#again. i do not condone this whatsoever

[thescreamcorner]

Ive seen especially regarding people i have had previous positive interactions with, accusations of people using alternate accounts to block evade and harass others. While there has been no accusation sent my way that I know of I want to take a moment to reassure those who dislike me or engage negatively with me.

I do not have time, energy, or nearly that much personal investment with the people I interact with here to do things like that, beyond looking at posts out of curiosity and discussing in closed spaces. I purposely do not publicly connect any of my social media together to have small, anonymous spaces for each type of engagement I do (art, syscourse, excessive vents, etc etc).

I will never use a second blog to participate in or attack others over syscourse. If in the future any blogger appears to be or claims to be me, this is not the truth.

Despite my anger and vitriol, I will not put that outside of my space here to target others, and I do not condone others doing the same for any reason. Not to others I disagree with, to those I even may hate or who seem to "deserve it".

[fuckhouse2theelectricboogaloo]

This isn't Shep related, but more of a funny discovery I made beacuse of Shep.

AIN'T THIS THE SAME BLOND BINCH PATCH USES AS AN FC!? 😭😭

[acid-ixx]

before the bell rings (a loving family, an unpalatable desire spin-off)

ft. romatic yandere bruce wayne x gn reader x platonic yandere batfam.

tw: slight nsfw. bruce watches and kisses you while you sleep. in no way, shape or form do i condone this behavior irl.

ihave a raging headache but i don't care because i love making spin-offs of my original series'. and now i've been thinking of something related to a loving family, an unpalatable desire where just like again &. again being the opposite of like him, in this current universe i'm writing about;

you're much too loved by your husband, bruce wayne.

there are eyes everywhere when you two have been into the first stages of your marriage. he may have proposed to you for the sake and promises of protection both your families agreed upon from when martha and thomas and alive— your relationship must've been purely transactional during your childhood; but in the process of knowing you better during the planning for your wedding, in the process of grief and accepting his parents' deaths, a broken childhood and cold glances—

bruce came to love the comfort and warmth you offered him.

the entire time he was convinced that your marriage will be all but a distant relationship all throughout planning for possible venues, cake designs, guests and attires; a task he chose to uphold for the sake of your preference of a picture perfect wedding and his reputation to keep in public.

it was all that, mere promises to maintain cordiality.

there would be no affectionate touches, or the need for intimacy during both your honeymoon stages. he respects your boundaries, and you do with his privacy. after the entire wedding, everything will return to normal; with the added fact that you'd simply be living in his mansion with no qualms to bother him whatsoever.

those were unsaid agreements that you yourself knew to abide by. you were never close with the man you'd be married with during childhood, after all. for him, you must've been a checklist for him to fulfill his parents' will; there was no love before or after his grief, not even when you'd attend the funeral and expressed your apologies for the loss— his eyebrows furrowing at your shorter form, but never quite looking at you.

younger you knew it was the protection that will be granted, and never the love you wanted, but you still held on to that flicker of hope that somehow, someday you'll eventually form an amicable bond with your soon-to-be husband.

yet to you, he was the only ticket way out of your abusive home life, one filled with not only coldness, but sharp glares from a mother who never wanted you and painful beatings from a father who criticizes his own child's every mistake, each hit more painful than the last.

as much as you desire something more homely from your soon to be husband, you've long since accepted that your life will never be filled with visceral love that eats you up, love whose hands tangle upon your hair not out of sheer hatred but desire, love whose strong arms raise you up in the air rather than raises itself up to hit you.

and as you both prepare for your wedding, an air of awkwardness and discomfort was expected. backs turned, never facing each other, your eyes never quite looking at his, and unwanted brushes of each other's bodies bumping into each other translates itself to tension and mere desire to get over the plans just as quickly.

bruce tells himself, it will all be over soon. this is necessary to keep up facades and earn more connections. he hasn't been as close with childhood friends after his parents' death, hence why he was too ruffled to properly communicate with his partner after years of isolation from peers. he knows you know to understand that fact.

you tell yourself that as much as your heart aches at the impending doom that you wouldn't be able to spend time with your husband as much after the entire fiasco of dealing with wedding arrangements, with wayne enterprises and hundreds of other duties to fulfill— you've nothing to do but embrace that mere fact.

so it was all that.

bruce will never love you as much as you force yourself to love each and every flawed part of him. the first steps of planning your marriage already reflected what would soon be the damning years of a loveless courtship.

love is painful, loving bruce will be painful. your heart will never flutter at the meaningless bouquet of flowers he'd gift you, or jewelry that was never your preference, all because you both knew it was a necessary farce to make things prettier on the outside. bruce can never learn to love again after the heartbreak of losing two of his loved ones.

all that.

yet the longer you two spend time in the same room in stuffy outfit fittings and bakeries whose warmth both your loves you thought would never quite reach— the more bruce notices the slight quirk of your lips every time he guessed your favorite color or design, the gleam in your eyes glowing brighter at him choosing what he thought would be the perfect confectionaries for reception, and the tiny claps and soft tugs at the cuffs of his sleeve the more he chooses to accommodate each and every preference of yours.

he starts to fall, not out of hindsight. he was never an obvious man, no.

but he fell in love, either way.

with your habits, the way your hands gesture your excitement, and the shy grin you show his way whenever he pursues physical affection to you in both private and public; with you melting into his once stiff chest and ridged shoulders, hands wrapped around your waist, head slowly nuzzling into the crown of your hair. sometimes he'd be brave enough to caress your hips and run his fingers through the flesh between your neck and shoulders.

every damn time he takes a newer risk, every time, you'd be left shocked, yet never pushing away at his ministration.

a surprise that rewires your perception of him in your mind— not less pleasant nonetheless.

he falls in love whenever his heart beats faster— a feeling he thought he'd never come across after years of hardened training— at the way you buzz every time he proposes you two go out on dates, at your unheard gasps whenever he actually gives you bouquets of your favorite flowers as gifts, at your incoherent mumbles as you two walk through the farmer's market with his body shielding you from stalking paparazzi's and countless of admires; your mouth forming words, brows furrowed, oblivious at bruce's unwavering gaze and arms ready to rest upon your shoulders as if he never once hesitated to touch you.

and he soon realizes that he begins to yearn sleeping in the same room as you. you still stay at your home at the time being, only to be housed at his right after your marriage— but bruce loses sleep all the same. at thoughts of what you would feel like all pressed up against him, the warmth that emanates off your body every time your arms would explore his chest, and how he'd wake up to your wide, intoxicating smile, calling him, bruce wayne, your husband as you caress him and tell him breakfast is ready.

he could picture you sitting beside him, your arms unknowingly on his thighs because you crave physical affection, your attention on both your children, chattering with them as if you were always their parent. he sees you scolding damian for sneaking food under the table for his, telling jason and tim off for arguing yet again, whilst dick laughs at his brother's clumsy way of eating with barbara rebuking his statements. you'll always be the first person cass would talk to about her ballet recitals, the one duke chides for advice about which club to choose, and steph's first choice every time she stumbles upon drama.

the entire atmosphere would be spontaneous. there could be small fights, little debates and sometimes even tension, yet they listen to you nevertheless. at your pretty voice giving them an earful altogether whilst bruce would worship you with his hungry eyes, forgetting the breakfast on his plate just to hold himself back from the urge to pepper kisses on you in front of the family.

the perfect dream, like a gomez to his morticia who admires every side of them. their beauty, their sadness, anger and flaws. you complete him, he only realizes at such a late time.

just as quick as he imagines those fantasies, bruce would find himself stalking through the confines of your family home as batman; confirming to himself your breathing patterns, the flutter of your eyes, soft mumbles, and your tight hold on one of your pillows, wishing it was him instead. there, he takes in the state of your room: the decor, your wallpapers, each and every trinkets and hobbies you've collected all over the years; and most importantly, just how small and confined your room is, yet cozy at the same time.

the manor would be your castle soon enough, and he promises that it would feel as homely as your previous room. he promises that you wouldn't be sleeping alone eventually. you'll be so loved... so cared for. he'll learn to properly love you, how to touch you in all the ways he could imagine, to kiss parts left neglected, to satiate the hunger watching you every damn time.

every night, he gains newer information about you as you sleep oblivious to the presence looming above you. every night, he notes the texture of your bedsheet, the blankets that hug at your body tightly, the pillows you drool on and the softness of your mattress.

he'd ruffle your hair, and begin to trudge closer and closer to you, to the point his confidence would be at an all time high and he'd be breathing the same pattern as you, body nearly pressed atop yours as his hands tangle itself upon your messy hair. bruce watches your skin bathe in the moonlight's glow, he admires the slow rise and fall of your chest and the delicious peaks of skin from the fabric that threatens to fall.

his desire only grows stronger, his willpower grows weaker all the same.

and at a time of momentary weakness, at the passion that drips off his body merely watching you, at the unsated hunger and moments of restricting himself from touching you too much during your times together— he kisses you while still sleeping, deeply and unregretful at his choice. devouring your lips, wishing he could instead feel his tongue pressing against yours, and licking at the drool that escapes from his relentless kisses. his hands would be on either side of your head, but his thighs pin your waist, heavy and unrelenting on moving from its position.

when he lets go, he laps at his lips for any remaining taste of you, hardwiring the memory into the deepest, most sinful parts of his brain, and admires your beauty from up close. bruce watches just how angelic you look sprawled atop a bed that soon would be big enough to fit two, he sees the smile slowly forming on your face, and the giggles that erupt all while you still remain asleep.

you must've been dreaming something pleasant. he hopes that it is him, he hopes that it would be him lavishing you in his love.

and he'll be coming back home right after pecking your lips and cheeks one last time, before leaving your room, to sleep in his bed all alone after a night of a passionate endeavor. he'll be dreaming of a night with you, every night with you in fact. of your pleasured closed-eyed smile in bed and arms that reach to wrap around his body like you do your pillows. he'll cover you like a blanket with his warmth, too.

and you'll always be in his mind, even as he wakes up every morning after another day of sleepless patrol, without you by his side, without your body pressed tightly against his, without the feeling of your plush skin on his scarred one, or the melody of your snores and flutter of your eyes at the light that hits it; bruce would never be satisfied.

in fact, he begins to crave for more as he touches his lips, remembers how easily pinned you are, how fitting your body is wrapped around his. he realizes that mere fantasies would only serve as distractions, he realizes that he needs the real thing.

soon, he'll invite you to the manor, all in his own accord, without hesitation or implications that it was all for mere planning.

there you would be, shy and modestly greeting his children. bruce notices the way your finger shivers, and the barely concealed smile that makes it way to your face when you finally meet your soon-to-be family, your soon-to-be children.

unaware, oblivious to the night he took your first-kiss. he knows it is your first kiss, you've written it in a journal of yours that you're saving it for whoever is your future husband— it's only right that he prides himself in the fact that he is your fiance.

he notices how well you fit in the manor, how you're such a perfect match to the neverending energy of adrenaline to fight and to patrol, acting as a mediator, a peacemaker to the hustle and bustle of spontaneous fights and arguments that alfred used to deal with alone. and his children—?

god, his children love you.

after first impressions, after you spend time coddling beside your fiance, talking to each and every one of them with a fond smile; acting as if they're all already your children without any second thoughts, never forcing yourself into their lives or invading private topics or inside jokes like the other suitors interested in bruce who visited; after you leave the manor despite their insistence that you stay—

all of them took it in their hands to help you both prepare for the wedding arrangements; damian made a comment to push for the wedding date to be way earlier. dick says he'd be in charge of the music, steph butts in saying she knows how to play the piano, cass opens up about performing a ballet piece during the wedding, duke suggests alfred should be handling the food, barbara says she has connections with entertainment factions, tim states matterof fact that he will be organizing the entire schedule, even jason insists on attending, just simply disguised amongst the background.

it would've been a marriage where it's only your side of the family who attend, an agreement you both settled for in the earlier stages of planning, but...

if the family loves you so much at just a first impression then...

bruce wayne loves his spouse even more.

and you, being the hopeless romantic you ever are, craving intimacy at such a young age from the lack of it, took the bait and fell into his controlling hold when you've still had the chance to back out.

after all, what is love without sacrifices?

soon enough, what once were lingering, unsure touches would be bruce holding you tightly against his chest like you two were puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. he was never the type to compliment through words, but every time you wear your favorite shade or those that matches his suit colors every time you both go out for outings, his bright blue, yet dull eyes would glimmer in the sunlight, taking in your entire form. he'll kiss you for what feels longer than half a minute, and sometimes even pin you down against the mahogany door of the office if it meant he was that pleased.

you love the attention, you bask at just how easy it is to love his children. even if their personalities contrast, even through the fights they sometimes have in front of you; none ever lash out at you for breaking it up, even the youngest, damian, who would always be the most violent amongst the siblings.

hell, he'd always be the most possessive, the most demanding of your attention for whenever you stray too close to his other siblings. always glaring, always picking up fights and insulting everyone, but never directing anything at you, even threatening to bite those who dare touch any gifts you give him.

yet you love them, either way, and you've come to love bruce, too. at the most unexpected of times, even. you love it when his touches linger a bit longer, you buzz with joy every time he'd hide your face from paparazzi and hold you tighter, never once letting a hand stray far away from your body, always having you in his arms just like how your perfect fantasies would always play in your head.

and even if you're still unaware of bruce's identity of being batman, the same hero you used to fear, you still insist on kissing bruce's scars that he always comes home with every night after patrol. you let yourself become a treasure he worships, you allow him to kiss you, defile you, and never once let you out alone anymore— your occasional manor visits before your marriage turned into countless of nights spent under a roof with people you thought you'd never be... that closely intimate with.

it is only before the wedding bell rings that bruce falls in love with you, and it would soon be after that you realize just how trapped you truly are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: after this, i will return to hibernation. and if anybody asks, yes, superman wanting to smash you in this au is still canon. and yes, he will find a way to persuade you in smashing him.

taglist: @donnaaurelia, @prince-nikko, @neerathebrightstar (i hope u like this :))), @mr-celestial-writings, @glasscurrents, @sh4rk-k1d, @vellichor-and-hiraeth, @sammytheotakunerd.

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ; ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! reader)

𝖈𝖜: RAPE/NON-CON.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:

Finally finished the fic after months of procrastinating.

This fic is not proofread or beta read.

Don’t try this at home, kids!

