#and of course it is a big problem when it is triggering someone else and u cant turn it off bc thats how ingrained it is in you
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klemen-tine · 1 year ago
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Glass Bones and Paper Skin
Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader
More Platonic Bruce x Reader than Batfam, but they are mentioned and will have a bigger role in the future.
Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect
Just a reminder for everyone, your bodies are perfect and beautiful! Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.
Part 2
Part 3
Blinding lights and hundreds of eyes are enough to thwart people from the runway. It makes people stumble, trip, or even run from it. Their mind focuses on if they mess up, the world will see. Their managers, agencies, everyone will forever refer to it when they ask them to walk for them again. 
They focus on their walk, the way the clothing either hugs or drapes off their bodies, how the shoes don’t fit, the way their hair is styled, and how the makeup can burn. They try not to focus on how their stomachs ache, how the heels cut into the thin skin on their feet, and that everyone in this room that is dressed and prepped, are equally or more or less beautiful than them. 
Y/N L/N seemed to be the topic of conversation at all of these events. A newer runway model who has been eating it up. From their first runway debut to this one, they have always left people in awe and dropping to their knees for more. It is hard to believe that they are only 18. Y/N has been a photoshoot model since 15, but on their birthday when they turned 18, they finally agreed to their agency’s desire to make them take on the runway. 
It was the best choice for their career. Y/N’s manager was the daughter of their mother’s manager, back when she was alive and used to do modeling. Her manager threw her own daughter at Y/N, and stated that they were the best people to work with because they know Y/N. Whether Y/N was cursed or not –they have yet to figure that out– has nearly the same exact features as their mother and the same ‘air.’ One that demanded everyone to pay attention to them, and is a natural for posing and had a natural strut. 
They’ve been right, and Y/N doesn’t know if it is because of them that they all made it this far. They knew what looked best on Y/N and what wouldn’t work. They knew which designers would adore them and which designers wouldn’t fit. 
Those who know Y/N though understand that the ‘air’ was only on the runways and photoshoots. Y/N is actually a very demure person, while not a wallflower, they were someone who could blend in the crowd. 
Alfred once told them that every country should be grateful to not have Y/N working against them, because Y/N can just disappear. 
“Y/N, are you ready?” They smiled at their fellow models, slipping into the person of Y/N L/N, child of M/N L/N and Bruce Wayne, and nodding, “Of course. When am I not?” 
Cheryl whistled, a fellow model that has been Y/N’s mentor in some way, walking around Y/N and smiling, “Designers sure know how to dress you up. I think almost every runway walk has had your hips on display” Y/N chuckled at her, “It’s because of these hips dips. You can probably drink soup out of them.” 
“If it was ice cream I’d be down, but not soup.” Jon was another model who has been in the scene for a long time. He was a handsome man with a diamond face. 
“Models get ready.” A shuffling of feet and high heels clip clopping sounded in the backstage, and Y/N took their place in front of everyone. They will be the one opening the show today, an honor that the 18-year-old took gratefully. 
Opening a show was a big deal, setting the tone for the show in general and also the tempo. Y/N took a deep breath, and at the cue, their mind went blank as they began walking. Their eyes focused on the end camera, and the walk on beat to the music. Once at the end, they looked directly into the camera and struck a pose. Highlighting the slit hips and underboob design, showing off the almost sheer fabric that had the slightest hint of shimmer in them. A statement piece. 
Turning around they walked back to where they emerged from, making sure they kept their face in control for the last camera. However, a sight at the corner of their eye momentarily broke them out of their blank space. Five familiar people that should not be here. Sitting in the front row, wearing nice tuxedos, and almost making Y/N stumble. 
Almost. Controlling their features, Y/N returned their focus to the camera and disappeared in the entrance they emerged from. Smiling at all the 'congratulations’ ‘you looked great,’ ‘you look beautiful,’ they went back to their manager, Maya, and whispered, “I need you to confirm five people in the front row on the left side. They are four chairs down from the camera.”
Maya nodded, scurrying away and without a doubt checking it out. Y/N could feel the curiosity and dread build in their stomach. If they are who Y/N thinks they are, then the after party is going to be interesting. 
“What’s wrong?” Jon wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, bringing Y/N out their thoughts, “Nothing really. Just thought I saw some familiar faces.” Jon made a weird face, but dropped the issue when another model, Logan, strolled on over. 
“Did you see them?” 
“See who?” 
“The Wayne family! They are in the front row!” Y/N closed their eyes in misery and a headache began forming. They saw Maya running back, her face pale and a large frown on her face. Jon glanced at Y/N, taking in the annoyed expression and scrunched nose, “Hmm, no I didn’t. I was too focused on looking at the camera, Logan.” She rolled her eyes, “Oh, it was only a second.”
Jon and Y/N gave each other a dry look, remembering the last time Logan had said that and somehow the camera managed to snap a photo when she was oggling at someone. Y/N shook their head, “I momentarily saw them, but I didn’t think it was them. Do you think I can get the oldest son’s number?” 
‘You’re not his type.’  Y/N thought but didn’t say, shrugging and smiling in amusement, “Logan, what would your girlfriend say?” The model stuck her tongue, “She’d ask to join.” Before Logan could say anything else, Cheryl waltzed over, “Stop being inappropriate, there’s a kid present.” 
“Hey!” 
“Sorry, if you can’t drink yet you can’t have this conversation.” Y/N made a face, “That’s the stupidest sense of logic I have ever heard.” Everyone laughed at them, clapping Y/N’s shoulders and helping each other fix their wardrobes. Some stylists came over to fix their makeup and hair just in case. Everyone was getting ready for the last walkthrough, and honestly, Y/N was dreading it. 
As the front runner of it all, Y/N’s face will be seen by the now confirmed Wayne family and Y/N isn’t confident in themselves enough to not make a face. 
The show will be closing soon and then there is the afterparty that all models are expected to attend. It's a networking place, where other designers, brand ambassadors, and just people who are rich enough to get a ticket can talk to the models and try and recruit them. Its a place and time to mingle for those who have an open schedule and unfortunately, Y/N has an open fucking schedule. 
This was their last show in Paris, and then they have one destination and then it will be done. Runway season will be officially over and then it will be smaller gigs and back to the every now and then runway. 
“Models get ready!” Y/N took a deep breath and fixed their face, eyes forward and chin up. 
‘I’ll call Alfred when I get home.’ 
+++
‘I want to go home.’ Y/N nursed the drink in the flute, filled with sparkling cider instead of champagne. They stood off to the side, changed out of the clothes they wore on the runway, and instead in a deep-v top and leather pants. Still dressed to impress, but at the moment they just wanted to curl up and go away. Y/N’s hotel room has a bathtub in it and Y/N really wants to just sit down in hot water and relax. 
Y/N was constantly scanning the crowd, moving further against the wall whenever they saw black hair and blue eyes. 
Maya said one more hour, then it will be acceptable to leave. She was doing all  the talking and networking for Y/N, trusting that when it came to meet the designers Y/N will charm them enough to want to have them keep coming back. Sighing once more, Y/N took a longer sip and wished to be home. 
Something moved the hair near their ear, and Y/N almost threw their glass at whoever it was until they caught sight of blue eyes and black hair, staring at and analyzing them. 
“Tim…” 
“Hello, Y/N.” Y/N gave a practiced and polite smile, “Odd to see you here.” Tim shrugged, “Seeing that the designer is friends with Bruce, and told us of your show and that you will be leading the walk, of course we had to come.” Y/N nodded, “In Paris?” 
“Where else? You’re next one is in New York right?” Y/N gave a polite chuckle, “Since when did you pay attention to fashion week?” Tim took a sip of champagne, “Since my younger sibling decided to run off and become a model.” 
Y/N took a sip of the sparkling cider, not missing the way Tim was eyeing them with interest and curiosity. They smiled against the rim of the flute, “ ‘Run off’ huh. I don’t think those are the words I would use. I never hid it and I didn’t pack my bags in the middle of the night and sneak through a window.” Y/N set the empty flute down, still smiling politely at Tim who was still watching them, “I simply walked out the front door and no one stopped me.” 
“Y/N–” 
“Y/N! There you are!” A tall woman, hair dyed a shade-off from white gray and wearing the crispest red suit, strolled over. Y/N gave a larger smile, opening their arms and welcoming the hug, “Ms. Gabbana, you look lovely as always.” The woman laughed, “That’s the botox. Anyways, you looked so amazing opening the show!” 
Tim was quickly forgotten as Francesca Gabbana, an Italian high-end fashion designer and luxury brand owner, chatted away with Y/N. Her presence called forth other designers and models and soon enough, Y/N was entrapped in a small group talking about the next runway show next week. 
They talked about the dreaded flight to New York, and where they will be staying. It will be Francesca’s show next week, along with some other high end designers. Francesca seemed particularly excited for Y/N’s, and when Y/N first saw the design, they had to hold back the shivers.
