serial killer came after you, you could fight ‘em off. i have no chance if he was…to pick me next.” you retort, trying to make them see why you were so amped up about it.

“what makes you think that he would pick you next?” suguru furrows his brows, but gojo just tilts his head side to side to mull it over.

“nanami was a man, right? i wonder why he died.” he thinks aloud, shrugging. you snap your head towards him to chastise him for such a statement, but suguru clears his throat.

“you have nothing to worry about, right? like satoru said earlier. these are isolated incidents, and they’ve only gone after men so far. chin up, angel.” he insists as you three walk up the steps to your house.

you take a deep but shaky breath, nodding. suguru was right. the only victims have been men. toji’s death and subsequently nanami’s had nothing to do with each other. it was just your guilt gnawing at you. if you didn’t get yourself together, your perceptive bodyguards would pick up on the fact that you were hiding something from them. “thank you. i…needed to hear that.” you nod in satisfaction.

“i’ll call you later, just to make sure you’re still..doing alright.” he assures, patting your hand before he drops it. gojo squeezes you into him, ruffling your hair.

“don’t worry, cutie. we’ll see you tomorrow!! dream of me!” he calls out as their figures retreat.

once the door shuts behind you, you sigh out a breath of relief.

you get some homework and laundry done in the few hours you have before bed. it’s a regular routine, but that’s why you found peace in it. you make yourself some dinner and cozy up on the couch, flipping through the channels to find something to make some noise outside of your loud brain. nanami’s picture makes you pause on the news, the reporter droning on about the case. according to phone records from that night, someone called his house six times, calls various in length from where kento was allegedly hanging up and trying to ignore the killer.

“it seems the young man was stalked from outside his home for the entire night—making a valiant effort to run according to forensics before he eventually succumbed to his injuries. the case is ongoing, and due to the nature of the crime, sheriff zen’in has ordered a curfew of 8pm, beginning friday.”

you’re reeling at the report, stunned beyond belief. it’s hard for you to even envision something so horrible. he must have been so scared. when your home phone rings—you’re jumping out of your skin–scambling up the couch with a scream. you stare at the receiver on the little side table next to you, fear nipping up your spine. that reporter said that nanami had been called repeatedly the night of his death—but suguru also promised to call. you decide to take the chance, satoru lives close enough that you could call him for help if it was this mysterious serial killer instead of one of your best friends on the other line—plus, nanami’s slaughter showed that ignoring the call wouldn’t help a thing.

you reach out a shaky hand, feeling your throat go dry and tight as your sweaty palm grabs the receiver. like it makes a difference, you quickly put it up to your ear, looking around frantically. you never realized how many windows your house has, and now it feels like you’re naked for the world to see. “hello?”

“hey, angel.” suguru’s luxurious voice calms your nerves instantly, like throwing water on a fire. you relax back into the cushions, sighing audibly.

“h-hey.” you card your fingers through your hair in attempt to rid yourself of any lingering anxiety.

“i take it you aren’t feeling better about the whole ordeal then?” he sighs with you, gnawing on his bottom lip a little. you were troublesome for his own nerves.

you play with the spiral cord connecting the receiver to the landline. “i was, i swear! then i saw the news and they were warning about phones like yaga did earlier and then–”

“your phone rang. sorry about my timing then, sweetheart. did you eat?” he interrupts, but his concern makes you tingle with warmth. they may be overbearing at times, but it’s so clear how much they care about you.

“mhm. i have some leftovers though, if you’re still hungry. i could…use some company?” you weakly excuse, slightly embarrassed to basically beg for his protection; but the truth was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight unless you had some comfort.

he chuckles softly and smiles into the phone when he agrees. “of course. i’ll be right over. give me ten minutes—i’ll bring slushies.” he hums enticingly, and you give him a choked up chuckle of relief. he would protect you through the night–and make sure that you had a good time, too.

“kk, sounds good. i want the cherry one!” you tell him like he doesn’t already know everything about your preferences.

“i know you want the cherry—i’m not a psychopath.” he chuckles with you, his car’s engine humming to life in the background. “i’ll see you soon angel. hang tight.” the line goes dead, but you’re no longer filled with a sense of dread, even if you were still nervous about the murderer on the loose.

while you wait on suguru, you do some more channel surfing. you wonder what satoru’s up to tonight and if he’ll be peeved that he wasn’t invited to hang out. who are you kidding, of course he’ll be jealous. you reach over for the phone to call him—even with suguru’s headstart he would probably still beat him here if you got to him now. the high pitched ringing of the phone sounds off again just as your hand wraps around it, making you jump just slightly—it caught you off guard, is all. it’s probably suguru calling to tell you that 7/11 is out of cherry—they’re always out of cherry. annoyed, you put the receiver to your ear.

“ugh, don’t tell me—”

“hello y/n.” the slightly garbled deep voice says. you don’t recognize it–and your heart drops to your stomach. this, this is who’s been murdering people, this is him. this is who they warned you about—why suguru is sneaking out to come see you through the night–suguru. you have to buy enough time for him to get here, if nothing else.

“who are you?” you ask, trying to give your voice some bravado. you start searching the windows again, the eerie sensation that you aren’t alone was making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. goddamn you need to invest in a dog.

“blegh–boring question. i want to know who you are, precious y/n.” the voice states, male in nature, but you can’t distinguish anything past that. your heart races at the avoidance.

“you know my name, and my phone number. seems to me you know who i am.” you clench your jaw together to keep your teeth from chattering, willing yourself to be intimidating. the voice on the other end cackles in amusement.

“you’re funny y/n. i mean the real you, silly girl! let’s play a game. for every question you get right, the longer i’ll let you live. every question you get wrong…one of your friends… dies!” he seems very entertained with himself over the threats, making the fear bubble up over your heart.

“m-my boyfriend is on the way! he’s really big and he’ll beat your ass–”

“and he’ll be the first one dead! question numero uno, and we’re starting easy!! oh, don’t cry now! you can do it, c’mon, iori and ieiri need you right? those are your girlfriends–and that’s not the first question!” he titters again, but his name drops make your rapidly beating heart still in your chest. “how far away is your little boyfriend?”

your chest heaves, the stranger’s wish for you not to cry was wasted. he knows everything–all your friends names—maybe the fact you hadn’t called satoru tonight was the only thing keeping him safe. you wonder how long this stalker must have been following you, listening to you. you wonder if he killed toji too—and why.

“l-like…six minutes, or so. I-i don’t know!” you cry out, clutching the receiver. you think about the consequences of hanging up—maybe that is what angered him into killing nanami. you better stay on the line.

“good girl. see? not that hard! just keep using that noggin’ of yours!” he encourages, breathing heavily into his side of the phone.

you nod, sure he can see you anyway. you shrink into the couch as if it will swallow you whole and keep you safe, but the feeling of comfort is short-lived.

“why was toji fushiguro murdered??”

you blanche. he is responsible. this is…all your fault after all. your worst fears are coming true right in front of you, and suguru cannot get here fast enough to stop it.

“i…i don’t know! i didn’t do it!” you put your hand over your other ear, trying to ball up and make this all go away.

“wrong answerrrr. you’ll find out soon that i’m not bluffing, sugar. let’s try again. why was toji fushiguro butchered?”

how does he know? toji must have told people. that’s the only logical explanation—you know that you haven’t spoken of it to a soul. this man knew, and killed him for it? was he related to toji’s wife, here for revenge? where did kento fit into this—is it really all about you?

you can hardly hear yourself respond over your heartbeat echoing in your ears, pumping your blood in a rush. “i..i dunno!! because i slept with him!?”

“ding ding ding! i knew you were a smart girl. but you do know that makes you a little slut, right? do you know that means you killed him, sugar!” he hisses the last part, as if personally hurt by the notion.

“i..it was wrong–yes–but i..i–” you try to explain, but realize the stranger has no reason to allow it. he’s here to punish you, and you have to either accept this lying down, or try to put up some kind of fight.

“is that two wrong answers? you’ll sentence your best friends to death over your pride, slut? how disappointing.”

“no, no–i am!” you clench your eyes shut, finding it easy to beg for their lives. if this caller was to be believed, then you already knew he wasn’t bluffing.

“you’re what? hmmm y/n?” his voice gets louder, like he’s closer to the device.

“i’m a…slut!” your cheeks burn, you shift uncomfortably on the couch as you wait for the stranger to reply. “please sir.”

“last question–speed round. what door am i at? your front door…or your porch?”

thoughts stop and instinct takes over, causing you to drop the phone and run to your porch–a sliding glass door with flimsy locks. you turn on all the lights, hoping to ward off whatever evil lurked in the night hunting you. you click all the locks in place, sprinting now towards your front door, which stood open already.

“no..” you say aloud, voice a broken whisper of realization. he was already in your house. maybe he had been the whole time, you don’t know anything anymore. all you can think about was suguru’s arrival—hoping you could last for a few minutes longer. you spin around, deciding to venture back the way you came. it was already cleared, he couldn’t have slipped behind—a gloved hand covers your mouth—leather thick enough to smother, and you throw your elbow back as hard as you can, stunning the captor into letting your face go. with a hurried gasp, you’re sprinting for your life. you run to your porch door, grappling with the lock that you just secured. you keep looking over your shoulder, waiting for the figure to reemerge, shaking the lock with all your might. you hear the footsteps, looking over your shoulder to see a tall monstrosity—cloaked in ghostface’s attire. you scream out and throw the door open. shutting it on him before he had the chance to grab you again.

your heart is racing and you aren’t sure where to go next, attempting to clear your fence to get to the main yard of your house, maybe you could get to suguru first. the killer is faster though, both in mind and in body. he grabs your ankle before you can get all the way over, yanking you back to his domain. you scream for help, but there’s no one around to hear you.

“my boyfriend—he’s scary, please mister!” you fight, kicking and thrashing to get all the openings to escape that you could. “let me go!” you throw your legs, connecting with his stomach. he reflexively clutched it in pain, giving you a window to scramble back to your feet and back into your house through the porch door you escaped from. locking it would be a waste, you just start throwing down whatever you could get your hands on to make an obstacle course for the masked man. you assume the cheap costume doesn’t have the best visibility, and you hope to use that to your advantage.

you sprint for the front door, hearing the grunting and frustrated groans of the man chasing you. you blink through your panicked tears, grasping at straws for what to do next. it’s then that you hear the gravel of your driveway crunch under what could only be tires—and who could only be suguru. you shove your couch in between you and the killer, flailing yourself down your front steps and into the yard, sobbing and out of breath, scrapes and scratches showing the evidence of the chase.

suguru is out of his car in an instant, by your side even quicker. he seems to put two and two together at the sight of you, running into the house just in time to see the ghostface impersonator sneak out of your living room window, fading into the distance. you can’t let suguru go very far, terrified beyond measure as you glue to his side and cry into his shirt once he assures you the scary man is gone.

he holds your face, trying to soothe you the best way he knows how. “shh, shh, let’s call the sheriff, alright? this has to be reported.” he insists, holding you to his chest as he picks up your phone to call the police to your home, your kitchen and living room a mess of the night that would undoubtedly scar you for life. you nod, burying your face in his comforting scent. “just tell them what happened, and make sure you tell them everything.” he encourages, petting your hair as you wait for them to arrive.

your heart sinks at the prospect of revealing your secrets to the police. surely they don’t need to know every word exchanged on the phone. you can communicate the gist. you rehearse in your head what to say—but nothing prepared you for sheriff zen’in putting suguru in cuffs and shoving him in the back of a squad car.

you protest, proclaiming his innocence–but the sheriff says if he’s truly done nothing wrong, then he can answer a few of their questions down at the station. you ride in a car too, like a passenger instead of a prisoner, to report what happened in detail that night. you can hardly get through an account of it—too nervous about suguru’s interview. he didn’t even wait for a lawyer, and had already used his phone call. deputy choso finally lets you go once it’s apparent you’re too shaken up to give them anymore than your scrambled memory, about being home and talking to suguru and then a very…summarized version of your call with the killer—and of course your run from him.

you’re relieved when a just-rolled-out-of-bed satoru throws the station doors open, face stern as he scans for you. his features soften when they land on yours, and he’s pulling you into his arms before you’ve even really processed that he’s here. suguru must have used his call on him, to make sure you were taken care of in the event they want to hold him overnight—you’re touched.

“y/n, what happened?! suguru said—a ghostface broke into your house?? are you alright, are you hurt—what are they talking to him for?” he asks, cradling your head on his chest after gawking at your bandaged ankle. you shake your head on him, just wrapping your arms around his waist.

“i dunno, the guy chased me, satoru—i thought i was going to die!! suguru got there just in time, he saved me, and they’re treating him like he’s a criminal! get him out of there—call your dad or something this is bullshit!” you heave, panicky breaths shaking out over his shirt.

he rubs your back, finding suguru’s eyes through the blinds over sheriff zen’in’s window. he takes a steadying breath, clearly trying to set an example for you to follow. “it’s gonna be okay, c’mon, you believe in your ole pal satoru, right?” he leans back, hands on your shoulders to give you a reassuring look. his nod gives you the faith to do the same, leaning back into his chest for that feeling of safety that seems so fleeting these days.

satoru goes back and forth with the deputy about holding suguru overnight, threatening the mayor’s intervention. but deputy choso calls his bluff, rolling his eyes in clear aggravation.

“even the mayor’s asleep right now, kid. unless daddy’ll come running at three a.m, geto’s spending the night.”

“we have classes tomorrow you dipshit. y/n was literally expecting him—what can you even be holding him on?” satoru bucks, arching his brow. it’s rare that he gets serious, but when he does he comes correctly.

“reasonable suspicion.” choso shrugs, leaning back in his desk chair. “doesn’t suguru know how to clone phone numbers? i seem to remember some trouble the two of you got in for prank calling.”

“in eighth grade?” gojo scoffs, grabbing your hand roughly. you know it’s just because he’s wound up about the situation at hand. first your attack, then they cage suguru up like an animal, and now he’s dealing with dumbass deputy dewey. “prank calling to psycho murderer, huh? i suppose that is the only logical fuckin step!” he shakes his head in disbelief, dragging you from the station. “let’s go, sugar. time to get you back to bed—”

ice floods your veins. “what did you just call me?” you pull back out of his grip, looking at him with wide eyes. satoru’s face falters as he searches over yours, paused mid-speech.

“what, sugar? i’ve called you that for years, y/n!” he rolls his eyes, sighing. “so paranoid, goodness. c’mon.” he pats your lower back, urging you into a steady stride alongside him. “let’s go to my place. wouldn’t want there to be a second strike or anything.”

you still stare at him with that quiet unease, brain racing through your conversation with ghostface. “h-he called me that, too.” you mutter, stumbling over your own feet every few steps. satoru slips his arm around your waist to keep you close and to keep you from falling.

“well, i didn’t exactly coin the nickname, i must admit.” he forcibly chuckled. “babe, please.” he rolls his eyes at your steady disbelief. “if i wanted to kill ya, do you not think i could pretty easily? i mean, my dad’s the mayor and you have no family. clearly, i only have your best interest at heart, y/n.” he raises his brow, and as blunt as his statement may be, it is effective. satoru’s strong enough to crush you in one hand, if he wanted to. plus they’d be the only ones that missed you if you were gone. “i’ll…try not to call you that anymore.” he adds on the end, squeezing your hip in an effort to give you some peace of mind.

you nod softly, processing. he’s always been sort of crude and a little brutal in his manner of speaking, always followed up by triumphant giggles at his own jokes. it’s his way of protecting you, of playing good cop and bad cop all at once, and over time you’ve gotten used to his bluntness. he was right anyhow, you shouldn’t doubt the only protection you have in times like these. plus, his offer of safety was too good to pass up.

so you let gojo bring you to his huge estate, not affiliated with the mayor’s property downtown, no, this was just for satoru alone. it was expansive but still held onto that homestyle feeling. his bedroom was cozy, warm and safe like his arms around you, protecting you through the last few hours of the night.

news of your attack had spread like a forest fire around campus by the following morning. of course everyone’s in your face, all swarming around you in hopes they could get any bits of information—did the ghostface mention nanami? how did you escape? why was suguru still at the station if he rescued you?

luckily satoru is there to serve as the buffer between you and the crowd, your other friends close in quickly as well, shoving and cussing until the path cleared and the rules to leave you be were instilled. you weren’t even sure how you were up and walking right now. you were exhausted between the chase and your collective two hours of sleep. your worry was weighing you down, the haunting anxiety of being attacked again, of causing more of your friends to be killed due to your wrong answers, of getting suguru into serious trouble just because this town wanted someone to blame for this. you felt like you’ve had too many iced coffees, body wired and fidgeting as you try to avoid all the lingering stares by making your way to the bathroom to hide for a bit—just long enough to let everyone settle into classes, so you can peacefully get to yours.

you hear a couple of girls chit-chatting between the stalls, a voice you recognize saying your name followed by a near audible eye-roll. you quickly tuck yourself into a stall so they don’t see you when they come out, heart racing now that you seem to be the topic of conversation.

“i bet she’s making it all up. i mean—a ghostface costume? really? that movie came out thirteen years ago! i mean if we’re getting in the halloween spirit, why not jigsaw?” she snickers, the metal door to the stall clanging open to signify that they’ve left—the water running at the sinks.

“mei mei! that’s awful, why do you hate her so much?” the other girl teases, grabbing some paper towels. you bite your lip in wait, insulted beyond belief that she could think you were that big of an attention whore.

“because gojo and geto follow that girl around like she has some kind of…spell on them! i wouldn’t be surprised if she killed dr. fushiguro. she was in his class last year—and he seemed to pick on her a lot. maybe he was some…witchy sacrifice to make the two hottest guys at this school fall in love with her! nanami was this years!” she reveals as if she’s solved the crimes herself, simply from being so self-aware.

“that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, skank!” her friend dismisses with laughter, their voices fading as the bathroom door squeals shut, telling you they’ve left for good. you lean against the door of your stall for a moment, raking your hands over your face to cope with the cold sweat coating your skin and the disbelief gripping your heart. you fidget with the lock, stumbling out to the sinks for something to bring you back to life. you turn the faucet on, thinking some cold water would do the trick. it helps you perk up a bit even when it just hits your hands. before you can cup any and splash your face, a chill creeps up your spine—you’re being watched.

you bend over, looking under the doors of each stall to make sure there weren’t any feet lurking behind the doors waiting to attack you. you don’t see anything, puffing out your cheeks as you exhale and right your posture. you make eye contact with yourself in the mirror. you have to snap out of this, you tell yourself, raking your hands over your face, tugging at your eyes and rubbing your cheeks in an effort to remind yourself of reality.

“y/nnnn.” the distorted voice echoes in your mind, making you gasp and spin around to look at the stalls, look all over the bathroom, nearly flattening your chest to the floor to look under the stalls again. again, nothing. your brain is playing tricks on you. you’ve officially lost it. what was the likelihood of being attacked in your campus bathroom anyway—especially since he started at your house? you take a deep breath and gather your backpack up, hearing the clanking metal sound of one of the stall locks. “don’t ignore me, y/n.”

you squat down, there had to be someone there this time. you knew paranoia could only go so far, that voice sending your heart into a fearful spiral.

boots descend from the toilet, planting firmly on the ground. you start to breathe heavily, a jagged black cloak lowered to tell you that you were indeed being targeted by a ghostface impersonator, and you scream. he lunges out of the stall—a huge hunting knife clasped in both hands over his head as you duck, limboing under his attack and making for the door.

“help me!!” you scream frantically, voice so shrill it hurts your throat. you feel the heat of his body against your back, so you fling your head backwards into his chest—surprising him enough to falter. you fling the door open, making that connect too, scrambling for any extra time and space you could get. your vision is blurred by the nervous tears that spring automatically, searching for an exit or someone to help. you see a few guys standing together at the end of the hall—one of which has stark white hair that you could recognize from worlds away. “satoru!! he’s here, help!!”

the frantic desperation in your voice grabs all of their attention, satoru and naoya zen’in—grandson of the sheriff–sprint closer to figure out what’s going on. they see the masked man stalking after you, but you can only keep running for your life. your legs nearly give out as you make it to satoru, collapsing in his arms. his eyes are wide as he pushes you back behind him, turning to deal with the intruder—but the zen’in beats him to it. he tackles the figure, managing to wrestle the knife away even before the ghostface rolled them to win the struggle, punching naoya hard enough that his head bounced off the floor. you gasp–shoving satoru forward.

“help him!!” you panic, not able to stomach the thought of someone else dying over you. satoru barrels forward and roughly pulls the ghostface off, turning to naoya to ensure he was still alive while the masked figure tumbles to the ground with a grunt. you’re paralyzed with terror as one of the other boys, a freshman named ijichi, checks on you, grabbing your attention with his shaky voice.

“y/n, are you alright? goodness.” he pats your shoulder, and you nod–turning back to the commotion. you catch the sight of the cloak slipping down the stairs, screaming out for gojo to warn him. he quickly moves to follow—but finds no trace of the man. he turns back to you with a shake of his head. he was gone.

satoru moves to pull you to your feet, holding you securely to his chest as yaga and a host of other teachers bustle through the hallways looking frantic.

“he came to this school. that is it!” yaga shakes his head, surveying your crying and terrified form. “classes are canceled until further notice!” he declares, instructing for the cops to be called immediately–and to bring a paramedic for the student injured in your defense. you feel so guilty when you look over at the zen’in boy holding his eye, wincing. he had no business with you and didn’t have to get involved at all, but he likely saved your life!

you sniffle, gently pushing yourself off of gojo with a weak smile. you give him a grateful look, nodding to him in a way that communicated your need to accomplish something. “i’m okay.”

he nods a little, letting his hand fall off of your elbow. he watches you slouch over to naoya as he shoves himself into a seated position. you crouch to his level, giving him a gentle but still anxious smile.

“hey..does it hurt pretty bad?” you ask, sympathetically frowning at the shiner. he scoffs a little at your question. you sure are lucky you’re stunning–and that he has a reputation to uphold.

“yeah? it’s a massive bruise. i’ll live though.” he shrugs, brushing his hair out of the way.

