#and now i have to clean the aftermath of this ti

[dragonakito360]

Hello bestie ;33 HEHDHEHJW

Anyways, i wish for a doflamingo x fem!reader smut. Reader is the favorite toy (if u can say) that doffy wants to play with, like the other ladies that are in the palace he doesn’t want them, only the reader. Maybe some soft doffy (im a sucker 👉👈)

Also with a hint of misuse of devil fruit, aka bondage🥰

Laced up Nice and Pretty

{ THIS IS AN 18+ NSFW WORK, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT }

⋆｡°✩ Pairing: Donquixote Doflamingo x Reader

⋆｡°✩ Summary: Doflamingo finds his favourite toy all dolled up for him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to take her.

⋆｡°✩ Content Tags: P in V sex, bondage, improper use of Devil Fruit Ability, Possessive!Doffy, a bit of dacryphilia, spanking, degradation, Soft!Doffy and a bit of aftercare at the end

⋆｡°✩ Word Count: 1,350 Words

⋆｡°✩ Lorekeeper's Notes: Thank you for the request! I am in love with that blond man too 🫶 I have not written smut in a long while, hope you guys still enjoy the story regardless!

It was no secret among the Donquixote Pirates that Doflamingo had women in the castle that he favoured. They were his toys, ready to attend to his carnal pleasures whenever he desired. He used them however he pleased, chasing after his own high and leaving the women to care for themselves in the aftermath. But it was no secret either that he had a clear favourite, and it was you. It hadn’t been long since you came to work under him, yet everyone knew of his attraction to you. He sought your company far more than he did the others, gifting dresses that he would tear off your body, and he would take the time to attend to you once the act was over.

Doflamingo walked down the castle halls, heading out to the garden for fresh air. That was when he spotted you, dressed in the new clothes he had gifted. It was a tight outfit, hugging your body just right as lace frills accented the piece, leaving nothing to the imagination. It was more similar to lingerie than any actual dress. He licked his lips, grinning as he watched you lean up to clean the decor of the palace. He snuck up from behind, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you against him.

“What a pleasure it is to see you, doll.” Doflamingo whispered in your ear. “Did you dress yourself up all for me? I gifted this just the other day, it’s a shame for me to rip it so soon.”

“Young master, I-” You try to speak, only for Doflamingo to cut you off.

“The chores can wait, I need you now.” He placed emphasis on the last word, making you understand that there was no room for argument. Not that you would have, you were always so willing to please him. He could feel your body give in, his laugh echoing slightly in the sparse hall. “That’s a good girl.”

Doflamingo brought you to his room, sitting on the lavish couch as you stood in front of him. You felt like a prey watched by a predator, his lustful gaze watching your every move, every squirm of your body as you stared back, trying to read his expression. But all you could see was that mischievous grin as leaned back in his seat, gesturing towards you.

“Go on, put on a show for your king, doll. Show me that body of yours, before I rip that dress off myself.” You nodded at his words and unzipped the dress, letting it cascade off your shoulders. You held it up, giving Doflamingo just a peek of your breasts. He watched with anticipation as the dress fell to the floor, leaving you bare, save for the thin, lace undergarments. You approached him, letting your hips sway and running your hands down your body, accentuating your body.

Suddenly, you feel a pull tug your body. Before you could comprehend what had happened, your body had become suspended in the air by Doflamingo’s strings. You were face down, wrists tied above your head, back arched and legs spread, leaving room for Doflamingo to step between them. The man laughed as he tore your underwear with his strings, eyes focused on your pussy as it clenched on air, begging for his touch. He came up behind you, leaning over your body as you turned to face him.

“Please, please Doffy.” You begged, wanting him to just take you then and there. Doflamingo laughed once more, grabbing your chin.

“Making demands of me, darling? You should know your place.” His free hand slapped your ass, rubbing it soothingly as you squirmed. “I saw you and Diamante earlier today. Did you like spending time with him, hm? Did you think I wouldn’t know you were whoring yourself for him? And now you want me to fuck you on my cock? You filthy slut.” He slapped your rear again, rubbing the red, sore spot. “Did you forget who you belong to?”

“N-No, Doffy, I swear. I wasn’t doing anything with Diamante.” You pleaded, trying to convince him of your innocence. And truthfully, he knew you had nothing to hide. But he wanted to play with you for a while longer. He pulled on your body, lifting it upward and pressing your back flat against his chest. he freed his hard cock out his pants, shoving the garment down and kicking it aside. He rubbed it against your pussy, the tip teasing your clit. You let out a soft, shaky breath as he chuckled.

“I think I need to remind you of who you belong to, who this pussy belongs to.” He grinned and thrusted up into your cunt, the tip of his cock pushing in. You let out a loud, strained moan as he continued to push in. “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight! Relax for me, doll. You’re taking me all the way in.”

Doflamingo pulled your body down onto his cock, one hand caressing your breasts and the other on your clit, making delicious moans spill from your mouth. Once he was fully sheathed inside of you, he took a moment to admire the view, your hips flushed against his as your body trembled. Only you could take in all of him, unlike the other women. It was like your cunt was made for him. He thrusted slowly, teasingly, keeping what you both desire just barely out of reach. He then rutted into you at an animalistic pace, laughing between his grunts as he felt the bulge at your stomach.

“Feel that, darling? No other man can make you feel this satisfied.” He held onto your hips, as he thrusted hard into you, grip bruising your skin. He smirked as he felt your warm walls clench on his cock, and he started to slow down to bring you to the brink of orgasm, only to stop.

“Doffy, Doffy p-please.” You begged, trying to move back into him as tears pooled in your eyes. His grin widened, cock twitching at the sight of your plight.

“Aw, does my darling want to cum? Then beg for it. Tell me how much you want my dick.” He grinned mischievously as he held you firmly in place.

“P-Please, Doffy! Let me cum! Only you can make me feel this good!” You cried, hoping it was enough to convince him. Thankfully, it was. Doflamingo snapped his hips against yours, bringing you to the edge once again.

“That’s right, only I can make you feel this good.” He chuckled under his breath. “This is my pussy, do you understand? No one’s allowed to fuck you except for me.”

“Yours, Doffy! Yours!” You felt his cock twitch and your walls tighten its grip. With a pleasured cry, you came undone, your juices all over his cock and balls. He came not long after, spilling his warm seed into your cunt. After rutting in a few more times he pulled out, admiring the view of your hole and his cum dripping out.

“You did so good for me, doll. You always do.” He cooed, releasing the strings that held you. He tossed you onto the bed, his touch gentle and warm. As you laid on your back to get comfortable, he called for a maid to bring over a towel. He wiped off your sweat, kissing your body and the marks left behind from the last time you both had sex. He was pleased to see them, still visible, showing everyone you’re his. “You’re gorgeous, doll.” He praised softly and kissed your lips. He tossed the towel aside and got off the bed, tidying himself up in the mirror and putting on his pants. “Get yourself dressed, you still have work to do.”

“Yes, young master.” You responded weakly, throat hoarse from your cries. Despite the command, you knew he wouldn’t mind if you took some time to rest. He looked at you with a grin, placing a kiss to your lips before leaving.

[fandomluver-101]

What I wanted from the Vander and Silco flashbacks was subversion and heartbreak.

I wanted younger Silco to be fairly peaceful, someone focused on building up resources and separating Zaun from Piltover with minimal casualties on their end. I wanted him to be someone who says "wait, bid your time, don't push until your ready" type.

I wanted younger Vander to be hotheaded, impatient, someone focused on immediate action and immediate results. Someone who says "don't wait, act, do now rather than later" type.

I wanted Vi and Jinx meeting someone who was part of the failed rebellion while trying to help Warwick-Vander. I wanted Vi to be forced to recognize that Vander wasn't always a good person and Silco wasn't always a bad person. I wanted Jinx to accept that Silco became a bad person and so did she, but people change and so could she.

I wanted a flashback where Vander tries to get rid of Silco because despite being the "Hound,' Silco is the one with the leash and is the one people follow. I wanted Vander, the bigger "brother" to take leadership by force after years of looking up to Silco and growing disillusioned by the constant "wait, we're not ready." And the fail spectacularly and see all the misery he wrought and would continue to contribute to - because the aftermath of failed uprisings involve way more death than the ones directly involved.

Imagine Vander trying to become more like Silco. Patient, contemplative, community focused. And not truly hitting the mark because he still doesn't understand that patience and pacifism aren't the same thing - the goal was war, but with preparation. Acknowledge Vander's failures and shortcomings as a leader, have him compare himself and be compared by others to what Silco once was.

Silco built the Lanes so people had a safe place. Silco owned the Last Drop and funded the rebel group through it. Silco led a rebellion in the mines. Silco got them breathers or plants to clean the air. Silco never worked with Enforcers. Silco never let a death be in vain.

I especially wanted Warwick/Vander to struggle with his past while coming back to himself. An episode just of this and nothing else, tied together by the chain of violence building up to a proper war between Zaun and Piltover with Silco's voice in Jinx's head encouraging her to become Zaun's champion. It would've been a lot better than what we got.

Making it boil down to Felicia's death just sours it all. Vander adopting random children he orphaned and changing because of HIS failure was interesting characterization. It being for his close friend's children is major downgrade. Him trying to kill his other friend because of it and NOT for a greater reason is straight trash.

Seriously, no hate to Felicia, but her being part of the friendship was pointless. How do the kids not know who Silco is if she was so close with them? Her being someone they knew through their rebel group would've been fine, but so close as depicted and yet no ties to the story otherwise? Her death being Vander's reason for trying to kill Silco? Dude claims the events on the bridge changed him - but he still ends up being a violent monster betraying Silco.

[pearlydays]

Just a little something I wrote up instead of doing my final paper. Hope you enjoy <3

——————

A groan rips through the air as Satoru finally stops his merciless thrusts. Your legs shake from exhaustion as air fills your lungs. He collapses onto you, eliciting a groan and half-hearted objections. You trail your hand up his spine before moving them to his hair.

“You are a menace.” You say once you’ve finally caught your breath. A grin paints Satoru’s face, and he nips at the skin closest to his mouth.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You roll your eyes at his blatant lie, “You say as if you hadn’t edged me for two hours.”

“But you’re so hot when you’re all frustrated. You start begging, ‘Please, please, ‘Toru. I need to cu-“ You begin to push his body from on top of yours.

“Nooo, I’m sorry.” He giggles.

You roll your eyes once more, with him, there’s a possibility they can get stuck like that. “Whatever, I’m sure you’d do the same thing if you were in my position.”

Satoru moves to get comfortable lying on your chest. “I doubt you can edge me.”

___

Satoru knows he has a big ass mouth. He’s gotten himself in more than enough trouble because of it. And now? He hates his big ass mouth.

“What’s with the pout, baby? I thought you could take it?” The sultry grin that painted your face was almost enough to make Satoru cum. That is until you took your hand away. His unusually high-pitched whine sliced through the air as his cock twitched, begging to release the load that had been building up since you first started. That was two hours ago.

“N-no! Please just- Fuck! Just put y-your hand back! I-I-“ Satoru squirmed under you, hands balling into fists where they were tied up. He knows he can easily get out of the bindings, but he promised to let you have fun. Even if it was borderline torture.

The sound of you kissing your teeth made his cock jump. You lightly dragged your nails up and down his thighs, getting closer to where he needed you most, only to take them away. You were enjoying this way too much. It’s not every day you can torture your boyfriend like this. As soon as he gave you an inch, you took a mile.

“I don’t know ’Toru, I think you have one more hour in you.” You take your index finger and drag it along that prominent vein you love to the tip of his cock. Once there, you begin swirling your finger, encouraging the pleads and moans that leave his mouth.