“Right, Y/N you’re from Gotham aren’t you? Will you be visiting your family?” With the attention all on Y/N, they smiled tightly and shrugged, “We’ll see. They are always so busy so I think it's best if I don-” 
“I hope Y/N visits, it’s been a while since we last saw each other.” A large hand clapped Y/N’s shoulder, and from the facial expression everyone was making, Y/N knows who it was. Peeking up through their lashes, Y/N could see Bruce’s smile on his still handsome face. 
Cheryl was the first to recover, her eyes narrowing slightly, “How… how do you know each other?” Y/N glanced at Bruce, who right now is Brucie, and before he could say anything Bruce gasped, “Y/N, you haven’t said anything?” The young adult shrugged, “It never came up. Bruce Wayne is my father.”
The room erupted, and Y/N actually wanted to go die in a hole. What proceeded afterwards was the most intense questioning for the next two hours. 
++++
“Bruce, why are you here?” Y/N asked over dinner. He tossed the crouton around in his salad, waiting for his father’s response. They have never had a 1 on 1 meal together. It was alway family meals, and even then Y/N rarely showed up for those. There was no need too. They never noticed when Y/N was there or not. 
The Billionaire playboy shrugged, “Is it wrong to see my child open a highly sought after show?” Y/N chuckled, “No, but you have never shown any interest in this before.” Y/N never hid his modeling gigs. Often using the family weight room to keep in shape and also turned one of the unused offices into a strut practice room when Y/N lived in the manor. Hours and the amount of money spent to ensure their skin was perfect and their hair was nice, and that they looked beautiful. 
Y/N never hid their modeling job, even as a teen, and yet the only one who seemed to notice was Alfred. 
“You never said anything.” 
“I didn’t think I had too.” Y/N can recall trying to show Bruce, Dick, Jason, anyone that would bother to look, a photo of them making it onto Vogue. Not the cover, not yet, but as a newer model within the prestigious magazine. They made it at 16. 16, and only modeling for a year! Francessca had them in a piece that was first page worthy, and it fit Y/N like it was meant for them. 
Alfred was the only person to look at the magazine Y/N held open with their trembling hands, and ruffle their hair and congratulate them. 
“You didn’t even tell Alfred where you are living.” No, because Y/N doesn’t want Alfred showing up unexpectedly and seeing the almost empty fridge. The thought of the older man’s disappointed look and inquisitive questions would have Y/N breaking down crying. 
“Hmmm, I’m always moving around so I didn’t want him showing up when I am not there.” Bruce nodded, taking a bite of his lobster, and watching Y/N take a small bite of the salad. Y/N swallowed with great difficulty, “Bruce-” 
“Since when does a child call their parents by their first name?” Y/N sucked their teeth, “The only one who calls you ‘father’ is Damian.” 
“You used to.” Y/N shrugged, “You never seemed comfortable with me calling you that.” Bruce rarely answered when Y/N called him ‘dad’ or ‘father,’ and yet he alway responded when someone else called for him.  Y/N would watch from afar as Bruce came running to them in need, but when Y/N needed help they had to figure it out on their own. 
At some point Y/N stopped calling for Bruce entirely, running and calling only to Alfred.
Y/N is not mad about it. They never were. Dull E/C eyes accepted it and pushed forward, watching the explosive fights, the angry words, and the silent apologies. Alfred’s words affirming that they all loved each other, despite everything saying otherwise. Y/N watched, and continued to watch as they focused on themselves when Y/N began making a name for themself. 
They’re not mad. Y/N never was. Hurt? Maybe, but not mad. That is just their hand in life. Besides, it made the modeling career easier. No need to worry about missing any events, Y/N wouldn’t be invited even if they had lived there. Holidays weren’t huge, nor were birthdays. The only one Y/N sent a card to was Alfred. 
It made traveling easier. There was no such thing as homesickness. It made taking more gigs easier, more destructive behavior easier to handle. 
“Y/N,” Bruce called to him and Y/N paused while eating. Raising an eyebrow in question as Bruce set down his own eating utensils. Ocean blue met E/C, and Y/N tried to place the emotion in those blue eyes. 
“For what it is worth, I… I am sorry about the neglect you have faced within our home.” Y/N’s mind stopped functioning and they stared at Bruce in shock. The man either ignoring him or not realizing that Y/N was staring at him continued. 
“You… you didn’t deserve that, especially when you were grieving and that fact that I could not see that shows my fail–” 
“Wait wait wait!” Y/N held their hands up, cutting off Bruce, “What are you talking about?” Bruce stared at Y/N with questions in his eyes, and blinked in shock when he saw the genuine confusion in his child’s eyes. Y/N looked floored, “Bruce… I-I… what?”
Bruce knows he’s not a good parent. He is intimately aware of his failings and shortcomings, and how some of them haunt him. They claw into his skin, his mind, and chest as a reminder of all the times he has failed his children. He and Dick barely started talking, Jason and him are slowly mending that bridge, and Tim and Damian seem to hate each other and Bruce doesn’t know what to do about that. It seems the only children he hasn’t officially fucked over are those that aren’t even his. 
Then there’s Y/N. A child of his genetic makeup, just like Damian, only Y/N’s mother was a model Bruce had treated as a hookup whenever she was on the east coast. Y/N was 13 when they came into Bruce’s care, older than Damian and a few years younger than Tim. Their mother was caught in a drug-use scandal, one that cost her her career and then her life. Her choice left behind a traumatized child, walking in on the body as she decomposed in their bathroom. They had been forced to pack up their bags and move across the country to live with a parent that they only heard about once or twice. 
Bruce somewhat knew of Y/N. He knew that Y/N’s mother had been pregnant, but when he asked if she wanted child support, the woman huffed and said ‘no thank you.’ Her income was enough, as a high in demand supermodel, and she didn’t need Bruce’s ‘pity’ money. 
So, he never sought after her and she never phoned him. 
Until CPS called and told him of the news and the now homeless 13-year-old child he was now in charge of. 
Y/N and him never really connected, and Bruce wonders if some of that is his own fault. He was always too busy with Batman, then his drama with Dick, and Jason’s whole dying thing, the persona of Brucie Wayne, then there was Tim, then Jason coming back from the dead thing, then Barbara’s whole Joker incident, then Damian…. 
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t too busy, he just never made time for Y/N. Which, the other never seemed to complain about. If they did complain to Alfred, the butler never said anything, and neither did their brothers. Y/N was just a ghost living in the manor that showed up for meals because it was expected, and then… left. 
Now he sits here, across from his child who doesn’t seem to understand the wrong done to them by not only Bruce, but the rest of the family. 
“Where did this come from?” Bruce doesn’t have the heart to tell them that it was because of Alfred that Bruce and the family finally realized what was wrong. The tour of Y/N’s old room, still kept clean due to Alfred’s insistence, but instead of clothes on the ground and signs of life within the room, it had photos of Y/N's past modeling gigs. Hundreds of photos, some framed, some not, as they covered the walls. Magazines that had Y/N on the front cover, magazine pages that had Y/N taking up the entire page.
The tour of the room-turned-practice room. Full of mirrors, and a 4 inch wide ply board used to practice walking. The shoes that were hidden in the closet, some too big and some too small. Blood staining the heel area of most of them as the image of Y/N practicing until and through the blisters filled all their heads. 
The meal regime, still written hastily down on the post it notes, and the exercise routine that didn’t match the calorie intake. The broken mirrors in Y/N’s closets and the clothes that now looked like they would be too big on the present-day Y/N that is sitting in front of Bruce.
The written blogs, printed and folded in one of their drawers, relating them back to their mother. Accusing them of the same thing they accused M/N. Highlighting Y/N’s faults, Y/N’s mistakes, Y/N’s features, and Y/N’s heritage. 
‘Child of drug-abuser model M/N L/N, Y/N L/N using the same drug?’ A 15-year-old Y/N posed in a way to show their figure was the picture that was used. 
‘Child of famous model M/N L/N able to hold up to the heat?’ Another photo of a 16-year-old Y/N looking exhausted as they walked out of a building. Eyes red and bags under their eyes. 
‘Beauty genes skipped a generation.’ Y/N is 17 in that photo. 
‘Y/N M/N will never be as beautiful as M/N L/N without extensive work.’  Y/N is 15 again in this photo. They had kept every critique, every mean and poorly written article about them, and kept them. Some of them were tweets, printed instagram photos, and magazines. 
Bruce could see the drastic changes in Y/N throughout the photos. The strict lifestyle changes affected their appearance and made them look even more like M/N. The Y/N in front of him, still beautiful, but Bruce knows the thoughts behind the perfect skin and perfect hair. 
It would seem that one of the things Y/N inherited from Bruce would be the internalizing of every little bad thing to happen, and deny that it has affected them while they wore the scar of it on their sleeves. 