….And some rape down there. I don’t condone any of this irl (no shit). It is to note that it is part of the story’s progression and I only intend to explore such dark elements like the series always intended to do so in canon.

The “don’t like, don’t read” rule applies here. Kindly heed the tags one more time before proceeding.

“Griffith…I…” you paused as you caught your breath. You were failing to fake self-confidence at this point in time, your legs shaking as you could only watch yourself give into the fear that made its way through your head and heart.

“I…wasn’t expecting your presence here…I….”

Griffith’s eyes narrowed in response, letting out a low hum. He was getting closer this time, giving you less time to react and run for your life.

You took a step backward, pressing your hands against the dresser for some support. You knew you’d hit a dead end the way you clumsily hit the wall, groaning softly in response. You waited and waited for a sign to attempt running past Griffith and escape the palace with all your will’s might. You still had your bathrobe on, which made you partially vulnerable to him, but you didn’t care. You just had to run away from the man who has been invading your personal space.

“Worry not, princess. I came not to disturb your slumber. What I ask for is one simple thing that I believe you and I could share. If I’ll allow you to do so, that is.” Griffith said.

“Who are you to tell me what to do with my Kingdom? This is my lair, as bestowed by my father before me. The fact that you’re trespassing does not make you worthy of seeing me at my-“

Your words were cut off by Griffith, his cunning tone making itself clear in the dead silence. “And who told you that this kingdom was entirely yours? Remember, your induction to queenhood was only taken into consideration because of your father’s sudden death. Besides, it’s not as if you have any experience in leadership whatsoever.”

“Are you underestimating me?” you asked, slightly annoyed with his attitude.

“Why, of course not.” Griffith said as he took brisk steps forward, making it almost impossible for you to escape. “Want to know a secret?”

You nodded in response.

“I killed your father.” Griffith said, shamelessly. He walked three steps forward, caging the both of you within a small distance.

“You son of a bitch! Why….why would you do such a thing?! My father has been-“ you were interrupted once again.

“I had to do it. There could only be one way to test as to whether Midland is fit to be led by a Queen all on her own…..and turns out, the ‘Queen’ in question has no experience.” Griffith said.

“How dare you insult me in my own palace!” you exclaimed. “I’m leaving!”

“Not when you’re barely dressed like that.” Griffith smiled deviously. “Now…..come here….”

“What….what are you implying?” you asked, attempting to charge your way to the exit of your bedroom. “N-never mind….I’m fucking leaving.” As you charged your way to the exit, you felt two hands wrap around your waist from behind. No, it was too late. Griffith caught you. Pulling you backward, he lifted you to your own bed and started stripping down until he wore nothing but his Behelit.

You attempted to escape once more, only for Griffith to pin you down to the bed and press his lips into yours. You fought against the sheets and turned your head to break the kiss, but your attempts were rendered futile as it only prompted Griffith to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Griffith kissed you harshly, and it frankly felt like kissing an untamed beast cornering its prey. You never knew Griffith was ...quite an expert at this, his mouth slightly nibbling at your lower lip everytime he retreated.

After finally pulling away from you, Griffith latched his face onto your neck, positioning himself next to your right ear. “Give yourself to me, Princess. After all, your Kingdom….will soon be mine.”

“No…NO!!!!” you exclaimed.

“A little stubborn, are we?” Griffith asked, tilting his head. “Well, it’s not like you’ve stood a chance. We’re taking off this one, okay?”

You kept tugging at your bathrobe’s ‘belt’ to keep it away from the filthy man on top of you. “Griffith, I don’t want this, please…..”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Too stubborn.” Griffith said, his touch growing angrier as he grabbed your bathrobe by the waist, curling his hand to a fist. Using his other hand, he slid a sleeve of the wardrobe off your shoulder, revealing your bare shoulder and right breast. Griffith dug right in, his lips kissing your hardened nipple as he engulfed his mouth to suckle it whole. While doing the do, he used his right hand to slide off the other sleeve of your bathrobe, exposing your other breast and stripping you down to your naked form. Griffith pulled away from your nipple, impressed with how he rendered the Queen of Midland helpless under his touch.

“Mmmm……what a pretty little thing you make, just for my kingdom.” Griffith let out a satisfactory hum. “This will be a rather fun time showing them who’s deserving of the throne.” Next thing you knew, Griffith was about to go down on you, positioning himself around the area of your waist.

“Don’t resist, Princess. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs wide open.” You hesitantly obeyed, up until Griffith grabbed you by your inner thighs, spreading them wider and raising them. Finally, he slipped your legs up his shoulders. It felt dirty having someone’s face right up your pussy, especially since this was your first time. Your mind wandered as you closed your eyes, hoping everything you just witnessed was just a dream. But no, it wasn’t. You fought against Griffith’s clutches, tugging at his hair and pushing him away.

But this just prompted him to dig right in, lapping at your fluids as he used his hands to part your lips for better tasting. You muffled a moan from the pleasurable feeling, covering your mouth with one hand. Griffith’s tongue worked you in fast, yet practiced motions—the tongue moved swiftly and curled just the right amount to send you shivers down your spine, earning muffled whimpers from you.

Granted, vibrators didn’t exist in the Medieval Era of Midland, so you might as well indulge in that feeling of someone’s tongue right up your pussy.

Griffith withdrew from eating you out for a while, his breathing and humming loud enough to send you goosebumps. “Mmmm…. You’re already this wet from a little kissing and heavy sucking. I wonder how it would be like to have you sing while having myself fully inside you, to have you clench around me while I slowly take what’s rightfully mine.”

“L-let go!!!!” you screamed. “I don’t want this!!!”

“You’ll take whatever’s been given to you, Princess. After all, you’re something…..” Griffith said, strict and unwavering. “Magnetic.”

Griffith moaned as he dug right back in, his tongue hovered over your clit. He started tracing small circles in a slow pacing, which left you impatient and begging for more. You tugged into his hair trying to fight him off, but as previously stated, you were left with no defenses against his strong grip.

“Griffith!!! Oh God…..!!!! I’m gonna…..!!!”

The feeling gave you that guilt, guilt for enjoying this man’s advances on you, and guilt because you just couldn’t believe your sense of authority was being challenged by a man of common birth.

But Griffith refused to stop. No, he didn’t stop suckling at your clit gently to give you a break. Griffith was merciless in the bedroom, leaving you with no choice but to accept the fate you’ve been accustomed to.

“Agh! Griffith!!! Stop….!!!!” you moaned out loud.

Griffith’s tongue kept going, and it wasn’t long before he inserted two digits inside your entrance without warning. He just didn’t care. His tongue slowly picked up the pace, speeding up and finally making you reach that sweet, sweet climax you’ve been waiting for. You fucked back subconsciously against his tongue, riding out your orgasm until it was ready to subside. After coming down from your high, you suddenly realized Griffith was looking down at you icily with his bright blue eyes, his body towering over yours despite lying down in bed.

You were screwed. What was about to happen next?

“Hmmm…..perhaps you are ready to take all of me. I’m going to fuck you so good you’d actually forget being the Queen of Midland.”

“No…..NO!!!!” you exclaimed, attempting to get up and reach for the door. You were stopped dead by Griffith once again, leading him to push you back to the mattress and grabbing you by the legs. Spreading them wider, Griffith let go of your legs, only to stroke his length before initially inserting it in your entrance. Slight precum formed through a pearl-like shape at the slit of his cock, adding lubrication to the process of entering you. Before you knew it, Griffith made efforts to adjust and bury his length within your vagina, though you ached in retaliation.

“Aghhh!!! It hurts! It burns! Let go!”

“Hush, princess. I know what I’m doing.” Griffith said as he spread your legs open for a better view. He adjusted himself by taking slow yet sure steps in burying his length into you, filling you to the brim. You were at this point begging to be freed from his grasp, though your fainting strength was no match for him.

Placing his hands on your wrists, Griffith pinned you down and started thrusting his hips in a slow, yet ambitious pace. You bit your lip to hold back your moans, but it was all for naught. You let out a small “uh” while he rocked in and out, sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air as he leaned closer to your ear to speak.

“You don’t stand a chance against ruling Midland.” Griffith muttered at an intimate distance from you.

“What…..Huh…..?” you whimpered, your breasts being grabbed as it bounced from Griffith’s thrusts. “What….do you me-ngggh!” you grunted, trying to resist him by trying to get up. “I owe you nothing! Just please, let me rule my Kingdom in peace! I’ll do anything…..anything….but this…..!!!”

“Surrender your pride, little one.” Griffith said as he caught his breath. “I want you to dream of this.”

As a means of defending yourself, you attempted to grab Griffith by the hair to pull and tug on it roughly. However, your efforts to distract Griffith failed. You had to take responsibility for what had to happen next, and it was all because Griffith wanted a taste of your kingdom.

“I have every right to follow my dream, princess. And I want you and your kingdom surrendered to me. That is the pinnacle of achieving my dream.”

“You’ll…..you’ll never…..have my kingdom…..” you fought your way to speak in the midst of denying the pleasure Griffith gave you.

“You’ll take whatever I deem right to give you, princess. After all, your kingdom and this body will be mine.” Griffith said.

You screamed as loud as you could that the servants and every guest would hear you. The walls were soundproof, but you didn’t have a choice.

“Please!!!! I don’t want this! Please get off!!!”

“You do know screaming out for servants to assist you won’t do your kingdom justice, right? Mmmmm…..”

Right on the dot, Griffith stopped thrusting, pulled out, and aggressively flipped your body over that you were facing the bed. With one fell swoop, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pinned your head to the pillow to muffle every moan and protest you had up your sleeve. Without warning, he repositioned himself right up your entrance, taking you from behind.

“This is a far better idea to keep your mouth shut and do as I say.” Griffith commanded.

“Mmmmmhhhh…….mmmmhhhhh!!!!”

The sounds of lewd clapping resumed, Griffith’s cock milking every last bit of your pussy’s juices with fervor. There was no turning back now, and he was truly getting at it, without any form of warning or informing you of any discomfort felt. It was like Griffith only cared for his own pleasure and never left crumbs of remorse for your wellbeing. This left you scarred—physically, emotionally, and most significantly, spiritually.

“Mmmmmm……I’m getting quite close.” Griffith smirked as he leaned forward. “What are you going to do about it, princess? Squirm? Run away?”

Your eyes widened at his remark, your body telling you to escape as he was nearing his release. You certainly did not want to carry his child, nor want to do anything with the monster who pounded on you animalistically.

“Noooooo!!!!!!” your voice protested while being muffled by the pillows where your head rested.

“As I said, you’ll take whatever’s been given to you. Now….”

It wasn’t long before your body betrayed you. You felt your climax approaching despite being against the thought of Griffith fucking you. Subconsciously, you fucked back, trying to get Griffith’s cock deep in you before you could feel his fluids leaking straight from your soaked cunt.

Three.

Two.

One.

Your moans and grunts filled the pillow, adding to its warmth while Griffith bit down your neck out of extreme pleasure. His thrusts sped up as he began to feel ropes of cum shooting itself inside you before pulling out. And the feeling was mutually GOOD. You let out a groan as your muscles relaxed, Griffith moaning as his cum began to leak out from your newly filled cunt. You were soaking wet and drenched in sweat as Griffith stayed inside you for long.

You were now marked as his. You didn’t know what to do at this point as you were deflowered after your coronation day.

“Sleep well, princess. Provided you are to raise a child from our time together, just let me know. We can build a kingdom where you could rule by my side.”

You couldn’t respond, which prompted Griffith to flip your body back to lying on your back. It was truly a tiresome night, filled with intensity and passion as Griffith stole everything from you.

You just never stood a chance.

Your eyes suddenly admitted defeat, staring up at Griffith as he looked down at you with a look of an angel. He was charming, so to speak, but heavily dedicated to what he promised to achieve.

And he achieved it.

He achieved his dream.

[mr-sadman]

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[her-satanic-wiles]

October 15th

Noncon, Possessed!Swiss x Reader

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: Noncon; extreme horror; dead dove: do not eat; explicit use of the word “rape” throughout; public masturbation; exhibitionism; possession; violence; demonic asphyxiation; victim blaming; face-slapping; sexual violence; rape; rape-kink; characters acknowledge that it’s rape; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; pain; degradation; public sex; mind break; underprepared; dacrophilia; unconcious sex; multiple scenes; dubcon; fear play; breeding kink; cum eating; accidental filming via security camera; creampie;

The Ghouls aren't demons in my fic. They're humans who work in the Ministry but they're a different class of profession, somewhere between personal assistants and body guards depending on the importance of Papa's task.

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

**WARNING**

This is a work of fiction based in the extreme horror category and should be treated as such. I do not condone the actions the characters make, nor am I actively encouraging others to participate in such actions in everyday life. It also does not reflect the personalities of the performers who play these characters.

The purpose of this fic is to shock, scare, entertain, and make readers entirely uncomfortable. If you are not in a headspace where you can safely read and enjoy this story, or even if the trigger warnings make you uncomfortable, I highly recommend and encourage you not to read this. Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction.

If you are struggling to come to terms with past trauma, please talk to someone and seek professional help.

You deserve to feel safe, loved and cared for. Thank you.

Sometimes rituals went wrong. That was one of the things you learned when you first joined the Ministry. Rituals go wrong and not every demon is your friend. Of course, the more rituals one participated in determined the success of said ritual just down to the fact that experience was a key ingredient and so it was always recommended to bring someone who had experience to every single ritual just to be safe.

Papa Copia’s Ghouls were the more experienced ones in the Ministry, but more specifically Mountain, Rain, Swiss, and Dew. Yourself and Phantom were mere babes in comparison; sweet summer children who knew nothing of life and Satanism, only sex rituals on pentagrams give funny dreams and great orgasms. Because of this, you and Phantom walked into the ritual room with a bit of a pep in your steps, and no worries or concerns whatsoever - not concerning yourselves with seriousness or responsibility. This was just a regular, sex magick ritual surrounded by friends in order to contact the Olde One and get some advice is all. You had done this perfectly before, and you had no reason to think it wouldn’t happen again.

You, Rain and Mountain began lighting the candles in the room, ten of them to be precise. One for each of the pentagram’s corners, and a further five to outline the space in between. Dewdrop, the most experienced of everyone there, was in charge of drawing the pentagram from scratch. The first step was to scrub away the existing paint from a previous Sibling’s ritual.