Satoru rapidly shakes his head, “I-I-“

“I-I-” You mock, ��Can’t even form a sentence, huh? Not a single thought in that pretty little head of yours.” You pout down at Satoru as you wrap your hand around his weeping cock.

“I c-can’t do a-another, baby.” He pouts.

Your eyes glimmer with something that makes an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leak from his cock. You drag your hand down to the base of his length and tighten your fist.

“But you’re so hot when you’re all frustrated.” Parroting his words back at him, you resume your up-and-down ministrations. Satoru screws his eyes shut, fighting the urge to buck into your hand.

“Wanna cum for me?”

You’re met with an enthusiastic nod and a slurred string of ‘yes, yes, yes’. Looking down, you move your free hand to join, moving in an opposite rotation. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, signaling his impending release. Feeling merciful, you speed up your movements, tightening around his head.

“Then cum.”

All of the air left Satoru’s body as he came. His eyes were shut so tight that he began to see stars. He can’t recall a moment where he has ever cum that much. You coax him through his orgasm, not letting up on your actions, “Poor baby, looks like someone was backed up.”

When the wave of his orgasm seemed to pass, you let him go, eyeing the cum on your hands. Satoru wearily opens his eyes, looking at the aftermath, then at you. He can see the wheels turning in your head.

Holding his gaze, you bring your hands to your mouth and clean the seed that covers them. A groan escapes Satoru as his cock jumps at the sight.

“And you say I’m a menace.”

————

I hope you guys enjoyed this little piece. This is my first time writing anything nsfw, so let me know if you like it or if you want more!

[sorcerous-caress]

Taking you as their fake date to an event

[Fluff, suggustive, romance, humour, fake dating, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach, Rolan]

Wyll

In the aftermath of clearing the misunderstanding with his father, Wyll found himself back at the centre of attention in Baldur's Gate's circle of nobles. Everyone wanted to meet the famed blade of frontiers, for the last time they saw him was years ago before he fully matured into the man he is today.

Letter after letter were delivered to your camp. Carrier pigeons barely escaped Tara's claws as they dropped the mail on Wyll's tent and left with most of their feathers intact.

Being the son of the grand duke of Baldur's Gate turned all the heads of any sane noble with a marriage allegeable offspring. Invitation for tea parties, hunting competitions, and even balls for the sole purpose of meeting other people. Wyll's hand was slowly going numb from having to write back formal polite declining letters.

If only there was a way to stop them from the source. He'd sigh and vent to his closest of companions. But Karlach wasn't available at the moment, so he had to make do with the vampire.

"Why not just tell them you've already tied the knot with someone or whatever you humans call it?"

For once, Wyll actually considered listening to the fanged devil on his shoulder.

He approached that topic as delicately as he could when it came to convincing you, inviting you to dinner at a restaurant, waiting until after you're both filled and the lighthearted conversation slowed to bring it up.

"My friend, if I may, there is something I could use a helping hand with."

To his relief, you don't seem uncomfortable to his proposal. If anything, you nonchalantly agreed to be his fake date to the upcoming celebration.

He thanks you with a polite smile, yet for some, his heart beat faster when he pictures you holding onto his arm amongst the crowd. Your formal attire matching his suit. The fact he'd get to call you his fiancé for an evening sends an unexpected heat up to his face.

.

Gale

Tara wakes him up with delight in her eyes one morning, her sing song tone of his last name is more chipper than usual.

"Mr.Dekarios, yoohoo~" she licks his face to get his sleepy eyes to focus on her, "Ms.Dekarios sends her regards, along with a mandatory summon invitation for you this weekend." Tara brings her paw up to her face, cleaning the fur and making herself even more presentable.

Before Gale gets a word in, he is interrupted by a paw smacking against his lips.

"Now now, you wouldn't break the heart of your poor old mother by rejecting her invitation when you haven't seen her in years, would you?" The soft beans against Gale's mouth hold the threat of sharp claws underneath.

Defeated and outsmarted first thing in the morning, the wizard reluctantly nods with a sight.

Deep down, he know this day would eventually come. He couldn't hide the orb and the looming threat over his life from his own mother forever, no matter how he naively hoped to find a cure before having to face her. Coming back to announce you've foolishly consumed untamed magic of chaos isn't the most popular mother's day gift.

But maybe, just maybe he doesn't have to let her know yet. If he could find a distraction.

And lucky for him, the perfect distraction was currently standing outside his open tent, rubbing Tara's belly as she purrs and leans into their arms more.

He devised a plan, a great list of excuses and reasons to sell you the idea of why you should go along with his plan of deception, even prepared a bribe if push came to shove.

Well, two bribes, actually. The first one was the massive breakfast prepared and catered specifically for your taste.

Scurrying to sit in the chair next to you before Halsin could, Gale ignored the cofused look the druid gave him before sitting down at another chair.

Either he was too easy to read, or you've picked up on his pattern of gifts and act of service whenever he has a request. Because he only had to hint at the upcoming home visit before you Blatantly stated that you're willing to go as his date.

"Well...this was certainly much easier than I expected. In fact I've deviced a much more elaborate argument and explanation for when you'd initially refuse."

"Why would I ever refuse Gale?"

You gently caressed the side of his face, wiping a small crumb of bread away from his lips before taking your hand back.

"I...well, uhm. You." With a flustered look, Gale wasn't sure how to respond. Did he remember to comb his morning hair? Oh god, wait, is he still in his pyjamas? Does he even look half presentable right now?

.

Shadowheart

A Selunite introduction party, as her parents explained. She never had the afterparty of her ceremony after the woods passage trial, and her mother really wanted her to see her adorned in the moon maiden silvery dress and white flowers.

How could she say no? Shadowheart only wished for both of their happiness, to make up for lost time as much as she could.

While her father never pressured her, knowing he still has plenty of time with her, her mother wasn't offered the same courtsy by life. So he encouraged Shadowheart to bring someone dear to her maybe, just to reassure her mother that she has a loved one, you know how humans tend to get about finding your soulmate and all of that.

But she felt lost. Was there really someone she could call a soulmate?

Your words echo in her mind, how you gently persuaded her into lowering her weapon. The night orchid you've given her is still kept safely in her journal, tucked away between the soft pages to preserve the petals forever.

What if you don't share her feelings? What if she is just another lost soul that has grown attached to you after you saved them. Afterall, you did end up risking blowing your cover when saving that drow women at moonrise tower.

Minthara's respect for you was nothing to scoff at. What's a cleric's faith when compared to a paladin's devotion?

Yet she still took a chance, a leap of faith for you.

One night before the two of you retreated to your own beds, she stopped you for a short conversation. Reluctance in her voice as she lowered her face and looked up at you, eyes glistening under the moonlight.

She explained her situation, her party for her coming of age ceremony that was long postponed, how she wished for you to accompany her as her date.

"Please, indulge me this once. And we can pretend it never happened afterwards...if that's what you wish." The words pained her to say, but the relief that followed at your acceptance made all the pain worth it.

She isn't sure where your heart lays, but for a day, it will be hers. Her faith will guide her, the faith that maybe one day, you too will return her feelings.

.

Karlach

She was nervously walking back and forth outside your tent just after dinner, unsure of how to approach you or even mention the topic.

Her tail aggiated and is switching between curling around her leg and lashing at the ground below. Karlach didn't bury her emotions as the engine in her chest glowed more and more, matching the redness of the sunset in the horizon.

Really, what was she thinking? Agreeing to the double date her friends offered her. She was too excited at having finally met more people from her past, ones that didn't stab her in the back, and one thing led to another.

It's not that she ment to lie to her friends...it was just hard to tell them that even after all these years, she still doesn't have someone to call her own. It felt embarrassing to admit how alone she was, how touch starved and repressed she felt.

Not to mention how every single one of her friends had already found someone. Most of them were married and the other half on their way to get married.

She didn't think they'd make a big deal out of it when she off-handedly mentioned that she was seeing someone, a simple white lie with no harm done. She thought they'd just be happy for her and move on.

But no, instead, it was as if she grew a second head right then and there. Everyone was so excited to meet her so-called partner.

And so she found herself like this, strolling around your tent like a loser, attempting to muster up the dignity to ask you to pretend to be her partner for tomorrow.

Only when bumped into something and lost her balance did she realise who stood in front of her.

Karlach's body pinned you to the ground with ease, even unintentionally her muscles could easily cage you on. Her skin hot against yours, she lifted her head and your faces were mere inches apart.

You didn't miss the way her eyes glances at your lips, the way her cheeks darkned when you licked them. The heacy of swallow afterwards before her lips twitched into a polite smile.

With a quick apology, she helped you up.

"Say soldier, have you ever played pretend before? You know that game that kids play." Very smooth Karlach, she thought to herself. "Uh...do you think the two of us can maybe play it tomorrow? Haha...ha."

You asked what she meant.

"I kinda of...well, I told my friends that I was already seeing someone so. Could you be that person? I'll pay you back tenfolds, I promise."

"Of course Karlach, anything you want." Accepting the awkward fistbump she offered you, in return you gave her a hug that lingered for more time than it should.

"Cool cool, great. I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Her tail was swishing excitedly behind her, a confident smile on her face as bright as the sun.

.

Rolan

He will show them, he thought, he will show his spoiled bratty siblings that he isn't as uptight and "scares away all suitors" as they claimed!

I mean, have you seen him? He is a very talented and capable wizard, how is it his fault that other people are far too dim and slow to realise how much of a catch he is, how his talent more than makes up for his sometimes bitter personality.

Lia was bragging again about the cute bard she managed to ask out, her third date this week. Rolan swears she is mentioning within earshot if him intentionally, hell even Cal gets the occasional longing stares at any tavren they go to.

Rolan isn't less than them and he will prove it. He just well...hasn't put himself out there yet, so what if he has zero experience with dating and romance? He is a fast learner, he is very confident in his ability to become an excellent lover in to time.

A day goes by, then two and three. Suddenly it's been a full week and he haven't had a speck of luck when it came to romancing someone. It's almost as if any person he approaches immediately loses interest the second he opens his mouth.

He is getting desperate, he can't let Lia know about this. She will never ever let him live it down.

So when you find him in the elfsong tavren, sitting alone on a table nursing on his drink with his tail curled around his leg. You stare at him long enough to catch his interest.

He recognises you immediately, you could see the cogs turning in his alcohol clouded mind.

"You, come here." He yells the order across the tavren, catching himself afterwards and clearing his thraot to lessen the embarrassment of the situation. Still his eyes begged you to approch him.

And you did, walking to his table and sitting down. After all your companions were still sleeping upstairs so what's the harm in indulging one drunk grumpy tiefling when you were supposed to be on a supply run.

Rolan orders you a drink too, his treats, he says without meeting your eyes.

And just as you take a sip, he lays it on you bluntly.

"From now on, I'm your boyfriend."

You choke on your drink, it takes him a moment to register the way he phrased his question.

Clearing his throat again, he refuses to meet your eyes as a blush colours his cheek. "No not like this, don't get the wrong idea."

Now you're sitting there, confused as the waiter brings you a towel to wipe down the drink you spilled on yourself. You thank them and take it, giving Rolan enough time to attempt to compose himself.

"I know i haven't made the best of impressions on you." He finally speaks up, "but I need you." His voice is more honest, a hint of vulnerability, "your help I mean. Lia and Cal, I want to prove them wrong."

His glossy eyes meet yours, the alcohol loosened his tongue.

"I'm not unlovable." He whipsers, "I'm not going to beg for a chance, I just need your cooperation for a day or two, just to shut them up."

Your hand goes above the table, wrapping around his own fist softly. "I understand, it's okay." You give it a light squeeze, "you don't have to explain yourself."

Somehow, your few words helped relieve his heart from its burden more than this whole night of drinking ever could.