“Bruce, you didn’t neglect me. I had food, clothes, a manor… where did you get all of that from?” 
“Emotional neglect is still neglect.” Y/N still looked confused, setting their fork down and controlling their expression as they processed that. Okay, so yeah maybe Bruce wasn’t an attentive father, but the man never hit Y/N. He never said anything about Y/N that Y/N would have to go to therapy for. Besides, Bruce’s lack of attention paved the way for Y/N to do this! 
Y/N’s lips formed a serene smile, “Bruce, I’m not mad that you didn’t pay attention to me. You were busy with your company, you are legally a dad of five kids, not everyone is going to get the same attention.” They took a sip of the water, hoping the conversation would end there. 
“It wasn’t that I was busy, I just never made time Y/N… and for that I am sorry.” Y/N hates this. Absolutely hates this. All of their excuses for Bruce are being shot down by Bruce himself and it was leaving Y/N feeling a little raw. Wounds they didn’t even know about now being rubbed with salt. 
Y/N stuck their tongue in their cheek and looked around, before smiling once more, “Bruce, I am literally giving you a way out for your guilt, which I still don’t understand why you’re feeling guilty, so why aren’t you taking it? 
“What are you hoping to do?” Bruce stared into E/C eyes and he could see the irritation in them. He set his fork and knife down, and leaned forward, “Is it wrong to try and mend broken bridges?” 
“The bridge was never broken in the first place.” 
“You’re right, and that’s because there was never a bridge in the first place.” Y/N cocked their head to the side, watching with an intense expression. Those E/C eyes flickering around, taking in the restaurant and narrowing their eyes, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but did you rent out the entire restaurant?” 
“I did. So we can talk freely.” 
“The other ‘customers’ are Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian.” Bruce nodded, “Family dinner.” Y/N’s smile held no amusement, “You know, if you were anybody else I would be thinking this is a way for you to slide back in my life in hopes you could get some of my paycheck. But what is a model’s paycheck to Bruce Wayne’s?” Bruce chuckled, “You are making quite a bit. I’m happy you're conscious of your position now.” 
Y/N sipped the water, “How do you know how much I’m making?” Bruce only smiled and continued eating. He watched his child contemplate asking the question again, but then decided to drop it. 
‘Smart.’ Y/N continued to watch him, no longer touching the food and seeming unwilling to even look at the dessert menu. 
“You’ll visit when you’re back in the states, right?” It didn’t feel like a question. In fact, it felt more like a demand poised as a question to keep intentions hidden. Y/N gulped, “I’ll try.” 
“You should, Alfred misses you. Besides, Manhattan, New York isn’t too far from Gotham.” It was such an innocent sentence. One spoken with a smile on his lips and kind sky blue eyes. An innocent sentence, except Y/N has never once told them where they live. 
“A beautiful place, I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave. With windows like those and that giant skylight, it is truly a wonderful place befitting a top model such as yourself.” Y/N’s mouth went dry, and they could feel the sweat on the back of their neck as they continued to stare at Bruce. Their instincts implore them to go along with this. 
Urging them to carry on the conversation as they felt the gazes of four others on their back. They gave a wobbly smile, “Ye-yes. I really love it, I am super lucky that I managed to have enough saved up, and that I make enough to own a beautiful home such as that.” Bruce nodded, “As an apology for all the missed birthdays and Christmases, I decided to help out a bit.”
“...Excuse me?” Bruce ignored them, and instead looked at their plate that was still untouched from when Y/N had put down the utensils. He took a bite, “Do you not like your food? I can get something else made for you.” 
“N-no, I’m-I’m just full.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed before making a show of shrugging it off, “If you insist. Do know Alfred will want to feed you when you visit.” Y/N’s smile was becoming hard to maintain, “It was a pleasure to have dinner with you, Bruce, but I have to go. Long flight tomorrow and I need to be ready for next week.” Y/N fished out their credit card, but Bruce stuck his hand out, “Don’t worry about it, dinner has been paid for.” 
Y/N didn’t fight, only nodding and smiling pleasantly, “I suppose I will see you next week?” Bruce stood up, and brought Y/N into a tense hug. Feeling the bone and sinewy muscles in his rough hands. Y/N’s top is open back, exposing the shoulder blades and some of Y/N’s spine. Each one a small knob against skin, looking like the Rocky Mountains. 
“Safe flight, Y/N. See you at the shows next week.” Y/N gave a tight smile and quickly left. The four other pairs of eyes never left their back, and when finally in the safety of the streets, Y/N pulled out their phone and checked their Mortgage app. 
‘Successfully Paid!’ In bright green letters, bolded as if it were a game. 
It’s been paid off. Y/N now owed nothing on that house, and while that might have been freeing, it meant someone could now have access to their mortgage account. An alert sounded on their phone, and when Y/N saw that it was their bank account, notifying them of a deposit Y/N felt the breath leave their lungs. 
A large sum, one that had Y/N blinking at the amount of 0’s, was just deposited to their checking account. Right under their bill for walking on that runway. 
‘Shopping money, for when you visit.’ - Dick 
They have access to their bank account. Y/N’s family, because while Bruce was a solitary kind of guy he never was one to withhold information from his former Robins, now had access to their account. They could see what they were spending money on. 
They know where Y/N lives. From the sounds of it, Bruce was even in the penthouse. Y/N covered their mouth and tried to stifle a sob, the feeling of an invasion of their privacy weighing heavy in their chest. 
++++
Y/N stared at the article of clothing with anxiety. When Francesca had first shown them the clothing, it had only caused slight discomfort. Now, now that Y/N knows that their family is here, and watching, the clothing had felt like it was a metal ball. Francesca stood next to them, admiring Y/N’s hair and makeup, and how it all looked with clothing item. 
“I knew this would look great on you. As a Gothamite, this must feel great right? To be wearing the symbol of your City’s greatest vigilante.” Y/N swallowed down the bile, “He’s typically seen as the boogeyman, but yes. I suppose it does feel odd wearing the symbol.” 
The piece of clothing was quite scandalous, a bat symbol made out of gold rest across their chest, attached to a black silk fabric and lace. It hugged their body, bringing out the hip dips and long legs, as well as exposing their toned stomach. 
“Why didn’t you say anything about you being Bruce Wayne’s kid?” Francesca asked, and Y/N could only shrug, “Just… it just never came up.” Y/N loves that Francesca drops that. There are tons of models who have family issues. Y/N’s are minor. 
Not worthy of anything. 
“Y/N, for what it is worth, I do think you are a one in a century model. No one has taken to the runway quite like you have. I think if you had started the runway earlier you would already be a supermodel.” Y/N smiled at Francesca’s kind words, and they wondered just how they got so lucky to have befriended her. 
“Thank you.” 
“Models get ready!” Y/N took to the back of the line, being offered to close the show just after they had opened one. Another prestigious offer that Y/N gratefully took. Sighing heavily, they watched as the line grew shorter and the sound of cameras flashing and grew louder. 
Taking a deep breath, they steeled their breathing and controlled their expressions. Blocking out the world in the way they do best, strutting. The intensity of the flashes increased, and Y/N made a show of keeping their face neutral. 
Just how Batman does. 
They made a point to not look at the people in the front row. When they made it back behind the entry way, there was no time to catch their breath. They were ushered back into line for the final walk out, and Y/N wonders if they can all see how pale Y/N is. Can they see the sweat on their brow or the fact that their E/C eyes are terrified? 
“You did great Y/N!” 
“Looking beautiful Y/N.” 
“C’mon Y/N, after this its a party!” 
No, no they can’t see it because they are all focused on what Y/N wants them to be focused on. Y/N has spent countless hours into ensuring they loook beautiful without makeup, and ethereal in it, no one will care about their inner thoughts and turmoils. 
Y/N strutted to the music one last time, focusing on the flashing light and hoping that the photos they captured showed exactly what Y/N wants them to see. Once they were in the back, the models stripping and changing into comfortable clothes and all of them getting ready for the afterparty, Y/N stayed seated. The pads of their fingers running against the cold metal that was in the shape of a bat across their chest as their makeup artist and hairstylist undid all of their work. 
Francesca smiled, “You were great Y/N, I knew you would be the right person to pull this off.” 
“Thank you, what inspired this piece if you don’t mind me asking.” Francesca smiled, “Oh, I got a call actually. It was just a call to run the idea by me, but I loved it so much that I accepted it.” Y/N furrowed their brow, “A call?” They began to strip out of the clothing, but Francesca’s startled look made them pause. 
“...What?” 
“You’re not going to keep it on?” Y/N gave a confused look, “We don’t keep clothes, Francesca.” The stylist smiled, “Well, no. But Y/N, that was a commission for you.” Y/N stared at Francesca with a new found fear, and their mouth going dry as they processed it all. 