“well…thank you. for doing that, you could have been hurt worse.” you nod, standing. you reach your hand out to help him to his feet. he smiles, and takes your hold despite his usual pride, he’s able to capitalize on some arrogance.

“i had it under control, don’t worry about it. what kind of man would i be if i didn’t step in?” he smirks, and the little look makes you blush. maybe you had a soft spot for the zen’in families good looks.

“i see, well. thank you anyway.” you hum, turning back to satoru. “i guess we’re free to go home, huh? classes are canceled…” you scratch at the back of your neck anxiously, hoping satoru would let you attach like a little lost puppy in order to stay within the realms of safety.

he rubs at your shoulders, wiggling his brows a little. “mhm, way to go, princess. you got us outta school!” he cheers, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “i say, party at my house!! everyone’s invited!” he yells out into the emptying hallway, the announcement of canceled classes causing the majority of your peers to spill into the schoolyard, escaping before the headmaster changes his mind.

the idea of a party right now made you nauseous. anyone of these people could be the ghostface poser or his next victim. you wish you could just hole up in your house, but being alone was hardly an option for you right now. satoru keeps a hand on your back to guide you out of the civics hall, assuring you that a party is exactly what you need to get your mind off of things.

“there’s no way i’d leave your side anyway! plus the girls are gonna be there, and—look who the cat dragged in!” his long finger turns your head in the direction he was looking, and your eyes widen at the sight of suguru waiting against the group’s usual tree. relief floods your system. at least suguru was free, clearly they couldn’t pin this on him like they wanted.

he strolls over to fall in line on your other side, giving you a sly smile. “hey angel. shoko told me what went down, and i am now on your side. that sheriff doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.” he sighs out as he loops his arm around your shoulders. you give him a proper hug, letting him pick you up slightly to keep walking to satrou’s place. it was a normal happenstance, the two of them loved passing you between them like a toy football they tossed back and forth, this time it was suguru who lifts you from the ground. you wrap your legs around his thighs with a giggle—feeling a bit of lighthearted fun spring to your heart.

“oh don’t tell me you didn’t get the honeymoon suite.” satoru mocks, reaching for your upper half to pull you into his hold, to which you and suguru insist in passing you over. it’s all part of the games they like to play with you.

you roll your eyes. “we tried to get you out, well—sato did. that deputy was a big ole meanie about it.” you huff, being carried like a baby in gojo’s arms. he nods, pouting down at you.

“totally. was gonna get dad on it and everything! but hey—this party will be epic, the girls are getting some snacks, we’re on beer duty!” he cheers happily, gently tossing you up into the air. you freely giggle, falling back into his protective hold. he passes you to suguru, who slings you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. you playfully kick and giggle and that sweet sound prompts satoru into comment. “she’s always so happy with us, huh sugu?”

he pats above your back, nodding. “of course. you’re our girl, right?” he hums, giving satoru a knowing smirk. you squeal a little and nod.

“mhm, i just feel so…safe with you two!” you sigh, relaxing across his shoulder. he finally lowers you to your own two feet once it’s time to walk into the general store with that one boozy cashier that would let geto have whatever he wanted from that store—including his weight in beer probably two times the legal purchase amount. you stroll around the aisles with them, satoru urging you to pick your own snacks over whatever gross shit iori and ieiri brought over.

for once, all seems to be well. you settle into a couch at satoru’s place, letting the boys fight over where they sat, deciding they’d just let you lay across them both. so your new couch becomes satoru and suguru, but they’re just as comfortable. shoko and utahime laugh at the sight when they come in, a few more stragglers that heard satoru’s invite making their way in for the free booze.

shoko of course came with her bag stuffed with horror classic dvds, starting with the obvious scream given her recent comments, and you roll your eyes and groan at the selection. suguru pets your hair back at your reaction, chuckling down at you.

“what, not a horror fan?” he raises a brow, the idea making gojo titter.

“probably not enough lady killers for our princess’ liking.” he elbows geto playfully, squeezing your thigh with his other hand. “or too many bimbos. which is it?” he asks expectantly, blowing some hair out his eyes.

you shrug. “what does sidney say, something about how insulting it is that all the girls are so dumb? always running upstairs when they should be going out a door on ground level. it’s annoying. and yeah—more girl killers!” you giggle back, finally settling into a decent spirit now that you knew you were safe with your friends.

“totally!! carrie’s like all we have!” utahime complains from the floor.

“well—all the victims have been dudes so far. maybe we have a lady ghostface out there.” satoru raises his beer to clink it with utahime’s. she’s already tipsy enough to toast gojo, so you know this night will be eventful, though you can’t help your unease at his statement. you felt like it was important to only pass around the proper information in regards to something like this, even though satoru’s only joking innocently.

“it’s not a woman. he’s too tall.” you mumble, reminding your friends in the room that you’ve suffered at the hands of this killer not once, but twice. your friends shift around awkwardly at the realization that they’ve gone a little too far.

satoru pats your thigh. “hey, y/n—” you assume he was going to apologize, but he’s cut off by the phone. your heart plunges. no, this can’t be happening. not here, not in the safety of satoru’s home–with all of your friends gathered around. your gasp makes a few heads turn to you, and satoru’s face falls at your jumpiness. “hey, it’s alright. probably just my folks. don’t worry. shoko—answer it?”

she nods, though you can tell she’s a little nervous too. she puts the phone to her ear and hums–seemingly recognizing the voice on the other end. the room all takes a collective breath of relief, but that doesn’t last very long. shoko clamps her hand over her mouth as she gasps, turning to you all to repeat what she was just told.

“it’s the sheriff’s grandson—naoya. they found him strung up the flagpole—gutted like nanami!” she whisper yells, sparking the intrigue of most of the mildly intoxicated young adults in the room. she nods a few more times with whoever’s on the other line, shaking her head at the grotesque crime until they hang up.

“well—what are we waiting for, let’s go check it out before they pull him down!” some freshman suggests, getting whoops and hollers from the other nameless faces as the pile out of the room, shoko leading the charge. you’re gripped with fear. this is the last straw. there’s no room to deny it anymore. the only common thread is you. when would this man get gojo? get geto? get ieiri and iori—you? would you have to watch all your friends die in front of you before he finally got you? naoya was not a nice guy, he had wronged plenty of people and was toji’s cousin—but he had saved you that day. and been punished for it.

“i need to go lie down.” you declare, sitting up on the only two men you could trust these days—which only made you fear for their safety that much more. suguru looks up at you wistfully, seeming to understand. gojo pouts, but nods his head towards his room.

“we’ll know where to find ya, sweet cheeks.” he assured, helping you slide off of their laps. you smile and nod at him gratefully, breaking out in that nervous cold sweat you were prone to as you creep up the steps towards satoru’s room. your heart thunders in your chest, so loud in your own ears you think it may be audible to everyone else. suguru ‘awwws’ as you walk off and utahime blows you a kiss, stretched out in the recliner. she’s invested in the movie—totally into billy loomis, naturally.

you wish you could be so naive to spend your night crushing on the killer in an old horror film, but your mind is too preoccupied with the one you’re living. some comfort soothes at your heart as you enter satoru’s large personal space. it smells of his soothing sweet scent, and you melt right into his bed, looking up at the rotations of the ceiling fan. you aren’t sure how long you stare up at it, wondering what entertainment your classmates were getting out of seeing naoya’s dead body. it makes you shudder to think about it, you wish that this was some sort of nightmare. at least those weren’t real. but that can’t be, because you feel yourself fall into some kind of satoru’s scent-induced slumber.

“you know, it is pretty spooky how similar these past few deaths have been to the movie.” utahime scrunches her nose as she looks around the remaining friends. gojo nods, lips turned down in a pondering frown.

“yeah–like the disembowelment? totally creepy. awww i’m all out of beer. utahimeeeee?” he coos, shaking his bottle at her. she jiggles hers and rolls her eyes at the emptiness. she shoves out of her comfy spot on the recliner.

“you’re lucky mine’s empty, you bastard.” she chuckles, shaking her head and making her way out to the garage.

“let suguru beer-sit for me when you get back, i’m gonna go check on the princess!” he yells after her, using his own thighs to propel himself into a stand. he turns to suguru, brows raised. “she’s been so skittish lately. i’ll be right back.”

suguru takes a swallow of his room-temp beer, making a face at the taste. he finds himself alone with the movie, no choice but to watch the corny film that the current killings seem styled after—at least in costuming. he sighs.

some time must have passed by the time you blink awake. you think it’s the trees rustling in the october wind that rips you out of your brief reprieve, or maybe it’s the uncomfortable silence and stillness to gojo’s house. either way, you’re yawning—stretching out on your stomach as you remember what caused you to isolate yourself from the rest of the party in the first place. you close your eyes as if that will stop the thoughts in their tracks, but it’s no use.

the scraping up the trellis outside of satoru’s room does plenty to wipe your mind, followed by what could only be the sound of the window being opened from the outside. you push yourself up, ready to flee the bed, but his voice stops you as if he had puppeteer strings controlling your limbs. the distortion is familiar, just like it was on the phone that day.

“don’t move you little bitch, i’ll slice you to ribbons!” he cheers, boots scuffing against the floor. you’re holding your breath, still laying on your stomach, head faced away from the killer.

“wh–what do you want from me?” you gulp, clenching your jaw as his weight sinks into the bed. your hands grip satoru’s pillow as the ghostface touches your back, hand resting in between your shoulder blades. he trails one finger along your spine, stopping at the curve of your ass.

“ya mean you haven’t figured it out?” he slides his hand under your skirt, curling his finger in the waistline of your panties, pulling them out and letting them snap back against your skin. “i want that pretty pussy in exchange for another day on this spinning rock!”

you shiver, fear creeping up your veins. you feel something sharper than a finger against your back—unmistakably the point of his hunting knife. your body straightens and you gasp, his gloved hand palming at your ass. while the blade keeps you in place.

“p-please, mr. ghostface, i–i dunno what this is all about!” you breathe heavily, feeling a tingling warmth bubble in your abdomen at his touch—fear had to be crossing the wires in your brain. he uses one hand to shove up your skirt, slapping the skin, the leather covering his hand only intensifying the feeling. you squeeze your eyes shut at the pleasurable sensation–shaking your head in surprise with yourself.

“i just told ya, sugar. open up those ears and those legs. you’re gonna let me fuck you dumb if you ever wanna see outside this room again, be the good little slut i know you can be.” he pops your ass again, causing you to make a strangled sound of enjoyment. your cheeks burn, you can’t be enjoying this, the stranger that’s been terrorizing your life for the past few months—even possibly the man that killed your lover a year ago—should be the last person on the planet that causes your pussy to clamp around nothing.

you obey, spreading your legs wide enough for him to shift between. he repositions himself there on his knees, hooking his arm around to press the long blade across your delicate neck as he pulls your hips up slightly. you gasp at the sharp weapon pressed to your jugular, careful not to move or you’d slit your own throat. he giggles, using his free hand to leave the outline of his hand on your ass. your heart thrashes, blood pumping in your ears as a disgusting need burns viciously in your gut.

“that’s a good start, see. you can do it.” he kneads your ass approvingly, big hands gripping the skin so tenderly you whine out, biting your lip immediately after. his laugh is taunting, and makes the anticipation shoot up like sparklers. you’re ashamed. this is a dangerous and scary murderer, and he’s in here fucking you, you can’t deny that it makes you feel a little special—as he’s only targeting males. “ohhh you’re an even bigger skank than i thought, wow. you like it!” he licks his teeth audibly, hooking a finger around the crotch of your panties, yanking off the soiled fabric. he delights in damp juices covering his fingers as he tucks the soiled undies in the back pocket of his jeans beneath the robe. “you’ll fuck anyone won’t ya?”

you move to shake your head, feeling blade bite into the flesh beneath. you open your mouth in your defense, silenced by the feeling of his bare fingers playing around in the mess holding you at knifepoint has created. “no! that’s not true!”

he slaps your ass, sighing. “yeah? why’d you give this pretty little cunt to your married professor then? eager? desperate? did he make ya feel special?” he inquires, making your pussy grip again. the possessive lengths this murderer went through clearly spoke to your pussy if not your heart or your brain. you feel the man move around, freeing his cock if you had to guess. you ask yourself why you did fuck toji, and you decide to tell the truth. with the way things were going, he’d know if you were lying anyway.

“because i was horny and he was hot and there—and i…i guess i did feel special, he picked me.” you reply, earning a growl in return. the smack on your ass has you screaming this time, the force of it causing you to brush up against the knife a little, feeling the first layer of skin give way.

“wrong answer.” he gruffs, not as jovial sounding as before. you know what comes next. you briefly wonder what he’ll feel like, how curved or thick he’d be, and if he’d actually let you live after he’s done. he answers most of your questions rather quickly, feeling like lightning had struck you and split you open—you realize he’s shoved himself all the way in while you’re still laying on your stomach. you sputter out gargled sounds from suddenly being so full, balling up your fists in satoru’s pillow. maybe it was his scent wafting in your nose that made you horny instead of the masked man plowing your insides, holding your ass cheek apart with one hand in order to reach top speed. “little slut likes getting ruined by a psycho, huh? maybe i will keep you around after all, gripping my cock like you love it.” he giggles, laying all his body weight into the thrusts.

you’re mewling, gripping satoru’s pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth. the ghostface was hitting every spot so rapidly and with so much force that you’re seeing stars. it takes everything in you not to slump forward—only the threat of imminent death keeping you awake enough.

“you keep grippin it, lil slut. dont wanna let me go?” he chuckles at the way you keep lifting up to escape the blade. “cute slut though!! and a good one. gonna give you my load for being so obedient—i guess you didn’t have much choice though!” he laughs and pulls the knife from your neck, sickening slaps of his hips into your ass sound out across the room, growing slower in pace until he stills altogether, seed flooding your insides–his tip pressing it directly to your womb. his breaths are slightly ragged as he presses your ass back together, trapping his cum tight as he pulls out of you, humming at the sight of his slimy seed sliding out of your hole and pearling up on your pretty thighs. you heard his zipper at the same time you heard a knock at the door, a voice you recognize all too well kicking the panic up again.

“y/n? i heard screaming, are you okay?” suguru asks, jiggling the handle. “everyone’s gone and i just want to make sure you’re alright. i’m coming in.”

you shake your head, turning to scream out a warning, but the ghostface clamps a hand over your mouth. suguru pushes the door open— furrowing his brows at the sight, immediately rushing forward to intervene. he grunts his displeasure, snatching your hand to yank you away from the figure.

“run y/n!” he commands, trying to shove the man away from you. you slide off the bed frantically, trying to get geto to run away with you as he and the ghostface struggle for dominance over the knife. he turns his head to look at you still standing in the room. “go, now!” he calls out, the sound of the blade making contact with his skin making the color drain from your face. his eyes widen as he looks down at the knife in his chest—while the masked murderer cackles wildly before he grabs the wooden handle. geto looks back up at you, eyes growing more and more lidded.

“yet another friend you’ve killed, little skank!” he cheers, yanking the knife out with a harrowing schlick before embedding it in him again for good measure—his form falling to the ground. the sound of geto’s body collapsing was enough to send you scrambling down the stairs in search of the only other person who could help you get away. your legs move faster than you’ve ever seen them go before, taking two steps at a time as you bound for the door.

you hear the stomps of ghostface’s boots coming after you. you shudder out your cries of anguish, trying to figure out a way to put some space between you and him—not wanting to put any merit in his promise to keep you alive. you jump over the couch, slinging the tv down and once again throwing any and all obstacles in your path. it seemed to work well enough the first time you tried it, and based off of his hiss and a subsequent thump, you know you tripped him up a little bit. you sprint towards the garage, flipping on the light and pressing the switch to raise the door—screaming in horror at what the lights reveal.

iori utahime was nearly unrecognizable, her head smashed in the refrigerator with a broken beer bottle sticking out of her chest. hot tears spring out of your eyes instantly—muttering your apologies as you dip under the opening the garage door gives you, full sprinting like your life depends on it. you’ve made it to an open field—somewhere you once felt safe now making you feel like a deer waiting to be pounced on. you keep your head on a swivel, trying to locate the black mass in the night—but it was virtually impossible.

when he comes out of your peripheral—running at you from your right side, you see him in enough time to slide under his attempt to bear hug you, turning an about face towards the house. maybe you could make it back there, make it back to geto’s body—if you could just lock the doors and windows, you should be home free. satoru was still around–luckily you didn’t find his body. you struggle to get oxygen into your system through the chilly night air—feeling it squeeze at your lungs as you desperately fight to get back to some idea of safety, running in bursts and patterns to keep the masked man guessing and confused through the tiny holes in the mask. tears still sting at your eyes as you throw yourself up the steps, making it to the door which you deadbolt instantly. you sweep the house, making sure the other doors were locked before coming back to the front—hearing the beating of the ghostface rap against the door.

“don’t lock me out sugar! we had such a good time!” he appeals, using the weighty knife handle to beat on the door some more. you grip the sides of your hair, out of breath and full blown panicking. if satoru wasn’t in the house, then you’ve locked him out, and who knows if suguru was clinging to life upstairs. noise behind you makes you wheel around to confront it—terrified that the ghostface snuck in through a window like he had earlier.

instead, a heavily injured and bloody suguru limps out of gojo’s room, gasping out your name as he tumbles down the stairs, falling all the way to your feet. you cry out and crouch to him, face contorted up with concern and horror. he motions to stand, asking you to help him do so.

“suguru! he’s outside–oh my god, are we going to die? where’s satoru? i need him to be safe too! we have to call the police—” you prattle on, doing your best to help lift his weight. he groans in pain, helping you to the best of his ability as you get him propped up against the wall. he keeps you from pulling away, holding your hand in both of his.

“we’re going to be alright, angel. i’ll call the cops.” he assured, stumbling forward—toward the door. he nods to help you calm down, a bloody hand cupping your face to have you look him in his gentle eyes. “i’m going to get us out of here.”

“don’t!! he’s gonna break it down or something—stand back, suguru! i’m scared!” you warn him as he looks out the peephole, shaking your head frantically.

“you should be.” he says, leaning against the front door, giving you a cunning smile. gentle brown eyes shift into something much more sinister—though the lust that always swims in them remains. his words rock you off kilter—you’re sure you must be so paranoid that you’re making things up now.

“wh-what?” you shake your head, furrowing your brows a bit as he lifts a bloody finger to his mouth, sucking the red digit clean with repeated swirls of his thick tongue—and making you step backward as the shock wears off. he was involved. you don’t understand how or why—but your best friend suguru geto was involved.

“shame you don’t like horror movies, y/n. maybe if you had seen scream, you’d have known what to expect. high fructose corn syrup—just like in carrie.” he hums, trailing his tongue along his hand. you shake your head, steadily backing away from him. he wasn’t hurt at all—just theatrics to get you right where he wanted you. which means satoru—

“n-no…this is impossible. you…you came to my house!” you argue, trying to find a way for it to not be true. you back straight into another hard chest—and the figure dangles your panties over your face. your veins are frozen as you turn slowly—faced with the missing satoru. he’s beaming, wiggling the fabric in his hands.

“surprise! look what we did for you, princess!” he cheers, stepping forward to make you back up—pushing you back into suguru with every calculated step. you blink rapidly, processing all that’s before your eyes. satoru and suguru? they were working as a team this whole time? a murderous, manipulative team?

“for me? what on earth are you talking about??” you shake your head incredulously, wondering how they’ve cloaked their insanity this whole time. “i–i never wanted this!” you begin to sniffle, the tears of realization starting the burn your eyes.

“no? you know how we feel about boys around our princess.” satoru hummed, shaking his head.

“after all of our years of devotion to you,” suguru shakes his head, stepping in front of you as well, leaning down to capture your vision. you avoid his eyes, too busy dealing with your racing thoughts. “you reward us by giving your virginity to a married man. what were we supposed to do about that angel?”

“how–how did you find out–”

“you’re so loud in his office, pretty girl. we know what you sound like all too well—and you had been missing a lot that semester…we put two and two and two together!” he says shrilly, devoid of the costume though the large hunting knife was still in hand.

“i…i didn’t ever get any attention from boys!!” you start to cry, the full weight of their words taking hold on you. everything was your fault after all, those haunting feelings were all true—and your best friends were the ones behind the whole scheme.

“why would you need any other attention?? are we not more than enough?” he snarls, deeply wounded that you gave your body away after he’s spent so much of his time catering to it.

you sniffle, recoiling away at his tone. geto was always so gentle and calm, but it seems like he’s finally snapped. you never thought they had any romantic intent with all their safe-guards, assuming they viewed you more like a tiny kitten that needed their protection. but it all makes sense now, their abnormal need to spend their time with you, the cuddling, the touching, even the carrying game—you were sure now that it was all about their feelings for you. geto grabs your face in one broad hand, jerking your chin up to look at him.

“you’ll look at me when i’m speaking to you. answer. are we not enough?” he demands, clenching his jaw so tight that you can see the muscles twitch.

“yes! you’re enough—i just didn’t think it was like that, boys–i didn’t think you both liked me, i–i just thought you were being nice–”

“well. there’s no more of that, slut. if we didn’t kill the other two, who knows what you would have let them do.” he snarls, squeezing your cheeks together to keep you from speaking further. satoru claps his hands, tugging you to the couch.

“it’s time we make you our final girl, sugar. aren’t you so lucky? who else would love you like us?!” he asks you, pushing you into the cushions. he holds the knife to your shoulder, pouting. “don’t make me use this on you, pretty girl. just listen to us and we’ll go from a scary movie to a happily ever after.” he hums, sitting at your side so he could keep the blade steady.

you’re reeling, brain light and heavy all at once. they did this…for you? all to show you their love and devotion? it’s too much. his words are sweet but his actions have been anything but. you shake your head. “utahime…what did she do to deserve that?” you snap, tears slipping down your cheeks, you feel bolstered with the confidence that they won’t hurt you. this elaborate scheme has all been to make you theirs, after all.

geto laughs, shaking his head as he comes over to the couch, the boner in his pants so obvious your pussy clenches involuntarily. you’re lucky your skirt has you covered enough that neither of them saw it, for you’d never hear the end of it. geto strokes himself over his pants, giving satoru some kind of direction with the nod of his head. gojo shifts you to your knees, forcing your head forward to stare at suguru as he unbuttons his pants.