[caramel1mochi]

Two Koi [ Husband!Sukuna x F!Reader ]

words: 1k+ / Please refrain from stealing my work.

note: I know this is random but I just watched the first season of JJK and honestly I would die for Sukuna, no questions asked. Like why is he so perfect??ㅤ

The special grade that stood in front of Sukuna was at its wit’s end.

It had been fighting the King of Curses for a while now. And while Sukuna looked tireless, like he had just gotten out of bed, the creature was just moments away from collapsing.

It lifted its distorted, shaky hands; all twenty-seven of its white fingers lit up by the afternoon sun. Then, it clenched its fists, and the emergence of more cursed energy made the other perk up.

ㅤㅤ

“Still up for more?” Sukuna called out. “Fine… Let’s make this interesting.”

ㅤㅤ

Sukuna lifted both of his hands and brought them together. The pads of his middle and ring fingers pressed up against the other. With a sadistic grin, he subsequently gazed upon the weak cursed spirit. The atmosphere between them shifted. It was as if this very gesture injected an unfathomable amount of dread into the air that plagued the empty, destroyed streets.

ㅤㅤ

“Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shr–”

Burst!

…

ㅤㅤ

“…Hm?”

ㅤㅤ

The cursed spirit's unnatural stillness was preceded by an awry jolt; it completely stopped moving, almost as if it somehow died. But how? He didn’t even use his technique.

Slash!

With a flick of his hand, Sukuna tore the cursed spirit in two, revealing its innards with one clean swipe. He promptly sensed the cause for its death; an external force made its heart explode. Someone was bold enough to cut his entertainment short, he thought. To put it simply, whoever did this wanted to die a very painful death.

Sukuna perked up at a few audible steps behind him.

ㅤㅤ

“Lunch is ready, honey pie~” A feminine voice followed. “And clean up before you sit at the table, okay? I don’t want asphalt on the food like last ti–”

ㅤㅤ

Slash!

Sukuna didn’t hesitate to cut through the woman. He closed his eyes and waited for the aftermath. Usually, it would be the graphic squelching of insides being parted, or just the gurgling from some victims whose throats were sliced.

But nothing.

He turned and looked at you out of the corner of his eyes. As angry as he was, he couldn’t help but ogle a bit at his wife’s beautiful, untouched appearance. Sukuna sliced your neck with his cursed technique, but it had as much impact as a bunny trying to viciously bite through a wall made of pure metal. A grin revealed your pearly whites.

ㅤㅤ

“Oh… Is my handsome king angry I ended his fight?”

ㅤㅤ

Warmth enveloped him as you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. Sukuna, however, glared at you with his red eyes as you rested your chin on his shoulder, your jaw gently pressing up against his muscles.

ㅤㅤ

“Did you honestly think I’d accept this interruption? And what did I tell you about using that stupid nickname?”

ㅤㅤ

“Don’t you remember, snookums? You said, ‘I’ll let you call me anything if we stay in bed a little longer’.”

ㅤㅤ

…

He did say that this morning, didn’t he?

ㅤㅤ

“Only you would hold these pointless words against me.”

ㅤㅤ

Sukuna muttered as he crossed his arms. If he wasn’t a thousand-year-old sorcerer and made of nothing but pure evil, he would have a slight blush on his cheeks.

ㅤㅤ

“You really look upset about this… Oh no, have you finally replaced your wife with a cursed spirit, Sukuna?”

ㅤㅤ

You noted with a pout. Sukuna’s heart skipped a beat once you said his real name.

ㅤㅤ

“Fighting a woman with your techniques gets boring. And I want something that begs and bleeds. You don’t do either of that, do you?”

ㅤㅤ

The sound of your cheeky titter filled his ears. Since you two met, he found out very quickly that he couldn’t slice you. And, like everything else about you, it very much angered him. But you still became his wife, so he had virtually no platform to stand on. A smile painted your lips as your hands traced his sharp jawline. You promptly stopped at his cheeks, which you were quick to caress with your fingers.

ㅤㅤ

“Can’t the King of Curses handle a little boredom every now and then?” You clasped his cheeks with a feather-light grip. “Oh, and you won’t be getting dessert.”

ㅤㅤ

He perked up at this.

ㅤㅤ

“And why not?”

ㅤㅤ

“I made the most delicious cheesecake before I arrived. But now, for trying to cut my throat, none of it is for you.”

ㅤㅤ

Sukuna scoffed.

ㅤㅤ

“Like I’d let you get away with that, woman.” He firmly clutched your wrists. “We fight after lunch. If I win, I get a slice, whether you like it or not.”

ㅤㅤ

“I like that. But let’s pick a crowded place; this time, I want at least a thousand casualties.”

ㅤㅤ

A sly grin twisted his features; he specifically focused on the ‘crowded’ aspect of your words. Like you said, crowded meant many innocent deaths in a fight. And if there was something Sukuna loved more than his own wife pleasure, it would be chaos.

ㅤㅤ

“A thousand casualties? I can make that happen… Alright. We fight in Chiyoda.”

ㅤㅤ

The discontent frown on your face immediately made him rethink his suggestion.

ㅤㅤ

“So picky. Fine, Roppongi? I’m sure you will have fun destroying that one.”

ㅤㅤ

You pulled him close and deeply pressed your lips on his cheek with a loud muah. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, all while he completely revelled in the sensation of being so lovingly kissed. Then, you pulled away.

ㅤㅤ

“Now we’re talking. Looks like my king still knows how to keep his wife happy. What would I do without you, handsome?”

ㅤㅤ

“I don’t know. What would humans do without water?”

ㅤㅤ

You couldn’t help but laugh whilst briefly pinching his cheek. ㅤㅤ

“Oh, you.”

ㅤㅤ

Your words were clearly inflating Sukuna’s self-esteem. But it’s not like either of you didn’t welcome it; you loved his haughtiness, and he loved how you fed into it.

[theshipsong]

suit of cups | v

basil hawkins x f!reader, suggestive (first time), mention of size difference. childhood friends/crewmates canon au. selfship; reader is an astrologer and described as shorter than him. wc 1.5k | est. 5 min read

{ last card } { next card }

Hawkins and Faust were nineteen by the time they'd saved (robbed) enough funds to fix up an old cutter to get them started on their travel. You had your hands full with your family's business and were frankly too buried in books on cartography and geography to actually set sail. He kept it to himself, but Hawkins was relieved, not yet confident that he could protect you at sea like he did on land. Half the point of this journey around his home sea was testing his straw combat against more than hometown bullies.

His mother wasn't pleased, not with Hawkins' decision—she'd had something of an wild youth herself that resulted in his birth and her returning home in disgrace—but yours. "I don't know how you'll survive without her," she tutted. She stayed out of the house as he packed to spare him her fretting, and instead you sat on his bed berating him even more than she would.

"That's not enough sweaters for the 60th parallel," you were saying.

"I have thicker skin than you."

You chucked his pillow at him, and he caught it easily in one hand.

"I know you're proud of your tattoo, but it's not worth hypothermia."

You said your like you didn't have a matching one high on your back, easily hidden while Hawkins resorted to wearing turtlenecks and scarves anytime he went into town. (You dutifully shaved a cross-shaped bald spot onto Faust's hip that the Mink quickly decided wasn't worth it.)

"And what if we never go that far north?" Hawkins challenged.

"Aren't you supposed to be practicing for the Grand Line?"

He started stuffing more knitwear into his sea bag before you noticed you'd won the argument.

The way you came together was incremental, like the course of Saturn.

Nothing obvious changed after that fall day, but sometimes Faust excused himself like he was intruding when as far as Hawkins could tell you were exactly as annoying as before and he only responded in kind. For your fifteenth birthday you asked for your first kiss, and he didn't need to say it was his, too, chapped and awkward in February, and again nothing changed in the aftermath, like it was transactional as reading each other's cards or charts. He was eighteen when the old neighbor witch slid him a book on synastry with dogeared pages he recognized as aspects between your horoscopes, and he passed it along like a courier, pretending not to see your pretty blush as you realized the same thing.

Hawkins knew, empirically, that young men like him were supposed to be hotblooded and greedy, but that wasn't his nature, and no one else, girl or boy, held his interest like you. He tripped over himself and tied his own tongue in knots when your eyes sparkled with excitement or your mouth ran a mile a minute with some new theory or connection you'd made. He wasn't so obtuse to pretend either of you were kids anymore, and if he thought too long about how soft you were when you leaned against him in a sailboat or as you animatedly disagreed with his interpretations, he felt warm and itchy like he never did.

You used his bed like it was your own, and even though you were both grown now—he was turning twenty soon, damn it—you still fell sleep there guilelessly, using him as a pillow as he grew too large to share. It also meant you got crumbs on his quilt and left books on his nightstand, like Seas of the World, bent at the spine at the chapter on the North Blue. It comforted him that you'd keep his mother company, if only because the woman would chase you in here to clean up after yourself.

Once he was satisfied with his luggage, Hawkins moved to escort you home one last time since he and Faust planned to leave at twilight the next morning, but you stopped him with an odd, fragile-sounding "Wait."

"What is it now?"

You closed his door and leaned against it, fidgeting your hands on the doorknob behind you.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

It was the same thing you said when you tiptoed up to kiss him three years ago.

"Speak."

You bit your lip, the color leaving it as your white teeth sank into the thin skin.

"Would you be my first?"

His breath caught.

"First mate? I thought you didn't want to be captain."

Your neck was almost bright red, and the color lurked up your jaw. "Don't make me say it." You were seventeen now and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he was a pirate. Couldn't he be selfish? "You can't be a pirate and a virgin, Hawkins."

"Watch me."

"It's not just for me, is what I'm saying," you said.

"Generous."

"There's no one else."

You were dangerously close to pleading, and he was unsettled by the high it gave him as he sat on the edge of his mattress.

"So your asking me for… lack of choice?"

"No, Hawkins, I—" You were looking over his shoulder instead of at his face, too embarrassed, until you weren't. "It was going to be us, wasn't it?"

The tense of it was strange, and melancholy.

He watched your chest rise and fall with heavy breaths, the sheen of nervous sweat that gathered on your brow, your bare thighs and socked calves that drove him to distraction all afternoon as you flopped about his bed without a care.

"Come here."

You moved slowly, like an animal stalking him, shy steps across his rug until he reached for your wrist and pulled you into his lap.

"Oh…!"

Oh was right. Hawkins was surprised at himself, but your eyes were dark and molten as you stared more at his neck, your hands curled on his chest, and his frequent observation that you were so small next to him was never more apparent than now. He could position you like a doll, and the thought that you'd let him made him dizzy as he cupped your jaw and tugged your lip away from your teeth. "Stop that," he said softly.

You nodded, obedient, like you never were.

He slanted his mouth over yours and sucked that lip between his own, and your surprised squeak was nearly as loud in his ears as his moan at the taste of you, at doing this right instead of the chance he'd wasted before. You tasted like the fruit juice you'd had with lunch and saliva, the first time he'd ever considered it had a taste, so sweet and bright and familiar and right for the girl who changed his gloomy young life.

Your hands bunched in his shirt and tugged, and he had the bizarre realization that you must like looking at him, too, how you reverently slid it over his head and arms and let your warm hands wander over his skin.

"You're staring," he said, confused.

"Mm."

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, your fingers combing through a few locks of long, cornsilk hair that partially hid his body from view.

"I'll be gentle," you promised, and he chuckled.

"That's for me to say."

You pouted, and one of your fingertips ghosted across his nipple, earning a sharp hiss. "Is that okay?" you asked, worried.

"We're not making it far if you keep at it."

Your eyes widened, and you took him in as if for the first time. "When did you get so big?" You were only looking at the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his arms, and he wondered if times he'd caught you zoning out were all days his sleeves were rolled up.

"Are you scared?"