“Who… who did you say the call was from?” Francesca beamed, “Your father, who by the way I am offended you didn’t say anything about, Bruce Wayne.” Large hands clapped their shoulder, and Y/N would have shouted if it weren’t for the familiar smell of cologne. 
Turning around, they met Bruce’s blue eyes, and the blue eyes of their siblings. All of them dressed to the nines and eyeing the clothes. 
“Truly a wonderful piece, Ms. Gabbana. I could not thank you enough.” 
“Of course! Thank you for the idea!” Y/N felt their breath quicked when Dick’s hands gripped their wrist, and gently tugged them in his direction, “C’mon Y/N, you’ll be late to dinner. Alfred is making your favorite.” 
“At least let them change, Dick.” 
“Todd is right, a drive in that would be difficult. Not to mention that  it is snowing outside.” 
“Y/N, we have some clothes for you. They should be more comfortable then the clothes you came in.” Y/N couldn’t even say anything as they were dragged away, Bruce keeping Francesca busy while their brothers pushed them into a changing room. Dick smiling gently as he passed the bag of Y/N’s clothes, taken from their penthouse, into Y/N’s trembling arms. 
“Bruce paid for that outfit, so try not to ruin it, okay? We’ll be waiting out here for you.” Dick booped their nose, and left Y/N alone in the changing room taht only had a curtain for a door. With trembling hands, they searched the bag for their phone. They have to call someone. Cheryl will help them. So would Jon. Maybe even Maya! Y/N just needs to call– 
“Y/N, we have your phone out here, so don’t panic.” Y/N bit their lip to stop themself from sobbing. One thing. They just want one thing to go right today. 
A knock sounded on the wood that was hoolding the curtain, “Y/N, do you need help?” 
“N-no! No, I’m just try-trying to be gentle with the piece.” Bruce hummed, “Well, try and hurry. Alfred is excited to see you and is expecting us for dinner in three hours.” Y/N gulped, carefully stripping and putting on the sweats and hoodie. Clothes that still smell like their laundry detergent and shoes Y/N knows were in their closet. 
‘Dear God.’ They whimpered as they slipped on the comfortable pair of shoes, and bagged the shoes from teh show, and carefully picked up the article of clothing. The gold bat symbol shining mockingly at them. 
The curtain pulled open, and like a horror photo, the light from behind them casted and eerie shadow. Bruce’s face hidden in teh darkness as he reached his hand out for Y/N, knowing full well his child cannot run. 
“C’mon Y/N, time to go home.”
______________________________________________________________
A Part 2 will definitely happen! Kinda has to, to be honest.
2K notes · View notes
ikeuverse · 11 months ago
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criminal love | psh
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pairing: killer!sunghoon x rich!fem!reader genres: angst, smut, maybe fluff wc: 4.6k+
꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : weapons, drink, drugs, swearing. mention and execution of murder, blood, fights (physical and verbal). unprotected sex (the details of the sex parts i'll add as i post the chapters), but there are more than two, for sure. lmk if i forgot anything else.
꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : paid to kill people, sunghoon finds himself in the biggest dilemma of his life. getting paid the most money his profession has ever given him to kill a woman. but he can't do it because it goes beyond his principles, who has never laid a finger on a woman. what will he do when the twist is right in front of his eyes?
꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : i had this initial idea for jay, but i don't know why i thought i'd write it for sunghoon. i've modified a few things and i'm thinking of making it a story with a few chapters. i hope you like it!
TAGLIST: i don't know if i'll do it, but…
꒰ 𝅄 masterlist | prologue | part 1 | part 2 [...] ꒱
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None of this was new to Park Sunghoon. The eyes stared at him in fear, shining with a pair of panicked features as they begged for their lives. His index finger against the trigger of the gun before he asked to speak his last words and then fired. Seeing the body slowly collapse in front of you, the eyes losing life and the blood dripping through the fabric of the clothes and onto the floor. This was a very familiar scenario, even more so as a hitman.
If anyone ever asked him why he lived this life, the answer would come quickly: easy money.
Sunghoon got used to being on the streets in search of a job to maintain his almost miserable life after the death of his parents. His grandfather, an alcoholic who barely stayed at home, was the only living relative he had. And the only person who could give him a roof over his head at fifteen.
Wandering the streets in search of something solid led Sunghoon to meet all sorts of people and ways of making ends meet. He worked with a bit of everything until he found the job he had settled into today. It was through Jake, one of the first people he befriended, that he learned what it was like to kill for money. His friend's father had a scheme and paid him well enough to eat, dress, and live in his grandfather's house, which he barely saw.
Jake and his father became a family to Sunghoon, even if it was in the worst of environments, but it was the only thing he could get close to that bordered on a good feeling. The boy couldn't call it love because he'd never heard it from any of his friends, although they could say that they respected and cared for each other, but love, for Sunghoon, was too strong.
Who would say about love when, in fact, he was hired to kill? Often people from his own family and for financial reasons. So how could he believe that love existed when his job showed otherwise? Of course, everyone had family problems… Look at him! Sunghoon wasn't the greatest example of this, but come on, he would never have his grandfather or anyone else killed in his own home. It was bizarre, but unfortunately, that's what he dealt with most of the time. And that's what filled his pocket and made him change his life.
Moving into his apartment after his grandfather died, having more contact with Jake and his father about the business, and even getting on a bit more when things started to expand. This was all thanks to Sunghoon's skill and eye for instigating Jake's father to think bigger. It was risky for him to try to suggest that they think big, such as killing some CEO in debt or someone high up.
You've got to be crazy, he heard Jake mutter once, at an informal meeting they had after a successful case. Sunghoon could be crazy, but when it came down to it and money, the highest cases paid well. And that's what he asked Jake's father about until they had their first diplomat client. The amount to be paid was so high that they had never thought of having it in their bank accounts.
"We need to kill about four people to get that" Jake muttered after looking at the amount. A sigh left his father's lips before he agreed.
And so began the great social affair between Jake and Sunghoon – along with Jake's father – for bigger cases with fat sums in their money accounts.
It was dangerous, but Sunghoon lived for it. He didn't have anyone else, he didn't have anything to think about except his well-being and how he could have what he wanted more peacefully after living in poverty for years. He didn't want to go through the insecurity of not having anything to eat, or having to wander the streets looking for something to do or somewhere to stay so that he wouldn't have to be alone in a house where he didn't know who would come back. But now, in his apartment, he shared the peace of knowing that everything was his. Every little thing in there had been earned by him, even if the money wasn't in the cleanest way, but someone had to do that kind of work.
And it wasn't as if Sunghoon would kill just anyone either, he had strict criteria about this that he made very clear to Jake and his father before things got as strong as they are today. Like killing people who had only done some kind of harm to those who had asked for it. Like women who had been beaten by their husbands, or someone in particular who had physically or mentally hurt whoever was hiring the service. Or that person posed a risk to the society in question and they knew that no authority would do anything about it. So they did. And the most important thing of all was that under no circumstances would Sunghoon lay a hand on a woman.
But the universe seemed to play tricks on him that morning, arriving at the office and seeing Jake's eyes light up. It would be pointless to ask why, considering that he was one of the first to receive clients and their proposals, so someone had probably come to Jake to talk to him and give him a huge sum of money.
"Dude, I think we're rich" he threw himself into the leather chair that initially belonged to his father. But as long as the older man didn't arrive at the office, Jake took possession of it until that happened.
"What do you mean?" Sunghoon held back a laugh as he walked a little further into the office, throwing his body into the small armchair opposite the desk Jake was sitting at "A client with good money?"
"Better than that" he sighed, throwing his head back "This client wants to hire our services for two people, but the price is—"
"Jake, spit it out" Sunghoon said quickly.
"Bro, she'll pay two million" he looked directly at Sunghoon. That amount would cheer the boy up if he hadn't heard it before, or even been paid for it "For each of us, and for each of the two people we're going to kill."
Wait, that was new to Sunghoon. Two million for each of them, totaling two people to kill, so… Four million for him, and four million for Jake?
"Man, that's…"
"Insane, I know" Jake interrupted him as if he already knew what his friend was going to say. But something seemed a little off because he didn't have that much energy to say that amount. Normally Jake would have been bouncing around the room literally like a child, totally losing his hitman pose as he commented on the four million that would be playing around in his bank account for the next few weeks.
"What's wrong?" Sunghoon asked at once, noticing the change in his friend's mood as the seconds passed. Jake now looked a little uncomfortable in his father's chair and shifted his body a few times to try to find a comfortable position, opting to lean his elbows on the table and tilt his body a little.
"You know it's four million each, right?" he asked, watching Sunghoon agree "And that the percentage we give my father on each client is very small because, well, he already has a lot of money…"
"Speak up, man. You're stalling on something." Sunghoon wasn't out of patience, but he knew that Jake tended to talk too much when he was nervous. What could have happened to make him like this?