“Why are we doing this?” Phantom asked as he wrung out the hot, soapy water from the sponge.

Dew sighed, “Did you not pay attention during training, Phantom?”

Swiss was now on his hands and knees next to Dew scrubbing at the red paint with a hard-bristled brush. “Clearly not. Look at those eyes: no thoughts just vibes.”

Phantom threw some of the soapy water at Swiss, in turn earning himself a middle finger. “I didn’t have time to study, remember? I was just thrown straight into life here after Aether…” Phantom trailed off, remembering how so many people in the room weren’t ready to talk about what happened. There was a brief silence while they all cast their minds back to their long lost friend.

“We clean off the old pentagram,” Dew said, clearly exasperated by his Satanic brothers, “because we don’t know what kind of ritual our Siblings performed before we got here. Cleaning the floor allows us to better control the safety of our ritual.”

“What could happen if we don’t clean up?” Phantom asked. “Moreover, what would happen if we just built upon these lines?”

“Oh come on, Phantom.” You said. “Even I know that.” Phantom got on his knees and began scrubbing away the paint on his third of the pentagram. “The cross energy between rituals and magic opens up a gateway for negative energy to come through. Sometimes that energy is just bad karma or bad luck, and you have one hell of a week.”

Swiss, “Literally.”

You continued, “Or it’s the souls of the damned coming through, or worse, demons.”

Phantom, “Has the Dark One ever travelled through these portals?”

Dew, “Probably. But He doesn’t do it often.”

“What I still don’t understand is why demons and damned souls would want to hurt us, we’re all on the same side, after all.”

Mountain, “Catholicism. You give energy to things you believe in, which in turn makes it more powerful, right?” Phantom nodded. “This is why Lucifer Himself wouldn’t come to harm us because we love and worship Him as a friend, a lover, a brother etc. But according to Catholicism, why does Hell exist?”

“To punish bad people after they die.”

“And what do we know happens to these bad people when they spend an eternity being tortured by demons?”

“They become demons themselves.”

“Good boy, have a Scooby snack.” Mountain threw a packet of mini-Oreos at Phantom, who caught it with one hand.

Rain, “Some of those bad people become demons, not all of them. The majority of demons are created by Lucifer as assistants to Him, and they’re usually picked from the petty criminals rather than genocidal maniacs and bigoted pricks. Like Mephistopheles, for example. He was just a businessman before he died. Think Ebenezer Scrooge, but in real life. Stole from the poor to put in his back pocket. In comparison to say, I don’t know, Stalin, he wasn’t too bad of a guy. If Mephistopheles showed up, we would have a great time sending him back. We’d just have to watch our wallets.”

Phantom, “And if it’s one of the dangerous ones, it would be catastrophic?”

Dew, “Absolutely. Papa and the Clergy would have to get involved. Papa would have to contact the Olde One directly to come and drag the beast away. Contacting the Olde One with the ritual that Papa would need could put Papa in mortal danger. So, we clean to save Papa as well as ourselves. So, make sure you get every spot, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

That was the first mistake made that night: no one double checked before the paint went down that the previous paint had been cleaned completely. From eye-level, everything looked squeaky. But what none of you realised at the time was there were small, insignificant specs of paint left in Swiss’ third. Insignificant specs, but by no means safe.

The second mistake was that when the candles were being placed on the freshly painted pentagram, one of them wasn’t precisely sat atop one of the points. The candles usually acted as an extra barrier of protection, essentially trapping something inside the pentagram if it came through uninvited. Lower level demons or spirits could still be trapped if the candles weren’t precise, but the higher level ones wouldn’t be stopped.

The five Ghouls were there to conduct the ritual on Papa’s behalf, you were there to provide the energy to allow them to do so. This wasn’t your first ritual and so you had no problems at all getting completely naked in front of the five men you considered to be close friends, and sitting in the centre of the pentagram. You’d been part of these rituals before with them, if you hadn’t already had a few of them balls deep inside you on multiple occasions beforehand. And so when they had all joined hands, you had no shyness or reservations about spreading your legs and exposing yourself to them. This would be the third mistake.

Swiss wasn’t concentrating fully. If you’d have opened your eyes and looked at your friends holding hands around you as they chanted, you would have seen Swiss looking directly at you with his mouth open, watching as you touched yourself surrounded by men. You would have seen that he was concentrating on your hands toying with your clit more than chanting the Latin required to safely perform the ritual. You could have stopped the ritual because of it - but you didn’t. You didn’t know that there was a problem.

Your head was thrown back in pleasure as your fingers worked over your clit. Your body was draining of energy the closer and closer you got to orgasm. In your line of sight, you could see Rain looking back at you but his mouth reciting the Latin he’d learned. You couldn’t see Rain’s eyes, though you were desperate to know what he looked like under there right now. All eyes were on you, and it turned you on so much to know that you were being intensely watched by five masked men as you dipped two fingers into your cunt and began to hit your g-spot.

Masked men, the fifth mistake.

Had they all removed their masks, everyone would have seen the biggest problem in the room: Swiss. Not only had he stopped chanting in order to concentrate on your wetness, but his head had begun twitching. Had he not worn his mask, others would have seen his eyes glaze over and roll back into his head. They’d have noticed the white dimming into pitch blackness. They’d have been able to break the circle and preemptively send the demon back to Hell before it could fully appear in the real world. But as hot as the masks were, and as much as you loved looking at them, they were impractical and unsafe for private rituals.

The air grew thick with an unholy presence, and a palpable darkness descended upon the ritual site. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath your feet as a foul wind swirled around you, extinguishing the candles one by one.

As the ritual reached its zenith, a sudden surge of malevolent force swept through the circle, causing you all to recoil in terror. Swiss let out a deep, yet blood curdling scream causing everyone in the room to stop what they were doing and freeze, yourself included. Your wet hand now removing itself from your core and your body sitting up straight in alarm. By the time you’d focused on him, Swiss had broken the circle and was cupping his head over his helmet, as though he was in immense pain. His screaming continued as he doubled over, bent at the waist and yelling at the floor. Swiss’ voice, now filled with an otherworldly resonance, grew louder and more insistent, his body trembling with an eerie energy. One of his hands began to hit at the mask in an attempt to stop whatever was causing him so much discomfort.

“Swiss!” Dew shouted, running over to his friend. “Brother, focus! Come back to us! Phantom! Go get help, now!”

Phantom nodded and ran out the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Swiss, it’s me: it’s Dew. What’s wrong, brother?”

“My… head!” Swiss exclaimed through gritted teeth. “It’s in my head!”

You stood up and dressed yourself, making sure that at least your habit was covering you. All the while, you watched as Dew frantically tried to get answers out of his brother, and figure out what went wrong so he could help. Swiss was still screaming, still trying to escape out of Dew’s grasp.

Then silence.

Swiss stood straight. Still. No more screams of pain, no more frantic Dew. You couldn’t even hear the world outside the ritual room. Just maddening silence that could drive a person to insanity if they were in it for too long. Everyone remained unmoving, fearing even breathing in case it triggered something. You wanted to leave, to escape the room and get help - or even just pull your friends out and save them. But your body wouldn’t move. It wouldn’t respond to your brain’s pleas to get the fuck away.

In that chilling moment, a grotesque transformation overtook Swiss. His voice, now distorted and filled with malice, spoke words that were not his own. It was a demon that had taken hold of him, a malefic entity summoned from the abyss.

The demon had been called forth by all of the mistakes made that night. It reveled in the chaos and despair that surrounded it, relishing the opportunity to wreak havoc upon the mortal realm. With Swiss as its vessel, the demon’s power knew no bounds.

The demon’s dark presence continued to grow, casting a sinister pall over the entire Ministry. Outside of the room, a sense of unease began to spread. Siblings and Ghouls alike could feel the malevolence that radiated from the heart of the Ministry, an unnatural darkness that seemed to seep into their very souls. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, and the boundary between the mortal realm and the abyss had grown thin.

Everyone was simply afraid to speak, to move, to even breathe. There was a comfort in the silence that couldn’t be explained other than Swiss hadn’t attacked anyone or made any movements. You weren’t even sure if Swiss was still in there. No one move, no one blink, no one make any sounds.

Swiss moved first - his head shifting from Ghoul to Ghoul to you as though he were studying you all. He seemed more like a caged animal than a human as he weighed up his options, though he wasn’t entirely registering what he was seeing. Each room was designed with at least some kind of demonic suppressor so you knew whoever had stolen Swiss from you didn’t have the full extent of his powers. But as he’d barely done anything, you still couldn’t gauge just how dangerous he was.

Suddenly, Swiss’ eyes locked onto you and focused on nothing else. Your body was still very scantily clad in your habit, your legs fully on display even though you were hiding behind Mountain. Swiss’ mouth curled up into a sinister smile. “He likes you.” Two voices emerged from his throat, the first being Swiss’ sweet timbre, the second the demonic entity inside of him. “I am in his head. I know. I see.” He took a small step forward. “He has sinned against you. He does so nightly.” Another step. “He imagines things in his chambers when he is alone. He wants to bury himself deep inside you. Even today during the ritual, he considered getting on his knees and taking you in front of everyone.” Another step. That was when you all realised the final mistake: you.

Swiss got possessed because he was watching you masturbate in front of him. He got possessed because he was craving your body, your touch. He got possessed because he was concentrating on how you’d feel wrapped around him and didn’t pay attention to the most important things. You never should have been chosen for the ritual. You never should have agreed.

Swiss spoke again. “I think we should give him what he wants, don’t you?”

“You stay away from her!” Dew shouted. He’d gained enough confidence and bravery to step forward, arms outstretched, and ready to restrain Swiss. Or at least attempt to anyway. Dew was much, much smaller than Swiss, so even when he wasn’t possessed by a demonic entity, restraining him alone would have been damn near impossible. But the added power now coursing through Swiss’ human veins made restraint way more difficult.

All Swiss had to do was lift his hand and Dew was levitating from the ground. A simple push saw Dew flying backwards, his head smacking against the wall and his body falling limp to the floor.

“Dew!” Rain shouted. It was a natural reflex done out of fear and it caused him to lurch forward. The demon, presuming Rain had moved to attack him, copied the motion and threw Rain against the wall too, the sweetest of all the Ghouls now unmoving on the other side of the room.

Mountain still held you behind him and for every step the demon took towards you, Mountain moved you backwards. You could tell he was trying to move you towards the door without taking his eyes off of Swiss. But deep down you both knew that while Mountain was a worthy opponent for Swiss, he was no match for the thing possessing him. All Mountain could do was hope that you at least got out of the room safely especially now that the demon had its eyes on you.

“Give her willingly and your life will be spared.” Swiss’ two voices cut through the panicked silence.

“No.” Mountain said.

Swiss raised his hand into a fist and concentrated on Mountain. Mountain, like the others, was now being raised off the ground, but this time Swiss was being torturous, enjoying the pain he was inflicting internally. Mountain grasped at his throat as if a hand had been wrapped around it, and struggled to get air into his lungs. “___,” he choked out, “go!”

Somehow your body responded to the sound of his voice and you made a break for the door. There was a part of you that knew you’d never reach it - that knew you’d end up in a worse fate than your friends, but you still tried anyway. Maybe if you left, you would be able to find more help to bring. Maybe you’d run into Phantom or Papa, just someone who could come and save everyone. You refused to believe that they were all dead - you would have given up if you thought that. So for all the good it did you, you chose to run. You chose to fight as best you could.

Behind you, Mountain’s body thudded to the floor, but you could hear him gasping for breath. Swiss, who was now focussing on you trying to make your escape, didn’t put the full extent of his powers into hurting Mountain as he did Dewdrop and Rain. Mountain was weakened from the impact but he wasn’t unconscious… yet. But now you had no protection - now you were completely vulnerable.

You managed to get the door open, but by then, it was too late, Swiss had already come up behind you and slammed it shut again. His large hands grabbed onto your waist, thick fingers digging into your flesh and manoeuvring you to where he wanted you. Your own back slammed against the door and you were met with Swiss’ cold, unfeeling mask, glass eyepieces only showing a glimpse of the blackened eyes that had completely stripped away the humanity from one of your closest friends. His once beautiful smile brought you nothing but happiness now evil and no doubt the last thing you’d ever see. You struggled, fighting against the unholy strength that had caught you, but of course, you were no match for him - in fact, he seemed to enjoy you struggling. In your frantic movements, your hip grazed his and you felt his cock now standing hard beneath his Ghoulish uniform. You knew what was coming.

He cackled, the two voices giving a creepier edge to something so joyous. His free hand came to remove the helmet and allowed you to gaze at the face that was going to bring you so much pain. His eyes were, indeed, as black as you’d been told. Veins were popping from beneath his skin, no doubt Swiss straining from the inside to expel the demon from within but failing miserably. Even though you could hear it wasn’t Swiss, and you could see the eyes certainly weren’t his, it was so difficult to differentiate between demon and human. Your brain struggled reminding you that Swiss wasn’t the one who’d hurt your friends; that he wasn’t the one rubbing his clothed cock against your thigh; that his hand wasn’t squeezing one of your soft breasts so painfully hard; that it wasn’t his tongue licking a stripe from your neck to your ear.

You pushed against his large chest trying to distance yourself, but it was as if you were trying to move the Ministry itself. He wasn’t budging. “Get. Off. Me!” You grunted in your exertion.

“This Ghoul wants you - you would deny him? You would deny him after the show you put on for him?”

“There was no show!”

“Really? Because you angled your body to give him the perfect view of,” the hand that was on your breast now moved to your crotch and gripped your vulva tightly - so tightly you screamed, “this cunt. You wanted him to touch you. You were asking for him to take you. Begging for it, were you not?”

“I wasn’t!”

���Lying whore!” He slapped your face hard enough to leave a mark, the bite knocking you off kilter for a second and making the room spin. He grasped hold of your cheeks and forced you to look at him. He took his opportunity to kiss you, forcefully pressing his mouth to yours and using his tongue to lick over your unresponsive lips. Taking this opportunity, you kneed him in his crotch now extra sensitive from all the blood that had pooled there. This gave you enough respite from his attack to push him away from you and attempt an escape. The door was locked shut this time, though. And it didn’t matter anyway, he was faster than you thought.

His thick forearm wrapped around your neck and pulled your body flush against his. “You like pain, hm?” This time, when he spoke, he used only Swiss’ voice. He tightened his arm and began cutting off the air supply to your lungs. “You want me to make it hurt?”