You shook your head. "I trust you."

"I don't know what I'm doing, either," he warned.

"It's you," you said, and there was something resolute and heavy in it.

"Can I?" He fingered the hem of your dress, bunched up by your hips, practically baring you against him, hot and real, and his blood rushed to meet you there.

"Please."

And Hawkins couldn't help his awe at how you held your shoulders back and your chin up against your impulse to do the opposite. His hand first searched out the black cross between your shoulder blades, not visible to him while he held you like this, but the slight difference in your skin's texture from the still-healing scar under his palm soothed some animal part of him that you'd marked yourself his. He was yours, too, lost to you since you pulled him into your world.

He kissed you again, this time holding either side of your face and stroking his thumbs over your cheeks. "It's us," he murmured against your lips.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) part 12

Warnings: forced medical care, drugging, villain restrained to a bed, vivid/fairly detailed descriptions of wounds being stitched up, aftermath of failed escape attempt

"I hate you," she whispered, her voice fading as the sedatives took hold.

"...I know," was all Hero murmured in answer.

And then Villain finally slipped under.

-------------------------------------------------------

Villain groggily woke up to find her wrists wrapped tightly together with long strips of fabric and restrained above her head on the bed, attached to the headboard.

Her heart sank with dread, and a trickle of honest fear pricked the back of her neck when she glanced down to find Hero standing next to the bed, leaning over her and wearing sterile medical gloves.

There were piles of blood-soaked gauze in metal trays resting on the bed as well around her body, and it looked like Hero was fixing the stitches she'd popped during her earlier escape attempt. He was holding a needle clamped between medical pliers in one hand, and manipulating surgical thread with the other.

But Villain realized with a start that her legs weren't tied up like her wrists were, and her whole body stiffened, mind racing for a way to leverage that.

"Don't even think about it," Hero growled without even looking up at her. "If you kick me while I'm working, you'll make things a lot worse for yourself. I could tie your legs down too if you insist, but having them free is easier for me to work with.”

Villain scowled darkly, but could see the logic in his words. So she pursed her lips and held her tongue, letting herself go limp.

She twitched as he carefully stitched her wounds up, watching with wide eyes as he brought the needle to her skin repeatedly with skilled hands.

It was a strange sensation, of the needle and thread sliding effortlessly through her flesh -- because there was no pain, and she knew Hero must have been heavy-handed with the painkillers he used on her. But the gross feeling of the needle gliding through her was enough to make her want to squirm and get away.

It took every ounce of willpower she could muster to hold still, aside from the rapid rise and fall of her chest with increasingly panicked breaths.

She hated that Hero was right -- if she struggled or kicked right now, it could make him mess up and cause her further injury. So she forced herself to swallow her pride and anger and let Hero work on her, barely tolerating it.

She kept her eyes averted, refusing to look at Hero and focusing on the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears to ground herself. A welcome distraction from reality.

It was easy to dissociate like this, to get lost in her thoughts and not come back. It was better than facing the turmoil of emotions ripping her apart inside, the invisible wounds resurfacing, triggered by Hero's presence. All the awful memories she'd worked so hard to bury and forget. She still remembered how tenderly Hero used to handle her, how gentle he always was despite his superstrength. How loving he'd been.

Thinking about it only made the wound hurt worse. Villain had been blinded by desperate love back then, ignoring all the warning signs because she craved human connection so badly. Being a villain was a lonely, lonely existence, and Hero had filled that hole.

Until he hadn't. And Villain's eyes had been opened to the horrible truth -- that he was a traitor.

The betrayal itself didn't hurt nearly as much as the knowledge that Hero had never cared did. That everything between him and Villain had been lies.

"I'm done," Hero announced quietly, drawing Villain's mind back to the present.

Villain blinked, watching as Hero cleaned up the mess of scattered medical tools and bloodied bandages. Fresh bandages now covered the new stitches on her torso and legs.

Once Hero was done he walked to the bed again and flicked open a pocket knife, reaching it toward the fabric binding Villain's wrists to the headboard, before hesitating. "If I cut you free will you run or try to fight me again?"

Villain shook her head with a grimace. She knew better than to try and escape now that her wounds had been torn open again. It would be pointless to attempt until she healed up more and her body could handle it.

Hero slashed through the fabric restraining her, untangling it from around her wrists and letting her bring her arms down to lay next to her sides.

Villain winced at how her shoulder muscles ached from being strained in the awkward position. Not even the painkillers were enough to dull that -- the discomfort went bone-deep.

She couldn't help glancing sideways at the window she'd tried to jump out of before, and groaned inwardly upon finding it completely boarded up, thoroughly secured in a way she knew meant getting out that way would be impossible.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @whatwhump

@writing-with-olive @and-we-shake-the-iron-hand @art3m1zz @enigmawriteswhump

[justanerddummie]

You know what, after all the talk about Caitlyn tyrant arc I cannot unsee all the parallels between her and Silco.

It always left me a little baffled how Cait was one of the few character who didn't have a clear parallel with another one, yes, there's Grayson, there's Jinx and even Marcus if you will, but at least to me they never quite clicked right. But when you overlap Silco and Cait, the amount of shit they do the same is insane, especially with all the new stuff from s2.

It's not about her simply becoming a villain, it's like a circle with Caitlyn moving forward to reach the point of no return and Silco going backward after reaching the point of no return, meeting just for a moment - at the mad tea party - having different directions.

But let's start from the beginning.

We have a bunch of scenes where we see Silco tell Jinx about how he used to be different, how he had to cut out the part of him that made him soft in order to become the leader of the undercity and at the same time we get to see Caitlyn's entitled ass dissolve as her heart of gold starts making appearances, like when she refused to kill Sevika or when she gave her rifle away for Vi without batting an eye as she starts trusting Vi more and more considering how she just exchanged her only weapon for shimmer to cure Vi. Then in the other episodes they both come clean about the real reasons they are in the undercity and they start really trusting each other, two peas in a pod, just like Vander and Silco back in the day.

But then in oil and water during the rain scene when Vi leaves Cait, I think we can see the first the first seed of betrayal being planted, it's the you don't believe in me anymore, which I think can be connected to when we see Vander strangle Silco, I think that scene is supposed to go after the bridge scene in ep3 it's the aftermath of the battle with enforcers and I can totally see Silco refusing to give up on the dream of Zaun and Vander seeing no other option but to kill him in order to protect his people. I know it's a long stretch but as for Vi and Cait the rain scene is the first rift, for Silco and Vander the scene at the river is the last straw, it also ties very well with Silco being handed Zaun on a silver plate in exchange for the last piece of his heart and refusing (Cait is still not there but I think there will be something like this in s2 at the very end) just as Cait is taking the first steps into not trusting Vi.

(I'm trying to talk about how I see Caitlyn's point of view and not trying to blame Vi, I really do think that Vi had every right to make that decisions in that moment)

And then there's the mad tea party, that in no way can even be compared to the scene on the bridge in ep3 but I would still say that I think Caitlyn has processed the tea party in a similar way Silco has processed the bridge scene and what came after, the betrayal of the people they trusted the most as they watched their respective loved ones die one by the hands of the enforcers and the other by the hands of Jinx.

And as Silco's rage grew he wanted another fight with Piltover and Vander stopped him, Vi stopped Cait from taking the shot on Jinx, making that little seed of betrayal bloom and grow a little.

So by the end of s1 we see Cait is almost in Silco's starting point as he has completed his lap of the circle.

And now I dive into the more speculative section of this long-ass rant, where I'd like to put to comparison Silco's deal with Singed with Cait's alliance with Noxus. And for as much as it pains to admit it, I don't think Cait will fall for Ambessa manipulation, she's too smart, I think that she'll sacrife her morality to achieve what she's set herself up to, same way as Silco did with shimmer. The base violence for change.

I really do think that the similarities will get way stronger in s2 with the seeds of betrayal blooming by the end of s1 especially considering how both Silco and Cait's story revolve around taking control and in a certain way becoming the leaders no one asked for.

They both never wanted to be leaders as Silco was more than happy to let Vander be the face of revolution and Cait couldn't give less of a fuck about politics and spent most of the time in s1 trying to not start a war between Piltover and Zaun and wooing Zaunites women.

But at the same time both of them never shied away from the power, they both kept their heads held high in the face of people who hated them, and both were always arrogant enough to believe they could change the world single-handedly.

With that I conclude this long-ass post both wanting s2 to come faster and dreading the moment it finally comes and honestly hoping that Cait's story doesn't end the same way as Silco did. With some form of redemption arrived a little too late.

[strwbabydoll]

word count: 1.2k

summary: Y/N’s alive but she’s not who she used to be, Harry has to deal with the aftermath.

notes: this is part three of this fic so it is still considered a dark fic. it contains mentions of medical talks, a panic attack and guns.

Rewrite The Stars

- - - -

Harry can’t believe his ears, when EJ told him that Y/N was alive he ran out the door, the man screaming for help left tied to the chair and forgotten as Harry’s main goal was to go to the hospital to find his one true love. He rushed through traffic, EJ holding on for dear life but would never try to correct him. He knows just how much she meant to him. When they got to the hospital, they rushed through the doors to the nurses desk. 

“Excuse me, we’re looking for a Y/N L/N. We got a call from this hospital.” EJ’s quick to speak, he knows Harry wouldn’t be as polite and would just demand the information from the nurse, and that’s not how they would get the information. 

The nurse types quickly and turns to look at them. 

“Yes she’s here, are you related?” She peers over her glasses, her eyes full of judgment and they both know that they look very inappropriate for the setting, much less like they’re related to her. Harry clears his throat before he answers. 

“Uh I’m her boyfriend, and this is just a close friend of mine who cares about her as well.” The nurse nods, a tight smile on her lips before she tells them that Harry can visit now and that EJ will have to visit later. Harry nods and rushes through the hospital as fast as he can without being stared at or escorted out. 

He reaches the room right as the doctor is about to head inside as well. 

“Excuse me, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.” He says and the doctor nods. 

“Well, I’m glad you could make it. She’s alive and stable, but I’m worried she has memory loss. The bullet managed to enter and exit relatively clean but there was still some damage caused by the bullet. We saved her, but I’m letting you know that the aftermath won’t be pretty. She has a high chance of seizures, there’s a chance she could be paralyzed and of course the memory loss.” Harry nods his head, listening intently and he clenches his fist.

He can’t believe this, the words bounce around in his head. He wants to cry, to scream. She doesn’t deserve this at all. He sighs, it’s filled with sorrow and sadness. 

“Okay.” It’s all he can manage to get out and the doctor nods before opening the door. Harry’s eyes immediately go towards her laying on the bed, her eyes opening slowly and her hair braided into one big braid, a patch of hair missing from where they had to operate but he’s sure they can figure a cute way to cover it. The sound of the machines beeping fills his ears, and the smell is something he wishes he couldn’t have to smell. It smells like medicine, like sadness, like she shouldn’t be here.  He hates this, it tugs at his heart and squeezes it at the same time. 

“Hi, Miss L/N. I’m Doctor Young, I’m here to check on you. You have a visitor as well.” The doctor speaks and Y/N turns her head to face him, her brows furrowed curiously. 

“Don’t try to force anything, if she doesn’t remember you it’s not your fault. It’ll take time or it just won’t come back at all,” The doctor whispers to Harry and he nods. He can’t help but to stare at her, to take in every detail. She looks different but the same, she lacks the usual happy glow she has whenever she’s around him, her lips are chapped and she looks tired. She looks so tired, and he hates it. He wants to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her forehead and let her rest properly, tell her that everything will be okay and he’ll protect her. 

He cautiously takes a step forward towards her and she doesn’t do anything. 