Jake nodded in agreement and continued to lean on the table, leaning towards Sunghoon, who settled into the armchair and imitated his friend's position on the other side. Leaning his elbows on the table and looking at the boy in front of him, who was now looking at his hands.
"A woman wants us to kill her brother and…" Jake slowly closed his eyes "Her niece."
Sunghoon felt a ringing in his ear and then his whole body tensed up. He couldn't explain why he had that reaction, but just mentioning that there was a woman for him to kill made everything seem completely out of place to him.
"You're kidding me, right?" Sunghoon asked.
"I really wanted to, man, I swear" he whined, watching Sunghoon's withdrawal appear little by little as he slid his arms off the table and leaned back in the armchair.
"And what did those two do to make her want to kill two people at once?"
"I don't know" Jake shrugged. "She hasn't told me yet, she's arranged a meeting and my father wants to go along. It's too high…"
"You two do it" he stood up, walking to the middle of the room before he heard Jake calling after him. Without turning around, Sunghoon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He waited a few seconds before finally turning to his friend.
"I can't do this without you, bro. You know we've been working together forever" Jake began.
"But what are my conditions?" Sunghoon asked, and for a moment he saw a glimmer of regret in Jake's eyes. For mentioning or even thinking that his friend might do this kind of thing. Maybe the money had messed with his head a bit and he wouldn't deny it, but Jake knew Sunghoon well enough, he just wanted to try until he couldn't anymore. Even though he knew it would come to nothing because Sunghoon would never accept.
Silence was Jake's way of responding, not knowing exactly what to say because he knew Sunghoon's terms well. Everyone was aware and in agreement, so why change their minds at that moment?
"I just need your help, then" he said after some quiet time.
"I'm not putting my hands on either of you, be warned," Sunghoon said, a little angry about the whole situation until he saw Jake nod silently, implying that he had nothing more to say.
Then, as if on cue, he left the room and walked around the building in search of something to clear his mind of what had just happened. It was an unimaginable amount for him, but Sunghoon wouldn't go against his principles for it.
For the first time, he had refused something that Jake had asked of him. And he felt immensely awkward about it.
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You could feel the migraine invading you little by little. The side of your head ached like never before, while your eyes stung and you tried your best to pay attention to people and their words of condolence.
It had been a week since your grandfather's death, and the only sincere tears you had seen – apart from your own – were those of your uncle. He was the closest thing to real family you had after your father's death a year ago. Having him around was comforting, especially as your family was driven by money and scandal. Everything revolved around social and financial status. Your grandfather's company was the focal point of all that arrogance in the family members.
But now, with his death and the will read, you had to assimilate that the only beneficiaries were you and your uncle, the one who was still crying over his father's death and trying to understand how it had all happened. And then there was him, a well-groomed gentleman who eschewed the stereotype of the rich old man and business owner who walked around with a glass of whisky in his hand. On the death certificate, his grandfather had died of cirrhosis, but you were surprised. Even though he wasn't a health professional, you could assume that this would be different, to say the least, since the old man had never drunk a drop of alcohol.
“This is terrible for your health” he once said. “Try never to drink more than necessary. And at parties, I promise to serve you the best natural juice.”
Those words always lingered in your mind because your grandfather was serious, in his own right, but he was very loving. You became so attached to him that you took an interest in the affairs of your grandfather’s company with a genuine gesture of helping him, which he appreciated.
Maybe that was what had made him put your name on that paper, inheriting half of the family fortune. While your uncle got the other half.
Millions and millions, or should say billions? It was so much money that you swore you would die and the amount would continue to yield in your account even though you used it almost every day. That was why you knew that some people who had always been there for your grandfather’s money were now furious because they couldn’t enjoy a single cent of it.
“We are so sorry for the loss of your father, Yvone” someone’s voice took you out of your thoughts, making your eyes dart around the people around you. A well-dressed woman with a tired expression was greeting your aunt. She didn’t have a trace of sadness on her face. That stranger seemed sadder than your aunt over the loss of her father.
“I’m sure you are too” she tried to fake a sad voice that you recognized from afar. Your stomach almost churned as she hugged the other woman.
Suddenly, your embarrassment became even greater, because your aunt's gaze was immediately on you. She seemed angry, with something bad inside her that immediately wanted to be directed at you. Your gaze soon turned away from her to try to find your uncle who was desolate.
Your steps through the environment were fast and precise, the sound of leather shoes against the devastated floor was inhibited by the sound of other people's voices and laments. You weren't running, but the things inside your body said very well that you seemed to be in a hurry.
Your eyes quickly spotted your uncle a little further away, sitting on a bench alone outside. You walked a little calmer towards him until you sat next to the man. He didn't need to look up to know that the only person with compassion in that family was you.
"I wish this nightmare would end" he said quietly, a sob breaking out of his voice when your uncle raised his head and continued to look ahead.
"I still can't believe it" you sighed. Your eyes are locked on the events in front of you. Some people were coming and going from your grandfather's mansion with small flowers in their hands or pieces of paper, like written notes of thanks. Of course, he wouldn't read them, he was dead. But it was a way of thanking everyone he knew, and the reading would be up to you and your uncle. The only ones who cared about the sentimental side of things.
"Do you think Yvone hates us now?" your uncle asked, finally looking at you. His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets and bloodshot from his eyeballs, they were so red. You swallowed a sigh and just nodded.
"For the reading of Grandpa's will? Of course" you laughed humorlessly, listening to him accompany you.
As if summoning a haunting, just saying her name out loud made your aunt's figure appear in the doorway of the mansion. She welcomed people by trying to look sad or convincing whoever was arriving. Her eyes quickly fell on you and your uncle, further away from the house and sitting on a secluded bench. She didn't show any reaction but took her cell phone out of her pocket to do something you didn't even care about. Her attention was on the man next to her.
“I can’t be happy knowing that my father left all this for me and you” he ran his hands through his hair, almost pulling it out if it weren’t for your hands stopping him. You held one of his hands and kept it in your lap.
“It’s okay uncle, I’m not happy about this either” you said. “Money won’t erase anything that’s happening to the two of us, you know that.”
Of course, he knew. You and your uncle could sometimes say that you were born into the wrong family because you were the only ones who didn’t count on money. Even though you knew that your whole life revolved around it. Even though every interaction you had since the day you were born was driven by money. It wasn’t your fault for being born into a family like that, but you could deal with it and think about how you spent what you had.
“How about you come in and get a drink? I bet you’re thirsty” your uncle said quietly, making you look at him after some time of contemplation while still watching people entering and leaving the mansion.
“I think I’ll go in a little while, I want to stay here a little longer” you smiled sadly at the man as he stood up and just waved in your direction. Just as you knew when he wanted some time alone, your uncle was also able to understand when you needed it.
Leaving him and going back into the mansion, you saw him disappear among the little people who had now gone inside the house. You remained there, looking around that immense land that your grandfather owned. One of them, to be more exact. You remember playing with your uncle and your father to guess which was the largest land your grandfather had in his name. Of course, the two older men always let you win, even though it was a rather unfunny game. But it was one of the few moments when the three of you were together, aware of the money you had and trying to make good use of it.
Your body slowly shrank with a small gust of wind, indicating that the weather was changing from sunny to something colder and almost rainy. You looked up at the sky, noticing the clouds beginning to darken. Rain was the last thing you wanted, but maybe you needed it. To wash away all that heaviness you've felt since your grandfather died. Rain could help wash away the dirt that remained beneath your feet and wash away all the bad feelings and burdens you would face in the days to come.
The decision to go back inside wasn't so difficult as your body shrank a little more, curses spilling from your lips as you missed a coat or a blanket that could cover your arms. Just a tank top and silk pants weren't a suitable outfit for the moment, but it was the first thing you could think of to wear when your aunt summoned the whole family to pay homage to your grandfather at his mansion.
You got up from the bench and stretched your whole body, trying to shake off some of the day's exhaustion and thinking about how you wanted to go back to your apartment and take a shower. Get all those sticky, fake hugs off your body. Those words buzzing around in your head lamenting what had happened. No one there really cared, so you at least paid attention to the fake tears in front of you.
You walked in slow steps to the front door, trying to avoid walking in with anyone who might greet you. You didn't want to talk to anyone anymore, just to be there long enough to leave. But your steps were quickly stopped.
Feeling a hand around your waist, you looked up to find your aunt standing in the doorway just as something covered your mouth. It all happened too quickly. Your vision began to blur as you struggled against a body that seemed much bigger than yours. Your hands were useless at grabbing any kind of skin to scratch because the arms holding you were covered.
You don't remember much, but the only thing that didn't leave your mind before passing out was the cynical smile of the woman right in front of you.
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“What did she ask for?” Sunghoon was exasperated, pacing back and forth as he looked at your unconscious body on the other side of the room.
“To torture her and get a video of her saying she wants to pass everything on to her aunt…” Jake began.