“utahime was in the way.” suguru shrugs, letting his endowment slap up against his red corn syrup stained shirt. he peels that off next.

gojo scoffs. “you don’t need friends anyway, you got us!” he cheered, repositioning his digits on the back of your neck. suguru pushes some hair over his shoulder, gesturing to his cock with a simple look down.

you shake your head no, trying to fight against satoru’s hold, but he points the knife under your jaw, following the line of the bone. suguru chuckles darkly.

“this whore will fuck anything on two legs, but when it comes time to fuck the men that earned it, you wanna be shy?” he shakes his head with disappointment, “you even slutted yourself out for someone you didn’t know. what’s the problem? if he holds the knife against your neck will it make you drip again?”

the statement makes you gasp softly, the pang in your core causing you to whine in disbelief. why was this turning you on? there’s no way you should be giving in to such a crazy stunt. they’ve ruined your life, killed anyone close to or interested in you—and now they’re here to claim their due reward. and your pussy is absolutely leaking over it despite the alarms ringing in your head. the way that geto grabs a fistful of your hair to guide your face to his drooling slit has you opening your mouth to welcome him inside without any more protests, causing gojo to giggle at the sight.

“told ya she’d give in. we know her better than anyone, yeah?” he dances the knife along the side of your neck as your throat bulges with suguru’s thickness. your eyes roll back at the feeling of his fat tip hitting your uvula, keeping you from speaking anyway.

“there we go. you’re pretty when you listen, y/n.” he hums, cock jumping in your mouth. you felt better than he could’ve imagined—and nothing could recreate the mix of fear and taboo lust that you look at him with, tears dotting the corner of your vision as he guides your head in bobbing along his thick shaft. gojo just keeps your hair from falling in your face–eager to see all of you as you arch up on your knees, wiggling your pretty ass in the air. “nasty little thing. you’re just as bad as us, you know. you made us kill all these poor people—if only you listened to us and left boys alone.” suguru grunts, watching as satoru pushes your skirt up, trailing the tip of the knife over your ass cheek, careful not to slice as he peppers slaps to your other side. you whine at the feeling, pussy tightening at his teasing even though suguru filled your mouth to the brim. suguru slaps you—medium intensity, but coupled with satoru’s spanks and his dick forcing your throat apart—it had your vision darkening. you never stop sucking his cock though, and that’s what he was testing for.

“let her ride it.” he rewards you with his approval, and satoru snickers happily. suguru’s hand falls to grip your neck, loving the sounds you make when struggling to breathe. the pain is so delicious, you can feel the morale in you dying the longer they toy with you—your need to be touched outweighing your fear–transcending it into trust. you know that they love you, in their own fucked up way, so they won’t kill you. your drowsy eyes shoot open when you feel the cool wooden handle of the hunting knife nudge against your clit. gojo holds it carefully by the blade—too skilled to let it cut him even with your uncalculated movements. suguru chuckles at your reactions, letting your hair go to see how you swallow him up on your own accord. you don’t falter, not even when the handle slides around your hole, teasing you into steady rolls of your hips to find it. gojo loved this—watching you grow so needy you’d settle for fucking yourself on the weapon that slayed your professor, your lab partner, your white knight, and your best friend.

“look who’s a needy whore now. you wouldn’t ever be satisfied without us, angel.” suguru insists, watching the pleasure on your face as satoru finally lets you sink down on the handle. it’s wide, stretching you open with a slight burn—but it’s delicious friction strokes against your insides, and you were eager for anything to relieve the ache in your stomach, the way they used you but loved you mercilessly has you clamping, wetness sliding down the weapon. the guilt pushing back against the pleasure was slowly fading—losing. “oh, no, no. don’t let her cum.” suguru tsks, sliding his cock free of your mouth. you whine at the loss, rubbing at your sore jaw, feeling gojo’s hands find your waist again. he pulls you to lay in his lap, his own excitement pressing against the tight seam of his zipper. you’re careful to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him and feeling a sense of relief—even as he pressed the blade to your neck.

“you liked this earlier, right? that’s because you’re just as fucking nasty as we are, cutie.” he snickered a little, cupping your clothed tit. suguru saddles between your legs this time, pushing your knees to your chest without pause, absolutely nothing but a feral need to claim you flashing in his eyes. he pushes your shirt up just to see all of you, “i’ve waited far too long to see these tits, angel.” he grumbles, palming at them in between squeezes from satoru’s large hands. you moan at their touches—so intense yet different and identifiable. satoru hums at the little noise, tweaking your nipple as geto parts your pussy lips. he doesn’t warn you before he sheaths himself, making you take his length all at once. your eyes widen at the feeling—so wide you don’t understand how your throat accommodated him. your back arches off the couch at the sensation, you think you can feel every vein and ridge along his length as he lets you get used to it. gojo’s enamored by the face you make, brows pinched and mouth dropped open—wide eyes flickering between them. he’s dreamed of this for so long—they would do all of this as many times as it took to have you like this now, but luckily you’re obedient. satoru cups your face with his free hand, trailing his fingers along your cheekbone in a touch reminiscent of his ghostface earlier. he’s gentler than suguru despite the blade he wields. suguru’s grip on the back of your thighs will bruise, it hurts even now—but in the type of way you want to feel forever. he’s not gentle with your pussy either, pulling his full length out, tapping your clit with his head to make you mewl. the force he uses to plow back in causes satoru to move the knife from your neck, drawing circles over your bouncing fat tits instead.

“she’s so tight, huh? think she’ll stay like that between the two of us?” gojo giggles, looking up at the pretty faces suguru himself was making. his eyes are lazily lidded, but still serpentine and focused on the sight before him. you squeeze down on his cock, and he loves that he can’t tell if it’s from fear or your returned affection.

“so tight, despite giving it up so freely. isn’t that right–our little slut?.” suguru mutters, watching the glint of the blade as satoru swirls it around your delicate skin. your eyes widen at his question, face burning at the fact that they knew. blaming them wouldn’t get you anywhere—it seems you had to own your mistake and hope that groveling can return you to your former glory, despite how you clench around him calling you a slut.

you nod, “i’m sorry! i didn’t know that you two love me, i’m sorry, suguru!” you lean up a bit to appeal to him, causing satoru to knick your skin with the blade. you moan at the slight burn, beads of blood bubbling to the small cut. satoru curses at himself, though the noise you make has his eyes narrowing at yours in intrigue. you liked it, just like you liked fucking at knifepoint earlier

“you’re a dirty little bitch.” satoru chuckles, looking up at an intoxicated suguru. his eyes were nearly blacked, pupils fully dilated. he leans over, running his fat tongue along the shallow wound, humming at the few drops of your blood that he got to taste. satoru arches a brow, fascinated by the reaction. it makes him want a taste for himself—but suguru’s still hungry for more. his thick hand steadies your jaw, his tongue licking a thick stripe up the side of your neck. you shiver at the feeling—all the feelings. the warmth threatening to spill over at the cock splitting you in half, the slight dizziness that came from the cut—how lewd and chill-inducing suguru’s tongue felt, the intense desire behind satoru’s groping. it was all consuming, and you were losing sight of yourself relatively easily—after all, you felt your safest with them. they’d never hurt their final girl.

“let’s see just how dirty, satoru…” he hums, never faltering with his hips as he moves his lips to your neck, licking and sucking spots into your skin almost romantically. you’re so undone that you even move your hips, circling to try to get closer to suguru, teetering on the line.

“oh–it feels so good, suguru..” you mumble, and satoru giggles at your blissed out face, dick throbbing in his jeans.

“i’m sure it does, pretty slut.” satoru sings to you, his normal taunting voice was layered with the sick affection he holds you in. he watches your cut pearl up with blood again, the sight so pretty to him. he’s seen plenty of blood eradicating all the threats to your happiness, but yours seemed so much better. like you were more pure than those that he’d eliminated on your behalf. he wanted to see some more—and suguru does too. satoru makes a matching cut below the accidental one, swiping his thumb over it to collect the hot crimson. you watch him, lengthening your neck to tilt your head back—eagerly following how his tongue wrapped around the slender digit to suck the tangy taste off.

the opening you give suguru is so delicious he can’t repress his chuckle as he picks the perfect spot between your neck and shoulder. he bites down and you can feel his canines pierce the skin deep, screaming out at the painful bliss. your red blood covers their white teeth, leaking out of their pink lips. suguru looks like a vampire instead of a masked murderer with his chin dyed burgundy, satoru’s tongue darting out to collect the remnants on his own mouth before he leaned up–grabbing suguru’s jaw so he could lap up the stain, letting your blood mingle together on each other’s tongues as they wrestle together. gojo holds the knife carefully away from suguru’s head as he puts his other hand on his face, the two clearly just as into each other as they were you—a fact that was terrifying and insanely hot at the same time. you shudder—feeling your heartbeat echo through the cuts and your bite, pussy throbbing around suguru. he breaks away from satoru—yanking him back by a fistful of his white hair.

“our little bitch thinks it’s time for her to cum.” suguru sighs, and satoru grins down at you with a mix of blood and saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. satoru shakes his head.

“but i haven’t even touched her!” he protests, pouting down at you. it makes you feel a pang of guilt in your stomach—but not because you were fucking two serial killers, no–because you hadn’t given one of them enough attention.

“you did take her earlier—without permission.” suguru growled a bit and looks over your slightly bloodied chest and fucked out face. he knows exactly what will perk you back up and get satoru back in line. he releases his hold on his hair and slips out of your sopping folds, moving to slip the knife from satoru’s grasp while taking your chin in his other hand. he nods satoru to you. “prep her ass—i wonder if she ever let the professor in there. wait no…i’m sure he only fucked your ass.” he gently pulls on you, prompting you to get back to your hands and knees, facing him. he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, tilting your chin up with the blade to look at him.

the intense knowing in his eyes makes a shudder trill down your spine—and your pussy clench. how did he know that? knowing about the affair—hearing it—was one thing. but how did they know the intimate details outside of…being there. the puzzle pieces click into place and suguru can see it in the way your eyes widen. he chuckles, nodding to confirm your fears while satoru jiggles your fat ass cheeks in his hands. he’s admiring the recoil, the leaking pussy he had to spread your ass to see—it was all such a wonderful and worthy reward for him.

“you think we’d miss a show like that? tsk tsk.” he pouts, keeping you engaged so satoru could warm you up on the other end. “professor fushiguro didn’t want any more children? how sad.” he teases slightly, running the knife over your plush lips, watching the way your skin gives in to the metal, bouncing back up as he moves it to a new spot. satoru gathers the arousal pooling down your thighs, adding his spit to the nasty mix on his fingers. you gasp softly, feeling his digits prod around your puckered entrance. “could have made a pretty little thing like you his baby mama? hm. maybe if he’d been smarter about it, his existing son wouldn’t be fatherless. though that’s on you too—”

you whimper, shaking your head. “n–no, don’t say that!” you protest, feeling the humanity in you lash out at the statement.

“why? hard truth? don’t worry princess—we’ll give you plenty of kids. you won’t be left wanting, poor thing.” satoru pouts with you, giving you the first finger down to the knuckle. you squeeze around it, any combativeness dying right back down as the brain fog returns. he’s slowly thrusting it, letting you rock your hips back for more, the unrelenting need in your gut yet to be satisfied under geto’s punishments.

“and your kids will have two fathers just to keep you extra safe. can’t you see? we’re the only ones who can protect you and make you happy.” geto implores, stroking your cheeks and watching your reaction to satoru’s second finger, tucking his lip between his teeth.

“oh she already knows that, sugu. c’mon sugar. tell him.” he encourages, defending you in his own way. he scissors his fingers in your ass, giggling at the wet squelch that accompanies his movements. “you’ll be so happy–just tell him, princess.” he appeals, your brain mushy with the feeling of their hands on you and their promises swimming around your brain. they have protected you from so much over the years, between your average bullies and boys that truly crossed the line back in high school—you know that in their own deluded way, they’re right.

“you guys are the only ones that make me happy!! i feel so safe here–i know you won’t hurt me.” you whine, nodding. it appeals to both of their hearts–the sultry call of your voice had them eager to fill all your holes.

“oh we’ll hurt you, slutty princess.” satoru hums, sliding his fingers out of your choking ass. he repositions you, hands fitting into the handles of your waist to right you in his lap, angling his proud length at your hole. “see, this will hurt a bunch! but you’ll love it.” he assures, pulling you down on him a few inches at a time. you scream out, looking up at geto for rescue. he only steps in front of you–fisting his own cock in the angle he needs it. your eyes widen when you realize that they plan to fuck you at the same time—and they don’t have the decency to let you get accustomed to one before giving you the other.

gojo hisses, your ass was still so tight despite all his hard work, though the amounts of spit and your own slick he slathered around were making it easy to sink into you. as soon as you hit the hilt of his dick—absolutely shaking from the pressure in your ass, suguru’s nudging your pussy lips apart to bully you some more.

“you can take us both—you’re a slut, remember? you can do it for us.” suguru reminds you tenderly, holding your face as they get used to the feeling of you and each other through the thin wall of tissue that keeps them apart. you sputter, grabbing onto suguru’s shoulders in an effort to not fall over. satoru uses his hold on your waist to propel you to move, making geto’s work minimal. the pace he sets is brutal, picking you up and slamming you back down while suguru just rocks his hips to add to the sensation of two cocks fucking you open.

if you thought either of them were big and splitting earlier, then this was what you got in return. white hot pain and pleasure courses through your veins, replacing the fear and unease that has been haunting you for days. they were taking care of you, and if you didn’t have to fear their wrath—why wouldn’t you squeeze their cocks, scream for them, and make them feel just as loved?

this is what they deserve, what their hard work has earned them: your silken walls being beaten into the shapes of their dicks and nothing else—your tits and ass bouncing with the impact of their brutal thrusts sending you back and forth like a tug of war.

“it’s too much!” you cry out, feeling the heat in your stomach burn as bright as a star–you felt like you were on fire. pleasure tingled up your veins, the gummy spots of your cunt being abused perfectly by suguru’s thick cock—your insides being rearranged by gojo’s unrelenting brutality, despite his sweeter speech.

“d’awh, no it’s not. look at you—you’re doing it.” he encourages, putting his lips to your neck. “you’re takin’ it so good.”

“squeezing us even. stop lying–you want even more.” suguru huffs, grabbing your throat. you sputter a little, erotic moans turning higher in pitch. he chuckles at his prediction—cock twitching in your walls.

“toomuchtoomuch—need to cum, please, please boys—wanna cum all over you!” you plead for yourself, though it’s not exactly a performance. they were fucking you mindless, and at this point you would do whatever it took to have them—even lying to the police about what happened here tonight.

“aw sugu, listen to her. i wanna see it, let her cum.” satoru adds on your behalf, balancing his chin on your shoulder. he bats those crystal blues at suguru, knowing he surely can’t deny you both—and he won’t.

“tell us you love us, angel. tell us who fucks you so good, then you can cum.” he grunts, laying his hands over satoru’s to feel you move your hips on them both, fucking into geto just to throw your ass back on satoru—it’s so fucking good.

his demand isn’t even a challenge—you’ve succumbed to their desires for you some time ago, accepting their brutal form of love as the one that you’re deserving of—men who would kill for you. what more could you ever want?

“i love you, fuck—i love you both so much! i always have–i always have, you’re my boys!” you pant, your voice begging plead. “you fuck me so good–let me cum to show you, please–suguru!! satoru!!” you cry their names so sweetly that satoru can’t hold himself back anymore—hot cum fills your ass before you even finish saying it. he’s shuddering, nodding to give you his permission, though you wait for suguru too.

he leans forward—jerking your chin up into a proper kiss with him, gnashing on your lips and giving you a taste of his tongue. he holds your face still as he pulls away, nodding. “cum, angel. you’ve been so fucking good.” he drawls in your ear, giving satoru a rewarding kiss too as your hips spasm under his command. it strokes his ego, the way you scream and jerk as your orgasm overtakes you—the ones he’s denied you factoring into the toe-curling sensation of this one. he follows after you—his hot seed spurting out in bursts, so so much cum. it’s clear suguru and satoru have planned this for some time—and now that delights you instead of invoking the fear it should, if you were normal.

satoru rubs at your shoulders, pulling away from suguru’s lips with a loud smack. you can feel your heart pounding—hearing it in your ears as they turn to you—cocks still plugging you full. “now princess…” he hums as suguru picks you up off of him. he looks so pretty, you think, his skin slightly red from excitement—blue eyes wild with adrenaline. “we’re gonna get you cleaned up—and then it’s your turn to attack.” he giggles, making you snap your tired head up to suguru who holds you like a baby.

“the police. we have to be believable survivors after all. didn’t you watch any horror movie, y/n?” he shakes his head, a fond grin on his face as he takes you to the kitchen, sitting you on the counter for satoru to wipe down. gojo kneels between your legs to clean you carefully as suguru tucks the knife into your hands.

“aim for the stomach. you’ve got our hearts already.” suguru smirks, dialing 911.

2K notes · View notes

arachine · 2 years ago

Text

— what's going on down there?: a dick analysis

ᥫ᭡ featuring :: jake sully, miles quaritch & norm spellman

ᥫ᭡ includes :: their human forms + avatar forms

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: talking about dicks obviously, explicit sexual content (?), humor lol

ᥫ᭡ note :: if you know anything about arachine, you know i love a good dick analysis. these posts are intended for comedic purposes only, which means they’re not to be taken seriously.

— jake “ima slut you out” sully

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: as we all know, jake’s life on earth was very unfulfilling. he was a man who sacrificed his legs for the fate of the country, only to be disposed of into the unforgiving hands of society, with no way to reap the benefits (or lack thereof) that veterans were promised to receive. and after losing the privilege of mobility, his body changed drastically. he got smaller, his body got weaker, and yet, one thing remained—that dick! jake is a survivor, through and through—his personal motto is: if it ain’t broken, then it’s still working—and boy, he does not disappoint when it comes to the downstairs department. standing tall at 7 inches, is little jake (maybe not so little). when flaccid, his length measures at a solid 5.7 inches. definitely a grower.

⟳ width: a little bit on the skinnier side, but he knows how to use it and that’s all that matters!

⟳ color: i think for the most part, his shaft definitely matches the rest of his body; though, i can see it maybe being slightly a little more darker at the base, like a very light beige. when he’s flaccid, his tip is a pretty pink, almost like a ballet slipper (aka the best pink). turns into an angry red when fully erect!

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: jake pegs me as the kinda guy who doesn’t really care? i mean, trimming isn’t foreign to him, because he has trimmed it before, and does so when he notices it’s gotten to be too long…but, i don’t think it’s something that he does often. to him, it’s just hair. he’s on his grown man shit, you know?

02. curved?: uhm, yes! you know that one beyoncé lyric? yeah.

03. any veins?: absolutely covered in ‘em

04. how he fucks with it: i’d like to think before his accident, he was a doggy style connoisseur—come on, it’s jake we’re talking about here. can’t nobody tell me otherwise! i just know he had bitches bent over, weaves sweated out, makeup all over the pillows…mans was f-u-c-k-i-n-g okay? fuckingggg.

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: the masses may attack me, but it’s time i spoke up. the man has a monster schlong. a cooter cat killer, if you will. if you thought his human form was big, shit, you ain’t seen nothing yet! completely flaccid, his cock measures to about 10 inches. when fully hard, he grows an additional three! talk about impressive…

⟳ width: so thick that it basically slaps his thighs when he walks. the man could create a beat with it, get em into the soundcloud business now!

⟳ color: self explanatory tbh, it’s fucking blue. as blue as papa smurf’s ass.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: i’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that because he’s an avatar, he grows hair there. even if i’m wrong, i’m right. i don’t give a damn what james cameron says. he’s basically my character at this point, and i will him to have hair damnit! just…the idea of him having a full bush down there, in the wild, all primitive and shit…does something to me. idk. don’t ask me why i’m so nasty, blame my deadbeat father.

02. curved?: is a banana yellow? there’s your answer.

03. any veins?: i might have a brain aneurysm just thinking about it, but yes! god, yes. so many…so, so, so many. ribbed for her pleasure or whatever trojan said.

04. how he fucks with it: is he still the doggy style connoisseur? yes. but now that’s got the strength of 20 men, backshots sound a whole lot like gunshots now. they say every time the mighty toruk makto thrusts into a cunt, a tree falls down or something. so, yes. fucks hard, fucks rough, fucks like he’s on a mission. what’s that one tik tok audio? “rest in peace to all the soldiers that died in the service, i dive in her cervix.” yeah, he lives by that.

— miles “on your knees, cadet!” quaritch

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: just gonna cut right to the chase. he’s huge. like pussy splitting huge. i don’t care what anyone says, you can argue with ya friend, you can argue with ya mother, but you cannot argue with me! coming in at a solid 6 when flaccid, quaritch takes the cake for the biggest cock on this list (at least, human form wise). at full length, he measures to about 7.8 inches!

‘booooo’ you say, well, guess what? it’s the truth, and i’m just the messenger. whether you hate him or love him, he’s just that guy.

⟳ width: surprisingly average. but it’s okay, sometimes you can’t have the best of both worlds.

⟳ color: if my memory serves me right, he was pretty tan in the first movie. so, i’m gonna stick with that and say that it’s a pretty tan that transitions into a pale pink. i don’t know if some of you have seen old dick, but their tips get less saturated with age. it’s a phenomenon (not really, the blood flow to the groin is just a lot slower, which can make it appear kind of gre—anyway, i digress!)

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: this man is a colonel, so he’s all about discipline and keeping things nice and tidy. so, obviously, his hygiene reflects that. i don’t think he goes completely bald, but he does give it a good trim. kind of like a fade…just imagine a patch of grey, prickly hair. yeah.

02. curved?: yes, and since he’s older, it’s probably curved a lot. you could probably hang something on it. maybe a towel, or a lanyard. it’s definitely useful for something!

03. any veins?: god, i don’t know why, but i have it in my head that he’s on steroids. he’s just so buff and strong, and i mean, yeah, he could just be really fit…but he could also be a self-image obsessed freak who takes drugs to be the perfect soldier. the correlation, you ask? well, i just feel like people who take steroids are really veiny, and i feel like his dick would be really, really veiny. so, thus the rant about steroids. steroid dick.