“Swiss!” You choked from his anaconda-like grasp. “Stop!”

“He cannot help you now, little one. But I have made sure he can see everything.”

With one hand on your shoulder, he released you from his chokehold long enough to push you hard to the ground. As you stumbled and collapsed, you felt the skirt of your habit rising up over your bare ass cheeks, which earned another menacing snicker from the demon. “Look at you. The little Jezebel is ready for her master’s cock.”

“No!”

You got onto your hands and knees ready to stand and run, but you felt Swiss’ boot on your exposed backside and stamping you back down flush to the floor. Wasting no more time or effort, he straddled your hips to keep you pinned down and pressed his entire weight onto you. Over the sound of your struggling, you heard his jeans zipper undoing.

“Still some energy in you, I see.” He taunted as he placed his hands where his thighs were and moved further down your body, still fighting you. “I wonder how long that will last.”

You braved a look behind you to see if there was anything further you could do, but caught a glimpse of what Swiss was sporting under his clothes. Now he was fully exposed, you truly saw his length and girth for what it was and dread pooled in your stomach. The pain you were about to feel was beyond terrifying.

“Which hole should we rape?” Swiss asked, lining himself up with your ass and rubbing against the rim. “This one?”

“No! Please! Let me go!”

“Or this one?” He then rubbed over the entrance to your cunt and gasped. “She is wet! The whore is ready to accept Satan’s gift! She wants it even though she deludes herself otherwise.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Ghoul, which hole do you fantasize about the most, hm? Which one do you want us to rape today?” There was silence for a moment and you could swear you heard Swiss’ screams - similar screams to when he was first possessed. “Her tight, little cunt hm?”

He lined up once more with your hole, and you tried again to escape from underneath him. “Swiss! Please stop! Please! No!” Your wriggling proved useless when you felt him press inside you.

The pain was beyond anything you’d felt before, a searing white hot pain that shot through your entire body and only continued the more of him entered you. He wasn’t gentle with his movements, as expected from a demon. He bottomed out almost immediately, hitting your cervix roughly and causing you to scream. “He was right,” Swiss said, “you do feel incredible. This hole was made for cock, no wonder he spent all his time drooling over you.” He pulled out and thrust back in laughing at your pain-filled scream. “I have kept him awake so that he can remember this gift the Unholy Father has bestowed. More material for him to think about in the darkness of his room.”

“Please, stop!” Your voice was high pitched now and tears were staining your cheeks as your hands covered your mouth to muffle your cries. Your distraught sobs caught the demon’s attention, however, and he wanted his gratification.

He wrapped Swiss’ hand in your hair and tugged your face off the floor. Your mouth was hung open from your weeping and your screams escaped every time he thrust in and hit your cervix. “That is right, scream for him. Let him know how good you feel on his cock.” The sound of your cunt swallowing him made him speed up his movements, entirely enthralled by your body accepting him properly. “Show him how you love being raped by his fat cock.”

“P-please stop!”

He groaned. “Keep begging for me to stop. Keep crying for me. You get tighter every. Single. Time.” He thrust between each word, getting rougher and rougher with you.

With his hand in your hair, your head was lifted and you could look around the room. As your body was pushed along the floor by the power of his hips, your tears blurred your vision but you could still see your friends laying lifeless in front of you - spread in all manner of ways. None of them could save you. None of them could help you. If they were even alive. Your thoughts turned to Phantom, outside of this room searching for someone to come and exorcise the demon back to Hell. Your fear became overpowering at the thought of the sweet newcomer walking in and seeing you pinned beneath Swiss, being raped by someone you all used to love and trust. Would anyone else understand that this wasn’t Swiss hurting you? Would Swiss even survive the exorcism?

In a moment of adrenaline from the fear you felt, you shifted your body using all the strength you could muster. You wrapped your legs around his calves, swung your arm to hit his face and proceeded to turn as if you were about to lie on your back. Swiss didn’t anticipate this and so slipped out of you for a brief moment, falling off of you. Wasting no time, your weak legs forced you onto your feet and you ran towards the door once more. Your brain was clearer than before allowing you to unlock the door this time. But as you opened it, once again, Swiss pushed it closed.

“Clearly I have not broken you yet.”

By the collar of your habit, he pulled you back to give him the space to stand in front of you. His hand, now tightly closed in a fist, backhanded your cheek and all you saw was black.

When you came to, your jaw ached so badly. Your vision was blurred and it took a while to come to. Your hands were held above your head as you lay on your back, a large hand holding them together and restraining you. As your head was turned to its side, you saw Mountain and Rain laying next to each other, still entirely unconscious and unmoving. But you were still being attacked.

Now that you were pinned to the floor, and had been out for you didn’t know how long, Swiss had chance to fully savour you. Your habit had been torn town the middle, exposing you completely to the demonic eyes you were now staring into, those very eyes entranced by the way your breasts bounced from the roughness of his thrusts. His cock was now spearing into you much harder than before, the position allowing him to fuck into you deeper. His pubic mound was grinding against your clit as he pounded away, and for the first time that night you were feeling pleasure with the pain.

“I knew you wanted this.” Swiss said from above you upon hearing the small pleasured whimper that escaped you. “I knew you were a whore who loved getting raped. How you would spread your legs for anyone who offered you a bit of attention. I am not wrong, am I?” You moaned again accidentally, this time louder. “Say it. Tell me how much you love it. Tell him that you love it when he rapes you.” When you didn’t obey, he wrapped his hands around your throat. “Say it!”

“I love it!” You shouted reluctantly. “I love being raped!”

Somehow this wasn’t a lie. Since waking up, every hit against your cervix, every drag of his cock against your walls felt delicious. The demonic black of his eyes, the thick hands that held you down had you spreading your legs wider to let him continue abusing your hole. You were getting wetter and wetter with each thrust, more desperate to cum than ever before. You fear dissipated and was replaced with nothing but cock. The weight of it driving you crazy, the way he used you for his own pleasure and revelled in your agony. How he lowered himself to lick your tears away and bury himself inside you over and over again.

“There you go. That was not difficult. You got so much tighter too.”

Your screams turned from pain to desperation. Your mouth hung open in a perfect O. His cock had broken you, stripped you of everything and turned you into his own, personal toy. You sat up as much as you could to see where you both were connected. You saw the base of his cock was rimmed with white where your wetness had turned to cream and stuck in his pubic hairs. Each pull out of you had multiple strings of your own juices forming and snapping. You could feel yourself spilling out of your hole and running down your body, gathering on the wooden floor below you. Fuck! It felt so fucking good.

“Will you cum on his cock? Will you cum on the cock that rapes you?”

“Yes!” You screamed looking back up into his eyes. “I’m gonna c-cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-!”

The door opened right as your orgasm hit, your mind clouding over and drool dripping from your mouth as you came all over Swiss’ cock. The last thing you remember seeing was Papa Copia’s eyes look into yours in horror as you came like a desperate whore while your close friend took you against your will. Then the world went black.

When you came to, your eyes refused to open at first. Your head was pounding from the physical trauma and there was a deep-seated pain in your core that sent stabbing pains through your legs every time you moved them.You groaned and tried to sit up but your body refused to respond. The heart monitor beside you kept bleeping letting you know that you were, in fact, alive, but also that you were currently in the infirmary. But there was another sound coming from the foot of your incredibly uncomfortable bed. When your eyes finally opened it took you a while to fully process what you were seeing.

Swiss.

In a moment of pure fear, you panicked and tried to move further up the bed, as far away from him as you possibly could. You could feel a scream building in your throat, but your jaw hurt you too much to move it. Even still, your fear didn’t care. Swiss’ eyes were back to normal, and glassy with unshed tears. His face, pale and sickly, stained with the tears he had cried. He looked awful - his veins tinted a little black from the pressure of the demon inhabiting his body.

“Please, don’t scream!” He said quickly. “It’s me again. The demon’s gone.” You wanted to open your mouth and ask him what he was doing there, but your jaw wouldn’t move. “Your jaw isn’t broken, but it’s badly bruised from where I…” He started crying again, burying his head on your bed. “I’m so fucking sorry!” He wept hard, your heart breaking for him every time you saw his shoulders violently shake. “I hurt you so b-bad. I’m so sorry! I d-didn’t want to do any of th-those things. I tried - I tried to stop but it was t-too… strong. It w-wasn’t me!”

Deep down you knew it wasn’t. You knew Swiss would never hurt you like that because he never had. He’d never shown that level of ferocity and violence to anyone or anything. He was the kindest soul in the Ministry - a ray of sunlight the morning after a storm. Before all of this, you would have trusted him with anything, your life included. But even though reason told you he wasn’t the monster that attacked you, your brain still registered him as the attacker. When you saw his eyes before he hid them, you could have sworn for a brief moment they were still black. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it was okay and you forgave him even though there wasn’t anything to forgive. But there was such a hesitation. An annoying voice in the back of your head saying “what if”? What if that really was him? What if they didn’t exorcise the demon out? They must have otherwise he’d be in chains in the dungeons right now. So, you reached your hand out and touched his head, gently stroking at his hair. Tears were falling down your face too as your brain replayed the trauma.

When you both had calmed down a little, and Swiss was no longer hiding his face from you, you both sat in silence staring at each other. You were studying his face for imperfections and signals that he was unsafe, and he was studying yours for any hints of fear that should tell him he needed to go. “I know it’s selfish of me being here.” He said. “It only happened yesterday. I’m not supposed to be here. Papa’s going to come and talk to you when you’re feeling stronger, he wants you to decide my punishment.”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to punish him.

“Everyone else is fine. Dew has a broken shoulder but he’ll live. Rain has concussion. Mountain’s up and out of the infirmary with no problems at all.” Your mind cast itself back to yesterday, watching Swiss barrel through them and throw them around like children’s toys. How helpless you felt when he was inside you and they were all in the room, knocked out from his attack. How none of them helped you.

“I shouldn’t have come but I needed to see you. I feel so guilty. I…” he hesitated. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I felt everything the de- he did to you. I heard everything, saw everything, felt everything. And you felt so… especially when… fuck! I know I shouldn’t but I keep remembering and my body reacts. I’ve used my hand so many times since but nothing compares to… I need it. I need you. One more time. Please.”

There was a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach again but you could understand where he was coming from. Since you’d been awake and your mind was showing you the images from yesterday, you were also losing your mind. You remembered everything in graphic detail, especially how good it felt when you woke up on the floor. Arousal began to replace the dread and your thighs rubbed together, making you hiss in pain. But the pain and the arousal seemed to control you, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, you nodded your head.

Swiss didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back the comforter and climbed onto the bed. He lifted up the infirmary nightgown you were wearing and exposed your abused hole to him. You could see his cock tenting through his own nightgown at the sight of you. You were so broken and vulnerable, and it did things to him he knew he’d feel guilty for later on. But he just couldn’t resist any longer. It was like he was addicted to you. To it. “I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.” He told you. He lifted your gown further up to expose your breasts again before pulling himself free and lining himself up. You wanted to tell him to not be gentle, to disrespect you like he had yesterday, but the words couldn’t come out.

Pushing into you, you felt the same searing pain you felt the first time he did. You were so under prepared yesterday and even more so today. But after a few uncomfortable thrusts, the pleasure returned once more, and your hands, now finally responding, flew to his shoulders and grasped on, digging your nails into his skin.

His mouth had hung open and his own grunts and moans were escaping as he lost himself in the pleasure and the memory of your fear. You were deprived of this yesterday - and you were convinced that if you’d heard how good he felt, you’d have given up fighting long before you did.

“You feel even better than yesterday.” He muttered. His thrusts got rougher and you could feel the infirmary bed moving beneath you, groaning at the weight and the intense movement. “I kept thinking about how wet you got. The way you creamed on my fucking cock. I came twice to that thought alone. Fuck!”

Though your jaw was in pain, you were still able to whimper from the feeling of his fat cock railing you in a similar fashion to yesterday. Your own noises kept spurring him on.

“And when you screamed, yelling out how much you loved me raping you. Fucking hell. I want to hear it again. I want to hear you beg me to rape you over and fucking over. I want to keep you speared on my cock and make you cum on it because I just won’t stop raping you.”

You tightened at the thought, which made him let out a particularly loud moan.

“You want that, too?”

You nodded.

“Fuck. You want me to turn you into a little fucking rape toy, hm? A fuck-slut that’s only good for taking my fucking cum against her will. Have you beg me to stop while also sucking my cock back into your little hole.”

You dug your nails in again which prompted his hips to smack forward and whack your cervix.

“I’ll do it. Shit. I’ll find you when you’re out of the infirmary and I’ll force you to the fucking floor. I’ll take what I want from you when I want. You want that?”

You nodded.

“Fucking hell, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum again. I came inside you yesterday too. They had a hard time pulling me off you. I just kept holding onto your hips and railing you into the floor. I’m gonna keep doing it now. Use you as my fucking cum receptacle. Rape a baby into you too. Show everyone who this hole belongs to.”

You tightened and moaned again.

“I went feral when they pulled me off of you and I saw my cum spilling out. Proof that I’d - fuck I’m cu-cumming!”

Once again he pushed himself as far into you as he possibly could and stilled, painting your walls with his seed.

No one else had ever made you feel that good before. The fact that he was recreating the shared trauma also did things to you that you couldn’t quite explain. You knew he was suffering as much as you were, that the guilt was eating away at him in the same way the fear was. Maybe that was why you willingly spread your legs for him this time, because you needed someone who knew to make you feel good.

When he’d finished, he watched himself spilling out of you. “Fuck…” he lamented. “No tissues. You didn’t cum.”

You wanted to tell him not to bother, that a nurse might show up midway through. You knew how bad it would look that the man who’d raped you had come back for seconds not twenty-four hours after the incident. But even if you could speak, he wouldn’t listen.

He bent down and placed his tongue in your hole, licking his cum out of you. He swirled his tongue around your cunt, trying to find the parts of you that would tip you over the edge. Once he’d determined that you were clean enough, he moved up to your clit and sucked. Hard. It was like he knew that his treatment of you yesterday meant that you needed it rough today too, and so he did his best to deliver. He didn’t let up until you came on his face, your own juices spilling out of you. You did your best to muffle the scream that was threatening to come out of you as you tipped over the edge, hyper-aware of the fact that a nurse could come rushing in to make sure you were okay. Swiss knew this too and so finished up as quickly as he possibly could.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You nodded and watched him press a kiss to your temple, completely juxtaposing his treatment of you both yesterday and today before making his exit back to his own ward.