“First of all, I never agreed to this” he interrupted his friend, controlling himself as much as possible so as not to scream and wake you up. They had just taken off the masks and all the equipment when they laid you down on the small mattress with almost no foam.
“My dad just asked you to help me bring her in, I know.�� Jake sighed. “I don’t want to do this either, but—”
“Dude, listen” Sunghoon looked at him. “We can deny this and say fuck you to those four million. Seriously, there’s no way we can continue.”
The desperation in his voice was completely real, Jake could feel it. He was also desperate about all of this, although it wasn’t something new for either of them. But the cruelty in how his aunt was making requests of them without even knowing them or having finished the job. How demanding she was and how she wanted everything to be done as quickly as possible. Sunghoon never had bad feelings about his work, he just went there and killed whoever was necessary. But as soon as he looked at his aunt through the gap in the mask and noticed her smile, the way she behaved in front of the people who were entering the house, without even noticing that he and Jake were carrying her to a black car with no license plate.
He didn't know what he was doing, he didn't know why he had accepted all of that. Sunghoon was breaking one of his biggest rules and all because of money? Four million wouldn't pay for his principles even if his job was one of the worst possible. He already had too much blood on his hands, but that didn't matter when you had a woman unconscious and almost ready to be killed by Jake.
Arguing with Mr. Sim was out of the question, he had already tried since he received the offer and saw the man's eyes light up at the amount. Even though he knew that Sunghoon's biggest criteria were at stake.
"If you're not going to kill her, at least help Jake bring her here" was the only thing he said after finishing the little discussion he had started. He couldn't win this one, he couldn't deny something that he had at least managed to keep going.
Now here he was, pacing back and forth and going over what your aunt wanted Jake to do to you.
For one lousy moment, Sunghoon felt a twinge of regret and compassion for you. Your calm countenance while you were unconscious and the way you seemed harmless, something clicked in his mind telling him that you weren't as bad as the woman said you were. Maybe she'd done the worst kind of propaganda just to make you look bad enough for them to kill you.
"Sunghoon, hey" Jake called out quickly, taking off his black glove and throwing it on the table "What are we going to do?"
"I already told you," Sunghoon sighed once again, stopping walking and feeling his throat irritated because he had already shouted at Jake the whole way "Let's give up that four million, it's not worth it."
"Is that all I'm worth?"
Sunghoon looked in Jake's direction and they both froze. Eyes wide, breathing almost labored as they searched for something to cover their faces. But it was too late. As soon as Sunghoon crossed the room and focused on you, there you were. You were sitting with your back against the wall, your hands tied by the ribbons perched perfectly on your lap. Your hair was completely messed up, but he could still see every detail of your face. How, even so, you looked very beautiful.
"Shit" Jake cursed softly, turning away while Sunghoon stood there staring at him. He felt his friend pull him a few times so that you wouldn't stare so hard at his face that you wouldn't recognize him if something went wrong. But Sunghoon simply couldn't move.
"It's okay, I've seen you. I've been awake for a few minutes" your voice was hoarse, perhaps from lack of use, and because you tried to scream before Sunghoon put the cloth over your mouth to force you to faint.
Jake hesitated to turn around but did so when he saw that his friend wasn't moving at all.
"If you say anything—" Sunghoon made Jake look like he was speaking rudely when he landed a weak punch on his arm. He didn't know why he was defending you like that, not least because that was Jake's role, to be rude at first and gradually hurt whoever was in front of them.
Knowing this, Sunghoon already sensed that he would start being rude until Jake's hands were on you to hurt you. And he didn't want that.
"What did you hear?" Sunghoon addressed you for the first time. His eyes still glazed over at your completely weak and staggering figure in front of him.
He noticed that your eyes were bright, maybe watery, and if you blinked a little more, tears would fall like waterfalls. He was already weak just knowing that he had done this to you, seeing you cry would do what to him? Sunghoon didn't want to know. That case was getting too emotional.
"Just the four million part" you moaned a little in pain as you moved and felt your back crack. That mattress was terrible and you assumed you'd been on it for a long time, but it wasn't important. Your mind was elsewhere and on how you were here, so before you could even think of anything, you asked "It was her, wasn't it?"
"Her who?" Sunghoon and Jake asked at the same time.
For a long minute, you were quiet, just thinking about the little interactions you had with the woman who was supposed to have done this to you. Your heart ached, that wasn't possible. You never thought she could do that.
"My aunt told you two to kill me," you tried to keep your voice steady, "did I?"
It was the turn of the two boys to be silent right in front of you. Jake moistened his lips and tried to find the words to answer you, pondering whether or not to be rude to you. Not least because he didn't want to be punched again by Sunghoon. He swallowed dryly and looked away a few times, wondering whether or not to tell the truth.
"I triple it."
"What?" Jake raised his voice, echoing throughout the room as he looked in your direction and then at Sunghoon.
"I say I'll triple that amount" you moved again, trying to find a more comfortable position on that shitty mattress that was making all your muscles ache "If you don't kill me."
Jake laughed. Nervously, perhaps, but he tried to look a little more cool as he walked towards you and bent down right in front of you. Knees bent enough to bring him close to your face. If you were in the best condition, you could lift your leg and kick him in the knee, only to stagger and fall backward. But you just wanted answers.
"Do you think we're open to negotiations, princess?" he shifted his gaze between your eyes and your mouth but remained in your gaze, which was still sparkling. Jake didn't want to seem arrogant, but that's how he'd been taught.
That's how he learned to deal with that kind of situation, listening to everything and every possible appeal before doing his job. But he never received a counter-proposal, especially one as high as that.
"I don't think you'll even get paid that four million, actually" you looked at him, your voice becoming more and more shaky, "but since the whole inheritance is with me, I'll triple it if you don't kill me."
For a second Jake looked back to Sunghoon for support at that moment. He knew that his friend would probably accept because it would give him the chance to never lay a finger on you.
"Instead, I want you to kill my aunt."
That turn of events was making Jake and Sunghoon's heads spin. Hearts pounding as you let a single tear fall down your cheek. You tried to look convincing and strong talking to two guys who were about to kill you.
But being able to protect yourself was one of the few things you learned because it wasn't the first time someone had approached you out of interest. So why not use the money you had to your advantage? You never thought you'd be able to do that kind of thing, but you'd try anything to make sure no one killed you.
And if the case was to have those who wanted you dead killed, then you'd start with that.
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© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.
808 notes · View notes
seungfl0wer · 8 months ago
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*𝙄𝙫𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪*
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Pairing: Changbin x Reader (Fem)
Genre: Angst (Happy ending of course)
Warnings: Abusive father! Violence, Blood, Alcohol, Sick mother, Lots of cursing. Father is a real piece of shit and puts hands on reader multiple times. Sorry for any mistakes or missing tags.
Just for another warning because I think it’s important. This has content that could trigger some people. Please please read the warnings. If any of them make you uncomfortable please don’t read. Also a reminder. You’re not alone. No one ever should be laying their hands on you. I love you. You’re loved. You don’t ever deserve anything like this.
Find The Request Here
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-🖤
Changbin wrapped his arms around you pulling you close to him. He kissed your neck tenderly nuzzling himself into your neck. You both were snuggled up on the couch watching a show. “My angel” he said softly before softly kissing your neck once more. When you were with him it felt like nothing else mattered like the world was alright. Your moment of happiness was short lived though seeing your phone buzzing. It was your father. Just seeing his name flash on your phone made you anxious.
After your mother had passed away your dad became an even bigger monster. He was always a good for nothing, But now not working as much as he did he stayed home drinking. Your mother had told you before the only reason she had stayed with him was because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Her family was from another country, she didn’t have much money or friends. She was such a brave woman though. You don’t know how she dealt with him so long but I guess him never really being home helped. He had gotten fired from his big job because of his drinking and anger problems. Going to work one day hungover and punching a coworker so hard it broke his nose. He had to pay a hefty fine for that. Now he has a slow job where he only works a few days.
One of your earliest memories of him being his asshole self was him telling you how he hated that you were a girl. He hated that in his words ‘that useless bitch couldn’t even give me a boy.’ He wanted a son so badly and he made sure you knew that. He never really bonded with you however he’d be damned if you didn’t respect his authority. The first time he ever laid hands on you, you were 9. You accidentally knocked over a table braking the lamp that was placed on it. He grabbed you by the wrist smacking you across the face. ‘You stupid fucking brat! Look what you did, you’re just like your fucking mother!’ He spat pushing you away from him.
After that day it just kept going. Having to wear long sleeves at school to hide the bruises. At one point you had to stay home for almost a week. You had stepped in front of him to protect your mom when he hit you square in the face busting your lip. It stayed swollen and bruised for a while. Tooth slightly cracked from the incident.