04. how he fucks with it: don’t let his age fool you. he may very well be pushing his late fifties, but he’s still a young man at heart—and he’s definitely got the sex drive to prove it! i can see his favorite position being something like missionary. not so much because he enjoys the intimacy of it (like being face to face), but more so because he’s got a size kink—and definitely a dacryphilia kink. he enjoys seeing his partners cry, whether in pain, or in pleasure, or both! so, when you’re fucking him, don’t expect anything romantic. he just wants to see your pretty little face all teary eyed and pathetic.

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: so big you can see it from space; that’s how the RDA mfs know they’re close, because they can see the tip protruding from pandora. no, but seriously, it’s still really huge. like maybe 12-14 inches—maximum.

⟳ width: probably twice as thick as a human’s forearm. and god, it’s sooooo heavy. big breeding balls to match.

⟳ color: blue blue blue…like wet fun dip. with just as many stripes as the american flag or whatever.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: yes, but the hair is black instead of grey and it’s probably really straight because na’vi hair is straight as fuck.

02. curved?: sir, yes sir.

03. any veins?: what’d i say? steroid dick. but even worse (better) now bc he’s so damn tall, he needs all the blood he can get down there.

04. how he fucks with it: has you in all types of positions. his favorites are anything that shows off his new found strength, so i’m betting on full nelsons and mating presses. just fast, powerful strokes. lives by the motto: can’t stop, won’t stop.

— norm “what’s the sq root of 69?” spellman

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: i’m sorry to disappoint the norm fuckers (if there are any), but he’s not that big. when he’s soft, his cock measures to about 4.8 inches, and at most, 6.2 inches when hard.

⟳ width: skinny dick.

⟳ color: dawg he’s so white, it’s like hella pale and the tip is so pink that when he’s aroused, it looks like there’s something wrong.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: like jake, i don’t think he really cares.

02. curved?: straight like a pencil

03. any veins?: like two, and they’re really prominent because he’s so fucking pale.

04. how he fucks with it: i don’t think human norm is getting puss, let’s be real.

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: i am a firm believer in N.W.B.C—nerds with big cocks. it’s just the universe’s way of saying thank you, they just…they just do so much for us, you know? norm may not have been packing down there in his human form, but this was his second chance at redemption. he’s now a proud member of N.W.B.C, sporting an impressive 15 inches. you know that one scene in the first spider-man when pete’s looking at himself in the mirror and he looks inside his briefs? yeah, that was norm when he found out. the man got so excited, he accidentally catapulted a scientist out of pandora’s atmosphere with the weight of his cock. joking.

⟳ width: on the skinnier side but still toe curling, nonetheless.

⟳ color: laffy taffy blue, with little (big) blueberry balls.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: no, he’s too busy in the lab and getting na’vi puss.

02. curved?: unfortunately no

03. any veins?: more than before, which he was pleasantly surprised to see.

04. how he fucks with it: norm’s got a big dick, but he acts so shy, like he’s scared of it or something. like stop playing boy and drop them drawls, the fuck? anyway, i think norm’s a sub. he pegs me as the type of guy who likes strong women, women who’ll tell him to shut the fuck up (because he talks so much) and eat their pussies. i guess this makes him a munch. yeah, he’s a munch. ice spice actually wrote that song with him in mind!

#jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader smut #jake sully smut #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader smut #miles quaritch smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #avatar the way of water #avatar the way of water smut #atwow x reader #atwow smut

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pink-tk-a-latte · 7 months ago

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PYPYPYPY! (That is how I shall summon thee. Like a cat's PSPSPSPSP- HEHEHE-)

If you feel inspired by my prompt, can I please request lee! Sigma and ler! Dazai? (Tone, romantic but not established relationship (YET LMAO-). I really don't have a coherent plot idea, I just woke up to the thought of Dazai *geeeently* fluttering his digits against Sigma's ears, sides, etc, being extra soft as Sigma desperately tries to crawl away, only to get pulled back into Dazai's lap (He loves it, he just refuses to LET himself love it XD). Sigma bby needs some softness after the last 3 years of his life tbh... And Atsushi is now experienced enough to predict Dazai's tickle attacks so his new victim is Sigma XD.

Have an awesome dayyy~!

-🫧 Anon~!

So I’m a cat girl now? (PYPYPYPY is hilarious from now on I will respond only to that) /j

ANYWAY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST!!! You’ve been such a pal bubble anon!! Genuinely I’m so sorry for how long this took :((( I’ll blame it on end of school year busyness but I’ve also just been generally waffling (I have no reference for how long it should take to finish a request… uhhhhhh…)

Warning for,,, a spattering of tildes (there’s like three)? I know it’s cringe but I think they’re fun~~~~~ lmaooo

Regardless!!! On with the Sigzai!!!!!

Sfw tickle fic!!!!!!! Pre-Relationship Sigzai 💜🤎

Gypsophila, Baby’s Breath

In his mind, Sigma felt weightless. As if he and gravity had become estranged, acquaintances who’d fallen out of touch over time. As if he were drifting, floating, falling through the sky.

But then there were clowns with sharp teeth and dove wings, and strange, pale men offering their hands, and sands and seas of red and orange, and pages, and elevators, and flooding ballrooms with classical music—

And he was riding a giraffe, for some reason?

Then Sigma awoke, gasping as though he'd been ripped from a freezing ocean, to a warm and fluttering breeze blown against the back of his neck. He slapped a hand against his nape, a shabby attempt to hide his reaction.

“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty!”

Sigma whipped his head around, still achey and foggy as he tried to remember who he was and where he was and what universe this was supposed to be.

A dream? Sigma twisted his face and rubbed his bleary eyes. It felt so real.

Granted, he had no idea why he would think that.

“Come back to reality yet?” He thought he recognized that voice. It was bright and entirely unserious and brought a sinking sensation to his stomach. “It’s rare to see Sigma sleeping on the job~!”

“Huh?” Sigma surveyed his surroundings. The lights were off, the room lit solely by the tangerine rays stretching from the windows. He glanced down at his desk.

His desk. At the ADA. His not-quite-yet home, only because he had nowhere else to go for now.

He looked up. Dazai was leaning over him, eyes a soft and welcoming brown in the rusty sunlight.

The rusty sunlight…

How long was I asleep for!?

Dazai laughed in his frothy-bubbly way. “Don’t worry, you were only out for an hour or so. It was almost the end of the day already.” Pulling up a chair, he scooted beside Sigma. “Although I’m impressed you lasted that long! You were practically falling asleep at the wheel the whole day!”

I was? Abashedly, Sigma frowned and rubbed his forehead. He eyed Dazai from the corner of his vision. “How did you—?”

“—Know what you were going to ask?” Now, Dazai was leaning his chin on his hand and staring up at him. The tender, charmed amusement those coffee brown eyes fixed him with was too intense to stare at directly, like a solar eclipse. “It’s because you’re easy to read, Sig-ma.”

“Wh- You- I am not!” Sigma huffed. “I can’t help that I’m no superhuman.”

Suddenly quiet, Dazai hummed and smiled, brown eyes closer to black now that they were out of the light. “Is that so?” He reached for the long locks of purple and white that weaved around Sigma’s shoulders. “But you treat yourself like a work machine!” He twirled his hair around his fingers.

Sigma had noticed that — Dazai was always reaching to touch, whether it be patting Atsushi or Kyouka on the head, leaning on Yosano’s shoulder, stealing Kunikida’s glasses or Ranpo’s hat, or pinching Sigma’s cheeks (???). He was simply tactile, as though he did it without purpose or logic.

The accused work machine crossed his arms. “I like work, though.”

Dazai made a comically disgusted face, then smoothed his expression back into untouchable levity. “You’re strange.”

Sighing, Sigma ran a hand through his hair, peeved to find it frizzing in all directions. He adjusted the strands that clung to his cheeks and tangled in his earrings, tucking them behind his ear.

Dazai’s fingers followed immediately, curious toward his adornments. Feather-light, they brushed against the back of his ear.

Sigma’s disproportionate flinch did not go unnoticed.

He grabbed Dazai’s wrist. “Hey— Hands to yourself.” He couldn’t help how his tone wavered.

“Aww, but why?” he whined. “Your earrings are so shiny. I just want to see~ them, Sigma.”

Really, Sigma didn’t mind being touched, but the memory of Dazai’s fingers skirting the shell of his ear sent a crack of hot lightning down his skeleton.

Sigma nibbled on the dry skin of his lip. “I just don’t want you to pull them out or something…” His gaze trailed up.

When Sigma met Dazai’s eyes, his stomach dropped at their impish glint.

He should’ve known he’d been caught the moment he woke up.

“Your reactions are always so curious.” Dazai grinned, and then his arms were around Sigma’s waist.

"Wait!" While Sigma yelped, Dazai pulled him out of the chair and into his lap, skittering blunt nails into his sides. "WAIHAIhahait! StahaHAP!"

Dazai was being so darn soft, digits just barely making an imprint in his skin, that Sigma was embarrassed by how loud he was. It was more of the surprise than anything, but the gentleness and the premonition of it felt like colorful beams of energy erupting from his brain.

"Shh shh." Dazai's chin rested on Sigma's fluffy head. "Just relax. Don't fight it." Said hushly, as though he were speaking to a rowdy critter.

“Whahahat do you mehehehEAN?” He shoved at Dazai’s shoulders, gripping restlessly at the other rolly chair for succor, but it insisted only on rolling away.

Cheek squished against Sigma’s elbow, Dazai babbled placatingly, “Just that I think you would like this if you calmed down!” He wrapped one arm around the desperate man to secure him in his lap, then flurried his fingers in between his shoulder and neck. Sigma squealed and curled into himself, drive to escape lost.

It was as though all his thinking had floated away in a toasty bubble of mirth. All notions of his duties, his past, the wants of other people, erased and overpowered by touch in the guarded swaths of his skin.

“DAhahahazai! Ehehehieek!” Sigma rocked side to side uselessly. “NoHOhot thehehere!”

“It’s such a fun spot though!” Dazai sang. “You’re just so perfectly shaped for grabbing, hm?”

Sigma shook his head, hair swirling around his figure. “WHAhahahat the heheHE—!?” His face was euphorically warm, even at the affronting statement.

He felt moisture bead on his lashes from the force with which he lidded his eyes. Somehow, he’d turned to face Dazai, burying his face in his collar. Sigma noticed that Dazai’s skin was as acutely hot as he felt.

Easy access permitted, Dazai blew on his ear, then laughed at how Sigma bristled and shrieked. Sigma cursed him through loopy, frantic giggles; even so, Dazai put in the effort to look offended.

“It really hurts me that you still push me away!” He sniffled theatrically. “After the secrets and promises we shared? Don’t you trust me?”

Ridiculously, Sigma felt just a tad guilty. “IhihI dohoho, buhut- !”

“Aww, that’s nice of you.” Dazai leaned in close to his neck. Sigma felt those lips curl into a smile… and shivered. “Probably a mistake, though.”

Scritches at the spot beneath his ear and pinches at his hip fried his nerves until Sigma lost his mind. Such clement touches, such violent sensations. Confusion only made him more frantic: Did he want to run from the feeling, or melt into it?

Questions for another time. Right now he just wanted a break.

“OhohokAHAY! Thahahat’s ehehenough!” Sigma pushed weakly against Dazai’s shoulders.

“Fine, fine.” Dazai stopped shortly after, taking Sigma into his arms as all the tension evaporated from his limbs. He settled Sigma back in his own chair without separating. Though he flinched at the contact, Sigma stayed.

As Sigma wheezed and puffed, Dazai’s nose dug into his shoulder. “See? I’m only human too.” He trailed off. Then, cheekily, “I’m mere prey to my desire for you~!”

Sigma sighed and patted Dazai’s cheek, ignoring the flare of heat in his own. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you were beyond human.” His mouth quirked oddly. “You told me yourself there’s no such thing.”

Dazai chuckled. “I don’t know, you’re pretty extraordinary.”

The pats turned into a (fond) slap.

“Ow!” He lifted his head and nursed his cheek. Sigma knew that pout was fake. “Mean, mean, mean! And I was just about to ask if you had fun.”

“What?” Sigma did not like how often he was becoming flushed.

That irritatingly brilliant mind waggled his eyebrow. “It’s nice, isn’t it? For a fleeting minute, you don’t have to think about anything. It’s bliss.”

Sigma played with his sleeve. “I… guess.” The admission made him warm all over again.

Dazai clapped and cheered and Sigma hit him again. There was a gasp from the man he was leaning against. “Oh, speaking of! Chuuya was asking how you were. He wanted to make sure you were taking it easy.”

Ah, well that was nice of him. Sigma grunted, still slumped against Dazai’s chest. “And here you are, holding me at work overtime.”

"Then let’s start heading back, shall we?" Dazai slid from his seat and halfway knelt on one knee, offering his hand (the same hand that a moment ago had been— nevermind). Sigma shook his head in exasperation but took it anyway.

Through the door and into the hallway, Dazai pulled Sigma by the hand, wrapped firmly but tenderly around his fingers. He met his eye with a smug, reminiscent look. "You know, this place is like a ballroom..."

"I swear, if you start dancing again, I’m leaving you here,” said Sigma, staring down the idea forming in Dazai's head.

"But our lives aren't in danger this time!" Unheeding, Dazai had flourished his free hand, ready to tango.

Against all odds, Sigma’s brow relaxed. He was right. There was no imminent doom in this moment, just the ADA's halls leading to nothing but stairs and an elevator that wasn't rigged (not that he was inclined to use it). Just Dazai, his warm, satiny, playful hands, and his invitation.

With a breath, Sigma loosened his shoulders. He let Dazai pull him into twirl, then a wrap, then a dip, and they began their dance once again.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

Baby’s breath symbolism: Purity, innocence, everlasting love and devotion, and new beginnings.

#I was staring at the bouquet of baby’s breath on the counter and thought it would make a good title #py is turning pink #lee!sigma #ler!dazai #sigzai #bsd tickle #bungou stray dogs #bsd #ler!dazai osamu #tickle #tickle fic #thank you for the request!! please come again!!!!#I hope it was to your satisfaction #I don’t!!!! know what I’m doing!!!!!!!#(farmboy wesley voice) as you wish 💌

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 1 year ago

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seeing all these posts in canon jc tag saying how jc did better than madam yu ... pretty sure madam yu never hit jc (did she? if im wrong tell me xd but still he'd be the same if she did cuz he hits jin ling in anger multiple times), or expose him to herself torturing innocent people to death so much that jc would be used to smuggling them out... yea jin ling and his relationship turned out better no thanks to him tho, jin ling got lucky to be more jin than jiang tbh cuz majority of his time would be at the sect he's heir of and jc does love jin ling unconditionally but madam yu in all her abusive glory also loved jc unconditionally, like jc was willing to die for jin ling, madam yu was willing to die for him too, that aint undoing the harm the two adults ended up doing to the two kids in the scenario at least in the emotional sense, and aint no way ppl are saying hes doing better than her, hes at least on the same level in lack of affection cuz jin ling was so unused to being even hugged or how to handle a hug the barest of affections jin ling turned out better and grew purely on his own effort coz jc sure wasnt setting any positive examples for him-

It seems to be implied that Madam Yu herself has no issue getting physically harsh with either of her own children as well,

Madam Yu sent a look at Jiang Cheng. “Horsing around again? Come, let me have a look at you.”

Jiang Cheng scurried over, and Madam Yu squeezed his arm with her slender fingers before giving him a sound slap on the shoulder.

"Not a bit of progress in your cultivation. You’re almost seventeen and still acting like an ignorant child! Running around with this lot, doing mischief all day—do you think you’re the same as them? Hell knows which gutters they’ll be crawling in in the future, but you’ll be the leader of the Jiang Clan!”

Jiang Cheng staggered from the force of her slap. He hung his head, not daring to argue back.

"Sorry!�� said Wei Wuxian loudly. “I didn’t know shijie would come! I’ll go look for my clothes right now!”

Madam Yu was even more incensed. “You dare run from me?! Get the hell back here and kneel!”

As she spoke, she cracked her whip. A searing pain spread down Wei Wuxian’s back.

"Yowch!” he exclaimed aloud. The pain was so intense it almost sent him rolling on the ground.

Just then, Madam Yu heard a soft voice ask, “Mom, do you want some watermelon…?”

Jiang Yanli’s sudden appearance startled Madam Yu. With this delay, the group of little brats had vanished without a trace. Madam Yu was so infuriated she turned to pinch Jiang Yanli’s cheeks.

Eat, eat, eat. That’s all you know!”

The pinch made Jiang Yanli’s eyes water. Vaguely, she said, “Mom. A-Xian and the rest were hiding here to cool off. I came looking for them on my own, so don’t blame them… Do…do you want some watermelons…? I don’t know who sent them over, but they’re very sweet. Eating watermelon in summer can relieve the heat and quench your fire. They’re sweet and juicy. I’ll slice some for you…”

Violence seems to be an unfortunate overarching theme regarding the Jiang Family and how they exhibit any emotional behavior. Madam Yu each time she is on page is the main instigator of physical punishments and pain out of anger, Jiang Cheng seeing her as his own role model follows this same pattern with Jin Ling. The above passage of Madam Yu'a introduction as a parental figure and Jiang Cheng is terribly similar to what we get for Jiang Cheng's introduction as Jin Ling's uncle and a caretaker,

"Since Hanguang-jun wants to punish you, take the lesson this once. It’s not easy for him, either, to manage the juniors from another clan.”

His tone was sarcastic, but it was unclear to whom it was directed. Lan Wangji, who never responded to such provocation, ignored him.

Jiang Cheng turned, his voice scathing. “What are you standing around for? Waiting for the prey to run into your sword itself? If you can’t catch the creature here on Mount Dafan tonight, then you needn’t come to me again in the future!"

And to answer the main point of your ask, no, Jiang Cheng is not any better towards Jin Ling and how he treats him. He treats him exactly as Madam Yu did with Jiang Cheng. With cruel ever changing expectations that were too high for a child to ever be reasonably expected to achieve without help or the care that should have been exhibited to raise a confident child. Jiang Cheng took the role of his mother in all ways and superimposed his life onto Jin Ling as well. Generational trauma is not always easy to of course pick up when you have grown within that environment. Yes you may know something is not "normal" as you interact with others but it's hard to name or describe why. Jiang Cheng thought of his mother respectfully despite her own many flaws, generational deference is difficult to question when that is all you have known until you are in a better environment to explore and comfortably learn despite being less than grand in execution. Jiang Cheng did not get that chance in life, but he does finally let Jin Ling have that as Jin Ling seeks out Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji for nighthunts to learn from.

Unconditional love isn't always a saving grace, and that is an unfortunate reality of life that not all love is always good or healthy despite how very much you love them or each other. Unconditional love can be selfish cruel and hurtful in the ways that people choose to express it when they don't want to be better for their loved ones. The play of trauma and victim blaming is terrible when you are both the abuser and victim and continue that cycle.

The only thing that Jiang Cheng "did better" than Madam Yu, was living to let go of his hates and insecurities enough to stop imposing them on to Jin Ling as well so the child could grow better and with actual role models that encourage a nurturing non-mocking environment first and foremost.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #you dare to argue that this is just how ethnic mothers show love #I will fucking manifest in your house in the middle of the night to bite your head off #fuck madam yu #canon jiang cheng #jin ling

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3416 · 10 months ago

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genuinely can’t blame morgan for being mad because a slap shot from a foot away on an EN when the game is literally over is a move where you should know someone is gonna wanna hit you (though i will say i don’t like how high it was and i don’t support that!) but also me personally that man would’ve ended up back in his own net at the other end of the ice…so!

i'm 99% sure mo was just going for the shoulder and it rode up when the greig turned to him, but he wasn't injured, so i can say i don't really care at this point. i'd be shocked if mo wasn't suspended just bc he's a leaf and it did end in head contact tbh, but i don't think anyone arguing about the hit is actually arguing it deserves no discipline (though i fear it'll be excessive lmao)... more that they understand how the frustration boiled over in that moment, tbh. so i agree 😭

#easks #like bfksjd everyone calls the leafs soft but the second they show emotion its like god damn jail them ! dirtiest team alive #like ok chill out #if greig ended up actuallt injured id be more cautious but idk... going after someone for a bitch ass move in a heated rivalry makes sense #mo's not one to do that all the time so when he does act up its hard to feel liek hes not justified lol #clearly things were tense last night and i like that he showed some mania there for a secondkdjdkd #the more u look at it the more he was clearly going for the shoulder

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lordisitmine · 7 months ago

Text

TTNBD BLOG PART FIVE

Covers chapters five and six of Though the Night Be Dark

These two chapters were originally supposed to be one, but I split them so I could keep the posting going faster and because the scenes shook out into two neater separate sections. But I’m doing the commentary together because my brain still has them linked.

CHAPTER FIVE: HOMECOMING

Back at it again with the Abberline POV. I started using his perspective for situational observations in TTEOE and got a little addicted to it tbh… I love a good outsider POV. Something about a character who has no idea the true gravity of the situation seeing bits and pieces of the main character’s story- delicious.

Nice day for a funeral. I’ve actually never been to a funeral in the wintertime, but Abberline’s observations about death seeming more natural during the colder months are in line with my own thoughts. When the earth is slumbering, and the trees are feigning death until spring, death itself seems less absurd, if not any less saddening.

I had a ball writing Francis Midford in this scene. As we know, she’s usually very calm, bordering on cold- a level-headed somewhat stern woman who isn’t at all prone to wild displays of emotion. However, all bets are off when one has lost a child. They say it’s the worst kind of grief a person can experience. I think that warrants an outburst or two.

Of course, it’s not Abberline’s fault, what happened to Edward- and Francis knows that too- but anger is natural, of course, and I just like a good shocking slap across the face moment. Too bad it was at Abberline’s expense. He blames himself, even though he shouldn’t, and Francis’s whole freak-out certainly hasn’t helped. Thankfully, Lizzy is much more reasonable. Probably because she knows a little bit more about the situation than her mother does, though she’s not ready to share that information with anyone just yet- except maybe Sybil.