You watched him leave and let your eyes wander around the room. That was when you noticed it and froze in panic. There was a security camera in the top corner of the room… and it had just captured everything.

Kinktober: Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

Hellish Delights:

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

[keybladeciel]

Now for my two cents on the drama that ensued among the Linkin Park Community.

Content Warning: Discussions of sexual assault, Scientology, and suicide

Disclaimer: I do not condone nor encourage the harassment of the individuals or anyone with their own opinion. Additionally, this statement is intended to be read with an open mind and I may be wrong at such details. Any corrections with hard evidence is appreciated. Updates to the situation will be made via reblogs.

Like many LP fans, I was happy that there was a new Linkin Park album in the works and was amazed by Emily Armstrong's vocals in the latest track. However, this news came with some awful drama.

Let's discuss the basics. From Zero will be the first Linkin Park album with newly recorded material in seven years following No More Light, the last album to be recorded prior to Chester Bennington's suicide. To receive news about a truly new album and a new vocalist is enough to excite the LP fandom.

The new vocalist for Linkin Park is Emily Armstrong from Dead Sara. When The Emptiness Machine dropped as the newest single, the controversies of Armstrong's past reared its ugly head and caused a divide in the fandom. Namely, Armstrong was outed as a Scientologist and a supporter of Danny Masterson. Cue many fans being upset, especially detractors of the new direction of Linkin Park going forward.

Armstrong hasn't discussed her views since 2013 and she has recently posted a statement on her involvement with Danny Masterson during the court hearings he was going through. She has stated that she has no longer supported Masterson following him being found guilty of rape and made an Instagram Story of her clearing the air. The hearing she attended to was in 2020. The statement below can be interpreted has her apology for this.

As for her past as a Scientologist, she's a Second Generation Scientologist (meaning she had no say in her being part of the Church of Scientology whatsoever, let alone a religion of people who hate anything negative statements about them) and was called out by one of Masterson's victims. Again, Armstrong hasn't said anything about it since 2013. Scientologists can leave their faith, but it is difficult to do so and there are several restrictions placed by the Church. (Again, they HATE criticism and negative publicity of any kind)

Scientologists tend to ignore the topic of mental health. Many fans were pissed at such a damning revelation and believed that Chester would be upset over this.

Despite this, LP gave their support and Chester's wife, Talinda showed her support in Armstrong being the new vocalist.

As for the Masterson case, many of Masterson's former friends would logically want to see him as a good person, but have cut ties with him following his conviction (Armstrong herself stated that herself. I believe that she flubbed a spot check when her Insta reveals she stills follow Masterson, but dealing with the fallout of a friend being a monster comes with its own baggage). While some have said Armstrong was involved with a confrontation with a victim, there isn't any evidence to prove this.

The instance of Scientology requires a more realistic thought. The Church of Scientology has no problems making the lives of vocal ex-members a living hell with legal battles and frequent harassment. While we can assume Emily Armstrong herself is an ex-member, she can't be vocal about it without a massive shitstorm ensuing, especially if she's part of a band that has several songs dealing with mental health, something that Scientologists actively ignore. Many ex-members have resorted to sneaking out of the Church or even Scientology as a whole in the trunk of a car. Even if Armstrong seems to be in a place to discuss her departure, she still won't be able to without the ire of her former faith. If you analyze the lyrics of The Emptiness Machine, they deal with leaving a toxic enviroment or a cult-like place. In Armstrong's case, it can be interpreted has her stating that she has left the Church without attracting a potential shitstorm, with the lyrics feeling appropriate for leaving such a place.

All in all, this is not how the new era of LP was supposed to go down, but the use of context and media literacy is how we can understand this situation going forward.

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

back at it on r/antiship. for the hell of it, let's go thru why these are strawman arguments at best, stupid at worst, or why what they're saying is objectively true!

TL;DR, half of the things they say are correct, but are framed as being bad things, and the other half is just misinterpreting what proshippers actually say. also they don't know what "normalization" or "romanticization" mean.

hiding under the cut so y'all don't gotta scroll for years

-first pic- that isn't the reason conservatives think lgbt ppl are pedos. they'd think that regardless of what fiction they like, because no matter what, they'd see us as predators/pedos/whatever bad thing. q art will always be inherently problematic to conservatives.

the reason WHY people equate "problematic" fanfic/art to q art is because they both deserve to be protected, they both are often called "degenerate", and that if they censor one, they'll censor both, because to the people that want to censor it, they're both one and the same. it's always "too sexual", or "what if kids see it", or "it promotes the Bad Thing", and just because they're pointing the gun at "problematic" fiction rn, doesn't mean they won't turn the gun on YOU.

-second pic- 1. fiction doesn't affect reality! at least not on a 1:1 basis! correct! 2. that is also correct! i can be interested in violent, gory movies, but i don't like OR condone violence or gore irl! correct! 3. if it walks, talks, and acts like a puritan, it's probably a puritan. stop advocating for censorship and puritanism and we won't call you that. 4. correct again! it isn't mine or anyone else's job to monitor what other people's kids do on the internet. the internet is not for children. 5. hate to say it, because i don't wanna say ANYONE protects predators, but antis do tend to create spaces where preds can sneak around undetected as long as they say The Right Thing™. 6. if you're allowing your 6 yr old to watch videos that say "fluttershy supports MAPs!", then you need to take away the ipad, not start banning shit. 7. gonna keep it real, idk what this means. stop using these words, i guarantee you they don't mean what you think they mean. 8. same as above 9. what 10. okay great, good for you that you only know ONE predator that's an anti. what about the hundreds of others that lurk in the shadows because they say the right thing, and pretend not to like problematic stuff? what about Kyle Carrozza, ya know, the anti that was arrested not too long ago? feel like we're ignoring some stuff here for the sake of pretending your side's good, and ours is bad.

-third pic- 1. well, antis are, aren't they? if you think csem should be criminalized (and it should), and you equate fanart to actual csem, then yes, you ARE trying to criminalize fantasy. 2. two things. for one, it's not always a sexual thing. hell, half the time it isn't. and two, fetishes DON'T hurt anyone (unless the whole point is to hurt someone, but there's always consent!) 3. correct! fictional characters don't have rights. are you advocating for them to? 4. you can't act like porn abolition isn't a cornerstone argument for A LOT of antis. if you agree that fictional smut is bad, chances are you think porn's bad, too. (which also overlaps with radfem beliefs too!) 5. they're not blood related because they're NOT REAL. it doesn't matter if they say they're blood related, because they're fictional. 6. are you insinuating you need to get consent from these fictional characters before you ship them? 7. why should i care? does it hurt anyone? no. does it do any damage? no. is there any downside whatsoever? no? then what does it matter. let people do what they want forever.

[enbysiriusblack]

Part 1 of tutor!Sirius

"Minnie", Sirius nodded as he walked into her office, dropping grumpily into the chair and leaving a muddy stain behind him.

Mcgonagall gave him a disapproving look, glaring at the mud that covered Sirius' clothing, hair, and face.

"I didn't start it", he spoke just as she began to open her mouth.

"Yet you continued it?"

He shrugged, leaning back on the chair and glancing out the window.

"Sirius, will you please show some respect and look at me when I am talking?"

He turned back to her, clearly bored.

"I do not condone fighting."

"It wasn't a fight-"

"Miss Evans has assured me that it was."

Sirius leaned even further back in his chair, "Ugh, she's such a snitch. You shouldn't listen to her, she's buddies with Snivellus."

"But you were fighting Mulciber? Is Miss Evans friends with him?"

"Well, no-"

"Hm", McGonagall interrupted him, "So she is not a biased witness, then?"

Sirius groaned, "Detention, then?"

"No."

Sirius immediately lightened up, sitting upright in the chair and grinning at McGonagall, "I'm free to go?"

Mcgonagall sighed, opening a desk drawer and grabbing a tin.

"Have a biscuit."

Sirius' grin faded, but he still grabbed a biscuit, biting into it and leaning back in the chair again.

"You're a talented student, Sirius."

"Yeah, so?"

"You are aware of our tutoring system, yes?"

Sirius frowned, "I don't need tutoring, Minnie."

"Professor", she corrected him, "And that is not what I was suggesting. Our tutors are usually volunteers, however this year we didn't get enough people offering to help."

Sirius paled, "No."

Mcgonagall smiled slightly, "Detention hasn't seemed to deter your behaviour whatsoever."

"No, Professor!"

"And since you are one of the top students in your year, and I have seen you explain material very well to your friend, Mr Pettigrew."

"Please, no. Just give me detention."

"My mind is made up, Sirius", McGonagall handed him a folder, "This has a list of your tutees you will be taking on as well as a timetable of your free periods that you will spend helping them. I have also included notes of what they are studying in class at the moment."

Sirius begrudgingly took the folder, "What if I'm terrible at this?"

"You won't be."

"Please, don't make me do this, Professor. I'd rather scrub cauldrons or even help out Finch."

"You're free to go now", McGonagall smiled, nodding to the door."

Sirius sighed, walking out the office, dejected.

He headed back to the common room, folder uncomfortably tucked under his arm, and found James by the fireplace, playing chess with Remus.

Sirius squeezed into James' armchair.

"Avoid getting in trouble or Minnie's gonna make you a tutor too."

James laughed, turning to Sirius in shock, "You're a tutor?"

"Yeah", he sighed, throwing the folder on a nearby table.

"You'll be great at it", Remus piped up, staring at the chessboard.

"I'll teach them to become illegal animagi or something."

James grinned, "Exactly, Remus is right! It'd be very impressive if you got a bunch of failing kids doing one of the hardest forms of transfiguration."

Sirius leaned his head on James shoulder, leaving mud on his shirt, "Maybe I'll just teach them how to roll a joint."

part 2 here

[myfandomrealitea]

That post you made about Harry Potter and how to not financially support and fund the franchise and put more money in Joanne's pockets felt like a lie because I swear I got the impression that even that wasn't allowed when the whole thing started

To be clear; I stopped. Completely. I compartmentalized it all and just stopped interacting with anything Harry Potter online whatsoever. But I always wished it would be fine to still be able to do certain fandom things without supporting her, but people were saying that even using the tag or reading the fanfiction or making fanart was still supporting the ip and not letting it die completely as a topic on the internet was indirectly putting money in her pockets.

It wasn't until I came across a post from a queer woman from somewhere in the global south with heavy OCD and intrusive thoughts or something like that, commenting on how hostile of a thing it became for someone of her affliction; the way people were treating it like do or die. Pointing out that no matter how much trans people and allys cut off their support of her, she has other large means of income that we won't be able to touch, and there will still always be transphobic homophobic Harry Potter fans that will continue to support her actively, putting that money in her pockets. Another thing she mentioned was the treatment of Harry Potter and Joannes bigotry in contrast to the treatment of FNAF and the creators bigotry. And lastly something about the USAmericanized nature of it? I don't really remember that part but I think I understood it at the time I read it (maybe it was something about all the other countries the IP is popular in who are probably more conservative and unaware or caring of the issues with her who will still put money in her pockets, or maybe it was something about American fans fixating and posing the support of her as the ultimate battlefield of Trans Rights to other queer and trans individuals trying to be quiet fans who are facing Much Worse in their countries)

Anyways after that I briefly started reading ao3 fanfic again, just put a filter for anything before 2019 or so, and then my interest more gently fizzled out.

I can't remember what my point is anymore, maybe just to bring these arguments to your attention(also I am not arguing against the financial boycott or ending of support for this woman through her ip).

Harry Potter will never stop earning money. That's just the flat reality of it; I mean, look at the likes of Elvis and the original Sherlock Holmes books and every other 'dead' media that's still earning money. Short of making Harry Potter an illegal piece of media, yes, there will still always be a number of people giving her money.

The goal is to give her less money. To turn Harry Potter from a prominent, profitable cashcow into a defunct piece of media that only select groups are still clinging to. To make it so that JK Rowling has to choose between paying her bills and funding anti-trans movements.

When something stops bringing in a certain amount of profit, studios start looking elsewhere. When a cashcow starts drying up, they stop trying to milk it as hard. Which in turn means less productions for JK Rowling to collect her pocketmoney from.

What would you rather; JK Rowling getting $100,000 or JK Rowling only getting $10,000?

Something is better than nothing. Damage reduction is better than open exposure. If everyone just rolled over and gave up because "things will keep happening anyway" the world will literally be a rancid, fetid wasteland of bigotry and violence.

I'd much rather watch JK Rowling fizzle out into a bitter old wench sustained only by the dogged support of other stubborn bigots than watch people willingly disregard and condone bigotry because its "easier" and "she'll be a bigot anyway."

I'd much rather JK Rowling only have $10,000 to donate to shitty movements over $72,000. Shitty movements can do a lot less with a lot less money.

[defectivevillain]

relentless

pairing: Blaise Zabini/Reader

the reader is transmasculine and has undergone top surgery. the reader uses he/him pronouns; otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

You seem to be the only one immune to Blaise’s charms, and it frustrates him more than he’d like to admit.

word count: 2.1k | ao3 version

warnings: mentions of underage drinking.

also, quick disclaimer: I do not support or condone the actions and beliefs of HP’s author in any way whatsoever. I thoroughly believe in fanfiction’s transformative, restorative, and healing power. Therefore, I write HP fanfiction not to encourage JKR’s beliefs, but instead to directly challenge and disprove her prejudice; I write to further strengthen, validate, and support minority identities that are harmed by She Who Must Not be Named’s dangerous ideologies. I won't be taking comments, questions, or criticisms on this. Don't like it? Don't read. (fuck jkr fr)

Blaise Zabini is a relentless flirt. 

…It’s his personality. He flirts with everyone. You’re not special to him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Everyone around you seems to think otherwise. You want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them in frustration, citing each and every time Blaise has been interested in virtually anyone with a pulse. It’s no secret that Blaise is rather charming, and he certainly has no qualms about using it to his advantage. 

But he acts differently with you, your classmates assert. 

He always has a glimmer in his eyes when he sees you, your friend says. He likes riling you up. 