“Hi, Y/N. I missed you so much, I love you. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Harry says, he can already tell he’s gonna cry regardless of what happens. She just looks at him, her eyes unfocused and face blank of all emotion. Harry can feel the lump forming in his throat, fuck he hates this. He wants her to say something, anything. He wants her back. 

“I just want to say that life hasn’t been the same without you. You’re my everything and I need you, please come back to me baby.” He says as a tear falls down his cheek, this is his own personal hell, his karma he guesses. He has to take his own punishment, but it really just fucking sucks. She hums, her brows still furrowed in confusion. 

“‘M sorry.” She says softly, she’s staring straight at him and he wants to scream. She doesn’t know who he is. 

Months went by and many changes have happened. Harry stepped down from being Head Boss, gave the title to EJ and chose to only do bare minimum computer work for them. Y/N eventually regained a little of her memory back, not much but enough to know that Harry was a big part of her life and that he was dangerous - which led to her having a panic attack in the bathroom one night and he stored all of his guns away out of their apartment. He’s desperate to show her he’s capable of change, of not being this dangerous man that haunts her in her sleep. He hates whenever she flinches at his sudden movements and loud noises, a painful reminder that he’s the one that essentially ruined her life. 

He watches over her carefully, never leaving the house without him no matter how many times she argues that she’s fine and can take care of herself, accompanying her to all of her doctor’s appointments and physical therapy. He won’t let her out of his sight, he’s too scared of reliving that painful day and losing her for good. He tries not to hover though, he sees the annoyance flash through her eyes anytime he says he’s coming, she doesn’t necessarily want much to do with him at the moment even though she knows vaguely they had an intimate relationship before all of this. It’s just a hard change to battle with her own brain and only come up with blanks whenever she tries to remember anything. It’s exhausting and as much as she wants to hate Harry, she can’t bring herself too. A part deep down inside of her knows that she’s meant to love him fully and unconditionally. 

Over time, they both grew to love each other in the present instead of trying to fix what was broken in the past, it wouldn’t do anything other than cause annoyance and anger, arguments and misunderstandings. And whenever Y/N looks at Harry, she sees light, love. She feels a love that’s golden like daylight, warm like summer air, and a feeling of never ending happiness. She might be broken as some might call it, but she’s never felt so put together as she does now. She loves him, unconditionally and fully, just like she did before it all fell down. 

[nausikaaa]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday

thanks for the tags @thewholelemon @forabeatofadrum @roomwithanopenfire and @run-for-chamo-miles!

i'm still tinkering away at my wip Andromache's Child, but right now I can't find any new lines i think are good enough to be shared. i had joked to some friends months ago that my goal was to get it to 69K by 2025, because it sounds funnier than 70K, and it's currently on 65K, so i'm on track!

i missed posting yesterday as i'm dealing with the aftermath of Storm Darragh. our hay shed got damaged and we fixed that in the middle of the storm, as we can't afford for the hay to get wet and rot. the gate to my goat pen also came off it's hinges, but so far we've only tied a wicket in it's place. the worst bit was that my little goat Olive's eye got hurt, we think a bit of debris might have gotten blown into it, but with a wipe clean and some eye drops, it looks like no lasting damage was done, which is a relief. i post about my goats over on instagram and have videos showing her eye and the broken gate.

so for now, here's some from my OC wip, which is at a much lower word count. i mostly work on this when i need some variation, tbh, but these characters are such a comfort to write, very inspired by different facets of myself. you can click the #my ocs tag for more of them.

this is from the POV of Roman, who is the reader-insert, new to the magical village where the story is set, fresh off losing his dad to cancer and his own series of injuries and revelations as he's discovered he has magic of his own, but his dad hid it from him as it cost his mother her life.

In the months after my dad's death, I would wake up every morning with a sense of emptiness, and a moment later, reality would crash down on top of me, and I would break down into tears. Eventually the crying stopped, but the empty feeling remained.

Now, I blink awake and feel peaceful. I remember where I am and how I got here, and of course the grief remains, but I swing my legs out of bed and tread to the kitchen with a sense of having grown around it.

I make a cup of tea in the early morning light, letting the silence wash over me before the day can begin as I stir in the milk and sugar.

My tranquil mindset is shattered when I take a sip and spit it out on instinct at the taste of sour milk.

i'm a day late, but take these tags as hellos: @cutestkilla @prettygoododds @bookish-bogwitch @ic3-que3n @blackberrysummerblog @j-nipper-95 @youarenevertooold @larkral @that-disabled-princess @orange-peony @aristocratic-otter @alexalexinii @confused-bi-queer @shrekgogurt @comesitintheclover @raenestee @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @noblecorgi @shemakesmeforget @ileadacharmedlife @supercutedinosaurs @artsyunderstudy @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @ninemagicks @otherworldsivelivedin @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @carryonmylovelies and @meanjeansjeans

[fidothefinch]

set up for failure

For Whumptober, Day 3: set up for failure. Featuring Tim training as Robin, and Bruce being a bit of an asshole.

“Again.”

Tim obediently crossed his wrists behind his back. He took a deep breath as Bruce tied rope around his wrists, levelling his heart rate. It was tighter than last time. Sweat dripped into his eyes and soaked his shirt, but he didn’t dare complain.

He was the one who had begged for training, after all.

“Go.”

Read on Ao3 (or below the cut)

Tim reached with his fingers to trail along the rope, trying to find the knot. Seconds ticked by as he searched.

Bruce’s mouth ticked down into a frown.

“I can do it,” Tim insisted. When he realized he couldn’t reach the knot, he paused a moment to reassess. He could use his teeth, if he could get his hands to the front. But how to do that?

Bruce’s hard gaze on him ushered him to move.

He crouched and hunched over as far as he could go, shimmying backward to slip his knotted wrists under his butt. The stretch pulled at his already raw bare wrists, but once they were behind his bent knees, it was simpler to fold his legs through. (Finally, a good thing to come out of puberty hitting his arms before his legs.) From there, he found the knot with his teeth and began tugging it to the side. Then it was easier to reach the knot, and though it was tight, he made quick work of loosening it. Eighteen more seconds, and he was free.

“Done!” he exclaimed, holding the rope up to show it.

“One hundred eighty-seven seconds,” Bruce murmured, stopping the watch. Tim’s chest swelled, until Bruce continued with, “Not good enough.”

“It’s not?” he asked. It was a better time than he had made before. He absently felt along his bare wrists, which were smarting in the aftermath of two hours of escape practice.

“If you are serious about being Robin, you need to be better,” Bruce said. “Dick could get out in less than a minute.”

Tim thought there was something unfair about being compared to a world-class acrobat. But Jason hadn’t been able to get out that quickly, either.

And Jason was dead.

“Okay,” Tim said. “What do I need to do?”

Bruce studied him for a long moment. “Again.” He gestured for Tim to turn around.

Obediently, Tim turned his back, presenting his hands again. Bruce pulled the rope even tighter, this time. The skin burned. “I think it’s too tight,” Tim hissed.

“Anybody who is tying your hands is going to care more about keeping you subdued than protecting your circulation,” Bruce explained, monotone. “You have to expect the worst. Now, go.”

Tim’s fingers were already prickling. But he got to work, reaching for the knot. When that didn’t work, he tried to repeat his last trick. His hands were tied too tightly, though, and it didn’t allow him the flexibility to get them under his bottom. With trepidation, he realized he had lost feeling completely in his pinky fingers. “Bruce—”

“Figure it out.”

Right. Tim looked around the room. Bruce had never said he couldn’t use a tool. In fact, it’d been repeated over and over again that he had to pay attention to his surroundings and use his resources. His frantic scan revealed a Batarang, left on one of the work stations. Glancing briefly at Bruce to make sure this was within the boundaries of the exercise, and seeing no reaction, he jogged over and grabbed for it.

It took several tries to wrap his fingers around it. They felt like sausages, foreign to his body. Like his tongue felt when he ate ice cream too quickly. But grab it he did, and with some maneuvering, he angled one of the bladed wings up toward the rope. A little sawing, and one strand snapped. It was enough to shake the rest of it loose.

Tim raised his freed hands in tired victory. “Done,” he said. There was blood on his hands – he’d nicked himself with the blade, and hadn’t even felt it.

Bruce stopped the watch, but said nothing. His eyes didn’t leave the timer’s digital readout. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered. “We’re finished here.”

Tim dropped the rope. “We’re done? But—”

“I told you to clean up,” Bruce repeated, voice harsher this time.

Tim stepped backward at the force of the command. He sounded angry. “Wait, Bruce. I can do it!” Bruce had already turned and begun to walk away. Tim chased after him. “Just. Let me try again.”

Bruce did stop, but the look he gave Tim froze him in his tracks. He was talking to Batman here, not Bruce. “Do you know how many chances you get, when it really counts?”

“You just get one,” Tim confirmed. Shame heat his cheeks, but he pushed past the feeling. “That’s why I need practice.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The hairs on the back of Tim’s neck stood on end. But if Robin was at stake – if Batman was at stake – then he would do what he had to. He swallowed, and he was proud when his voice was steady as he answered, “Yes.”

There was a blur of movement, and Bruce suddenly had Tim’s arm twisted behind his back. He frog marched him over to the middle of the gym mats, where he none-too-gently pushed him to his stomach. Tim barely caught himself with his free hand, which was quickly snapped up to his back again.

“The scenario,” Bruce said, as he tied Tim’s wrists together. The last pull yanked the rope tight, and Tim bit his tongue as he felt skin tear. “You’ve been captured by an enemy and left in an empty warehouse.”

Bruce folded one of Tim’s legs back at the knee and roughly removed his shoe and sock. “You were beaten, and now you are concussed, you have a collapsed lung, and your left leg is broken.”

Tim’s pulse fluttered in his neck. “Bruce,” he grunted, as the tail of the rope was pulled tight around his left ankle. Bruce wasted no time in removing and tossing away Tim’s other shoe, leaving him in only his sweaty T-shirt and sweat pants.

Tim kicked instinctively, testing the slack of the rope, but it only pulled on his wrists, jerking his back into an arch.

“Smoke fills the room, so you cannot see,” Bruce continued, his voice tight. Tim’s vision was suddenly obscured by a cloth, which was fastened around his head. “And you cannot breathe.” Another cloth, this one stuffed into his mouth and taped into place.

“Batman isn’t going to make it,” Bruce whispered, running a gentle hand through Tim’s hair.

Tim froze at the frozen touch and the tone of Bruce’s voice.

“Go.”

Bruce’s hands left Tim’s head, and Tim immediately lost track of him in the cavernous space.

“Mrrrs?” he called, words horribly muffled.

There was no answer.

Tim tested the grip of the ropes around his wrists. They were tight enough to bite into his skin, and the knot was too far for his fingers to reach. His anxiety rose. How far away had Bruce gone? He wouldn’t just leave him down here, would he?

His teeth clenched over the rag in his mouth. He needed to focus.

A faint beep caught his attention as he was trying to lever himself to his knees. He didn’t pay it much notice – plenty of things in the Cave beeped and hummed and whizzed – until it repeated. Blind, Tim tilted his head toward the noise. It was a small chirp, repeating regularly.

A countdown.

Adrenaline washed through him. Sitting up now, he was able to reach the knots around his ankle that would free his left leg. Simultaneously, he rubbed his face against his shoulder, hoping it would catch the edge of the tape on his cheek and peel at least parts back.

He was still doing both when the timer chirped two fast beeps and fell silent.

“You’re dead,” Bruce stated, voice grave. He stood directly behind Tim, who startled at his proximity. Warm fingers dragged the blindfold away.

“Go home, Tim.”

Tim didn’t argue, this time.

[polizwrites]

Aftermath of a Scrap

This is a fill for today’s @flashfictionfridayofficial  prompt [#FFF301 What Happened Here?] along with my @sweetspicybingo  Beginnings Bingo square B2 - first fight.  