Poor Abberline will have to remain in the dark for a little while longer, it seems.

Back to the boys- coming ‘home’. It’s not really home anymore. I don’t think Ciel ever had a home, at least not one that was a place. He thinks it himself- that Sebastian is more of a home to him than anyone or anywhere or anything else. They’re two halves of a whole.

Sebastian reverting back to butler mode and taking care of everything when he can sense that Ciel is uncomfortable or overwhelmed has been checked off the sebaciel bingo- I have a running mental list of tropes and lines that I want to write for them, and this was one of them.

I’ve read some really great fics where their dynamic is so much more hostile and yet equally as romantic- I might try my hand at it some day. I know the way I write Sebastian and Ciel may seem out of character to some, but I really can’t stop, and I won’t apologise for it! I trust my gut and if I can hear the words in the character’s voice, I’ll write them. I can’t resist the idea that Sebastian is only really capable of genuine love and tenderness when it comes to Ciel and no one else 🥹

Time for my favourite scene in this chapter! It’s Benjamin the paper boy! Have you ever seen Newsies? The Disney musical about newsboys in 1890’s New York? You should, it’s a cute little story about kids unionizing to fight the corporate man and get better pay for their work *insert long rambling talk about socialism and how I love it so much*. ANYWAY, I needed a minor character for plot reasons, and a newsboy seemed like a perfect fit. And it gave me an excuse to write Sebastian and Ciel interacting with a kid, which I love, for some reason.

(source)

I had to learn about how money worked in Victorian England. Well, I didn’t have to, I could have just bullshitted the few lines about them bribing the kid, but I wanted to have a tangible sense of how much money was actually worth and how the pound breaks down into shillings, sovereigns and guineas etc. I hope all the values work out and make sense because Holy Shit is this the most insane way to break down money. It hurt my head just thinking about it. Not to sound American (I’m not even American) but I’ll stick the good old 21st century 100 cent dollar, thank you very much 🤣

More cutesy stuff in the hotel- I’m writing this in April, four months after the chapter was written, and reading it back for the first time in quite a while is fun. I was giggling at my own writing lol. I love these two so much. It’s a problem.

Poor Lizzy!!! Thinking Ciel died for nothing when he didn’t actually die at all. Imagine basing your entire grieving process on a lie. Oof. It’s gonna be one Hell of a shock for her when she finds out she’s spent the last four years operating on false assumptions.

Thankfully, she has Sybil, who has some secrets and false assumptions of her own.

And last but not least, the meeting of the Evil Dudes. These scenes are so hard to write because I don’t want to describe characters too vividly or put names to any of them, it’s like building a model plane or something, you have to be very intentional and delicate about what pieces (words) you use and where you put them. All of writing is like that, to an extent, except for those moments when it flows super smoothly, but even then you have to be deliberate with your editing. Writing is hard work! I love it so much, though.

CHAPTER SIX: DESPERATE TIMES

Let’s talk briefly about Frederick Abberline!

A portrait of Frederick Abberline, 1885. (Wikipedia)

Fredderick Abberline, as you may or may not have known, was a real historical figure! He was born in 1843, which would make him about fifty-seven at the time of TTNBD. That’s not how I picture him at all, of course, because in the Kuroshitsuji anime he’s depicted as a much younger man than he would have been at the time, as he often is in film and television shows.

I choose to keep a slightly aged version of the anime Abberline in mind when writing, but I like to think of him as having some variation of the facial hair that he does in the picture above- such an undeniably Victorian mustache. And I think with his promotion he wouldn’t want people to think of him as being so young, and he has such a little boy face without it 😌😆

Abberline is of course most famous for his work as the lead detective on the Jack the Ripper case, which is why he’s usually featured as a character in television shows/movies about the Ripper. Though the Ripper was never caught, Abberline was known to have many theories in his time on the case, including the idea that the killer might actually be a woman. *side-eyes Madame Red* 👀

The real Fredderick Abberline was married twice in his lifetime- he married his first wife, Martha Mackness, in March of 1868, though she died of tuberculosis two months after the wedding. Then, in 1876, he married Emma Beament. They were married for over fifty years until his death in 1929 at age 86. Emma died three months after he did, and was buried with him at Wimborne Road Cemetery, in Bournemouth, England. They never had any children.

His grave is marked by a headstone erected in 2007, and I think it’d be neat to visit his grave some day, if I ever get the chance to go to the United Kingdom (it’s at the top of my list of places I want to go).

I’ve referenced Abberline’s personal life a couple of times- he mentioned Emma in his diary entry back in chapter one, and it’s walked about how he likes to spend mornings with her on the weekend. Obviously, not much is known about the details of the real man’s personal relationships, but I like to think he and his wife loved each other very much, because there’s no evidence to the contrary and it hurts no one for me to believe that. Abberline works hard and he’s a good guy, he deserves happiness.

Quite rude, then, for someone to make him get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to solve a murder. Even worse, Alois and Claude are here! So we get some more wonderful outsider observations from Abberline, and he of course can’t help but compare their dynamic to Ciel and Sebastian’s, which means I get to vicariously get to wax poetic about my thoughts on the matter.

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Ciel are perched on a rooftop, quite literally eavesdropping. Imagine their surprise when a young lord shows up- with his demon butler in tow.

Ciel: That bitch stole our look!

Sebastian: We wore it better.

😂😆

Unfortunately, Ciel decided he was going to follow Claude and Alois around- but he isn’t as good at staying hidden as Sebastian is- he doesn’t have the experience, and I personally think he doesn’t have the same affinity with the shadows that Sebastian does- so Claude catches his scent rather quickly.

And Claude is a thirsty hoe. It makes my skin crawl, writing the things he thinks about Ciel. But that will make his inevitable demise all the more satisfying, I hope. I took his obsession with Ciel straight from the anime and just cranked it up to ten. I don’t know if everyone reading this story has seen season two- I know a lot of people don’t like the liberties it took with canon. Alois and Claude are characters completely made for the anime, and I think that makes them perfect to muck around with. There’s so much less established canon for them, I can just chop and screw and remix it however I want. It’s a fic writer’s dream.

After finishing To the End of Everything, and describing Ciel’s grave, I realised that as a member of the nobility, it’s more likely he would have been buried in a mausoleum, a stone building with niches in the walls for the caskets of the dead, where members of one family are interred. But I had the idea for Ciel’s tombstone and the engraving on it from the time I first decided to write TTEOE, so I wouldn’t change it even if I could.

And maybe an in-universe reason for it was that Ciel had decided to do things differently, maybe putting in his will for him to be buried like that was a final act of rebellion. And in the end, there was no body there anyway. Humans and they death rituals, putting markers on empty graves. I find it fascinating.

Changing topics: one thing that I hade to get used to was Sebastian calling Ciel by his first name. you’ll notice he doesn’t do it super often. He can’t call Ciel my lord or sir anymore. I mean he could, but that would be worse in my mind. He’s not really Ciel’s servant anymore. But I have Sebastian use Ciel’s name sparingly. Partially because it still feels a little weird and because I find it WAY more likely that Sebastian would be hitting Ciel with the terms of endearment, which you’ll notice I have him to constantly. A: because he loves Ciel and is stupid about it and B: because even though Ciel is used to it, and even likes it, it probably does still annoy him Just A Little, and that’s also too tempting for Sebastian to pass up.

Sebastian is no stranger to committing crimes in service of Ciel’s investigations- now he’s going around stealing records from the government, which is probably the least of his illegal actions. The Public Record Office is a real place, and in 1900 it was indeed located in Chancery Lane, in London. It was established in 1838 to house and catalogue all kinds of court/government archives, documents, things like that. I don’t think it had any archive specifically for newspapers, but let’s just all collectively pretend it did.

“I can’t believe I married a criminal” will forever be one of my favourite lines to ever have written. Ciel’s romantic side is very suppressed, but it’s there, so the times when I get to make him verbally reference Sebastian as his lover, husband, mate- those are particularly sweet to me. Even if he does immediately follow up by calling Sebastian a dog and a scoundrel, which, to be fair, are also accurate things to call him.

Writing a sex scene is the most intensive part of the craft for me. The thing I spoke about earlier, about being surgical and methodical in word choice and grammar- that’s dialled up to eleven when I’m writing a sex scene. So sometimes I fade to black. Although, that can be nice too- leaving things to the imagination. Also, it means I have the option to come back some day and write them out huehuehue 😏😌😉

I have never attended a séance. I was raised in a rather conservative Christian household (and look at me now) and I was always taught never to mess with that stuff, that it might invite evil into one’s life. Due to personal experiences among other things, I still have a belief in the spiritual aspect of existence- maybe not demons and ghosts per se (though I do have stories of ghost encounters in my past), but that there is such a thing as the soul, and life beyond death, and forces beyond what we humans can fully comprehend or control.

Though I’ve left behind almost all the beliefs I was raised with, at least one remains: I don’t fuck with séances or Ouija boards or anything that could accidentally bring something bad into my space. You would never catch me in a horror movie scenario, is what I’m saying 😆

However, the realm of fiction is fair game. Especially for the sake of the narrative.

Séances in film always seem to be done slightly differently- usually there’s a table, and a candle or something- I kind of just set up my own scenario.

Someone asked me why Lizzy and Sybil didn’t just try to summon Edward’s spirit right away- to be completely honest, it’s mostly because it didn’t occur to me 😅. But I also think that Lizzy wasn’t ready to confront whatever truths he might have to tell her- or that the grief was still so fresh, she wouldn’t have been able to bear seeing him- or not seeing him, if it hadn’t have worked for whatever reason.

Instead, I chose to tug on a different heartstring entirely and chose to have them summon Tanaka. Tanaka is beyond old, and I think after Ciel died and the manor burnt down, he finally allowed himself to put down the burden of being a steward to the house of Phantomhive. He deserved a rest. I think his death would have been painless- he probably went in his sleep. The Midfords would have taken good care of him.

And of course, he would be against what Lizzy is doing. Not angry with her, but worried- he would want her to move on, to put everything behind her and live a normal, happy life. But she doesn’t really have a choice at this juncture- desperate times and desperate measures and all that. I knew from the beginning that Tanaka wasn’t going to be alive in this story, but I still wanted to give him a cameo, however bittersweet it may have been.

I do hope the séance scene was sufficiently eerie- I don’t really write horror, or anything that’s meant to be all that scary, but I did try to give this scene a little bit of a spook factor. One of the ways I try to do that is by limiting descriptions of things until the moment after they happen, and

Paragraph

Breaks

As a way to control the pace and rhythm of the scene. Prose is like a rollercoaster, or a run on a treadmill. You must have moments when your heart rate spikes and in between periods to cool off. I try to do that- I’m not sure how well I always achieve it, but that’s the idea.

One of my favourite things I like reading in readers’ comments are the reactions to the revelation of new information, i.e. that Sybil’s mother was a witch. The burden of being the writer is knowing things ahead of time, and not getting to discover them at the same moment your audience does. Coming up with the idea and executing it is its own reward, but sometimes I wish I could read my own writing like it was something I’d never seen before. That would be so cool. So know that as a reader, the best thing you can do is comment your reactions on stuff because it’s the closest that authors can come to that feeling!

Lizzy and Sybil trying to summon Ciel and not being able to because he isn’t dead was another idea I had right from the inception of this story. Since Ciel is a demon, however, and is therefore connected somehow to hell, or the afterlife, or the supernatural world in general, I imagine the séance would have some sort of pull on him, which is why the interjection of him waking up in bed feeling like someone was calling his name.

Lizzy and Sybil complete each other- they have the idea of summoning Sebastian at the same moment, and even if they hadn’t, one of them will always end up enabling the other. Heaven help anyone who gets in their way, they just won’t be stopped 😆 😆 Even if it does eventually get them in over their heads. But that’s another chapter for another blog.

See you next time!

#ttnbd #fanfiction #commentary #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebaciel #about writing #lord speaks

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 2 years ago

Text

remembered that one thing cc!tommy said when talking about the finale where he raised the question about whether c!dream planned it or not and this appeared on my notes app suddenly. help.

TWs: abuse, infantilisation, codependency, isolation, possessive behaviour, victim blaming, manipulation, c!Dream’s perspective is it’s own warning tbh.

—

“dream?”

tommy's eyes were adorably wide, his face innocent and curious. so dependent. helpless, apart from dream's mercy.

prime, he couldn’t thank xd enough for this. it was perfect.

“yes, my little bug?”

“i, uh…” tommy took a nervous glance to the floor, fiddling with the white hair on his fringe. seeing tommy with all those scars, every one proof of the fun the two of them had done together, yet completely oblivious to any of it, was so amusing it was hard to not laugh sometimes. “you remember when we met? and, uh, the other boy, the one with the horns.”

huh. hearing that stupid fucking ram mentioned still filled him with utter rage. he'd ruined everything, hadn’t he? and it couldn’t have been tommy's fault. kind, sweet tommy, who'd been the only one to reach an olive branch, who'd been the only one to realise he was simply misguided and never wrong even to the last. he had to have been manipulated, forced. the idea of anyone hurting tommy like that, just to get at him, filled him with pure, blind rage.

at least when he hurt tommy it was always for their own good.

he forced his tone to be level. “what about him?”

“i want to go and meet him again, maybe? i went out, and i found his base is super close to ours, so i was thinkin', maybe the two of us could go and-“

tommy yelped in surprise as dream slapped him. it wasn’t anything harsh, not enough to do more than sting a bit, but the hurt in his eyes was an almost comical overreaction. of course, though, it was the first time he'd hit tommy since the incident. he'd get used to it, if he kept misbehaving.

“oi! what the fuck, man? i- i- why did you hit me?” tommy sniffled. good to know he was always a little drama queen. how fascinating. “dream, i thought you- i thought you wanted to be my friend…”

“shh, shh. tommy, of course i want to be your friend. you’re almost like a little brother to me, remember? and that means i have to keep you safe. even with tough love.” dream smiled, gently reaching out to ruffle tommy's hair, revelling in the adorably confused look on his face. “it’s normal, tommy. this is how all friends act, remember?”

“oh.” tommy sounded utterly ashamed. “i- i didn’t fuckin' know, man. it just… it doesn’t feel right. it feels all like- like it makes my stomach turn all wiggly and throat all burny. like i'm getting a fever or sommat.”

“and that’s why you need me, right?” dream beckoned tommy over- his tommy, his sweet, helpless little brother, his to protect, his to watch over. if the rest of the server would reject his gentle hand, he could at least take care of one person. maybe he wasn’t useless. wrapping his arms around tommy, he let the boy cry into his shoulders. seeing tommy so unguarded was proof he was helping, right? “i know you can’t remember much, little bug. i can remember it all for you.”

tommy continued to throw himself a pity party for a bit, before pulling away, still sniffling. “i- i know you’re right, man, you always are, dream. always. but why can’t we meet him?” oh so innocent. so naive. it broke dream's heart, sometimes.

“tommy, the outside world is dangerous. it'll chew you up and spit you out. it'll change you, from the brother i love into a scared little shell. it'll convince you to hate everything that keeps you safe, to misbehave. it'll tell you you need to hide your kindness behind a shield, that you need to be angry and aggressive and hide everything you love. it’s safer here, where i'll never judge you or hurt you, right?”

tommy raised a hand to his cheek, furrowing his brow. “but…” he sighed. “alright, dream. but if you’re lying about this, i'm gonna fuckin' kill you.”

oh, if only he knew. “of course, tommy. i'd never lie to you, would i?”

tommy lowered his head, obviously ashamed of himself for questioning dream. good. he was learning. “course you wouldn’t. sorry, man.”

“oh, tommy. if only you knew what i've been through to keep you safe.”

#my writing #dream smp #dream smp fic #primeboys (derogatory)#tw abuse #tw infantilisation #tw codependency #tw isolation #tw possesive behaviour #tw victim blaming #tw manipulation

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deus-ex-mona · 2 years ago

Note

the anon who asked about your odd ships. now I wanna know EVERY take you mentioned but in case that gets very long / you don't want to talk about everything, I'm most curious about the canon ship you can't stand, that notp, and that poly ship. Though if you have the time I'd rather know all the takes 🤣

ask and you shall ✨receive✨~

dropping a cut here for length~~ because m a n did just those three questions get long sorry~~~~

the canon ship i can’t stand:

aside from the obvious (akechi x his m*t* s**t*), i don’t like the harucouple. i find their story pretty bland tbh, and i just find miou plain unlikeable.

questionable 10cm anime aside (‘cuz seriously, what was up with miou in that anime? she found out that chiaki died [from unrelated causes] after he saved her from drowning, and then proceeded to blame herself for his death??? even though akechi was like “ay girl his death ain’t your fault, so chill ok?” she just went ahead and made chiaki’s death all about herself, distanced herself from haruki with no explanation, then slapped him when he got all depressed and had an existential crisis that came about because she ignored him? like whaaaaat) the fact that miou is just too dang passive is pretty annoying. m

like, what’s up with that “zutto matteru yo, haruki-kun” nonsense? why is she expecting haruki to be the only one to put in effort to see her? take some initiative, girlllllllllllllll close that 10cm yourself dammit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he’s going to study abroad in the us of a, he has no time to hop on a plane to zip back just to see you. if you have the time to find him (like during your summer vacation), and if the opportunity presents itself (like, if your friends happen to get tickets for a trip to the ‘states and are gracious enough to give one of said tickets to you), go to see him yourself, dammit!!!!!!

and! the fact that they just picked up right where they left off 7 years later is pretty dumb. people change over time, you know? the person you thought you liked in high school may have very well grown up to become an adult that you barely recognise, much less still have feelings for. so the fact that they just??? got right together after those 7 years with absolutely minimal contact??? is just????? what???????????

so yeah. that canon ship i can’t stand is harumiou. stock shoujo romance ships confuse me h e l p

aside from that, yuko x her french husband ig, bc she needs therapy, not a man. prioritise your kids, yuko, not yourself. you’re a parent, so act like one, dammit!!!!

that notp:

every single aizo ship aside from lxl, daizo (as a crackship), and aiyui (read: ft4 yui, for the crack potential only), bc i really can’t see him with any girl (or any other guy for the matter, really). aiyuu forever, y’know—

also, hiyomona bc episode 6 of the [redacted] anime still makes my skin crawl. why would you ship mona with someone who says “you’re so cute, no wonder why the guy tried to assault you” h e lp. i used to think that hiyomona was kinda cute, but now it just. gives me the heebies sorryyyyyyyyyyy

that poly ship:

keikarenariken!!!!! the fast food quartet is just so cute together y’know~~~~? kei and ken even bounce off each other really nicely (cries in heart no chikai novel i totally didn’t forget about), and arikaren are just plain cute!!!!! ken and karen have nice interactions with each other, in a sense… soooo… they’re all just so precious and cute and i think they should all hold hands and feed each other extra salty french fries

and for another poly ship, kotahinakoyuryou! yukki deserves to have 3 gardening-loving lovers y o u g e t m e ? flower shop ot4, anyone? i just think the four of them should be girlfriends (yes, even kotaro) and weave each other flower crowns~~~~~~

#help this got wayyyyyyyy too long #i prolly ranted about the canon notp too much lol i’m sorryyyyyyyyyyyy #sorry for being a hater am i still allowed to stay on your dash~? ♡〜（ゝ。∂）

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lightlycareless · 2 years ago

Note

chapter 28 taking me out again,,, more character building,,

naoya just can not win this man is being attacked from every side (deserved). the way i screamed that he got suspended from work for MONTHS? he is about to be INSUFFERABLE (like more so than normal).

AND THE LINE ABT AS LONG AS THE KID IS A ZENIN IT DOESNT MATTER,,, I CAN JUST FEEL THE PSYCHIC DAMAGE HE TOOK IN THAT MOMENT. FULL ON GLASS SHATTER SOUND EFFECT TYPE SHIT. OBLITERATED.

also its so funny fr how he goes over reasons for y/n’s behavior towards him, trying to figure out what went wrong, and it just… never occurs maybe it was the abuse? the s/a? couldn’t possibly be. must be his brother. zero braincell behavior HOW is he this delusional

AND WHAT IS RANTA PLANNING?? whatever it is i know its a bad idea and he should stop. immediately. like maybe its not on purpose malicious but i still know its gonna turn out badly and NO ONE is going to be happy with the outcome

and on the other hand y/n and naoaki- incredible. amazing. are they STILL believing they’re being platonic with each other after all that?? the cuddling?? i can only imagine if they’d been walked in on like that

N THE END?? NAOYA SAW HIM LEAVING HER ROOM HE IS GONNA BE SO PISSED and theres so many QUESTIONS raised from that. like does naoaki know he saw him?? does this have any impact on Ranta’s Horrible Plan?? is naoyas first response gonna be storming over to naoaki or barging in on y/n??? theres SO MANY possibilities here and chapter 29 is gonna kill me

Hello!!!

I’m super glad you like this chapter hahahahahahahahh It’s the beginning of Naoya’s suffering, of what he deserves 😈

Had to get him where it hurts most, and that had to be his career as a sorcerer… a punishment that ended up being kind of a slap on the wrist tbh, because why wouldn’t that be the case 🙄 I think if it had been anyone else, like someone of a less impressive heritage they would’ve been permanently suspended—it’s the Zen’in playing their privilege card once again…

And yeah, I can’t imagine how insufferable he’s going to be on the incoming days hahahaha like, he’s essentially forced to stay in the estate since he can’t do his work anymore, and not only that, nobody wants to hang out with him!!!! Only ranta cares enough to stick around but even then, the poor boy was like “omg I hope he doesn’t kill me for approaching him” damn he truly has no friends 😂 (well, you reap what you sow) lmao

But for him to foolishly convince himself that if no one is going to care, y/n will just because of what she did and because she’s his wife? Come ooooon Naoya hahahahahahha that’s just another level of delusion, like wake up my dude. I’m glad the elders’ comment was quick to put him in his place though :> (YOU SAID IT WELL, HE WAS DEVASTATED HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH it’s like that one scene where Mahito and Sukura are laughing at Itadori and he's naiveness, I guess)

At the same time though, I was like: the elders should stfu, they have NO RIGHT to talk about Y/N get OUT.