You think Blaise just doesn’t know what to do with someone who isn’t outwardly affected by his advances. Sure, you’ll often panic internally, but you can never bring yourself to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. The Slytherin has tried many times to get you flustered, but you manage to keep your composure through it all. A kiss on the hand, the “accidental” brush of a shoulder, an intent gaze… And you can’t seem to forget the look on his face as he sweeped into a particularly low bow when the two of you were dueling in Defense… 

You suppose you have to give Blaise credit: he just doesn’t know when to quit. You thought your nonexistent reactions would dissuade him, but they only seem to motivate him further. Blaise starts to go bigger—he’ll place a hand on your knee and stare at you as if you’re the only one in the room, imploring you to continue speaking, if only so he can hear your voice again- 

He’s insufferable, you’ve decided. You hate him. Or, at least, that’s what you try to tell yourself. But you’ve never really hated him—only the persona he wields with ease. And hell, maybe it’s just envy—maybe you’re just jealous of the way he so effortlessly draws the attention of everyone in a room. 

You try not to think about that slippery slope of logic, otherwise you’ll end up at a conclusion you’d rather not accept. Instead, you busy yourself with schoolwork and Quidditch. Since it’s your seventh and final year at Hogwarts, you’re nearly drowning in homework as you prepare for your NEWTs.  Your only true reprieve from the hustle and bustle of seventh year courses is the Quidditch elective Madam Hooch introduced a few years ago. In the past, Quidditch was only a first-year course; now, students who are members of their teams have the option to take an extra “class” as an elective. It’s not really a class; rather, it’s a way for players to work on their skills and collaborate with those they’d usually only see on the opposite side of the field. There are mixed scrimmages that take place during every class—and with the course taking place twice a week, it’s a nice break. (And virtually the only one you get, with your weekends dominated by studying and your evenings taken up by Quidditch practice.) 

One of these scrimmages lands you on the same side as Blaise. And as much as you hate to admit it, he’s a damn good player. By the end of the period, your team wins by an overwhelming majority. Sweaty and breathless, you head back to the changing room with the rest of the guys. 

“Nice flying,” Blaise hums as the two of you walk over to your respective belongings. 

“Thanks,” you say, staring down at the pile of folded clothing in front of you as if it’s particularly interesting. You can feel Blaise’s eyes on you and it makes you nervous. “...You too.”

It’s silent for a moment, as you two begin to change. The air is tense and you can only hope that he isn’t staring at you with that damn smile on his face. You almost want to wait until he leaves, but you also don’t want him to think he’s getting to you. Besides, you’ve finally grown a bit more confident when it comes to your chest—and you won’t let anyone take that away from you. You barely get your shirt off before Blaise’s speaking again. 

“Are you planning on playing professionally?” He asks. 

You shrug. “I’m not sure yet.” It’s the truth—you need to get your career plans figured out first. And in order to do that, you need to get through these damn NEWTs. From how Blaise is speaking, you’d venture to guess that he wants to play Quidditch professionally. 

“What a shame,” Blaise says, something of a smirk rising on his face. You feel dread settle in your chest as you wait for an insult. “I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing you like this more often.” He’s staring at your shirtless chest unabashedly; the heat in his gaze alone is sending a shiver down your spine. Lost for words, you pretend not to hear him and instead continue changing. Blaise only laughs. He places a hand on your shoulder as he leaves the changing room, and you promptly pretend not to think about it for the rest of the night. 

It only gets worse from there. It’s as if your silent rejections mean nothing to him. Before, Blaise’s actions were subtle. Now, they’re… a lot more straightforward. Not to mention, he seems to have no issue with flirting with you in public, in front of virtually anyone. Hell, one time, Blaise doesn’t even notice Professor Snape looming over his shoulder. You almost feel bad when the Potions Master casts a spell that promptly enforces the distance between you both, sending Blaise sliding to the other side of the bench you’re sitting on. 

After that incident—and a few more occasions that will go unmentioned—everyone thinks you’re dating. 

And, honestly, you’re starting to wonder, yourself. After all, there are only so many compliments Blaise can give you before you start to suspect that they’re earnest and truthful. But neither of you has acknowledged the tension that always seems to follow your conversations, nor the unseen force that keeps you both at a close distance. 

Things come to a head at a party late one night in Ravenclaw Tower. You’re planning to see a few of your friends, who you scarcely get to speak with during the week. All of the seventh years are swamped in coursework, so you’ll often take advantage of any free time you can get. 

Someone’s propped open the puzzle door with a book, you note with relieved amusement as you slip through and enter the Ravenclaw dorms. The space is bustling with people—mostly older students. You scan the crowd for your friends, only to lock eyes with a familiar face.

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you here,” Blaise says in lieu of a greeting. He takes a few steps towards you, before looking you up and down. “You look quite ravishing, I must say.”

“...Thanks.” You manage to say. ‘Ravishing’ is certainly a new one—you can’t say you’ve ever heard that before. 

Blaise scrutinizes you for a moment, before a smile rises on his lips. “You’re stone-cold, aren’t you?” He remarks, seemingly unaffected by your hesitant gratitude. “I don’t know if I should be offended or impressed.” 

“Why not both?” You say before you can stop yourself. Don’t play his games, you admonish yourself. But it’s too late. And, if you’re being honest, it’s been far too late for a while now. This song and dance has been going on between the two of you for at least a year.  

Blaise tilts his drink up, as if toasting you. “Fair enough.” He says, evidently hiding a smile as he takes a sip. “Care for a drink?”

You shake your head; Blaise doesn’t seem particularly surprised. “Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “These parties aren’t exactly fun sober, I must warn you.” 

“Why are you here, then?” You ask, raising a brow. He clearly isn’t the slightest bit tipsy—and his drink is still mostly full. 

“Malfoy is pining after someone yet again,” Blaise sighs dramatically, looking up to the sky as if hoping something will fall onto him and end his suffering. “I regret each and every moment that led me to interacting with him.”

You feel yourself smile in amusement before you can hide it. 

Blaise notices, because of course he does. “Ah, so you can smile,” he notes. “I was starting to think you weren’t able to.”

At that, you roll your eyes. Blaise stares at you for several moments and you eventually grow tired of pretending you don’t notice. When you meet his gaze once more, you’re surprised to find his eyes glimmering. 

“I fear it must be said,” he remarks, almost frowning as he thinks. “What do I need to do?”

“Hm?” You say eloquently, overwhelmed by both his attentive gaze and the sheer amount of people in the cramped space.

“What do I need to do, to convince you of my feelings?” Blaise asks. 

“Your… feelings.” You repeat, your brows furrowing. 

“Yes, my feelings for you,” Blaise says, sounding amused. He studies you for a moment. The noise around you all seems to fade into obscurity. “I assumed you knew.”

Oh. This whole time, he was being serious? It seems your classmates were right—hell, everyone was right. Are you really the last person to know about this? “Um… no, not exactly.” You admit hesitantly. 

“Really?” Blaise questions. “I was being rather obvious about it. Or, at least, I thought so.”

“I thought you were like that with everyone,” you say with a frown. The justification sounds weak in hindsight. 

“Do you really think I’d act like this with just anyone?” He asks, raising his brows. You think back to all the ‘casual’ touches, the way he’d clasp your hand fervently and look at you adoringly. 

“I… guess not.” You relent. You feel kind of foolish for not noticing sooner. 

“Yes.” He nods. “So… do I have even a slim chance at winning your affections?”

“I’d say you have a good chance.” You say before you can stop yourself. “Probably better than you realize.” 

“Oh?” Blaise hums, raising a brow. Your tongue suddenly feels glued to the roof of your mouth; he’s waiting for an answer, but you’re not sure you can give him one. Blaise seems to sense your sudden apprehension, because he continues to speak. “No, do tell. This is fascinating.” 

You’re assaulted with a fond sense of irritation. “You’re enjoying this,” you say with a sigh, struggling to maintain your composure again. You avert your eyes. It feels like the room is getting warmer, but that could easily be your imagination. 

Blaise’s grin is so wide that you think it could cut into his cheeks. “Yes, I am.” He says shamelessly. You want to melt into an embarrassed puddle on the ground. How can he just say these things so casually? “But don’t hold back on my account. I’d like to hear your response.” 

…Of course he’s going to make you say it. 

You think back to the past few months, to his numerous advances and attempts at wooing you. You recall your lives before then—when you were mere acquaintances. You remember your eyes had often wandered to him when your attention drifted from lectures; and you recall he often stole glances at you, too. You try to think of just how to illustrate your feelings for Blaise—how you can possibly summarize this nervous, almost giddy feeling you get around him? It doesn't feel like words will be enough. 

With an inexplicable rush of bravery, you take a step closer—waiting a few moments to see his reaction. When he doesn’t immediately shove you away, you take another step forward. You’re standing quite close now. After a moment’s contemplation, you let your hand settle on his shoulder. 

“If this is some kind of joke…” Blaise says warily, clearly a bit skeptical of your uncharacteristic boldness. 

“It’s not a joke,” you reassure him. “I have feelings for you too.”

You’re not sure who breaks the distance between you; all you know is that you’re in each other’s arms within the blink of an eye. Everything seems to fall away as he kisses you: the loud conversations scattered across the space, the nervousness you’ve been fighting off since you arrived. It all just… fades. 

“Zabini,” Malfoy drawls exaggeratedly. Blaise and you break apart in annoyance and confusion, respectively.  It seems Malfoy is about to ask for something. 

“I’m preoccupied at the moment, Malfoy.” Zabini sighs, his hands still on your waist. “Surely you can survive without me.”

Malfoy groans but eventually leaves, clearly discouraged. 

“Now, where were we?” Blaise asks. You roll your eyes fondly, secretly impressed with how smooth and charming he can be. You never plan to actually utter those words; though you think Blaise may know anyway.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

ever since i got top surgery i’ve been writing in unnecessary shirtless scenes and, you know what? it’s my right at this point. rahhhh! 🦅🏳️‍⚧️

also ummm wtf. why are there so many white men in the Blaise Zabini hashtag. took me way too long to find a good gif of him 😐

anyway, thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[yummyuta]

winner takes it all | p.w ft s.e

♡ genre: smut - mdni! slight angst | word count: 2,583

♡ pairing: wonbin x f. reader (ft bf! eunseok)

♡ warnings: cheating (reader is involved in a bet) alcohol consumption, public sex, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), slight dumbification

♡ summary: in a tense and unexpected turn of events reader finds herself spending the evening with her boyfriends racing rival.

♡ authors note: im back again with another wonseok fic only this time wonbin is the mc! i've had the idea of rival racers since april, and im so happy i got around to writing it. i hope you enjoyed this one! btw i do not condone cheating whatsoever, this is purely fictional.

♡ song recommendations:

the stands were packed, and the roar of the engines was deafening as the cars lined up for the start. you stood amongst the crowd, of fangirls screeching out your boyfriends name. as the countdown began and checkered flags were raised, your heartbeat accelerated. as supportive as you were of your man, and his career it always filled you with a sense of dread that someday he would get hurt. as the sound of the gunshot went off, signaling the race to begin you spotted eunseok’s car, a brilliant red streak on the track, and your eyes followed him eagerly. but as the race unfolded, another driver caught your attention. a sleek navy blue car with silver stars decorated across the hood and sides seemed to dance through the track with an almost mesmerizing grace. this mystery driver was audacious and precise, and you couldn’t help but admire his skill.

the race was fierce, as eunseok and his rival were locked in a breathtaking duel, their cars battling for every inch of the track. the crowd was on their feet, and you found herself torn between cheering for eunseok and marveling at the other mans performance. the final lap was a heart-stopping spectacle, and in a dramatic climax, both cars crossed the finish line at the same moment.

as the dust settled, you began running down towards the track, signaling to your boyfriends team to let you in. you noticed the tension between eunseok and his opponent. the two racers exchanged words that seemed more charged than celebratory. suddenly, the mystery man approached you, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of intensity and curiosity.

"you’re y/n, right?” he asked, his voice calm despite the adrenaline still pumping through him. "yes,” you replied, a bit taken aback. “how do you know me?” suddenly a hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a side hug. "dont you dare speak to her wonbin" eunseok barked at the man. eunseok turned to you, a look of concern in his eyes, "lets go home okay, forget this race" he quickly spat out. you sat there in confusion, before wonbin broke your focus. "now not so fast, i want my rematch. this time, the stakes are higher. the winner gets the privilege of spending time with you", he said so casually.

your eyes widened in shock. “what? i’m not a prize to be won.” eunseok looked conflicted, on the one hand he wanted to run away with you, and not look back while on the other he felt his pride and career would be at risk if he didnt take on the deal. the clock was ticking, it was time to make a decision, besides you were his good luck charm, as long as he had you he was sure he could win and everything would go back to the way it was. you believed in him, he knew that, so he took the leap, hoping you would understand.