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Rating: General Pairing: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers,  Steve Rogers & Sarah Rogers Tags: Pre-War, young!Bucky, young!Steve, new friends, minor injury Summary:  Bucky had only wanted to make sure his new friend made it home okay after the scrap he’d been in.  He didn’t expect to have to deal with his mother.  Word Count: 321 words

“And what happened here, Steven Grant Rogers?”  His new pal’s ma, who was wearing a rumpled nurse’s uniform,  gave them both a stern look as she motioned them into the third floor walkup.   “And who is this?” 

“James Barnes, ma’am.”  Bucky replied.  “I live over on Tillary.  I saw your son getting beat up and I jumped in to try to help.” 

Miz Rogers sighed, but before she could say anything else, Steve broke in.  “They’d tied a firecracker to a little kitten’s tail and were getting ready to light it, Ma!” he exclaimed, hands balling up into fists at the memory.  “What else could I do?” 

She shook her head. “I swear, sometimes I think you go looking for trouble. Come here.”  She took Steve by his bony shoulder and led him over to the kitchen sink, where she wet a cloth and started dabbing at her son’s bloody nose.  “You too, James,” she called over her shoulder.  “I’m sure your mother won’t be happy to see you looking like that.” 

“No, ma’am.”   He’d been planning to sneak back into his room using the fire escape and  clean up as best he could before his ma or pa could catch sight of him.   But it was too late for that now; Miz Rogers clearly wasn’t going to let him go home without checking him over first.  

Once she was done with Steve, she looked Bucky up and down, then took another damp cloth and handed it to him.  “Wipe your face,” Miz Rogers instructed, “then give me your jacket.  You’ve torn one of the seams, but I can fix it in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” 

“You don’t need to do that, ma’am.”  Bucky could see how tired she was;  she’d probably been caring for patients all day and he hated to make more work for someone he barely knew. 

“We Rogers,”  she replied firmly, “always pay our debts.”   

[sindirimba]

if i were writing the sequel i'd stick somewhat close to the comics but changed and rearranged and adjusted to my preferences.

this got a little long but i had to play around and write all this out.

open on car chase as the group runs from the cops in two cars, nile and andy in one, joe and nicky in the other. quick flashback to what they'd just done, rescue a group of women from traffickers. back to present, joe and nicky do the bridge thing because andy is mortal now and we have to work around that, GOD. anyway there's a cute scene where andy and nile look over the hill and then joe like sticks an arm out of the crash and is like, we're good. TITLE CARD.

next scene in paris. immediate aftermath of booker discovering quỳnh in his apartment. quỳnh calmly asks him where the others are. he says he doesn't know. quỳnh doesn't like this answer. suddenly vague thugs come in and grab booker. quỳnh demands to know where andy is but booker has a correct vibe check and once again refuses to tell her. quỳnh knocks him out, she and the thugs leave with their hostage.

next moose and his team looking over the crime scene the guard left of the trafficking headquarters. weird crime scene. things don't really make sense if you think about it. moose notices some weird bit of evidence, like some old-ass trinket one of the guard dropped or something when he gets a call from a man who introduces himself as james copley. says he has some information regarding the string of massacres he's been investigating.

SCENE: quỳnh's boat. she's watching the sunset. emotional moment. thugs bring out booker with pillow case and hands tied. she turns, pillow case is removed, quỳnh interrogates him again. focus has shifted to andy but he won't tell her anything. refuses to. with cool anger she has him collared and dunked. cut to...

nile wakes up with a gasp, still seeing flashes of booker drowning as she calms down from her nightmare. whispers "quỳnh". she grabs her phone, checks her text thread with booker, sees he hasn't responded to her last one from days ago ("you doing okay today?") and immediately dials andy's current number.

team meeting. she's rallied the team together, tells them what she saw. copley provides intel on probable locations. nicky says his 'suffering in the past does not justify the torment of another in the future' bit here because i like it. when leaving the meeting nile meets moose on his way to meet up with copley and they have some cute flirtation that gives nile a little mental break from the action of the movie she finds herself in. copley comes out and is like, 'mr king i have the research we discussed' and copley and nile share a sly little 'copley's doing clean up for us hehe' look. shot of moose watching nile leave, clearly enamored already.

they meet up at the docks* and find quỳnh and booker, they take booker back into the group in a quick but touching moment. hugs probably. quỳnh injures andy after a brief fight in some minor way and realizes she's mortal in a heartbreaking moment as they stare at each other. they have a full fight where quỳnh fights much more sloppily and passionately, they KISS, but then quỳnh runs and leaves the others to escape.

(*copley IS wearing the fisherman hat from the comics)

time for pizza in hotel scene as a brief interlude between intensity. booker thanks nile for coming to get him. it's all nice, lots of gif fodder all around. nile says something like, welcome back, book. booker expresses disbelief. joe echoes the 'we're not meant to be alone' line. emotional momentssss. maybe more hugs, let's get a little sloppy with it.

andy's distracted though. she eventually says she has to go do something, she'll be back in a bit. enjoy the pizza.

andy broke from the team for the moment to track down quỳnh. finds her on a dark street, almost vacant of other people. they have basically the same conversation as in the comics, about hope and hopelessness, but with even more added pessimism thanks to andy's loss of immortality. they share a cigarette. quỳnh says something about having waited so long to find her again only to have her be slipping away already. calls mortals vermin, reminds andy what they did to them. why defend them, andromache? andy tries to argue for optimism, newly inspired by nile, but quỳnh's pull is too strong and she is left alone as quỳnh walks away. she's lost and conflicted.

scene of nile slipping out of a hotel room after having hooked up with moose. she's in a good mood as she walks down the street when quỳnh steps out in front of her. she goes on immediate defense. quỳnh hints at secrets in andy's past, then leaves nile confused.

group meets up again to discuss what to do next re: quỳnh. andy is quiet as copley lays out his research on what she's been up to. how she's been getting money since escaping the ocean. it's nothing good and nile expresses distaste. andy says something about desperate times. nile, taken aback, reminds her of their principles. andy scoffs. nile stares for a moment, then asks her about what quỳnh hinted at. andy hedges until giving in and confirming the code of hammurabi thing, dismisses it as nothing mattering, people are shit. nile fights back against this, tells her it's their responsibility to keep fighting. andy calls people vermin. nile lays out the choices: her way or quỳnh's. andy folds in on herself, says she can't do this anymore. she tried but she can't. quỳnh coming back showed her. nile says sounds like she's made her choice then. gathers the guys together. nile tries one more time to get her to come with them but andy says nothing, just stares into the distance. they leave her alone to ruminate in the dark.

then, the hotel door opens. quỳnh's silhouette as andy looks up. light shines down on her from outside. quỳnh says, "they left you". andy says, "they did". quỳnh says, "i will not, andromache" and offers her hand. after a moment, andy takes it. END MOVIE.

[ijustwanttoreadthestories]

Idea I had for Stardew Valley while talking to Mom:

The player either being a distant cousin, descendent, or relative of the Farmer that inherited the farm from Grandad.

Maybe the Farmer gave up after not being able to reach 100%, or maybe they just decided to move on.

The house is fully upgraded but stands derelict, rooms crumbling and in need of repair.

The farmstead is still tilled, crops persisting in random places, even machines in some spots, maybe a shed with some functional kegs and casks still.

All the upgrades around town that the farmer paid to have put in are still there-shortcuts, upgraded minecarts, the bus is still running. There's a proper school now, and the kids are all grown up, doing their own things around town.

Lewis is gone, having at some point run off with his money and cut his losses with the town. A depressed Marnie was left behind with her Ranch, animals that used to belong to the farmer now wandering her paddocks and making themselves as at home as one can be away from the farm many of them grew up on.

Sebastian, too, moved away, he's long gone, but maybe some of the video games you can play throughout the game were made by him.

In the process of him moving out, it sparked a fight with his mother and her husband, who himself ended up leaving after he decided he had studied everything he needed to in the valley, and was sick of being the singular point of contention in the house. The player only ever meets Demetrius in passing when he visits Maru for the holidays, his welcome always razor thin.

All the adults that were around when the Farmer used to be there are older, tired. There's more people, newer folks that moved in as the city expanded due to it's fane as such a beautiful valley beach town.

Vincent helps Sam and a few curators out around the museum, helping with many animal inspired displays.

And you, you're the one that the Farmer chose among their family to leave the keys to the farm, and all the objects that helped them around the Valley. They told you ti ask the Wizard whenever you need help, as well as Robin, the carpenter up the mountain.

In befriending her and her daughter(who stayed behind in the aftermath of her brother and father leaving), you gain the ability to pay for lessons in carpentry and robotics, allowing you to slowly fix up the house, the barns, the coops, the sheds and other buildings around the farm. Mother and daughter are now a perfect duo, their expertise making them the go-to to fix anything around the valley, or on the island, that breaks.

Your job is to bring the farm back to life, even in the process perhaps drawing back one or two of the other people who left the valley over time. Explore the valley, explore new areas that opened up with the exploration efforts of the Farmer before you, explore the island, and new islands.

Work with Willy, now decrepit and unable to sail his old fishing boat, to plot new areas of the sea where new fish have arisen. Fix up the boat, upgrade it into a strong sailing trawler that can weather the seas as you explore beyond the valley's shores. Find islands that were long forgotten about, meet sailors and islanders of far flung islands as you upgrade the ship to sail further and faster.

The things you can do are greatly expanded, with your predecessor having already done so much. You're free to work the farm, explore...

Carpentry and Technology/Robotics are of course new skill trees in addition to your other five skillsets of fishing, foraging, ranching, combat and farming.

Once you reach a high enough level in carpentry and technology, you can even expand your repaired greenhouse, allowing for more year round plants to be grown.

Machines to clean up driftwood on islands can eventually be made, clearing littered beaches. More island farms are to be found, allowing the freedom to have different farms for different purposes. You want an island farm just for beehouses? Once just for this crop or that? Alright.

Machines that can be used to expand your plottable land on certain farms can also eventually be made, allowing you to slowly turn untillable soil into farmable land over the course of a season.

Maybe you even have a Magic skill tree, studying under the wizard to use magic to help with your efforts. Teleportation becomes a new favorite ability, as opposed to having teleportation obelisks taking up valuable space...

All the while, you're piecing together bits of the Farmer before you's story. Why did they leave? Where did they go?

New romanceables abound thanks ti the expanded travel terrain. Befriend and then romance your favorite potential partner.

This entire thing could even be a sequel to Stardew Valley

Perhaps, even, you can, in the beginning, choose from one of your Stardew Valley saves and let the game choose how decrepit the farm is in the beginning.

All the additional exploration options are surprises, as it seems at first that you are just fixing the farm up, planning to leave it to a townsperson or give it to a family member.

But, something makes you want to stay, and make it your own.

[ridiasfangirlings]

K Project in Mafia!au ?

Imagine an AU where the characters are members of rival families, rising in the aftermath of a major turf war that reshaped the control of the underworld. Red Family head Kagutsu went on a rampage and killed a bunch of people in his attempt to take over the entire underworld, only for the majority of his people to be wiped out by police action. Habari Jin of the Blue Family attempted to stop him but was caught in the crossfire and mercy killed by his second in command, who then disappeared into the night and claimed he was leaving the mafia forever. In the aftermath both the Red and Blue groups are consumed by internal warfare as different factions try to take over, on the Red side I imagine Mikoto being like a candidate for new family head and it pisses him off, he’s not interested. But the only alternative is death, and with help from his supporters Kusanagi and Totsuka they manage to take down any of Mikoto’s rivals and install Mikoto as new family head. Kusanagi then strategically wipes out anyone who could be a danger to Mikoto and they try to rebuild from the ground up, taking in a lot of young guys from the weaker factions who are most likely to be loyal to the new family head. 