But still not good enough for him to realize where the true guilt lies; well, like I said, it’s something that he can’t comprehend yet. Holding accountability is not something that the Zen’in are like… avid believers of, opting to just put the blame onto others, like poor Naoaki 😒 man, it’s not his fault that Naoya is an idiot and that y/n prefers him :^) (you reap what you sow part.2)

Ranta is the kind of person I truly, truly think he has good intentions… but it’s such a shame he’s investing all of his energy on Naoya 😭 guess he knows something we don’t… anyways, can’t wait to see his plan and how it will backfire on them :>

NOW NAOAKI AND Y/N THAT SCENE… was the one I posted earlier about haunting me hahhah I know that by writing that I will be crossing a line so to speak, but at the same time… come on. Like, the two are getting to know each other and spending time with one another… they’re bound to eventually want to do something a bit more personal (this was highly indulgent too hahah forgive me 😭) you know? And y/n was in desperate need of comfort, it was foul how her happiness was destroyed like that and so quickly too!! Hinata… please… just take her out of there…

Also, be careful with what you wish for, ‘cause it just might come true 😊😈

Now to your question about whether Naoaki saw him… maybe, I think he might’ve sensed him but since he was like not wanting to entertain anybody, he was like meh who cares goodbye!!! Besides, it’s stated that he��s become far more obvious when it comes to approaching y/n so maybe he really doesn’t care anymore lol

It’s completely reasonable to expect the worst considering all that happened in the chapters before and how I’ve portrayed Naoya, however, he is in a rattled state of mind so… guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens 😊

I’m super happy that you liked this chapter 🥺❤ ngl I was super nervous about it (more on that in the behind the scene notes) but reading your feedback is always reassuring to me 😭 thank you for you support!!! It motivates me to keep on writing :> I can’t wait for you to read the upcoming chapters!

I hope you have a wonderful week, take care, and hope to see you around!!

#ask #ask series: first it hurts—

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littledark11 · 4 months ago

Text

"The Rite was only hours away."

"If Fandral had told you about the second part of The Rite, he was glad you hadn’t raised it."

The big days today!

I hope nothing bad happened! 🥺 And I'm very curious,if Fandral didn't tell reader, how would she react to everything?

“I don’t know about that, Loki. Of the two of us you’ve always been seen as the bigger whore."

"Before he knew it, Loki’s dagger was at Thor’s throat.

oOoOoO you got roasted by Thor of all people! (No hate toward Thor. We love our himbo)

How would you ever come,Loki?

One second later

Oh my God he fucking stabbed him!

Like literally I was shocked I mean this is not really out of character for Loki. So I wouldn't really overpass it.

“I’m sure none of father’s spies will impart that you were bested by a whore.”

"If she loves me, he re-worded in his mind, beginning to walk a little quicker to the safety of solitude."

"He needed to bathe. He needed to be alone. I need to be with her. But he couldn’t have that; so alone, it would be."

Even while he's dying, so he can still stab Loki in the feels.Heheh it's funny tbh.

Go to your woman,loki! Pleasure her!

"Loki’s very good, you know. Everyone knows it’s his favourite thing to do to a woman, or a man. You’re so lucky.” She giggled, and your stomach tightened with a wave of inexplicable anger. “I’m jealous. They say he does this thing with his tongue that—"

"Frigga’s close-lipped smile grew. “We can’t blame Fandral for being in love with Loki, even if his methods were…”

Jesus Christ everybody's roasting him.

Frigga, I will slap you!.

"You may think our customs strange, but they were born from centuries of upheaval and selfishness of our rulers"

"Don’t sass the queen"

I didn't know watching two people fuck is considered tradition? What's next? Doing a dick mentoring contest? Or who can cum the hardest?

I actually want to see that happen. 😏😏😏

No, you better sass her! 😤

“So, you see, my dear…” Frigga tipped your chin up to meet her eyes. “You are my son’s only chance…”My son’s…and those sweet little children.” A smile curled at her wine-stained lips.

“And I hope you are prepared for the consequences of that.”

Never mind, I take back what I said about frigga for now.

I just imagine she says it in a sweet and considered way

"A mirror was wheeled from somewhere, and behind your naked body you tried not to look at Frigga perched on a chaise, supping from a goblet"

Why do I imagine frigga is drinking wine and thinking "she has a nice ass,how lucky was my son be to hit that."

“Touch ‘emselves,” she said with a straight face."

This feels like an orgy waiting to happen. Lol I'll be watching 😉

“I can’t love. Everyone’s always told me I’m not…made for it.”

“You are worthy of love, Loki Odinson. Giving and receiving,” she said quietly, searching his eyes. “No matter what some daft Rite says.”

AWWWW 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 MY HEART IS BURSTING AND NOT IN A SEXUAL WAY!!!

"Thor squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you fortune, brother. May her heart be open.”

And her holes to be filled hehehe

"And yes, his cock really is that big"

"He isn’t embarrassed."

Oh like that's a fucking shock lol 😉 I imagining he's just trying to flaunt it lol

“I command you to prove yourself worthy of the people you seek to rule by bestowing unrequited pleasure on this woman. By doing so, you prove that you can put those you rule above yourself; that if you can cultivate their love, you may one day hold the crown.”

Why did my brain go?

⭐COMMENCE THE FUCKING ⭐

"Yes, little owl?”

"Somewhere, people were clapping – but all you could feel was him, guiding your sizzling pussy from its high with gentle, careful licks."

"It’s done,”

He did it!!!!! 👏👏👏👏👏

Also love the cute little nickname 😍😍 😍 😍 😍

"He’s trying to make you fall in love with him,’ he’d said. ‘And afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be.’

"And Loki was gone."

My reaction:

AHHHHHHHH! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

The Rite: Consequence (VI)

A link to The Rite Masterlist is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (6) It's the day of The Rite 🙈And whether Loki succeeds or fails in capturing your pleasure (and your heart) - there will be consequences. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Asgardians behaving badly. Smut. I am begging, pleading for your trust. (w/c 5.6k)

Loki blocked the fall of the blade with a hanging guard, catching his brother’s wild stare through the angle of his arm.

Dust scraped across his eyes from the training ring, but he blinked it away. They both glistened with mid-afternoon sweat - muscles straining; all hard veins and gritted teeth.

Loki licked his lips, tasting salt, and his arm began to quiver beneath the press of his brother’s blade – but he wouldn’t relent. He never did.

The Rite was only hours away.

It began at sundown. He wasn’t allowed to see you, and beating his brother into the dirt was as good a distraction as any. Better than the ones I’m used to.

And besides, after the two of you had talked until sunrise – about everything and anything that avoided the question of love – there was nothing more to be done.

If Fandral had told you about the second part of The Rite, he was glad you hadn’t raised it. He didn’t think he could bear knowing its outcome in advance. Better the short, sharp shock of shame than its clammy shadow. Better to whisper in your ear and devour your lips and feel your hand searching the angles of him until he was sick with painful desire.

“Yield,” Loki grit. A thick strand of hair had come loose, trailing over his vision. The furrow of Thor’s frown grew deeper.

“Why would I? I have you on the run, little brother.” A soft grunt broke in Loki’s throat. He flexed his shoulder and parried Thor’s sword to the side with force, kicking the blonde’s left foot from under him in the same movement. Thor slammed down into the sand; sprawling and sword clattered against the stone beneath.

“You don’t fight fair, Loki” “Maybe you should fight better.” Thor scrambled to his feet, sand sticking in clumps to the sweat gathered on his chest. “I am the greatest warrior this realm has ever known because I fight with honour.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Honour,” he spat. “At least you shan’t have your ill-gotten reputation in the histories as its greatest lover for much longer.” Thor hacked a wad of dust-gritted saliva and spat it to his feet. He looked up with a twisted smile. “I don’t know about that, Loki. Of the two of us you’ve always been seen as the bigger whore. A talented one for certain, but a whore all the same. And soon enough, your Rite partner will join the throng; be forgotten like the rest.” Before he knew it, Loki’s dagger was at Thor’s throat.

His vision flashed white, and behind him came the jangle of armoured guards, circling them with their spears readied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thor’s hands rise to steady them.

“Brother…” Thor said slowly, “I know you’re nervous, but killing me really would remove any chance you have at the succession—”

“—I won’t take insult from those who wax lyrical about honour and leave their loin’s fruit to the vultures.” Thor frowned. “What are you talking about?” He tried to look down at the blade glinting by his thorax and only succeeded in nicking his skin. “Ow.” Loki released a withering sigh, flipping the dagger away and kicking Thor’s foot from beneath him. The other one, this time. His brother crumpled like a wet towel. He turned, seeing several of the guards’ facial expressions flinch between the gaps in their helmets.

“Disperse,” he muttered, striding past them and wondering mildly how long it would be until Odin found out. He needed to bathe. He needed to be alone. I need to be with her. But he couldn’t have that; so alone, it would be.

“Don’t worry brother,” he said dryly as he scraped sweat-soaked hair off his face. “I’m sure none of father’s spies will impart that you were bested by a whore.” Thor’s blustering protestations made a smirk curl the corner of his mouth. He must remember to tell you about this, when all was said and done: when the succession was set in stone, when the home for abandoned children was secured, when he knew that you loved him. And as he exited the training ring, Loki realised with horrifying clarity that one of those possibilities hung around his neck like a millstone: heavier than the others – threatening to collapse him to his knees.

If she loves me, he re-worded in his mind, beginning to walk a little quicker to the safety of solitude.

You’d been woken in late morning and bustled with minimal ceremony to the private baths on the upper floors of the palace.

Once there, your day-gown had been stripped by a flurry of exquisitely beautiful maids; each dressed in blue fabric as thin as gauze, hair like pure, precious metals. How you hated them.

You hadn’t realised you wouldn’t see Loki until The Rite itself until he’d told you last night before you parted ways. You’d kissed him so roughly against the wall, fingers digging into his scalp, that you’d almost passed out from lack of oxygen.

And now…here, with the most impossibly beautiful nymphs in all of Asgard – it felt like there was no time. You need to be near him. Isn’t that how love works? But then, you wouldn’t know. You suddenly wondered if absence before the ceremony was really part of the tradition, or if Odin and the rest of them were trying to keep you apart. Hoping he’ll fail. —Stop being so paranoid.

Steam rose from the hot spring, undulating like flame as one of the nymphs massaged your shoulders. I wonder what Loki’s doing. Does he miss me? Is he nervous…? You lifted one calf out of the water where you’d perched at the edge of the baths, the scent of orange oil thick in your nostrils. Suddenly the fingers stopped working, and she leant down. “Loki’s very good, you know. Everyone knows it’s his favourite thing to do to a woman, or a man. You’re so lucky.” She giggled, and your stomach tightened with a wave of inexplicable anger. “I’m jealous. They say he does this thing with his tongue that—" “—Oh hush, Mavor.” You winced as Frigga’s chide sparked like a lit match. She settled, dangling her feet in the pool beside yours. “Leave the poor girl alone, I’m sure the past few days have been much to contend with.”

You turned fractionally, almost blinded by the golden assault of her sunlit hair. She’s staring at you, faint crows-feet scrunched from the vaguely discomforting smile on her lips. “What happened last night with Fandral was improper. What must you think of us?” “I don’t think it of you,” you lied, memories of the sick little girl cinching tight around your mind; the fact that Fandral and all the other court-wankers had no clue that Loki was the one clearing up their mess, doing any real good. But it was a secret, and a secret it would remain.

And then you remembered what Lagertha said when the nurse had thanked the gods. ‘Not the gods,’ she’d said, beaming with pride as Loki blushed. ‘This one’s the only one worth having.’

Frigga’s close-lipped smile grew. “We can’t blame Fandral for being in love with Loki, even if his methods were…”

Your eyebrow rose. “Petty? Spiteful? Unforgiveable?”

Frigga laughed: a practiced, twinkling chirp. “When you live as long as we do, dear…nothing is truly unforgivable.”

You frowned, vision blurring as you stifled an eyeroll and Freya continued. “Perhaps you understand how he feels…now that you’ve gotten to know my second son a little better.” “You want to know if I love him, is that it? Well, I don't know.”

Shame swelled under your thin bathing gown, and Frigga inhaled quietly. “I of all people in this palace understand that words matter less than what we feel in here-” she said, pressing a fan of fingers to her chest. “You may think our customs strange, but they were born from centuries of upheaval and selfishness of our rulers. Markers needed to be set. It’s important that the general populace knows nothing of the second requirement of The Rite. It’s sacred.” You let out a petulant sigh. Don’t sass the queen, you willed, staring ahead at the water spilling over the edge of the balcony to a waterfall below.

Frigga cleared her throat. “The Rite ensures that those in line for succession can put another before themselves, represented through giving pleasure – and can capture their heart, their love—” “—Yes…I know that now,” you spat, eyes blazing towards her. “No thanks to any of you. Fandral had to tell me, of all people. Couldn’t resist rubbing it in my face that I’d fail Loki.”

Frigga’s face fell. But now you’d started, you couldn’t stop.

“And besides…Odin, Thor…they cheated the system, didn’t they? You and Odin were engaged! Sif was pretty much raised on a diet of Thor-infatuation.” You shook your head, heat flushing up your neck. “I didn’t say it was perfect,” Frigga said. “But the succession cannot be risked. And despite your current ingratiation, you are an outsider; you cannot understand these things.” “Oh,” you said, choosing to ignore her honey-drenched barb. “It can’t be risked, I see…unless it’s Loki, the one no one cares about?”

Despite her mask of diplomacy, irritation rippled on Frigga’s face.

“He had many options, and every opportunity,” she said through perfectly straight, gritted, teeth. “And he squandered every one of them. But something’s changed these past centuries in him. Something in these past weeks, too. A mystery, certainly.”

She stood, and the wet length of her glittering gown slopped across the floor. “Although I’m pleased to see you feel so strongly in his defence – it bodes well for his performance. Perhaps he’ll succeed after all.”

Your snorted. “And if I fail him, Fandral can step in: problem solved.” Frigga sighed, waving away an approaching nymph who skittered gratefully backwards.

“That’s not how it works,” Frigga said with a cloying sweetness, "- Loki would fail you: he would have failed to bring you pleasure, and capture your heart in a meaningful way. He only has one chance at fulfilling The Rite, at joining the succession. I did urge him to wait another 500 years but..."

She gave a delicate shrug. "And besides, in his haste to tarnish you…Fandral excluded himself from ever being eligible. The arousal of a god touched his skin. You should have seen his face when he realised he’d neglected to don the gloves in his pocket: pompous little oaf.”

A whirl of butterflies erupted in your gut. “So, you see, my dear…” Frigga tipped your chin up to meet her eyes. “You are my son’s only chance…”

You looked up at her: the glint in her beautiful irises – and for the first time you saw something more than the performance she presented to the court. Mischief. “My son’s…and those sweet little children.” A smile curled at her wine-stained lips. “And I hope you are prepared for the consequences of that.”

The silent, unbroken stare shattered as the doors burst open and Lagertha hobbled inside with an entourage of three. They held something in their arms like a dead snake, spread between them, covered in thick cotton and secured with the Asgardian royal seal in five places along its length.

Lagertha clapped her hands twice and you couldn’t help but smile at the irreverence on her face as she cast an imperious glance around the room. “There she is,” she said, waving you towards her. “Come, come – we haven’t got all day. Sun will be setting soon.”

You jumped up and scooted over, and immediately her surprisingly iron grip fastened to your bicep. “Loki sends his well wishes,” she hissed abruptly, “hopes his mother ain’t been too much of a cow.”

You pressed your lips together. “He’s alright? He’s not…” “Nervous? Course he is, dear. Near-on shitting himself. Not that he’d say that out loud, but I’ve known him a long time…the real him, like you do. Bless his silken hose. But now…we need to focus on you.”

Minutes passed in a blur as one of Lagertha’s deputy Weaving Crone who wasn’t quite so nobbled rolled out a small podium. You mounted it, following instructions to raise your arms and soon the dress was pulled over your head and in a heap on the floor.

A mirror was wheeled from somewhere, and behind your naked body you tried not to look at Frigga perched on a chaise, supping from a goblet.

Over your shoulder, the assistant crones were unpacking the snake-like thing. It must’ve been twenty feet long, and as it unfurled, your breath hitched. They held up the part which went over your arms, pacing forward reverently. It was as sheer as cobweb, tiny golden flecks weaved into the impossibly fine threads.

It slid up your skin like liquid moonlight. The fabric kissed your flesh like the graze of a lover, and beside you, Lagertha smiled.

You eyed your reflection warily. “How many people will see me in this?” “Just focus on the prince, dear.” “How many, Lagertha?” Her eyes flickered up to yours before taking a renewed interest in straightening the sash. “No more than twenty.” “Twenty?” you hissed. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Norns. Who are they?” “Odin, Frigga, Thor…some of the high gods; selected nobles to witness. It’s an honour, remember that. For them, as well as you.” You could swear the outline of your heartbeat was visible. “Oh my god…will they see everything?” “Not everything, child,” Lagertha whispered, untying the sash loop and re-assembling it; buying time. The robes sides covered your breasts but left a gap of bare skin in the centre, gathering at the naval before the flowing, split skirt began.

“It’s all very hush hush beforehand, so the participants can’t…skew things.” “Skew things?” You saw Lagertha’s lips roll together as she tried to dampen a laugh. Her eyes darted to Frigga and quickly back to you.

��Touch ‘emselves,” she said with a straight face.

“Focus on Loki, dear.” Her voice was as calming as poppy-seed tea. “I know what I see when I see it.” She ran a nobbled hand down the curve of your waist, smoothing the fabric.

You swallowed, looking at yourself in the mirror. “How will they know if I…if I love him? How will they know if I don't know?” Lagertha spun out the silence, fussing with the fabric at your breasts. “Focus on Loki, dear,” was all she said.

And soon, you were on the move again.

After his father’s ‘motivational’ speech, Loki felt no better. Although admittedly, he did feel slightly lighter when he’d left. Lagertha’s arrival had been the only bright spot in the darkness of his mood. She’d clothed in him in the same style of ceremonial garments expected from all participants in The Rite – far less grand than yours would be, but Loki’s held more elaborate stitching than his brother’s had done centuries before: tiny runes and charms woven into the hem with wishes that whispered when he moved. “Tell her…” he’d started, realising that he didn’t know what to say. He grumbled out some inane quip about his mother. Lagertha raised an eyebrow. “I know how you feel about her, silly boy,” she said under her breath, eyeing Thor snarfing down a third plate of cold meats like he’d been raised on the streets and not in a palace. "You can't fool old Lagertha."

Loki’s chest tightened: fighting the urge to deny it, fighting the urge to let his persona of bravado take hold. “I can’t love. Everyone’s always told me I’m not…made for it.” Lagertha’s laugh caught in her throat. She made a face. “Who? Him?” She yanked her head towards Thor leering covetously at a wheel of cheese. “Please,” she added under her breath. “And if she doesn’t love me?” Loki asked, voice crackling under the weight of the words.

Lagertha rolled her eyes. “It was a big ask in such a short time – any fool could see that, even your brother. But if you can…then maybe she can too.”

She shrugged, and patted his bare pecs twice. “I saw the way she looked at you when you came to get measured, and she couldn’t look away when you were playing with little Grisyna.”

Her eyebrow rose again. “Besides…if what she feels isn’t strong enough to fulfil The Rite…doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth exploring, tending.” “But the children," Loki hissed, ensuring he was out of Thor's earshot. "If I’m not in the succession, then if father finds out, he’ll—” Lagertha flapped a hand. “— We’ll figure out a way. We always have. Odin isn’t going to sweep in and decimate them – Frigga wouldn’t allow it…they’ll be shifted out somewhere, all nice and quiet so no one finds out what a bunch of unworthy vagabonds his court is.”

She reached up his neck and instinctually he stooped so her hands could cup his jaw.

“You are worthy of love, Loki Odinson. Giving and receiving,” she said quietly, searching his eyes. “No matter what some daft Rite says.”

“Brother you simply must try these prunes.”

Thor belched, pressing a fist to his mouth too late. Loki and Lagertha looked at him with matching expressions of disgust, and her hands fell from his jaw. Thor chuckled.

“Seems like your partner has competition for her place tonight,” Thor said, throwing a prune up and trying to catch it with his mouth. It hit off his eye and bounced to the floor. “I’ve been laying with gods since Odin was a sparkle in your grandfather’s eye, boy…I wouldn’t possibly qualify,” she said, gathering her things. She looked at Loki a final time, sharing a conspiratorial nod as Thor flushed pink. “Boy?!” Thor balked, as she shifted from the room with a quiet, purposeful grace. “Boy!?” he said again, marching to Loki. “That old witch is too familiar. I should have her removed from royal favour.” “You’ll do no such thing, brother,” Loki drawled, picking up a goblet of wine before setting it down again, untouched. “Who will make the garments that enchant your groin to look larger?” Thor’s cheeks began to turn violet. “That was supposed to be in confidence.” “Oh, dear.” Loki spun to his reflection, tilting his head. “Well, you’re lucky I’m very good at keeping secrets - if I choose to.”

Thor's lips pursed tight. Clearly, today would not be the one he’d break the habit of a lifetime and concoct a witty response. Loki’s gaze shifted back to himself.

The ceremonial Rite garment clung to every line of muscle like shimmering skin. It rippled at the merest breath; whether it was silver, or gold, or white depended entirely on the angle of the light. Bell sleeves draped from his wrists, hanging down to his mid-thighs and melting against his skin like dregs of foam into sand.

The fabric was split down his torso; cock on full display; sheer fabric leaving no inch of the skin beneath to the imagination. The hem of the robe brushed the floor as his bare feet shuffled, inspecting himself. He looked resplendent.

Loki sighed. “Fix my hair, will you? Or try, at least.”

A box rattled as Thor combed through a variety of pins. Loki rolled his eyes. “The gold one, with the emblem.” “Which emblem?” Thor asked, bored. “My emblem, you cretin.”

Thor worked in silence, and Loki was glad of it. His brother managed to gather the hair in a serviceable knot at the top of his head: fastened with the golden snake pin at its base. Loki’s cheekbones slashed deep shadows into his face, highlighting faint blue shadows under his eyes. The sun had almost set, and soon enough, there was a knock at the door. Thor squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you fortune, brother. May her heart be open.”