"baby, this is about more than just the race", he confided in you. despite your discomfort, you saw the determination in his eyes and agreed to the terms of the rematch, hoping it would resolve the tension between them. the rematch was set for the following week, and the anticipation built up. when race day arrived, the atmosphere was charged, and the race was even more intense than before, with both racers pushing their limits. in a stunning final lap, wonbin edged out eunseok by a fraction of a second. the crowd erupted in cheers as wonbin crossed the finish line first. you felt a mix of emotions - sadness for eunseok, and a growing unease about what the night with wonbin would bring.

the bleachers started the clear, as people began making their way to the after party. you sat there in disbelief until you were faced with wonbin and eunseok directly in front of you. you were about to run towards your boyfriend until wonbin held out a hand to you. "i'm going to have my fun with you tonight", he smirked. you rolled your eyes, accepting your fate, then wonbin turned to his rival, saying, "dont worry ill try to have her back in one piece." eunseok nearly lunged at his enemy, you quickly reacted, standing in between them and placing a calming hand on eunseoks' chest. "i dont like this anymore than you do," you reassured him, placing a peck on his lips, before wonbin began dragging you away.

wonbin lead you into the bustling party, his hand held on tightly to your waist as he guided you through the crowd. all eyes were on you, everyone knew you were eunseoks girlfriend so it was no suprise to you that whispers and rumors immediately began to circulate. as the night went on, wonbin introduced you to his friends and fellow racers, shotaro, and anton. wonbins groupies also were intent on following you both around like lost puppies the whole time, waiting for a moment where you left his side, giving them the opportunity to pounce.

you were hoping for that as well, but wonbin only got more physical with you. he placed his hands wherever he could, your thighs, ass, waist, hips, shoulders barely leaving you space to breathe. his hands were rough, calloused, and cold, nothing compared to your boyfriends. a few times you would spot eunseok from across the room, it was like wonbin was purposely flaunting you in front of him. the minute eunseok met your gaze, he could only shake his head and down another shot, hoping he could drown his loss of you and the race in alcohol.

while wonbin was preoccupied for a few moments talking business with his manager, you managed to sneak off to the dance floor, swaying your body to the sweet sound and sipping on your cocktail. you were enjoying your peace until you felt the presence of someone behind you. wonbin reached around you, lightly grinding into your back, whispering compliments into your ear. "you know you are by far the hottest girl i have ever seen, i dont think eunseok realizes how lucky he is." your cheeks began to flush as heat began circulating around the two of you. you blamed it on the fact that you were borderline drunk at this point and kept moving to your own rhythm, hoping his words wouldn't phase you anymore.

you ignoring him only added more fuel to wonbins fire. he lived for the chase, he was a go-getter after all on and off the track. he decided to take things to the next level, sliding one hand up your shirt, while the other found its way lightly around your neck, testing the waters to see how you would react. to both of your surprises, you leaned further into him, letting out the cutest sighs he's ever heard. you were getting worked up, you knew it was wrong to be doing this you promised eunseok you wouldn't enjoy yourself, but also he is the one who put you in this position in the first place. you turned your head around in his grasp, looking into his eyes, the purple and blue lights reflecting off his beautiful features. you didn't stop yourself when he locked his lips with yours in an eager kiss. you also didn't stop him when he began to escort you off the dance floor and outside to the parking lot. the cool air, along with the reality of what just happened, smacked you in the face as soon as you stepped out. you instinctively moved toward eunseoks' car, and wonbin followed.

you leaned against the hood of his car, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to compose yourself. this was wrong, and the guilt began to crash into you. you were lost in your thoughts until wonbin stepped in front of you, positioning himself in between your legs. "whats wrong baby, miss your boyfriend" he snarked. you stared at him with tears in your eyes, "why did you do this? couldn't you have found some other way to settle the score without ruining my relationship!" you screamed out in frustation as you balled up your fists, wanting to hit him but trying to contain your anger. he only continued to stare at you, getting more excited.

you didn't know this, but he's had his eye on you since the first day you came out to the track to support eunseok. when he looked for you in the stands, he imagined you cheering him on, he thought of you wearing his jacket, he thought of you running down, jumping into his arms and kissing him in celebration of his victories. he imagined laying you down in the backseat of his car, undressing you, as you begged him to keep going. he wanted you more than any championship title or the fame that came with it. "are you even listening to me?" you snapped annoyingly in his face.

now it was his turn to catch an attitude with you, he didnt have much time left before you went crawling back to eunseok, so he knew he needed to do something to bend you to his will before he missed his chance. he rolled his eyes, before grabbing your chin between his fingers, "baby we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, and i much prefer a challenge" he said with a sick smile before leaning in, not quite placing his lips on yours yet. he was testing you, "the choice is still yours though, just remember im not the bad guy here, eunseok is the one who didn't fight hard enough to keep you." your eyes swirled in his, he saw right through you, all your conflicting emotions, "you can't tell him okay, please, you already got what you wanted" was the last thing you thought before releasing all the tension, completing the space that was left between you. he pulled away ever so slightly, "you will be my dirty little secret" he growled before picking you up, placing you on the hood.

your legs wrapped around him as he began to unbutton your shorts. you made quick work pulling his racing jacket off his shoulders, taking if off and placing it next to you. he went for your shirt next, ripping it up and over your head, stretching his fingers to your back to unclasp your bra, exposing your tits. you leaned back, propping yourself up on your elbows, as he slid your shorts and underwear down your legs, and watched as he rid himself of his pants.

his buldge was prominent, he leaned in and you sighed, closing your eyes wanting to feel him again. you felt cold, leathery fabric being placed over your shoulders, opening your eyes as you saw he put his racing jacket on you. "that's much better," he purred in your ear. he began placing open-mouthed, tongue kisses on your breasts, collerbones, down your navel, to your inner thighs, licking and biting all the way to your glistening core. "you dont know how many times i imagined this," he muttered before locking his lips around your folds, sticking his tongue in your entrance.

his obscene slurping sounds mixed with your moans, the beat of the music from inside the party could barely be heard over the sounds you were making. he flicked his tongue in and out of you expertly, he had to be the best at everything in his life. he took the hand that was holding your hips apart, bringing it closer to you so he could play with your nub. like pressing on the gas pedal, he was firing you up with each second that went on. you threw your head back, hair sticking to your forehead, and jacket barely hanging onto your body as you arched your back, moving your hips closer to his mouth practically suffocating him. wonbin was bringing you closer to the finish line, and before you knew it, your orgasm smashed into you.

juices splattering all over his chin, as he pulled away, licking his lips, eyes blown out in lust and the moonlight sparkling on his face. "you taste even sweeter than i ever could have thought." your face was red, you were exposed and embarrassed, but you wanted more, "please, wonbin..." you had to be out of your mind, but you wanted to make the most of your mistake before it was over. "please what baby, use your words", he hissed back, "do you want my cock, you want to get fucked on top of your boyfriends car is that it?"

in the midst of everything, you completely forgot where you were. guilt started setting its way into your stomach once more. you wanted to curl up into a ball hiding yourself from the man in front of you. as ashamed as you were, you didn't want to think of it anymore, and your body was screaming at you, so you listened. "yes please fuck me until i forget" you begged him, "oh princess, trust me this will be a ride of a lifetime", he said before unveiling his cock, pressing it into you, his hips snapping into you. he was slightly longer and thicker than eunseok. easily reaching places, it took your boyfriend a few moments to get to. you gasped, exhaling every bit of bitter air that entered your lungs. he was knocking the wind out of you with every thrust. the car shaking, the hood bending with the weight of you and the force and speed of his hips pistoling in and out of your core.

"if only eunseok could see this, his precious girlfriend getting railed by his arch nemisis," wonbin teased. you hated to admit this to yourself, but the thought of it kinda turned you on. maybe if eunseok saw you like this, he would realize you dont deserve to be treated like a bargaining chip. your eyes rolled into the back of your head, biting down on your lip until you nearly bled, feeling your second orgasm of the night rapidly approaching. eunseok had never made you cum this fast, he was a sweet lover, but it wasnt always enough for you. maybe what you needed this whole time was someone who knew how to push your buttons. strings of curses flew from your mouth, as your body was being thrown around the hood of the car. wonbins bicepts flexing as he held your legs strongly around his waist.

"almost there baby, cum for me, let everyone hear whose the champion, who is fucking you this good," wonbin exclaimed. you went to cover your face, becoming extremely overwhelmed by his words. wonbin wasn't having that though, he needed to see every expression, every scrunch of your nose, and curve of your lips as you were overcome with pleasure. he grabbed your wrists pinning them above your head, "come on baby, say it, let eunseok know who the real winner is". your throat raw, and mouth dry, as you clenched around the man whose name came out of your mouth in broken screams and moans. wonbin pulled out of you, "thats it baby" he groaned as he painted your tits and stomach with his release.

your chest heaved, your body tingly, and brain nearly checked out. barely catching your breath, you were startled by the sound of your phone ringing from your pocket in your shorts. wonbin got off you, and as he pulled his pants back on, grabbing your device, bringing it to his ear "y/n phone, may i ask who is calling?" wonbin answered. you sat up, inching off the hood collecting yourself when you heard "oh its you, yeah, she's right here. we are by your car, she's exhausted, " wonbin exasperated into the speaker. realizing he was talking to eunseok, you quickly made yourself look as presentable as possible, hoping there were no signs of the sinful act that had just taken place. suddenly, the door slammed open, your boyfriend pacing towards you.

"times up, we are going home right now," he yelled. you turned to face wonbin for the final time that night, as he placed his index finger over his lips in a shushing motion, winking at you. when eunseok made his way over to your side, opening the passenger door for you, he took notice of your change in appearance. "why are you wearing wonbins jacket?" he said in disgust. you gulped, eyes beelining towards the ground, studdering trying to find an explanation. "didnt want her to catch a cold. besides it looks better on her anyway, you can give it back to me at the next race...when i beat you again." he confidently said as he walked over, getting in the driver seat of his own car, reving the engine and driving off into the starry night. as your boyfriend drove home, you clenched onto his rivals jacket, knees buckling as you recalled the events that had transpired, both of you sitting in silence, as the recollection of the time spent with wonbin slipped into the unknown.

[willowser]

hi hi willow!!!!!!!!!!! (<- absolutely not in pain whatsoever)....... i am just wondering if..... uh.... u have imagined a reason for the breakup yet? i'd love to know why you think bakugo would ever break up with you. heh heh. hah. :D (i am crying)

here are the things you don't know—yet, at this point in time after the breakup.

two weeks before, dynamight gets into an ugly argument with a civilian. over something stupid, probably; she's drunk and not listening to a word the hero is telling her, stumbling around in public and taking her shoes off and shoving at him when he tries to corral her from getting into another fistfight in the street.

it's just—bad. looks bad. before anything productive can happen, a few of her friends are stumbling out and screaming at him, too, for being a cocky asshole and putting their phones in his face and recording him and maybe he says something he shouldn't—not something terrible, just something that sounds extra bad when a group of young women are screaming and angry at you—and it gets blasted all over the internet.

two weeks before, dynamight gets dragged in the paper. for being a jerk. for being such an asshole. remember when he nearly collapsed that building last month, during that fight? so careless. and he's never friendly when anyone comes up to him on the street, either in uniform or not. is more likely to brush someone away than stop and take a picture. in high school he was a little brat, too, with the way he spoke to his peers and didn't know respect if it slapped him in the face.

his poor partner. must be miserable to be with him all the time. they deserve better.

and if they know how he is? and how he acts to the people he's supposed to take care of? well, they must condone that kind of behavior, no? they're okay with him acting like that in public? what kind of morals do they have, anyway?

the other thing you don't know yet is that katsuki has been working every day. two shifts, sometimes, to the point that there's little more he does than eat and sleep and be dynamight. there's no free time. if any tries to make an appearance in his schedule—he's filling it with something, anything; going hiking, working out, cooking dinner for his shithead friends, not being at home.

whatever he's doing, he's not being at home.

yes, he got rid of everything he could that belonged to you. because he couldn't stand to look at it and know you weren't going to use it in his house again. can't stand it. refuses to, actually. is only putting one foot in front of the other, every day, and not really thinking about that weird, awful weight sitting in his gut, that feels dark and terrifying. he can't think about it. he's not bad at avoiding those kind of thoughts—he's done it before and he'll do it again.

and lastly—he's a fucking idiot.

[winters-on-the-wing]

hi, it's me again, you said you found neither Regulus and Severus redeemable, then who do you find redeemable?

-🎀

ehhh well that's a tricky question because just because i find someone redeemable doesn't mean i defend their actions or think they're immune to criticism. honestly, anybody can be unredeemable depending on your moral code. but here are the characters who i view as redeemable based on my personal moral code:

minerva mcgonagall. was she sometimes needlessly mean to students? yes. was she extremely strict? absolutely. but at the same time, she was one of the only people who viewed the children as children. dumbledore sees them as living weapons. snape sees them as burdens or reflections of a past long gone. mcgonagall isn't perfect, but she's always trying her best to protect the children from the responsibilities thrust upon them, and she is one of the only significant adult characters who regularly does this. this doesn't necessarily balance out her bad decisions, but i love this thing about her so much that i think that she is redeemable.

molly weasley. i know she gets a lot of hate for how she treats her children, and honestly, i really agree with the hate. she is so scornful and impatient towards anyone who isn't percy, ginny, or harry. she clearly plays favorites and she is part of the reason why the weasley family can barely afford basic essentials. but i see her as redeemable. not in the way that i think all of her children can/should forgive her. but i think she has potential for reform, which to me is the definition of redeemable. she has done a lot of irreversible bad, but i don't think she's done enough irreversible bad to be deemed hopeless. you can see by how she treats her "favorites" that she has the potential to be a good parent, and she does have moments with each of the other children that show her (albeit rare) tenderness towards them. she often executes things poorly, but her heart is usually in the right place, and i think she could be a good person if she tried hard at it.

james potter. as somebody who was bullied heavily as a child, i don't condone bullying whatsoever. but i feel like sometimes people take what james did and multiply it, so he can fit the archetype of a dumb mean bully jock. i also am a bit rocky on what is canon and what isn't canon in terms of what james and the other marauders have done, and it's hard because we don't know very much about them based on the books and movies. but at the same time, for a fandom that is so rooted in fanon, i feel like people just choose characters to latch onto and then assume the worst in all the others, and i don't really find that fair. james is my favorite marauder, and i don't mean to put him at a higher moral ground than the other marauders because all of them have equal blame when looking at the pranks they've done and such. but you can see by how james defends lily from discrimination, how he plays fair and sportsmanlike during quiddich, how people speak so highly of him for his kindness and generosity during and after his life, how it could be interpreted that he did not bully based on prejudices or social status. this means that he either bullied somebody who instigated first, or he bullied somebody who he disliked for reasons such as personality, rather than blood status. this, to me, means that it's a) not an instinct and b) something that he can (and has!!!) grown out of, which doesn't erase the damage he caused in youth, but it at least means that he's creating a better and brighter future for those around him in adulthood, which is valuable in its own right.

[konigsblog]

alright, so i've talked about that person yesterday (the one who copied my work and ideas without giving any form of credit whatsoever), and i have messaged them, but i don't think they've acknowledged my message, so i'm sorta left without a choice but to ask people to report their "work". (the reason i put "work" in quotations is because it's not their work, it's work they've stolen off of creators.)

for anyone confused, this post will explain the situation, with evidence. i don't want people to send hate to this creator at all, but instead report their 'old-bf könig' post as it steals ideas that i've talked about in my original post.

their username is @plantwreastler, and again, i don't condone sending any form of hate, all i'm asking is for anyone to report their post about older-bf könig, and perhaps check their likes & posts. you can see that their writing style changes often, which could potentially mean that they've stolen work before off of different creators. in my eyes, if someone copies, most likely they've done it before or will do it again! 😮‍💨

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 30

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: attempted murder, strangulation, sort of generous use of the word 'bitch', past death, pretty ungenerous thoughts about the death of a partner on Vera's part, Gray lore drop, past abuse of a minor, attempted restorative justice

~

Vera was across the room with her hand planted in the center of Rosa’s chest before anyone else could move. She shoved Rosa hard enough that her back slammed against the wall. Rosa’s eyes went wide, the smirk erased in a moment of shock and fear. Vera couldn’t even find the space within herself to enjoy it. There was no room for anything but cold fury that enveloped her like a second skin. She cursed herself for leaving her gun and knife behind. In the same moment, her hands curled around Rosa’s throat and pressed down, hard. Rosa’s eyes went wider. Her fingers dug at Vera’s hands.