Meanwhile the Blue family initially manages to scrape by with Habari’s third in command Shiotsu taking over, but there’s internal strife because in order to survive he’s allied with the most powerful mafia family in the area, the Golds, who run everything from politics to local economic affairs. Having the protection of the Golds keeps them alive but they also have to basically bow their heads to the Gold family in return and do whatever members of the Golds ask, even if those things are against what Habari’s personal code was. Munakata is the child of some tiny branch family with no power and isn’t considered at all to be a candidate to lead the family, however while all this infighting is going on he’s quietly making key alliances and gathering power. When Shiotsu decides to step down from his position Munakata appears as the unexpected candidate to lead, older heads of more powerful branch families try to stop him but underneath their noses Munakata has consolidated more power than any of them. Munakata amicably cuts ties with the Golds and proceeds to clean house, installing his own people in powerful positions and basically remaking the group from the ground up. 

The Red family hears about this and Kusanagi is concerned but Mikoto just shrugs, later when he and Munakata finally meet for the first time Mikoto returns from their meeting with a few bruises and a wide grin (which makes Kusanagi even more concerned). Mikoto says that guy’s an idiot but he isn’t stupid, the Blues aren’t going to restart the same bloody conflict that led to Kagutsu’s demise as long as the Reds don’t start it first. Which isn’t to say he’s going to let the Blues have their way either — skirmishes between the families become common and Mikoto doesn’t pull his punches at all. But Munakata is always very careful to be sure such things are handled away from any collateral damage or innocent civilians, and he does so enjoy having ‘productive dialogue’ (read: fistfights) with the Red family head. 

Yata and Fushimi are both outsiders who join the Red family after getting dragged into a conflict with the secretive but dangerous Green family, Yata thinks that the Red family is amazing because they keep the underworld in line, sure they’re technically criminals but it’s all for the good of the people like real heroes. Fushimi thinks this is stupid and he hates that Yata only has eyes for Mikoto now, talking like they’re a real family. Maybe Niki once did like weapons deals for the mafia before he died and so Fushimi has always had a low opinion of them, he thinks Yata’s being dangerously naive. Of course when Munakata offers Fushimi a chance to join his family — a place where they don’t care about the petty politics of the underworld but where Munakata intends to use his power to bring real change to the world — Fushimi ends up agreeing and switching sides. Under Kagutsu such a thing wouldn’t have been allowed but Mikoto doesn’t stop him and doesn’t send out any orders for Fushimi to be punished as a traitor (something Totsuka idly mentions to an angry Yata, though it goes over Yata’s head). 

Things start getting messy when this new group appears, calling themselves ‘Colorless,’ carrying out systematic attacks on all the other groups. No one is able to find out anything about them other than that they may be in an alliance with the Greens and they keep carrying out really flashy stunts that catch the attention of law enforcement, things like bombings and burning down the buildings of anyone who won’t pay them protection money. They’re also making attacks in broad daylight, like Munakata is nearly taken out by a sniper in the middle of the day while at lunch with a prominent businessman and he only survives thanks to one of his bodyguards taking the bullet for him. There’s internal worry that this will start back up the turf wars that decimated the Red and Blue families years ago, something which only becomes more likely when Totsuka is killed and his body dumped in front of Mikoto’s main residence one evening. Mikoto knows that going scorched earth could lead to a repeat of what happened to Kagutsu but if he doesn’t do anything he risks his position as family head becoming precarious, as the family has grown since he took over and outside of his inner circle a lot of the loyalty to him is based on his strength rather than himself. Munakata doesn’t want this to happen though and now it’s a race to see who can take down Colorless first before the whole city ends up ablaze. 

[thetrashbinseries]

— Fahrenheit Part Two ( bangchan x reader )

rated - mature | minors dni

parts - one, two, three

warnings - idol universe, name changed idols, mature themes, drug use, alcohol use, sexual themes, mentions of mental illness, slight angst, explicit smut, 'daddy' and 'babygirl' petnames, light spanking, heated physical domestic argument

x x x

Jake shot me a text as soon as he touched down in his hotel, leaving me to navigate the aftermath of our little gathering solo. I silently cleaned up the traces of the night, letting my thoughts swirl in the quiet aftermath. Shouldn't I be on cloud nine? Chris, I assumed, had already landed by now, maybe snagging his stuff from the baggage claim. Why the resistance to me picking him up? Couldn't he save some cash and avoid those Uber headaches? As I mulled over Jake's words from our earlier chat, a wave of guilt washed over me. If someone messed with my career, I'd probably cut ties too. 

But did it have to be face-to-face? 

Suddenly, two knocks jarred me, throwing my dogs into their usual frenzy of barks. Now? It felt too soon, like breaking a speed record from airport to doorstep, factoring in landing, baggage, and Uber waits. My motion light, unnoticed until now, flickered on as I was lost in thought. My palms got a little clammy as I fished out my phone, checking for messages from a friend dropping by. But all my friends were back in my hometown. 

Unscheduled visits are a rarity out here, that’s part of the reason why I picked such an isolated home. 

Scrolling through my phone, the doorbell rang out, setting my pets into a louder commotion. Activating the security camera app, I saw Chris on the screen—dark hoodie, black beanie, and chill gray sweats. Hands in his pockets, a visible exhale, like he'd been holding his breath. Just one piece of luggage, small enough to be a carryon. Skipping baggage claim altogether, I guessed. 

Maybe he didn't want to risk airport paparazzi, but at this hour, it'd be a ghost town anyway. 

I unlocked the door, slower than planned, giving it a cautious swing open. Stepping back, I left room for him to enter, the question of how to react buzzing in my head. Hug him? Kiss him? Do a little happy dance? God this is awkward. Chris sniffed, a hint of red on his nose, and began shedding his shoes and beanie, shaking out his curly hair. He looked wiped, but it had been ages since I'd seen him without the makeup mask.    His eyes told the tale of tiredness, the faint shadow under barely-there brows, and the shifts in his skin tone—all untouched by the glam squad. Even a touch of facial hair peeked through, a secret sign of the real guy behind the polished pretty boy image, something he religiously stayed on top of. All the things that make him very human.  The things not many people get to see. 

"What changed?" I threw the question at him, arms crossed in the entryway. Our eyes connected for the first time since he rolled in. I caught a flicker in his right eye, a giveaway of stress and insomnia. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, a nervous move, just enough to reveal a hint of his dimple near his mouth's corner. 

Undeterred, I pressed on, "Channie—" 

His eyebrows pulled together instinctively, a tough look in his eyes. "Don't call me that," he shot back, a stern expression etched on his face. 

Frustration bubbled up, my voice amped up involuntarily, control slipping away. 

"What the fuck is your problem? What? Did you catch a red-eye just to come argue with me?" 

"Yes! I caught a red-eye fucking flight to—"    Chris cut himself off mid-sentence, sucking in air sharply through his teeth, muttering something under his breath in Korean. He ran his hand down his face, eyes closed, releasing a breath before locking eyes with me again. The anger lingered, but it was transforming into something I couldn't quite put my finger on. 

I could feel hot tears threatening, but I held them back, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, refusing to show any weakness. Was this the end? 

"Of course, I hopped on a flight to have it out with you. Isn't that what you wanted?"    “Don’t you gaslight me Christopher Bang, I’m not your little fucking fans–” 

He looked exasperated, hands out, "What do my fans have to do with this?! You said it's simple, am I coming or not? I'm here, just like you wanted, because it's all about you, isn't it?" 

I turned away, striding off, the red haze building within me. I wanted to lay into him for talking out the side of his neck like this, but I wouldn't stoop to that level. His voice echoed down the hall. 

"Yeah, walk away. It's your specialty—running away." 

I halted, closing my eyes, back turned to him, grappling with the urge. I fought it hard; he was on the brink of hitting below the belt. Logic eluded me at this moment. 

"I'm going to smoke before I physically violate you." 

Attempting to walk away again, his footsteps echoed behind me. Chris wasn't the type to follow for an argument—that was typically my role. I expected him to detour to the kitchen for a drink or something, anything other than what he actually did. His hand seized my forearm, yanking me hard enough to turn me three-quarters around. I saw red, wind knocked out of me as my back slammed into the wall, caged between his big, loud hands thudding against the wall beside my head. A flinch—a moment of confusion. Had he struck me? 

Quickly assessing, no parts of my body ached except between my shoulder blades from the impact. 

Breathing heavier than anticipated, Chris mirrored the sentiment. 

"Physically violate me, then," he uttered, his voice dangerously low, just above a whisper. My body was confused, my brain a tangled mess. His intense gaze bore into my face, forcing me to look away. He tilted his head, compelling eye contact once more. 

"It's not rocket science, Y/N." 

The phrase echoed from our earlier phone argument, reigniting my hostility. I raised my head, meeting his eyes with a narrowed gaze. "I hate you," I snarled, trying to slip underneath his arm to free myself. Chris wasn't having it; he gripped my wrist behind my back, pressing my chest against the wall. His muscular frame kept me in place, his chest against my back. I twisted my wrist, but he tightened his hold. His breath grazed my shoulder, his words so close to my ear it felt like he was feeding them straight into my brain. 

"I hate you too, baby," he murmured. His free hand ghosted the tendrils of hair that had escaped my messy ponytail, tender and gentle unlike the firm grip on my wrist. As his fingers swept the hair away, soft lips pressed against my skin, eliciting a sigh from my lips. Each kiss left thorns of heat, moving along my neck, down to my shoulder. 

"I hate you," I repeated, losing my edge. 

"Mmm, shut up—I know," Chris replied.    Finally, he releases me, his hands finding their way to my waist beneath my baggy sweatshirt. Despite being in my home for a few minutes, his touch is still cold against my warmed skin. I feel a shiver as my nipples harden, and he seems to sense it, cupping them, squeezing. My knees almost buckle as I lean back, my head perfectly resting on his shoulder. Our bodies intertwine, fitting together like a perfect puzzle piece. His fingers pinch the pebbled flesh, drawing a moan from me and an audible sigh from him. 

He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and I can feel his hardness against my backside. It's not a gradual thing; he's already rock stiff, hips grinding into me as his hands explore my body with a passionate messiness. 

What were we arguing about again?    Lust swirls, making me dizzy with how good my body feels. My eyes lose focus and regain it with every recovery breath as he squeezes at the extra padding on my hips and waist. No part of my body goes untouched, and I try to shake off my reservations.     No, that was a hang-up of mine.    Christopher Bang is here to touch, lick, and squeeze every inch that belongs to him. 

A tap on my hip brings me back to reality—a gentle reminder between us whenever things heat up in unconventional places. 

Against-the-wall activities are actually pretty uncomfortable in real life. 

Who knew? 

He takes my hand, and I follow him like an excited puppy, almost stumbling over myself to reach his body once we get to the couch. It's my turn now; my hands have a mind of their own too, you know. 

Such a soft face without makeup, I'd almost forgotten the hardness of his body—had it become even more solid? My hands run over his abdomen, feeling something different—less lean, more meaty. Usually, I go straight for what's mine, but now I'm curious. Gripping the bottom of his hoodie, I can sense the muscle shirt underneath, so I yank them both off, the scent of his body wash, cologne, and deodorant hitting me all at once, etching the experience into my mind on nearly every sensory level, except for... 

Taste. 

As his clothes drop to the floor with a muffled thud on the carpet, he turns to face me. His skin is less milky, more sandy tan, and wheat-colored under my warm lights, unlike the artificial ones he's usually bathed in. He must've soaked up the sun in LA, and I can still see it reddening in the places where blood has surged the quickest. 