Loki waited for the quip about her legs being open too, but it didn’t come. And unlike the cowing pleasantries at last night’s feast, he felt a shiver of gratitude wrench up his spine at the sentiment.

“Thank you, brother,” he whispered, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. “I need it.”

The stone seemed to pulse beneath your feet.

You walked in procession: Frigga at the front, the Asgardian nymphs flanking you each holding a clutch of your train as the golden door grew closer. Goosebumps needled your arms beneath the silk-chiffon. ‘Just focus on the prince’, Lagertha had said. ‘Just focus on him’. Finally, the procession stopped. Frigga beat a fist on the door three times, and inside there was the muffled sound of trumpets.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Heraldry? Be serious.

The doors swung open. The hall was narrow, with padded benches lining the walls like one of those Midgard chapels and torches throwing throbbing amber hues on the floor. It was so polished that the gemstone stars set deep into the dark ceiling reflected on its surface, and your feet wobbled as the world slewed around you. “It’s alright,” the nymph to your side whispered, staring ahead. “Just keep walking.” You tried not to look at the shaded figures who populated the benches, but the curiosity was too much. Fandral sat with a sullen expression, glowering at your progress, the centre of his face marred with a purple bruise which spread to his eyes. You smirked. Frigga stopped, and stepped to the side.

And then, you inhaled sharply. Loki stood with his hands clasped behind his back: posture impeccable, body tight with braced muscles and his raven hair swept up in a devastating knot.

He wore a robe made of the same material as yours. In torchlight, it looked like pure gold – rippling with opacity in time with the flames. But still, his alabaster skin was visible beneath it. The god’s bare form was as flawless as you remembered from the night in the baths – it felt like a lifetime ago.

And yes, his cock really is that big, that perfect. You thought you might have imagined it. His face was set in ceremonial stiffness, but those eyes sparkled. He isn’t embarrassed. You decided – fuck it – you weren’t going to be embarrassed either. You opened your mouth to speak but, regrettably, Odin got in first. “Gods, nobles…you are welcome to the attempt of my second son – Loki of Asgard – at fulfilling The Rite of Successional Pleasure, and taking his place as one of the realm’s true-royal sons.”

Loki sidestepped as you found yourself guided by the nymphs holding your train, nudging you towards a raised platform at the end of the hall. A firm looking cushion sat on top of it: the deepest navy blue, scattered with silver thread.

You climbed each of the four steps, turning to the crowd of shadowed faces occupying the pews and trying to ignore the graze of your hardened nipped against the fabric. For Loki, you reminded yourself.

Looking up, you could make out a golden railing suspended from the ceiling, thin bunches of material hanging from it in thin sections. Loki mounted the steps with easy grace, cock swinging, drawing your hand to his lips when he reached the top.

“You are well?” he murmured against the skin, looking up through his lashes. Your stomach roiled with the need to kiss him, but all you could muster was a nod. A silent understanding passed between you of how fucked-up this was. “It will be over soon,” he said, brows peaking. Your lips rolled together, but as words shaped your lips—

“Loki Odinson: God of Mischief and Lies, Son of Asgard.”

Odin’s voice rang around the cloisters like a war-cry. “I command you to prove yourself worthy of the people you seek to rule by bestowing unrequited pleasure on this woman. By doing so, you prove that you can put those you rule above yourself; that if you can cultivate their love, you may one day hold the crown.”

Cultivate their love. The phrase made a shiver tighten your shoulders.

A woman even older than Lagertha shuffled up the steps, and beside you, Loki stiffened. Red markings smeared down her face, paste crusting into deep wrinkles. She gathered your hands. Her eyes closed, face tipped to the feeling. The very air seemed to sharpen. “She is untouched by a god: she has known no seed, she is eligible for the ceremonial Rite,” the woman announced. Beside you, Loki’s muscles relaxed. A nymph tapped your shoulder and you drew your eyes from Loki’s. “My lady- we need to—” “—I can do it,” Loki cut in. He observed her visible panic with clear irritation. “Nowhere does it specify this in the ceremonial texts, I assure you.”

There was a hum from the crowd, but no objections. Loki ushered you to the bed. He leant down to your ear, and the warmth of his breath ignited fierce, obscene desire in your core. The crowd, forgotten. “Lie on the bed, so that your head rests near the top," he whispered, shivers running down your limbs. "Those two women will fan the train of your robe. It’s very important that you let them arrange it how it needs to be. You’ll be restrained, but don’t fear…it will not hurt. It’s only so—” “—I don’t touch myself,” you finished. Loki smirked. “Skew the results,” he replied, eyes glittering like the gems in the ceiling. His knuckles trailed down your bicep and for that moment, there was only you and Loki in the room. “Shall we?”

You did as he’d asked, settling on your back. True enough, the two nymphs spread the train of the robe until its huge length spilled down the steps and halfway up the narrow aisle. The rest of it pooled across the bed, pearling weave undulating in shadows. When they were done, your arms were spread and satin tied to your wrists; fastened somewhere down the sides.

And all the while, Loki stood where you’d left him – facing the crowd with what you imagined was a thousand-yard-stare.

One of the nymphs approached the long material draped from the ceiling. Loki brought a hand up, clicking his fingers. The material sprung to life, metal rings scraping on metal as it worked around the railing; surrounding the bed in a circle of thin, voile fabric.

You’d been prepared to repeat Lagertha’s mantra in your head at this point, but it turned out it wasn’t only easy to focus on Loki – it was impossible not to.

He drew a portion of the curtain to the side and slipped through: utterly beautiful in his regally-repressed lust. That lithe body shifted beneath the sheer robe as he knelt on the bed: one knee, then two. You squirmed, unable to help yourself. You were already wet, arousal sliding between your thighs.

“Kiss me?” you asked quietly.

His brow furrowed, eyes falling to his crotch. He was hard. It was the first time you’d seen him erect without any clothes on. Even in the baths, he’d been underwater. Saliva welled in your mouth, heart thumping. A bead of pre-cum had already swelled at the tip. “This is rather unorthodox,” he muttered. Whispers were audible from the world beyond the curtain. Loki swallowed. “But you look so…” He swallowed again, eyelids fluttering closed and hands falling to the mattress. “I’ll get seed on you. And we can’t have that. Not now.” “Not now,” you agreed as your legs parted.

Loki’s breath hitched as he drew the sliver of fabric covering your crotch to the side. The god lowered, lips fastening to your thigh as his hands scooped under your legs. You felt like you might catch fire.

He kissed up to the knee, lingering on each inch of skin like you might vanish. Your nerves were wild, and it wasn’t until the whine of his name had left your lips you even realised you'd done it. There was a ripple of amusement from the crowd, and one of Loki’s brows rose. “As you desire,” he murmured, before fastening softly to your clit.

A moan ripped from your throat.

The touch was almost nothing, but it was a lit match to sulphur. All the desire, the longing, the denial – it came rushing up your throat in that moan.

Loki’s tongue was silk. It smoothed over the folds of your sex, coating you in his wet enthusiasm. Every long, languid lap coupled with a groan of approval in his chest; the sharp angles of his jawline slotting perfectly between your spread legs.

“Loki,” you gasped, back arching while his fingers spread against your hips.

He suckled your clit, eyes opening with calculated precision to lock with your own. “Loki,” you chanted again, reaching to tangle a hand in his hair and failing. His mouth broke from your pussy. “Yes, little owl?” he hummed, chin glistening with your arousal, a playful dimple winking at the corner of his mouth. You huffed.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as the god chuckled against you thigh, wet, lazy kisses bitten into the flesh. His eyes met yours as he kissed over your mound, lowering completely before dragging his nose through your cunt and covering your clit again.

“Gods, yes….f-fuck,” you gasped.

There were more titters of mirth behind the curtain. But you couldn’t hear them – you could only hear Loki’s desperate sighs of need as he worshipped you, only feel the coil winding in your belly as orgasm began to crest; only sense the press of his fingertips pulling your hips deeper into his open mouth.

Suddenly someone shouted: another, and then another. They were hushed by a voice suspiciously like Frigga’s.

You turned your face unwillingly to the side, craning up, straining against the binds. The end of the train was just visible were it ended down aisle. You squinted. Where before it was a kind of white, now it was… “Green?” Loki’s palm pressed against your chest, sliding to cup your breast with a squeeze as you lowered.

“Ignore it,” he breathed: wet, hot. And then, he pushed your knees back. Your eyes widened as he towered above you, fingers spread on your calves like a chariot-rider. A single curl had come loose from the top-knot. Loki lapped from the base of your slit to the tip.

His movements were fluid, and wild – yet perfectly controlled. You’d heard tales of how he swept through battlefields like a whirlwind; slicing enemies down like they were paper; harnessing madness with the absolute precision. And this was like that. Except his battle was your pleasure – and gods, he was winning.

You’d begun to pant, and nonsensical words shaped your tongue as his movements became slower, massaging your cunt with slow, methodical licks. “Loki…” you pleaded, chest heaving, lips parted. And then, you came.

It was like nothing you’d ever known. Everything else had been a pebble of pleasure scattered on a beach – this was the cliff. It slammed into you, spine arching as he shifted to your thrashes; holding your hips fast to his lips as you spilled into him.

Somewhere, people were clapping – but all you could feel was him, guiding your sizzling pussy from its high with gentle, careful licks.

The binds at your wrists loosened and the moment they did, you sat up – audience be damned – and collided with his mouth.

The kiss was deep, wild: fingers digging into the tight hair at the base of his skull, his lips teased open by the demands of your tongue. The taste of you was thick: sweet, hot, dark with your deepest needs. It tasted like love - like trust.

Loki’s moan as you shifted onto his lap and dragged your pussy up his cock: scorching your insides with an unquenchable drive to have him buried inside you. “It’s done,” a creaking voice announced. You squinted through the curtain, panting. The old woman from before with red crusted on her face was standing, facing the crowd. “Loki Odinson has completed the Rite of Successional Pleasure.” A roar erupted through the darkness. Loki shook you by the shoulders, his face smeared with your cum a picture of fierce delight.

I did it, those eyes said.

For a reason you couldn’t explain, your stomach dropped.

The curtain was torn aside and you toppled from Loki’s lap, pulling bundles of the robe’s length to cover your modesty. And then, you saw it. The train spilling down the steps and onto the aisle was almost completely green: a deep emerald, like it had been dipped in ink which soaked its material like the tide. As you watched, the stain grew closer, starting an ascent of the steps. “He has proven himself able to give pleasure to those who serve him,” the woman’s voice cut through the din. “He has proven himself able to earn their love, their allegiance.” Loki stood from the bed, his arms spread wide to the applause: robe open, cock still hard. You frowned, shuffling forwards and tugged the back of his robe. He glanced over his shoulder, expression faltering.

You loved him. He knew that now. Everyone did. So why did it feel like… A mob descended and suddenly Loki was absorbed into a mass of congratulatory back slaps and cheers. Thor stood at the side, clapping all-too-slowly. His eyes darted towards you, before falling to the ground.

‘A triumph,’ the voices in the crowd around Loki said as his smile widened. ‘Never seen anything like it…magnificent.’ They pulled him down the steps. 'One for the histories.'

“Loki." Your voice broke, and you shuffled forwards and stumbled over the tangle of your train. You thought you saw the flash of Loki’s profile; you thought you saw him trying to lurch back through the throng.

But fingers curled around your arms and pulled. The mossy perfume of the Asgardian nymphs stung your eyes and you wrenched against them, hearing a rip from below as someone tore the delicate robe with their feet.

More fingers fastened to your wrist and you yanked away before meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes. Sad eyes. “Let him go,” Frigga whispered firmly. “He has much to celebrate.” Everything else was white noise. Only the memory of Fandral’s smarmy voice loud in your head. ‘He’s trying to make you fall in love with him,’ he’d said. ‘And afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be.’ You faltered at the scrunch of Frigga’s brow, strength leaving your limbs.

Her pitying gaze said more than platitudes ever could. Glancing at the door, shouts of jubilation faded in echoing wisps as the green spill completed its ascent up the enchanted fabric.

Loki’s colour: proof that he held your heart in the palm of his hand, proof that you were willing to give yourself to him body, and soul.

And Loki was gone.

A/N. Just trust me, okay? Please? 🙏❤️ Please please. Tags in comments x Next (final) chapter: Wednesday 31 July. The Rite Masterlist is here

#the rite🕯️#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x female reader smut #loki x you smut #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki imagine #lokismut

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spinaroos-47 · 2 years ago

Photo

Assorted drawings of the them! Including some requests/suggestions i asked for some days ago

@sergeantsporks I may have gotten a little too excited about your request of them in casual clothes, I’ve been dying to show off Cain’s casual outfits fsndjjndn. I tried some for Darius and Eber but their outfits already are kinda casual so it was a little bit of a struggle there dsjnfdsn

@mindless-hyena asked for Cain slapping Darius in the back of the head, I changed for a soft bap, but coincidentally i did draw him bonking Darius on the head before I asked the suggestions fdnjsfdnj

@thoughtsofananon I kinda turned the idea more into angst rather than comfort but i hope you still like it jsdjnfds

@multiplepants suggested them trying to convince Cain to let them do his nails, which is fitting since he does paint his nails black, but that’s the extent that he goes about messing with his nails dskdfsk (can’t blame him, messing with the cuticles hurt like hell and tbh i don’t even think looks that good most of the time)

#toh #the owl house #darius deamonne #eberwolf the huntsman #golden guard #prev ggs #previous golden guard #cain #my art #seek the queue fear the brit

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allisonlol · 3 years ago

Note

hi!!! since requests are opened i was wondering you could write hcs/ scenario (whatever you want) on how chuuya + any other character you want would react if they made their s/o cry? i could probably see chuuya making his s/o by shouting or scaring them tbh 😭

anyways if you decide to skip this request i just wanna let you know your writing is great and every time i see your posts i get excited

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

a/n: sure thing anon :) thx for the compliment!! i also added dazai & tachihara if that's alright <3 i really like this prompt so maybe i’ll make a part two? y’all just lmk which characters you’d want for it

the plot of dazai’s part kinda strays from the theme of the request but, let’s just roll with it heh

warnings: arguing, crying, some cursing; they all end in fluff tho!! oh & also some very minor suggestiveness.

(Chuuya, Dazai, Tachihara) When They Make Their S/O Cry

Chuuya

i definitely could see this happening on some occasion too

so let’s begin, right?

chuuya had been really stressed out from work lately

the long hours, tiring fights, and annoying subordinates were all getting to him

plus he’d ran into dazai on his way home, which hadn’t helped at all

you, on the other hand, had the day off from work 😎

taking advantage of the free time, you’d decided to spend the afternoon making a nice dinner for you & your boyfriend

u even bought his favorite wine for the occasion!!

dw, ur rich asf so the price didn’t affect u much

you’re still in the kitchen when you hear chuuya arrive home to your shared apartment

excited to finally see him, you rush over to the hallway to greet him with a hug

...but chuuya just pushes past you, mumbling a “not now, y/n”

confused, you trail behind him to the bedroom, asking what’s wrong

his back is to you as he takes off his coat, throwing it on the bed with a sigh

you laugh nervously, gently putting a hand on his arm. “well um...i made some dinner for us if you’d like to join me-”

“did you not hear me the first time??” chuuya snaps, spinning around and slapping away your hand

^you didn’t expect him to raise his voice, and it leaves you stunned

“i said not now, y/n!! would it kill you to not be so bothersome for once?!”

ouch

this isn’t the first time chuuya has exploded from stress before, but obviously it still hurts your feelings

you can’t stop the tears that well up in your eyes at his harsh words

the second chuuya sees you crying, his face softens and he sighs

^sits down on the bed and gently pulls you into his lap

“shh, shh...it’s okay.” he rubs soothing circles on your back as he hugs you & apologizes

“you’re not bothersome at all, y/n. it was wrong of me to take my anger out on you like that. i’ve just been stressed lately; i’m so sorry”

you nod and give him a watery smile. you can see how tired he looks, and can’t entirely blame him for becoming overwhelmed

chuuya does end up joining u for dinner before the both of you go to bed for some much needed sleep

cue you asking if he’d like to take his anger out on you in a different way 😋

Dazai

i feel like dazai wouldn’t be the type to ever yell at you, but he definitely is capable of hurting your feelings in other ways

usually unintentionally tho? just...allow me to elaborate

dazai had been in one of his moods lately and was more or less refusing to really talk to you

he was busy with a lot of agency work, so you chalked it up to him being preoccupied

however, one night, he’d arrived home at 2am (when he usually gets home around 7)

^and he’d ignored all your worried calls regarding where he was

you were nervously waiting in the common room when you heard him come home. you rushed over to the front door to ask what had happened

dazai waves you off with a “work was busy today.” and from how tired he looks, it’s believable

“but why did you ignore all my calls? even on your way home...you could’ve texted me or something!”

you raise a hand to your boyfriend’s face to gently brush some hair out of his eyes

he avoids looking at you and instead has his eyes turned towards the ground. while he does melt into your touch, he still looks so sad??

and seeing dazai upset makes you upset, so before you knew it, you feel your eyes getting watery

ur like “no wtf” but hey, that’s the struggle of being empathetic

dazai shoots you a panicked glance when he hears you take a shaky breath

“y/n?? no no please don’t cry! i only didn’t answer because i was so tired-” dazai puts a hand on you lower back to pull you into his arms

“it’s not that!!” you insist, wiping your tears and trying to laugh it off. “i’ve just been worried about you! recently you’ve been a bit distant and it’s just concerning. although...i guess the missed calls didn’t help.”

the empty look in dazai’s eyes have been replaced with love & concern as your gaze meets his

“i’m so sorry dear; i never meant to make you worry! sometimes i just…have a lot going on. let me make it up to you??”

^pls omg. he’s going to be so attentive and sweet to you as compensation for this <33

Tachihara

we all know that tachi is pretty hot headed

he really tries his best to not let that side show around you tho!!

this is pretty easy since you never do anything to make him upset in the first place

the only situation where tachihara would ever be distressed with you was if he was worried for your safety

which is exactly what happened on this day in particular

you’d decided to take on a difficult mission on your own and had nearly been killed

luckily the rest of the black lizards had been able to save you at the last moment

tachihara hadn’t said much about it at first since he was more preoccupied with getting you home and patched up

once everyone had left and you were feeling better, is when he confronts you

“what the fuck was that all about, yn?? you almost got yourself killed! you know you can’t take on missions like that alone”

you try to argue back that you’re fully capable of operating on your own but he’s having none of it

^grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you while he’s yelling about how irresponsible that was

it’s scary asf tbh

you’re already so hurt and stressed from the day’s events that you can’t take it anymore

you shove tachihara off of you as tears start spilling from your eyes

one of your wounds had reopened and started bleeding again as well, soaking through the bandage

tachihara just pauses as he realizes what he’s done, his eyes going wide at your tears and the blood now trickling from your wound

“oh no...nonono,i didn’t mean any of that baby!!” he says urgently while cupping your face in his shaking hands

you just nod sadly as he wipes the tears from your cheeks

tachihara will first gently replace the bandage on your wound and apply pressure so it stops bleeding

he feels absolutely awful at making you cry and keeps apologizing

“i was just so worried about you, y/n. my emotions got the best of me”

you insist that ur okay now and only cried from shock bc he usually never was so aggressive towards you

well, in other context he was ;) but not like this

tachihara kisses you softly & promises to make it up to you

in which way? you can choose 😏

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

(ch.2) what it takes to heal

what should’ve been said

pairing: james potter x female! reader

summary: there’s no protocol for sexual assault. blame is being doled out everywhere, but you don’t need the chaos of an investigation right now. you just need james to hold you and tell you you’re safe.

warnings: descriptions and allusions to sexual assault, implied spiking of drinks, alcohol, angst

w/c: 5.3k

a/n: if u can’t tell by the title, these are the words i wish somebody had told me back then. most of this is just a regurgitation of my reaction to my experiences tbh but despite how hard it is to write this, it’s freeing to finally get these words out and i hope maybe it can make someone feel less alone

James was incorrigible. The minute he felt you collapse against his back, it was as if his fight with Sirius had never occurred. “Hey, who the hell-” he spun around just in time to see you wobble, calling his name weakly, before melting into his hands like soft dough. Seeing his friend in distress, Remus peeled you from James’ tightening grip, leading you over to a couch. You curled up against the couch’s arm, swaying as you struggled to stay awake. It was a pointless fight.

“What- what is this? What’s going on?” James was panicking, hands coming to tug harshly on his hair. He had decided not to drink tonight, knowing you’d be there and wanting to make a good impression. He’d sworn to stay by your side and keep you safe, to make sure you had a good time. Fuck, he even made sure not to pour you too strong of a drink. The only reason he’d left you—and he had only meant to be gone for a few minutes at most—was to make sure there wouldn’t be anybody at the party who could ruin your night. By leaving you alone, had he been the one to do just that?

“Move! Out of my way!” Marlene could be heard shoving through a wall of Regulus’ Slytherin friends, meeting you by the couch, and practically forcing Remus off. “Don’t touch her.”

Lily and Dorcas were by your side almost instantaneously. The three of them formed a semblance of a triangle—Marlene brushed your hair, standing over your left shoulder, Lily was perched on the couch cushion next to you, and Dorcas leaned on the same arm of the couch you were laying against. The four of you had never been to a house party without each other. None of you had ever come across something like this.

“Who do you think did this? Was it bloody Snivellus? I’ll kedavra him, I swear-” Marlene sneered, feeling around the back of her trousers for the wand in her pocket.

“Sev wouldn’t- Severus wouldn’t do something like this. I get it, he’s horrid, but he’s not completely evil.” Lily admitted, still wary of jumping to conclusions.

“You don’t think it was one of those Slytherin blokes, do you?” Dorcas whispered, eyes narrowing at the group of boys near Regulus, the same ones Marlene had pushed to get to you.

“As much as I’d love an excuse to beat up some blood purists, they’ve been with Regulus all night. Pretty sure she was fine before she left. Does anyone even know where she went?”