You wanted so badly to tell someone. Confide in a teacher anything. You were scared to though. Scared they’d blame your mom, put her in jail and take you away. So you endured it. As your mom started to get sick he turned more of his attacks on you. Although a complete peace of shit he wasn’t stupid. He knew if he did anything to her the doctors would see it.
After she had passed you kept yourself from the house as best as you could. Not going home as much as you possibly could. You got a job at a cafe down the road and that’s how you met changbin. He was a regular who once you started talking admitted to only coming so much to see you.
You kept your home life a secret to him as much as you could but one day you were getting intimate you forgot about the bruises. When he had lifted your shirt his smile dropped. He looked at you with wide eyes “what the fuck? Who did this to you?” He said clenching his jaw. All you could do was sob he held you in his arms rubbing your back. “I’m sorry for raising my voice I just- y/n please- what happened?” He asked.
Through your sobs you told him, you unloaded everything in a word vomit of sadness. He would and wanted to go find your father. To beat him senseless, to show him how it feels but he knew you needed him more. He held you so tightly, feeling his own heart breaking from your words. Knowing a family member could do this to someone they were supposed to protect. To love and cherish just broke him. He was such a family oriented person and now he realized why you never wanted him to meet him. Never talked about him. He asked why you couldn’t just leave explaining to him how your mother wasn’t from here, how you had no family and no one else to rely on.
“Shit- it’s my dad” you said frantically picking the phone up.
“Where the fuck are you? He spat.
“I’m- I’m just at a friend’s house” you stuttered.
He laughed “sure, you’re probably slutting around. Get your fucking ass home.”
He hung up leaving you shaking. “I gotta go.” You said picking your keys up.
“Y/n you don’t have to” Changbin said with pleading eyes.
“I’m sorry.” You said before heading to the door.
Your brain wondered what was going on. Why he needed you home. As you pulled up coming through the door you saw him slumped in his usual chair. “About fucking time” he hissed. “Do something useful and go get me some more beer” he demanded.
You stood there almost dumb founded. Before he hissed again “don’t make me say it again!”
You nodded heading down to the store and getting it for him. When you got home again you sat the beer beside him. He gave you a smirk “glad you know how to listen” he chuckled. Your nose twitched at his smell, you hated being close to him. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes and B.O. always radiated off of him. He motioned for you to leave and you did slinking back to your room to text changbin.
Him: Y/n! Text me back! I’m worried!
You: I’m fine. He just wanted beer
Him: I swear I’ll end him one of these days
You: I’m gonna go to bed ok? I’ll see you in the morning! Love you!
Him: Love you to beautiful. Text me when you wake up🖤
You fell asleep shortly after always finding peace in sleep. The next few days were the same old. Going to Changbins after work going home late when you knew he’d be passed out. Today though. You had to run home for your wallet. When you walked through the door your dad was in the kitchen. You took one look around and realized something had to have happened. Things were thrown around. Smashed. Your body froze before you could go to walk back out he saw you.
“Where do you think you’re fucking going!” He yelled. He made a bee line toward you.
“I’m- I’m picking up another shift at work I just came home to grab something.” You lied.
“Bull fucking shit!” He spat.
He grabbed you by your throat lifting you up against the wall. His eyes were dark, knuckles bloody from punching the wall. “I get fucking fired from my god damn job only to come home to see you running back out? For what huh? To go fucking whore around some more?” He said. “No! There’s gonna be some fucking changes!” He screamed.
He dropped you to the floor before grabbing you by your wrist dragging you to the kitchen. “You’re gonna get another fucking job, you’re gonna start paying the other bills!” He spat. “You got it!”
When you didn’t answer right away he slapped more like punched you across the face. ��Answer me bitch!” He said gritting his teeth. All you could do was nod scared for your life. You felt a warmth running down, your nose was bleeding.
“You’re fucking pathetic you know that, just like your fucking mother! That bitch. That bitch fucking deserved what she got! I’m glad she’s fucking dead!” He spat. Something had come over you at that point. You shoved back making him stumble backwards. You made a dash to the door luckily in his drunken stupor he stumbled getting back up. You ran. Not even bothering getting in your car afraid it take to long.
So you ran. You ran as fast as you could until you couldn’t anymore. You hid yourself in the bushes at the park panting. Trying to catch your breath as you fumbled to call changbin. “Hey angel” he said happily but when he heard you breathing heavy his heart sank. “Y/n what’s wrong? Are you ok?” He asked.
“I’m- I’m at the- park down- down the road- please” you stuttered out.
“Stay there I’m just down the road!” He said before grabbing his keys speeding to you.
He gripped the steering wheel afraid for what had happened. “Angel? I’m here!” He yelled out.
You peaked your head out, when he got a good look at you anger filled his body. ‘That mother fucker’ he snarled. There was no time to be angry right now though. You needed him. So desperately needed him.
He sat beside you pulling you into his arms. He took his jacket placing it around you as he whipped away the blood from your nose. He noticed the handprint mark around your neck, he gritted his teeth seething. You sobbed, holding onto him for dear life. He rubbed your back “ssh sh it’s ok angel, I’m here, I got you.” He said.
He rocked you back and forth letting your sobs subside before asking you anything. “Does it hurt?” He asked lifting your face to him looking over your nose and neck. You nodded. It hurt to swallow, hurt to breathe, everything just hurt. “Can I take you to the hospital?” He asked. You were hesitant but you nodded.
The car ride there all he could do was watch over you. Scared something could seriously be wrong. Cursing at himself for not being there. He was in the process of finding a new place. A new place so you could move in with him. The only reason you didn’t live with him now was for the fact he had other roommates and if the tenant found out about you they all could be evicted. He was gonna surprise you today with the good news, that he found a place. Close to his work and close to a bakery you had wanted to work at.
When he had gotten to the hospital they all looked at him like he had done it. They checked you over asked him a million questions. The cops being called from below to ask him questions. They weren’t completely shocked when they heard your dad’s name. He was notorious for his anger outbursts and violence. He had a list of charges that had gotten one being the man he punched at his old job. They wrote everything down, took pictures of your bruises and wounds. Asking you lots of questions before leaving.
“Y/n did you know you had a broken rib at one point?” A nurse asking you.
You shook your head.
“Looks like it happened a while ago, it fused back but not properly. You ever have sharp pains?” She asked.
“Yeah, she use to complain about side pains but they kinda just stopped.” Changbin chimed in.
“How is she right now?” Changbin asked.
“Nothings broken however you’re lucky, the pressure he had around your throat bruised your vocal cords. Any harder you could be looking at serious damage”
The nurse had left to grab some papers changbin took your hand into his. He kissed your cheek softly rubbing his thumb over yours. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there” he said softly.
You shook your head “I don’t want him hurting you either” you said looking up at him.
“I’m proud of you though, pushing back and getting yourself out of there. Your mom would be proud” he said with a small smile. His words made you smile a bit. “She definitely would.”
“I had some news to tell you” he said hoping this would make you smile.
“Yeah?” You asked.
“Yeah. I’m moving. Well we’re moving” he said with a smile. When you looked at him a bit confused his smile grew “I got a place for the two of us. Wish it could have happened sooner but-“ he said.
You wrapped your arms around him hugging him tightly “we’re gonna live together? I’ll get to spend all the time with you?” You said eagerly.
“Yep! Got the keys today!”
When the door opened you thought it was the nurse however it was an officer. “Y/n we have your father in custody. Do you have a place to stay for the mean time?” He asked looking over at your boyfriend.
“I do, but can I go back and get something’s you asked.
The officer nodded “I’ll have to escort you because it’s a crime scene now.”
You nodded.
“Whenever you get discharged we can go alright?” He said before walking out.
After you went to the house grabbing your clothes, laptop and a few things you smiled saying good riddance to this place. You had the few things from your mom packed, having nothing more in this house for you.
Moving in with changbin was something to get use to. However he helped you every step of the way. You got into much needed therapy and after your father’s sentence you felt like things were going up. As a little house warming gift Changbin had surprised you with a cat. You had bonded with him with the many times he had taken you to the cat cafe. You always said how much you wanted him and now you had him. You had your little family now.
Changbin showered you in love as usual, never missing a chance to compliment you, praise you and tell you how much he loved you. You knew in your heart your mom wherever she was, she was happy. Happy seeing her little girl finally get out of the situation. To live her life to the fullest.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵
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Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp
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animasola86 · 6 months ago
Text
F o r g e t f u l 🎀 3 / 4
After you fainted, you find yourself in a different position, even more vulnerable than before, subject to a punishment you don't deserve. Or do you? And why does it excite you so much?
a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem
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WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Humiliation. Exhibition(ism). Bondage. Impact play (canes, floggers, paddles, riding crops). Fingering. Forced orgasm. Squirting. Object insertion. Vaginal fisting. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5k
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A/N: As this is still a scene with a mixed audience, it's implied that Reader gets fingered by a man. If you don't like that, you can imagine somebody else of course. It's barely mentioned, just a bit of a size difference to what she knew before, so technically not that big of a deal. I wanted to warn you nevertheless! (I don't even know why I mention this tiny detail when the whole chapter is full of things that are much, much worse... so beware: this is the roughest part of the series.)