He's completely under the spell of carnal sensuality—deep in the well, unable to see anything around him, becoming the parts of himself he wouldn't dare confront in the daylight. I notice because I pay attention to things like that—I see the way he looks at me, as if I'm his most treasured plaything. His mannerisms change, slower, with certainty in every touch. He says things you wouldn't dare repeat once he's back to his Earth self, lest he deny, deny, deny, laughing loudly overtop of you, or cringing away from embarrassment. 

Yes, as I drop slowly to my knees, watching him, I see the way he stands in his masculinity, divine, a god in his own right. Just when I think the moment can't get any hotter or I might combust, I hear him—a puff of air through his nose, a lazy, almost entertained, but not quite—chuckle. His lip quirks ever so slightly upwards. 

"You hate me?" 

Heat radiates from my body; I'm certain I'm letting off steam at this point. I feel it, especially in my face, fingers wrapped in the waistband of his sweatpants, hanging loosely as I look down, unable to maintain eye contact, feeling regret building up in me. I can tell by the way he says it that he never believed it—but still... 

"I didn't think so," Chris' voice answers the unspoken questions in my head. His fingers graze the bottom of my chin, urging me to look at him. "Look at me while you do it." 

My engine roars to life without hesitation. I tighten my grip on his sweats, yanking them down with determination. He kicks them off, backing up to sit on the couch, but I'm not waiting. I take the caramel-colored, thick head of his dick between my lips, halting his retreat. The sweetness of his precum floods my mouth, turning bitter as it reaches the back of my tongue and throat. Flattening my tongue against the bottom of his girthy shaft, I open my mouth, letting him rub his sensitive, unsheathed tip against the warm, back wall of my throat. 

Obediently watching him. 

He likes that, making it clear by placing his hand on the back of my head, urging me to stay while he thrusts further, pulling out just a centimeter to plunge into my throat. Small gasps escape his lips every time my gag reflex spasms around him. I run out of breath, choking backward, and he lifts his hand, allowing me to right myself. 

"C'mon, babygirl—thaaaat's it—fuck." Chris grips what's left of my ponytail, guiding me back onto his dick, all the way to the back, with no true mercy. A few more tiny thrusts, and I'm coughing again, my mouth and jaw drenched with slippery saliva mixed with the constant ooze of his precum. He glances behind him, ensuring his seating, then lets himself fall back onto the couch, hand tangled in my thick hair as I wrap both hands around his cock—a pretty, deep brown, a stark contrast to his body tone. 

When I start focusing on stroking his sensitive tip, he drops his head back, emitting the most delicious groan. Pulling back on his sheath, dribbling spit onto his tip, I begin jerking him again, taking advantage of the smoothness the extra skin provides. I follow with my mouth, taking in whatever my hands can't reach, and when I start with the suction, another groan escapes him—this time, broken, his hips rising a little off the couch, encouraging me to keep going. 

"Oh God—that feels fucking—incredible; don't you—fucking stop."    His chest moves with each gasp as I twirl my hand a certain way. I try to stay consistent, but it's been a while, and my neck strains from the bobbing, lips growing numb. But fuck, he's so hot; I don't wanna stop. 

I engage in a slow rhythm, savoring the silky feeling of his dickhead against my swollen mouth and eager lips, pressing loud, wet kisses against it. He's lifted his gaze to watch, and I seize the opportunity to run my tongue along his length, exploring the prominent ridge beneath. 

"Oh my God—" His head drops back, words and vowels drawn out in ecstasy. 

I lean back on my heels, hands taking charge, a twist here, a firm grasp there. When I lean forward and start slurping again, with all intentions of taking this man’s soul—his hips withdraw, and he halts me with a breathless, "Fuck," sounding like he just finished a sprint. "You almost made me cum," He taps my shoulder twice, a signal we both understand, prompting another switch in our silent dance. 

I’m more than happy to obey, feeling how wet I’ve become when he pulls my sweats off as I climb onto the couch on my knees, my arms resting on the head of it that rests against the wall.   I can feel his hands, now warm, even hot almost against my ass as he spreads me open.  I curl my fingers into the couch with anticipation, and then comes the feeling of both of his fingers entering me first.  I let out an eager moan, reveling in the relief and satisfaction of being touched by someone so skillfully.  He’s curling two fingers, stroking my spot, I can feel his pinky and index splayed against my juicy, wet pussy lips.  The filthy sounds amplify as he increases the pressure, prompting me to move against his touch, the base of his hand firmly against my asshole. 

“Mmm, baby, you know how much daddy loves to eat this pretty little cunt—but the way you’re clenching around my fingers, fuck I—I gotta feel you.”  Chris slows down, he speaks again, reminding me of his proposition, “Is that alright babygirl? Hm? Can daddy fuck you now?” 

“Mhm, Mhm!” I can’t think straight, why was he asking? Of course he could fuck me ten ways from Tuesday in a handstand for all I care!  Just— 

“Fuck me.” I beg, unsure if I meant to finish that thought out loud. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” The weight of his knee presses onto my leg, his foot securing his position against my other thigh, his thumb against my asshole as I begin to feel his dick stretching me open, eliciting the weirdest, downright feral sound from deep within my gut. He’s raw, and I swore I could feel every vein, every ridge, and his head passing through every sensitive quadrant of my pussy until his balls tickled the lips covering my entrance.  It was then that my walls squeeze around him, desperate to feel him move.  I could almost make myself cum just like that—I begin moving against him, caught in the intensity of the moment, like a cat in heat, and he’s so deep, I feel him in places that make my eyes flutter. 

Thumb leaving my sensitive hole, Chris takes firm hold of the sides of my tummy, rutting into my heat, sending a shiver through my spine that puts me into an arch. He seizes the chance to hold the front of my neck, adjusting me for a slower, more profound connection, exploring every inch of me.  It takes a lot of stamina in the legs for this—of course he’s got that.  I rest my hand on his thigh beside me, feeling the firmness, digging my nails in as I grit my teeth together, the pleasure overwhelming me as our bodies, beginning to get slick with the fluids between us, rock desperately against one another. 

I'm released, and I lurch forward, barely snagging myself on the top of the couch. Just then, I sense it against my left hip— 

 tap tap 

My vision snaps back into focus as I hear him breathing as heavily as I am, flopping down onto the couch. I take the lead, hovering over him. We both gaze as his dick is swallowed up by my pussy, inch by beautiful inch.    I let out an incoherent sound, a mix of a grunt and a moan, my arm draped over his shoulder, fingers entwined in the curls at the nape of his neck as he thrusts. My touch shifts from gentle exploration to grabbing fistfuls of his thick, silky, curly hair at the base of his skull. Using my knees for stability, I sync with his rhythm, adding those addictive hip circles that set every part of me ablaze like a pinball machine. The alarms blare, the lights flash – this, right here, is my favorite way to connect with Chris, where we're on an equal playing field. 

As we delve deeper into each other's gaze, the intensity heightens, but there's always a moment when one of us surrenders, head lolling back, eyes rolling together. His hands work my hips in rhythmic circles, like a baker kneading dough on a board. Yet, I sense when he's had his fill as he takes back control, lifting me up and snapping his hips into me at speeds that defy reality. My cries become a constant stream, shameless screams of his name, erratic and desperate. 

"Yeah, thaat's it—"    I can feel my walls softening as my body begins to literally feel like it's filling up with water that’s threatening to consume me any second now.  I’m gasping, trying to form the words to tell him I’m almost there, that he can’t stop, or even slow up, he’s got to keep going, I’m certain if I don’t get there, I’m going to die. 

“D-Daddy, don’t—” I can’t say anything else, I can only hope he gets it. 

And he does. 

Chris always gets it. 

“Gonna stop---all your bitching, hm?”  He’s holding my waist to allow me the freedom to focus on my impending orgasm. “Gonna let me do my fucking job from now on, yeah?”    “Mm--yeah!”      “Say it,”    “Chris!” I whimper in protest, “I’mma s-stop fucking---bitching!” 

“That’s my girl.”    He slaps my ass, sending a shock through my body, but before I can recover, he strikes again, and again, and my body becomes quickly hyperstimulated. I start letting go, my breath held hostage in my chest as Chris lets out a stream of curses, hitting his peak and spilling inside of me.  I can feel it, it’s carrying my climax out even further, and when I finally collapse, with him still inside, I can feel my entire body buzzing, and I’m muttering something that doesn’t make sense to myself or him. 

We're both catching our breath, heart rates settling down, but Chris finds joy in this aftermath. He chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my lower back, exploring the dimples above my tailbone.    "What are you saying?" he asks. 

"I love you. I love you, and I never want us to breakup. Ever," I say, more composed now, my cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, the pull of sleep threatening to take over like it always did after a proper orgasm. His arms wrap around me, securing them with a grasp on his own wrist. I feel a sense of security. 

"I love you too. I didn't come all this way to break up with you," he reassures me. I lift my head, likely with my hair wild and untamed. 

"Really, Channie?" 

He laughs.  The nickname is cleared for use again. He kisses my lips.

"Of course not. Why would I cross the country just to break up with someone? That seems like a lot of...effort," Chris continues. He tilts his head back to gaze at me, tucking his chin in. Once he sees my focused attention, he looks ahead as he talks. "I want to be with you, or I wouldn't have made you my girl—" 

"You didn't," I interrupt, sitting up. I pull away from his lap, wrapping the knitted throw over myself as I nestle into the couch beside him. 

He looks puzzled, "I didn't? Really?" He shrugs, raising his brows. "I always thought you were." 

The relief floods in. 

So, we were on the same page. 

Curiosity takes over, and I inquire, "When did you start thinking of me as your girlfriend?" 

"Mm." Chris looks up in thought before locking eyes with me again. "The first time we had sex." 

I'm taken aback by the memory. It wasn't a smooth ride, ended up in a heated argument. "When I got caught outside the building after our studio session? Chris, you almost jeopardized your whole career after that." 

Chris tugs at the blanket's end, and I hand it over. As he slides underneath, he takes my foot into his lap, rubbing circles into the center. "That's not how it works—don't get me wrong, it was... difficult. It still is, which is why I couldn't just decide to show up when you asked. I've been allowed, by contract, to date for a few years now." 

"Then why are we sneaking around like you're ashamed of me or something?" I hug the blanket tighter, feeling exposed. 

Chris seems thrown by this revelation. "Ashamed of you for what? You're beautiful, talented. I don't—did I give you that impression, babygirl?" He shakes his head. "I'm protecting you. You've just been signed to a major label, and we've got a good thing going, yeah? Why mess it up now when we can wait for things to level out for the both of us?" 

He makes some valid points. It's reassuring to hear he's not ashamed of me. I start to feel the familiar peace his presence brings. It's been four months since we were last in the same country, let alone the same city. I grew impatient after he came in on business and then left again, making excuses not to see me. That's why this time, I escalated it and added pressure. 

"Level out, what does that mean?" I ask. Chris sits back, mindlessly running his thumb over the pads of my toes while looking at the coffee table's candle. 

"I think we'll know once we both get there." He looks up to me. "I'm sorry, babygirl. I wish I had a better answer for you right now." He sounds sincere enough. I believe him. He's given me no reason not to trust him before, right? His fingers stop on my soles, and he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to see something better. He leans forward, picking up the knitted beanie near the ashtray. 

My heart drops when I realize what it is. 

But why? I didn't do anything wrong.    RIght? 

"This new?" He turns it around on his hand. "Where'd you get it? I like it." 

Caught in the moment, I blurt, "A gift." I reach forward, taking it before he can spot any stray hair that doesn't match mine. He's not checking that closely, at least not yet. I turn it over in my hands. "I've been keeping it cold in the house, so it helps keep me warm," I say, tossing it onto the beanbag chair. I turn to him, nudging his shoulder as I scoot closer. 

"Sooo, how was KCON?"  - fin