“Are you sure? Because that one in the gray looks awfully-”

Regulus looked worried as he made his way to James’ side, arms crossed stoically. James hadn’t stopped pacing since he’d seen you. He hadn’t done anything much else, really, but mumble to himself and tug at his face, as if trying to pull himself out of the expanse of his own guilty thoughts.

“Oi, mate. Your girlfriend isn’t gonna get any better if you just mope around like a boneless chicken wing. She’s quite literally there, y’know? Just- do whatever you Gryffindors do. Valor, ‘n shit.” Regulus’ eyes, despite his tone, shone with concern as he slapped James on the back. “We’re gonna head out. Let us know if you need anything.” James assumed he meant his Slytherin posse, which trailed behind the younger Black as the ensemble of well-groomed boys retreated out the portrait hole.

“She’s not my-” James caught himself. Merlin, all he could think about was making you his, when you were passed out on a couch in front of him. What a bastard. What an absolute arsehole he was, James Potter.

You coughed, mouth pulling into a downward smile as you tried to look at one of the three doting faces hovering around you. “Hey,” you croaked.

“Good heavens, I’m not sure if I want to kiss you or kill you,” Lily gasped, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” she looked around at your roommates. “We didn’t know what to do.”

At the sound of your voice, James practically flung himself at your feet, groveling.

“Oh thank Merlin, you’re okay. Are you okay?” He took both your hands, slightly cold, into his bigger, warmer ones, bringing them up to his mouth. He contemplated kissing them but settled for blowing warm air between your palms and helping you rub your hands together. “You’re okay, right? You’re gonna be okay.” He sniffed, eyes stormy as he tried to read your mind.

“I’m,” you wanted to laugh. You couldn’t remember how you had come to be in the center of a crowd of your worried friends, having James Potter at his knees for you. “Why are you all so,” you wheezed, trying to clear the phlegm out of your throat, “jittery?”

“I’m worried about you, love.” Your heart grew at the sound of his nickname for you rolling so easily from his lips. “You’re not- c’mon, humor me here.” Lily looked at him skeptically but she still shifted down so James could take the spot right next to you. His forehead was wrinkled and you wanted nothing more than to smooth out the lines with your thumb, but you couldn’t breathe with his face so close, his eyes boring into yours searching for some semblance of an answer.

“I really don’t remember anything,” you laughed uneasily, knowing that there had to be something amiss. The party was still going strong; perhaps the flashing lights and loud music were making you confused?

Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas looked at each other knowingly. The boys might not’ve caught on, but that looming threat was a reality of your lives that the three of them had finally been forced to put a name to. “You left for a bit,” Dorcas said hesitantly, “after James left. Where did you go?”

At the sound of his name, James tensed and pulled you into him a little closer. You relished the feeling. His fingers wrapped around your waist just as they had at the beginning of the night, tapping lightly at the indent between your ribcage and your hip absentmindedly. You shivered.

“Got a drink,” you recalled. “James gave me Otter’s. Wanted more.” You smiled imperceptibly, remembering the taste of the sweet orange-vanilla drink on your tongue. “They didn’t have more.” You frowned a bit when you remembered that.

When nobody spoke, and James continued to look at you with those doe eyes of his, you took that as your cue to continue. His hand squeezed yours reassuringly as you adjusted yourself in his lap. “Uh, they were out. I can’t-” you closed your eyes tightly, digging as far as you could for the memories of the hour. “You helped me, James. I hate grapes.” You buried your face into his shoulder, where he could feel your lips curling into a smile. “Worst flavor.”

Your friends looked at James suspiciously. His heart dropped. What did you mean, “he helped you?” He hadn’t seen you since the beginning o the party! “I swear, I didn’t-”

“Whatever, James. We’ll deal with your shit after.” Marlene held a hand up. Lupin and Sirius looked between the two parties, unsure of where to stand or what to do.

“Yeah, you helped me, James. Got me gigglewater. It worked!” You hiccuped. “Was fun… I like spending time with you, Jamie. Sometimes I pretend I don’t, but I do.” It was everything James had ever wanted to hear. Not only did you like spending time with him, but all those times you had supposedly hated him hadn’t been real. It didn’t make him feel any better though; if anything, worse. You had trusted him and he had let you down.

“Gigglewater…” you giggled. Your friends looked at you with another wave of doubt.

“Did James-” Sirius began before James sent him a hard kick to the ankle. “Did you see anyone after?” You nodded absently.

“Yeah, these guys. A Slytherin, some Huffles… Ravenclaws… but not as funny as you, Sirius.” You laughed again at that too, though nobody laughed with you. (It kind of hurt your feelings.)

Dorcas’s lip curled. “Fucking Slytherins…”

“James is nice. Gave me his jacket.” You wrapped your arms around the real James, your hands gliding across his back as you looked for the jacket you had been sleeping under.

“James never worse a jacket tonight,” Remus said, puzzled.

“S’okay! He’s a wizard.’ You grinned as if you had solved all the world’s secrets. “Nice guy. Gave me a hug. He hugged me. A hug. A hug…” A violent wave of tremors overtook you as things started returning to you.

“No! Get off me! Stop touching me, you pervert! Go!” You came to your senses, shoving yourself off of James with as much force as you could muster and crawling away from him, almost throwing yourself into Remus’ arms. Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas looked murderous.

“Potter, want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Lily’s wand was out, held right under James’ chin. Sirius grabbed her free arm, but she shook him off. “You heard her! She said it was Potter! You- what did you do?”

“Lily! It’s James! You know, the same stupid James with the stupid hair! He’d never- you know he wouldn’t!” Nobody would say the words. Nobody would say them because saying them made it real. You almost wish somebody would say it. None of this felt real. “You know he’d never do that. He’s even stopped with Snivellus.” Lily went limp at the sound of her ex-friend’s name, angry tears collecting in her waterline.

“Explain! Somebody, explain.” Marlene held up a hand, the other clutching Dorcas’ for support with such strength that both their knuckles were pale. Remus still held you to his chest, his hand cupping the back of your head with your eyes staining his shirt; one of the few nice shirts he had. You felt horrible. James watched as Remus consoled you. That should be me. Holding you, making sure you’re okay. Instead, I’m the one who hurt you. And I’m the one who keeps wishing for things even when I’ve done something wrong.

“I swear, I didn’t touch her. I didn’t pour her anything except for the Otter’s; I swear, I would’ve never given her gigglewater, you have to believe me. I was just yelling at Sirius for not keeping an eye on her, I’m fully aware she doesn’t take to strong alcohol well, and I’d never-” James gasped, tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve stubbornly. “I’d never do anything like that to her. Or to anyone. Fuck, all I’ve ever wanted to do was protect her.” His voice was wavering now, and catching sight of you stirring in Remus’ arms, he stopped his frantic pacing and dropped down to his knees in front of you. “Please, Remus, let me see her.”

The girls eyed him warily, eyes glancing up to you to gauge your reaction.

“James?” You murmured. “James, ‘s that you?” James didn’t move until your hand stretched out, uncoordinated, running through the air to try and touch his face. Your vision was still blurry, and he had to reach out to take your hand so that you could find him. He flinched as his hand made contact with yours, terrified that you’d panic.

“It’s me, darling. It’s James, I’m here,” he cooed, sniffing and trying to hold his composure in front of the common room. “Are you okay? No, that’s stupid, you’re not…” He shook his head to regain his thoughts. “What’s going on, love? Can you talk to me?”

“James, c’mere.” You held your arms out. “I’m not scared of you James. Made a mistake. He looked a lot like you, y’nno. ‘S why I trusted him so much. I trust you, James.” Your hands grabbed for him, fisting the soft fabric of his jumper and pulling him closer with a weak grip. “Please, can you just hold me?”

James’ face burned as he felt the stares of your friends on him. Lily’s eyes were trained on him with such intensity that he thought, if Lily had learned to do wandless magic, his hair would’ve been on fire by now. Remus shifted out of the way as James came closer, transferring the weight of your body over to the other boy. As soon as James’ arms were around you, you buried your head into the warmth of his chest. He looked down at you, gravity pulling the accumulated tears from his eyes. The two of you stayed in each others’ embraces for a while; you savored the safety that came with James’ familiar touch. Your friends were whispering as they watched, and eventually, Sirius, Peter, and Remus decided that they’d best leave the two of you alone.

“Want us to wrap up the party, Prongs?” Peter asked gently, not commenting on his friend’s emotional state. James nodded, and Peter trod off solemnly, beginning to usher the crowd out of the portrait hole. Remus began cleaning up trash and Sirius headed towards the drinks.

“I’m gonna go help.” Marlene muttered, making her way over to Sirius. Dorcas shot Lily a concerned look before taking the opposite side of the room as Remus, waving her wand to skillfully float crumpled napkins and cups from off the ground.

Lily didn’t budge. She squinted at James apprehensively as he caught her eye, and he sighed deeply. “Lily, I get it. ‘M probably not the most trustworthy person to you, but I swear, I’d rather be strangled by the giant squid before I let anything happen to her. And if you want me to go, I can go. But… please, Lily.” His voice was small, and there was a lingering sentiment in the air that James couldn’t quite voice. Lily seemed to understand because she gave him a curt nod and harsh sniff before turning on her heel to meet Dorcas.

Now, it was just you and James curled up in the corner of a plush couch. Your head would occasionally jerk up as you tried to stay awake, your grip on James’ jumper faltering as you began to doze off.

“No, you have to stay with me, okay? I need you to tell me what’s going on before you forget. C’mon, I need you to stay awake, yeah?” James shook you gently, studying your face. There was a dopey smile across your lips, one that unnerved him as it contrasted with the terror of the situation. Your eyelids were fluttering and your eyelashes, coated so carefully in mascara from the beginning of the night, had rubbed off and was smudged underneath your eyes. Your nose was tinged with red and your skin felt clammy, but still, you looked up at him with an adoration in your eyes that made his stomach twist with guilt. He didn’t deserve that look, not when he let this happen to you.

“You thought it was me?” He whispered, horrified. You sobered, eyes snapping up to him as you were reminded of what you had been originally discussing.

“Yeah, I did.” You rubbed your nose ungracefully. “He had glasses, like you. Sweet, too. Gave me his jacket, like you do sometimes.” You smiled up at him, but he didn’t return it, waiting for you to continue. You furrowed your brows in concentration, looking down at your lap to pull out the blurry memories.

“Ha, we should ask Dumbledore for his pensieve,” you snorted, trying to lighten the mood.

“Dove…”

“Right, okay. Uh, it gets fuzzy here,” you murmur, straining for puzzle pieces. “He introduced me to his friends, ‘n we talked a bit.” You shook your head, desperate to clear your clouded senses. You pinched your cheek. You held your breath. Nothing was any clearer.

“Think I talked about trousers, for a bit,” you laughed at your drunken antics. “How I had wished—oh, shit.” Your eyes widened. “Oh shit. James, I think I remember. James, I think I remember, and it wasn’t good, James, James, please James,” your hands began trembling, and you moved them around his body looking for the best leverage. They settled at his biceps, and you squeezed, an ache spreading through your muscles.

“James, no, I don’t want to do this, James.” Fuck, the tears were coming back. You didn’t want to cry in front of James. You didn’t want to think about this at all. “No, James, I’m not talking about this. I don’t want it to happen. It didn’t happen.” You’re frantic now, nails digging into his skin.

James’ arms pull you in even tighter, and you let yourself go limp inside his embrace. He soothed you, one hand rubbing the small of your back as the other weaved its way through your hair. You were shivering, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, from the event, or from the way he was touching you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be touched right now. But you weren’t sure if you wanted to be away from James. You thought you might die if you left his arms; they were the only place where you felt safe, protected, pure.

James didn’t say anything. What was there to say? I’m sorry. What was he sorry for? For abandoning you? For letting it happen? He didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’ll kill him. And he would if he knew who the boy in question was. He’d kill him slowly and painfully, and maybe he’d let the school know of his crimes before he took the boy’s life so that his legacy would be tarnished even after death. James would do all of it for you, but he couldn’t. Not now, not when you were holding on to him as if he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

“My love…” James let himself cry. He let himself bury his head into your hair and he let himself catch the scent of your shampoo, and he let the tears flow freely as a million worst-case scenarios raced through his mind, like Cornish pixies as they wreaked havoc in their path of flight.

“James…” You let yourself cry too, and you nuzzled your face even closer to his chest as you sobbed. He could feel the dampness of your tears seeping through the thin fabric at his chest, and he could feel the vibrations of each shuddering breath you took. Each one pierced his heart a little more.

Between desperate gasps for air and violent hiccups, you spat out the words that you had been searching for the entire night.

“He- hic! He tried to touch me- hic! There, you- hic! You know? And I was scared, James. I was so, so- hic! Hic! I was so scared. I wanted you to be there, James. You would’ve- hic! Known what to do.” You weren’t getting enough air. Your head was beginning to fog up again.

“Hey, hey, breathe f’me, okay? Look at me. Come on, look at me.” James grabbed your chin forcefully, trying to compensate for how much he was shaking. He took your hand and put it on his chest as he took a deep inhale. “Breathe with me, okay?” His eyes, which were as red as the Gryffindor banners, refused to leave yours.

You struggled with the breathing exercise. It took you over ten minutes to return your breathing to a consistent intake of air, but even then, your heart was pounding so quickly you felt like it might start skipping beats before it collapsed altogether.

“James, I couldn’t do anything,” you choked. “I just let it happen, James. I- I lost it all. I had no courage. When it finally counted, I couldn’t even be brave.” You gaped for air, making fish-like noises, but you didn’t care. You really, truly thought you might die if you didn’t keep breathing. “Am I even a Gryffindor? I can’t even do that one thing, I just let it happen, I just wanted someone else to come and save me, I just wanted you-”

“Don’t say that.” James hissed, pushing you away from him. “Don’t you say that about my favorite girl. You’re so strong,” his eyes darkened. “And he’s the coward. Taking advantage of you, getting you drunk, he’s the coward, he is. Not you.” James held you by the shoulders, thumbs pressing up from under your chin to keep your head elevated. “You’re wrong, baby. You are brave. You’re here, telling me what happened. You’re confronting it head-on and that takes real courage. I don’t see any cowardice from you. I only see strength. Look at you. You’re here, you’re alive, and you’re breathing, aren’t you? He’s gone, and you’re still here.

“And right in front of me is the picture of rebellion. He tried to hurt you, he tried to take away your spirit, and he tried to destroy your autonomy. But in the end, it’s not about him. He’s vile and he’s nothing and he’ll never be anything. In the end, it’s you. It’s you, because you’re still here. These tears?” He smiled sadly and brushed the pad of his thumb underneath your eyes. When he pulled his finger away, it was stained black. “These tears are proof that you’re still human. You’re still you, baby.

“He tried to take away your power, but you know, it takes real power to still be here. He tried and he failed. You’re so strong, love, you’re so strong. So strong.” He pressed his lips to the top of your head, giving you what you thought might’ve been soft kisses, between each utterance.

“James, I’m tired.” You blinked heavily. “I’m so tired, James. I’m tired of this and I’m tired because I need to sleep. Can you take me to bed, please?”

James blushed. “Yeah, I’ll take you up.” He draped your arms around his neck, allowing your head to rest upon his shoulder as he swept you up by the legs. His fingers dug into your thighs and your calves dangled freely.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Marlene was nearly snarling as she caught sight of James quietly taking you up the stairs.

“Bringing her up, I swear! She’s heavy, I don’t know if you’ll be able to carry her.” As much as Marlene wanted to take offense, James was right.

“You think I’m heavy?” You grumbled.

“Not what I meant, love. Nothing wrong with being heavy. Marls is just small. You’re no trouble for me.”

You seemed satisfied with that answer. When James set you on your bed, you were already half asleep. You curled in on yourself, and even with the lights off, he could see the goosebumps forming along your arms as you rubbed them to warm yourself. He moved to tuck you in but took note of your red slip.

Should he help you change? You couldn’t be comfortable in your jewelry and dress. And if you woke up in them tomorrow, would you be reminded of tonight? But in the end, they were your clothes. And would it be fair to try and change you when you were drunk and verging on unconsciousness, even if it was completely well-intentioned? You had already lost so much of your control today.

Control, he thought. You should be able to make your own decisions about your own body. He’d just offer you the pyjamas, he figured. But going through your drawers? That was also invasive. He dashed out of your room and returned just as quickly, this time with a bundle of his own clothes in his arms. He sat at the edge of the bed, watching as your eyes slowly opened and blinked until his face came into focus.

“James? What are you still doing here?”

“Brought you some clothes. D’you wanna change? I didn’t want to do it for you, it felt wrong.”

“Thank you, James.” The corners of your mouth turned up in gratitude. “It… means a lot. And yeah, I’d like to change.” You took the clothes from him and began slipping out of your dress. James let out a strangled noise.

“Ah! I’ll leave, I’m so sorry.” He rushed towards the door.

“No! Please- uh, will you stay? Just don’t look right now. But could you just stay for a few minutes?”

James nodded silently. You pulled on the clothes he had given you—they weren’t your own. You were quick to identify them as his, though. You could recognize his cologne. Soon, the worn cotton of his shirt filled your nose with his comforting presence, and you opted out of his sweatpants, which kept slipping down your hips. You grabbed a pair of something that resembled shorts off the ground and slipped them on instead.

“Okay, I’m done.” He turned, and the both of you flushed under each other’s gazes.

“You look… you look good, all things considered.” His mouth was pursed so tightly that his lips had disappeared. His skin looked pale under the moonlight that crept in through the window.

“Are you okay?” You whispered. The room was quiet enough that your voice was able to fill up the entire space.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me, dove.” James approached you tentatively. “Are you comfortable with me touching you?”

You nodded. James wrapped his arms around you once more, bringing you to flush against his chest as your arms found a place around his waist.

“I care about you, a lot. Probably more than I should.” James confessed breathlessly. “It scares me sometimes. How far I’d be willing to go for you.”

“Don’t say that, James. Nobody is worth sacrificing your integrity for.”

“But you are. For you, I’d sacrifice anything. Everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. What were you supposed to? James interrupted your thoughts. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know what you mean to me. And now you know, I guess.”

“Will you stay a little longer? I don’t want to go to sleep right now,” you wriggled yourself out of his hold, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “I’m- I’m afraid to close my eyes. I’m scared to dream. But mostly, I’m scared that I won’t be able to do anything this time. If I’m not awake.”

James’ face was nothing short of devastated by your words. “Of course. I’d do anything for you, remember?” He tried for a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. You gave him your own sleepy smile.

“C’mere.” You propped yourself up on a few pillows so that your back could rest comfortably against the headboard, and patted the space beside you. James looked cautious, but you mouthed your reassurances to him. When he finally crawled beside you, the mattress sunk under his weight. He laid flat on his back, eyes staring straight into the ceiling as you observed his face from your sitting position.

“Thank you for everything, James. I don’t think that I’d be… okay, if you weren’t here.” You fumbled in the dark for his hand, tangling your fingers in his. You could feel the bed shift as his body finally relaxed.

You sighed. “And you’re right. I shouldn’t have said those things about me not being a Gryffindor. You were right when you said I was strong. I am strong, I really am. Thank you for reminding me of that. And I hope- I know that one day, I’ll be okay. And it’ll be because I had you, James. It’ll be because I’m strong.

You squeezed James’ hand absentmindedly. “I’m not scared of you, I hope you know that. The guy? I thought he was you, for a bit. D’you know why? Because he seemed to care, James. I trusted him because I trust you, and I still trust you, don’t worry. I didn’t mean any of it—the stuff I said when I was out of it, I mean. You’re always looking out for me. That’s why I thought he was you. ‘Cos you’re always taking care of me, and I never thank you properly for it. Thank you, Jamie.”

James finally squeezes your hand back. Not letting go, he props up on his elbow and turned to face you. His eyes glittered, watery and vulnerable as they met yours. “I’ve always cared about you, y’know? I guess I’m not very good at showing it. It’s hard for me to be… vulnerable, I guess. I’ve always admired your ability to do that—to be able to feel so freely. But you deserve someone who can tell you how they feel about you.”

You held your breath. Was this the moment he’d tell you how he felt about you? But nothing came. You closed your eyes, smiling sadly. You didn’t feel anything towards him anyway, so what did it matter? But you couldn’t chase the pang in your stomach. It had been a long night; ‘course your stomach was a bit upset.

“You’ve been plenty vulnerable tonight, Jamie. If that counts for anything.” Your fingers began moving on their own accord, breaking themselves out of James’ hold and slowly tracing them up his arm until they came to rest on his shoulder. He shuddered under your feathery touch. You shifted, coming down from your looming spot against the headboard until you were level with James on the bed, your head further down to avoid the stack of pillows which meant you were a couple centimeters below James’ shoulders.

“I dunno, lovey. But I’ll take your word for it. You’ve always been much smarter than me.” You rolled over to your stomach and pushed yourself up on an elbow so you could be eye-to-eye with him. You took his chin in your hands.

“Don’t say that about my favorite boy.” James’ mouth parted in surprise, but before he could speak, you knocked his elbow from underneath him so that he lost his balance and fell back onto the bed. You giggled, taking the opportunity to nuzzle into his chest. “You smell nice,” you whispered shyly.

“Do I, now?” He chuckled, chest vibrating under from where your head rested. His hand came up to run circles along your back.

“Mhm,” you agreed, closing your eyes in sleepy satisfaction. “Thank you, James. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” James let you ramble for a bit until you went silent. At first, he thought you were just enjoying the peace of the nighttime with him, but as your breaths evened out, he realized you had fallen asleep atop him.

Shit, Lily’s gonna slaughter me if she finds me like this. But if I move and she wakes up, she’ll refuse to go to sleep again. And she really should sleep, not only to recover from all that happened to her, but also sleep off the alcohol. She’s not used to all this; she’s gonna have a brutal hangover in the morning.

And, if James was being honest, he was in no rush to leave you. He was perfectly content to be beside you as you slept; it was the ultimate sign of trust. You’d felt safe enough around him to let your guard down, even after you’d confessed to not wanting to sleep in fear of something happening that you couldn’t control. And yet, you’d still asked him to stay. His heart skipped.

“You don’t see it, do you?” James muttered, mostly to himself. “You don’t even realize how much I love you.” With that, he let his eyes close.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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