“—no!” Kali’s admonition reached Vera through the ringing in her ears. Kali’s small hands curled around Vera’s wrists and pulled. Still, despite her wiry strength, she couldn’t make Vera’s hands budge. Vera’s jaw clenched. She leaned harder on Rosa’s throat. Her mind felt as coldly clear as when she had ripped her teeth through Joseph Stormbeck’s throat, and fired a bullet into Colleen Stormbeck’s forehead. She stared into Rosa’s reddening, bulging eyes without any mercy whatsoever.

You should never have hurt Isaac, she thought viciously.

“Vera, stop,” Kali barked. Vera felt rather than saw Kali’s gaze flick from her to Gray and back. Gray was silent where they stood behind Vera.

“You have about ten seconds to give me a good reason to stop before she passes out,” Vera said flatly. “And maybe another twenty after that before she’s dead.” She felt Rosa’s throat spasm under the relentless pressure of her palm.

“We don’t let anyone stay who harasses, intimidates, or—” Kali yanked at Vera’s arms again. “—goddammit, kills someone else here!”

“That’s fine,” Vera murmured, her lips barely moving. “I haven’t really unpacked yet.”

Rosa’s eyes rolled into the back of her head.

Kali let out a cry of frustration. She looked behind Vera. “Gray,” she gasped. “Please.”

Gray let out a huff of breath. Then, slowly, they said, “Tori won’t be happy if you make her leave, Vera.”

Vera stood perfectly still, the only sounds in the room being the squeaks coming from Rosa’s collapsing throat, and the weak shuffles of her boots against the floor. Vera’s hands spasmed. Then, despite the furious ache in her chest, she loosened her hands and let Rosa go.

Rosa crumpled where she was released, coughing and massaging her bruised throat. Vera spat indelicately and took one step back. She fixed Kali with a loathsome glare.

“Fine,” she said, her lip curling. “You bought that bitch twenty more seconds.”

Kali wasn’t looking at Vera, though. She was staring, wide-eyed, at Rosa. She trembled where she stood, hands at her sides and open as if in supplication. She wet her lips and whispered, “Rosa. What did you do to these people?”

“N-nothing,” Rosa croaked. Her voice itself sounded bruised. “I just—”

Vera stepped forward to kick Rosa in the face with a heavy boot. Gray pulled her back this time, holding her firmly by their side. Vera glared at them. They weren’t looking at her, though; they were looking at Kali.

“This is the second time someone in their group has met you and… well, tried to kill you straight off,” Kali said softly. “I don’t condone the behavior, but… Rosa, Jesus Christ, you did something to Isaac Moore, didn’t you?”

Rosa pushed herself onto her hands and knees. “I did something to him?” she snarled, raising her head to fix Kali with a hateful glare. Vera could see bruises in the shape of her handprints already forming. Her stomach roiled.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Rosa bit out. “You’re fucking shitting me. This has to be a joke. He killed my fucking partner, Kali, he killed Jordan. He—” She flinched back when Vera lunged forward, held back only by Gray’s iron grip on her upper arm.

“Tell her the truth,” Vera hissed through clenched teeth.

Rosa trembled as he glanced between Kali and Vera. “Kali, I’m not having this conversation in front of this fucking—”

“TELL. HER. THE. FUCKING. TRUTH,” Vera bellowed. The tiny corner of the building shook with her rage. Her eyes blazed as she stared down at the woman cowering at her feet, and she tried once again to throw off the hand that held her back from ending Rosa once and for all.

Kali drew in a deep breath, slowly pushed it out. Then, she stepped between Vera and Rosa. Vera’s rage flared and she tensed, ready to shove this newcomer out of the way so she could handle the monster cowering behind her—

Her fury was tempered for the briefest moment by the unflagging kindness in Kali’s eyes. Even as Vera’s muscles braced to attack, even as her face contorted in an expression of rage, Kali looked at her patiently, unafraid, her posture open, her hands down by her sides. Vera’s jaw clenched harder.

“She’s not being fucking honest with you,” Vera said stiffly.

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Kali said.

Vera blinked.

Rosa scoffed. “You’re fucking kidding me,” she mumbled to herself, every word dripping venom. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. He killed my fucking partner and—”

“Who fired the shot?” Gray ground out. Vera felt her fists relax, felt her shoulders begin to drop from where they hovered around her ears.

Rosa raised her gaze to Gray for the first time since Vera had choked her. “I feel like you should know that you don’t have to be the one to fire the shot in order to be responsi—”

“A syndicate guard fired the shot that killed your partner,” Gray said, a steely calm finding its way into their voice. “And who sent your team into that compound?”

“Isaac was supposed to watch our backs on that mission,” Rosa snarled. “It’s not my fault he failed, it’s not my fault he’s a fucking failure of a human being who—”

“I’ll fucking kill you—” Vera growled.

“Who is the one who organized that mission?” Gray continued tightly, their lips thin. “Who is the one who failed to adequately plan for the guard rotations? Who is the one who purported to lead your team and therefore held the responsibility for such things?”

“You know what? Fuck you,” Rosa snapped. She pushed herself fully to her feet and wobbled when she got there. “I don’t have to fucking listen to this. My partner died because of someone on your crew and now I—”

“Who is the one who went rogue on that mission in the first place?” Gray said, their voice growing in volume but not wavering once. “Who is the one who decided that collaboration wasn’t in the spirit of whatever the fuck you were doing in your little personality cult, and decided that instead of going forward with twinning the radio taps placed on the Defense Corps antennae, like what was supposed to happen, you were just going to blow it up instead?”

Vera paled and glanced at Gray. Old rage and resentment hung on their face like a shadow as they glared at Rosa. She fell back a step, even as Gray stood firm and unmoving.

“Who is the one who ended up causing dozens of deaths with that little stunt?” Gray breathed, hands in fists at their sides. “Who is the one who invited syndicate retaliation against rebel groups that weren’t even involved with that plan? Who is the one who set our cause back months, because we had to scramble to find another way to track their radio signals without that tower? Go ahead and answer. I’ll wait.”

Rosa opened her mouth. Tears of rage shone in her eyes. “I don’t have to fucking listen to this,” she hissed.

“Of course you don’t,” Gray snorted. “Of course you don’t want to listen. You’ve been telling yourself for the past seven goddamn years that your every little problem is Isaac’s fault because it’s easier to tell yourself that than admit to yourself that—” They took a forceful step forward, brushing past Kali as she raised a half-hearted protest. “—you’re the one who fucked up a mission, misjudged a syndicate guard’s rotation schedule, sabotaged the entire rebellion’s cause, and got your partner killed.” Gray’s eyes narrowed to hateful slits. “Because it’s easier to blame someone you had been abusing and conditioning since the age of fif-fucking-teen.”

“Fuck you,” Rosa growled. She whirled and stalked out the door, taking special care to slam it as she went.

For a long moment, the sound was the three of them breathing. Vera could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. She turned to look at Gray, who stared at the door as if Colleen Stormbeck herself had just walked out of it. She wet her lips to speak.

Kali beat her to it. “Gray,” she croaked. “I had no idea.”

“I know,” Gray said. “I was going to talk to you about it soon. Just not… today. I was hoping for more time to think about what I was going to say.”

“She…” Kali took a deep breath. “While I understand your frustration, we can’t hold a botched mission against her. I’m sorry that it affected your—”

“I don’t hold the mission against her,” Gray said coldly. “The cause attracts all types, even the stupid. We can’t all have a knack for considering how our actions affect others.” Their lip curled with contempt.

Kali tilted her head. “Not sure if I would have put it that way, but yes. We all make mistakes. Her treatment of Isaac Moore, on the other hand…”

“I’ll work on Isaac,” Gray said flatly. “I’m working on it. Forgive me. I know he’s… trigger happy. But his partner was almost just killed by Daniel Schiester and now he’s dealing with—”

“Gray,” Kali said gently, with that same unflagging kindness. “I understand. What I’m trying to say is that… her treatment of him is unacceptable.”

Vera’s breath caught. Her gaze flicked from Kali to Gray and back.

Gray betrayed no movement as they stared down at Kali. They wet their lips. “Define… unacceptable,” they said delicately.

Kali wiped her hands on her jeans. “I mean, clearly there’s some abuse there. Clearly she mistreated him. And, given how she’s reacted whenever she’s seen your crew… no accountability, and calling the Uriah kid a, a pet…” Kali threw a look of disgust at the door. “I’ve never seen her use language like that. But the way it just rolled of her tongue…”

“I can absolutely fucking guarantee that’s how she talks when she’s not here,” Vera sneered.

Kali heaved a sigh. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to let our minds go too far down the road to speculation. But…” She braced her hands on her hips and stared at the ground as if something profound was written there. “I… I’m not going to say that we should just let bygones by bygones. Obviously she deeply hurt one of yours. And that’s not something that just goes away.”

“She had him trained, Kali,” Gray said, their voice low and intense. “She took him off the street at the age of fifteen and turned him into a bodyguard for them. His life depended on keeping them safe, and keeping her happy. That’s how you treat a goddamn plaything. And… I’m telling you, it wasn’t his fucking fault that her partner died.”

“I know,” Kali said with a distracted wave of her hand. “I know.”

“Then—”

“Then what do we fucking do about it?” Vera cut in. “No offense, I’m sure this place is great, but I’m not going to fucking stay here if she lives here, too. And I’m not going to ask Isaac to, either.”

Kali’s eyebrows pulled together. “What? No… Rosa doesn’t live here.”

Vera froze. Gray blinked.

“Sorry… what?” Vera croaked through dry lips.

“No,” Kali said. She glanced at Gray. “Rosa doesn’t live here. She was just passing through. She does that from time to time, gets her mail here. What I was going to say was, maybe I should have a talk with her about letting us know when she’s coming through so people here can, ah, prepare.” She gestured at Rosa’s empty mail bin. “Maybe collect her mail in another town.”

Vera found herself leaning toward Gray. She glanced up at them and met their eyes for a long moment. They returned her gaze with an unfathomable expression.

Softly, they cleared their throat. “We…. don’t want to make any kind of imposition,” they said, forming each word carefully. “We’re very well aware that we just arrived, and Laporte has been running for a long time before we got here.”

Vera bit her tongue against the flood of protests that threatened: fuck that, Gray, Rosa doesn’t deserve to be breathing my fucking air let alone living in the town I’ve just settled in. She can find somewhere else. I’ll run her out of town myself.

It’s not like she has a life to move with her, she’s made that perfectly fucking clear. I guess that’s Isaac’s fault, too. Couldn’t possibly be her personality that’s the reason she’s still single.

Guilt rushed in behind the venomous thoughts, and behind that another wave of hatred followed.

Fuck that bitch and everything she’s ever done. I don’t give a fuck what happens to her. She could defeat the syndicates for good and I’d still want her gone.

She shuddered against the rage inside her and forced herself to listen as Kali opened her mouth to speak.

“Laporte is built on the notion that people can make mistakes and still be good people,” Kali said carefully. “But it’s also built on the fact that everyone deserves to be safe. And Rosa… doesn’t seem interested in looking at her mistakes. Or letting Isaac feel safe.”

“I’m not super interested in letting her feel safe either.” The words slipped out before Vera could stop them. Gray’s hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed.

Kali chewed her lip and met Vera’s gaze. “We don’t condone violence here,” she said patiently.

“If you let her stay, you condone more than just violence,” Vera seethed. The back of her neck prickled with sweat, and she fought the urge to throw Gray’s hand off her shoulder. “You have no idea how much she fucking broke Isaac.” She was horrified to feel tears stinging her eyes as she glared down at Kali.

Vera squirmed under Kali’s gaze as Kali looked up at her, gaze soft, contemplative, composed. “How about this,” Kali said. Vera let out a breath when Kali dropped her gaze and looked at Gray. “I’d like to try and mediate this, if possible. It’s obvious a lot of damage has been done. And my top priority is making you feel safe.” She leaned in. “You,” she said softly. “Because you live here. This is your home now, and I don’t want you feeling unsafe. Especially after… everything you’ve been through. As a group.”

“Part of what we’ve been through is her,” Vera snapped.

“That would be very gracious of you,” Gray said raggedly. They squeezed Vera’s shoulder again, then let go entirely. “If it’s alright, though, I’d like to bring that suggestion to Isaac and see if that’s something he thinks he could… handle, right now.”

Kali let out a heavy breath. “Of course,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “I understand. It’s been a stressful few days. Please let me know when you’re ready, and we can perhaps set up a time to meet? Somewhere neutral, where we can talk things out.”

“Sure.” Gray nodded. The movement was jerky and stiff. “Thank you, Kali.”

“Any time,” she said. She reached out and squeezed one of Gray’s hands in both of hers. “Any time.” A tired smile pulled at the edges of her mouth. She turned to Vera and seemed like she was about to say something, then thought better of it.

“I’ll… head home and tell him your suggestion, then,” Gray said, moving toward the door. Vera found herself following them, suddenly exhausted.

“Of course,” Kali said. “Take care, both of you.” The crow’s feet at the edges of her eyes deepened as she looked at them both. “And we’ll make this work.”

Even as bitterness curdled in Vera’s throat, the kindness in Kali’s eyes seemed as real as the floor under her feet, or the air she passed through on her way to the door. Even as her anger drove her toward the door so she could go hunt Rosa down and beat her to death in the street like she fucking deserved, Vera somehow knew that Kali meant every word she said.

She had never known that she could trust someone so implicitly before. Except for Gray. She had felt this before, when she first met Gray.

She swallowed hard and let her feet carry her to the door. “Yeah,” she said roughly. “Okay.”

Gray pushed the door open, and she followed them out.

Continued here

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