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1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4
And then there's pain. A sudden slap, then another, left cheek, right cheek, your head whipping around under the force. You gasp, mouth wide open, eyelids fluttering, and as your eyes open fully, you stare ahead in shock, realizing it's not over yet, but the relief is tainted by a deep hurt, a coughing fit that makes you keel over, which you can, surprisingly. No more leather strap on your stomach, no more ties around your wrists and ankles.
You can lean in and cough your heart out, raspy breaths trying to find their way into your lungs. The pain is all around you for a moment, until you slowly calm down again, pushed back into soft cushions, a hand wiping at your sweat-slick skin. You blink your eyes into focus and see your roommate. Mistress. The beautiful woman who decided to make you her pet. Somehow there's clarity in this moment, as air floods your system, reviving your numb body with agonizing tingles.
No more dildo gag stuffed in your throat, no more restraints. What happened? You probably fainted. Did you ruin the scene? Fear crashes through you as you find Mistress' eyes. They are hard and dark, but there's something else on her pretty face: concern. For you? Or for the event she planned for such a long time? You reach up a shaking hand, trying to connect to her, your lips parting, but no words coming out.
The muscle in her jaw twitches before she looks away, nodding to someone you can't see. Hands grab you, no longer groping or exploring, but grabbing and gripping, forcing you into a sitting position before they turn you around onto your stomach. You let it happen, you're too weak to protest, still caught in your mind, fighting the guilt creeping up on you. Your arms and legs are strapped to the extensions of the table again, leaving you in a spread-eagle position, it's just your head that hangs off the edge.
There's no strap around your back, holding you down, allowing whoever is handling you to pull your hips up so your ass is sticking out more. A pillow is propped under your stomach to help with the elevation. You breathe deeply, forcing yourself to calm down somehow. The position feels familiar, but you can't remember any pictures depicting it. No. But there are other memories that suddenly flush your clouded mind. And they don't make it any better.
A helpless sniffle escapes you, reminding the people around you that you can issue noises, and apparently that's not something they want to hear. Someone grabs your chin, pulls your head up, you blink, trying to see anything, but before you can, something is stuffed into your mouth, holding your teeth open. At least it's not another dildo gag obstructing your throat. But the motion triggers more memories, hazy ones, red ones, of pain...
Instinctively you bite down on the object, it's soft but sturdy, allowing your teeth to sink in some while not allowing for anything else. You feel your saliva trickling past your lips and down your chin, the drip of it swallowed by the shuffling noises around you.
“My dear guests, there has been a slight change of plans,” you hear Mistress' voice, velvety, raw, vibrating through your core like a gentle caress. Though her words don't calm you in the slightest. “Seems like my pet decided to faint on us a little too early, the poor thing. I apologize, I know we haven't really started yet. You will still get your turn with her, do not worry. But to get her back on track and focused, I need your help. For those willing, my assistants will provide a variety of impact play items to you, please choose one each and gather around the table.”
Your nape tingles, deep shivers crashing down your spine as you whine into your gag, struggling against your restraints. A hand presses on your back, holding you still. Your breaths are erratic, your lips trembling as you part them, more spit running down your chin.
“If you may, you will take turns. Please remember that only the flogger and the whip may hit her back, focus any other item on her rear and thighs. Canes can impact her palms and soles.”
Mistress' instructions send even more shudders down your body, and to your growing horror, you feel how someone twists your arms to turn your hands palm up. Someone else starts pulling off your shoes, before your stockings follow. Your garter belt is gone too.
Now completely naked and vulnerable, strapped to a table, with the prospect of being spanked in various ways, you feel your heart thundering in your chest, your breaths frantic, and maybe if you force yourself into hyperventilating, you can faint again and won't have to witness any of this. But someone seems to notice when you feel two hands on your head, pulling it up slightly before a face appears in your blurred vision.
Mistress. “Pet, I need you to calm down,” she says sternly. “Do not fight this, it will only make it worse. You know that, right?”
You want to shake your head, staring at her pleadingly. How should you know this? You've never been spanked before, or have you? Well. There are faint memories, but then again, there were no pictures. No lasting marks on your body that would suggest anything like this. Or maybe you just can't remember? A pathetic sniffle makes it past the silicone bar between your teeth.
“Bite down on your gag, relax, breathe deeply. You will have enough time to react and process each blow. I am not cruel, you know that, but you fainted on me, and you came without permission, remember?”
You frown at her, wanting to protest (how were you supposed to ask for your orgasm with a dildo rammed down your throat?), but she clicks her tongue and shakes her head, her hand rubbing along your cheek.
“Be a good girl for me, okay? Don't embarrass me now,” she says, giving you a pointed look. “I know you can endure this. You've done so before. Your body can handle it. Just let go, pretty girl,” she adds softly, leaning in to press her full lips to your sweaty forehead. “Do it for me.”
Your stomach fills with a strange heat, and you find yourself nodding into her hand. She smiles at you, further pushing you down a road you don't want to be on, but you know you have to, you want to, for her. Anything for her.
She lets go of you and steps away, her fingers brushing along your tense shoulders. You focus on your breathing, ignoring the tingling of your limbs, and worst of all: the arousal settling deep in your core. How can this possibly arouse you? What is wrong with you? But soon the doubts and questions grow quieter as anticipation makes you anxious, and giddy.
An eerie silence settles all around you, until you hear Mistress' voice again. “Allow me to deliver the first blow,” she narrates what can only be your downfall.
You brace to her words, wondering what object she chose. Strangely enough you feel her fingers between your spread legs, pointy fingernails scraping over sensitive flesh. She seems to stand right between your thighs, one hand resting on your hip, the other exploring your folds.
“Look at this,” she says to the audience you cannot see. “She wants this. She gets off on it.” Her fingers dip into your slick, a lewd squelching sound echoing through the quiet room. You feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “So do not hesitate when you play with her. She can handle this. Give her your best shot.”
And with that she lets go of your hip before her flat hand finds your right ass cheek with a reverberating slap, the impact so severe your whole body jerks against your restraints, a muffled scream trying to make it past your gag. A deep pain settles right beneath your skin, scorching and throbbing, but with her fingers suddenly slipping into your cunt, you feel conflicted.
She's curling them, pressing her fingertips into your soft flesh, before she hits the same ass cheek again, the same spot, and you clench hard around her digits, crying out, back arching, hips bucking, the pain so intense it bleeds into a strange kind of pleasure. And it was just her hand, you realize through the red fog in your head. You can't even imagine what other objects may feel like on your skin.
Of course you don't have to wait long. Mistress keeps her fingers in your pulsing pussy (you realize she is the only one not wearing gloves) as she starts directing her planned out event. “If you may, we will start with a cane to the palm. Proceed.”
You hate how she announces it, it only makes it worse, knowing where to expect the pain, it makes you flinch even before the thin item hits you. Though when it does, hard and sharp and sudden after all, you scream into your gag, convulsing hard on the table, trying to pull your hand away or turn it, but the ties around your wrists sit too tight. As you still process the stinging pain radiating from your palm, a weird throbbing thing sitting right under your skin, your other hand is hit with the same sensation, a rapid whoosh in the air, a hard and precise hit, causing you to writhe and shriek again.
As you struggle you feel someone holding down your fingers to keep your hand in position. It feels warm, your blood pumping erratically into the welts you're sure are blooming on your palms. All the while, Mistress' fingers sit still in your cunt, a gentle pressure, and you try to focus on that, on her making sure you're still okay during this endeavor.
“Feet next,” she says, and you sniffle, curling your toes in anticipation, but when the cane hits the bare sole of your left foot, it's like nothing you've ever felt. Even more painful than on your hands, the wooden stick thrashes against your soft skin, digging deep, or so it feels, a sting like a stab right into your nerves. You wail helplessly, body jerking, hips grinding against Mistress' hand.
To your biggest shame, your walls clench tightly around her fingers, muscles contracting as the pain crashes through your body, turning into a burning wave of pleasure – only to be disrupted by another sharp sting to your other foot, leaving you lightheaded and breathless as you bite down hard on the gag in your mouth.
“Thank you,” you hear the velvety voice from seemingly far away, even though she is still standing between your legs. “How do you think she's done? Will we allow her one orgasm? What do you say? Aye or no?”
Hushed voices echo through the room, barely able to penetrate the thick fog in your head. The pain still throbs warm and unrelenting under your bruised skin, your heart thundering in the same rhythm. A chorus of “Aye!” breaks through your dizziness, and you sigh against your gag when you feel the fingers in your cunt moving, in and out, slowly, the pad of her fingertips rubbing over your sensitive spots, poking and prodding.
“Come on, pet, you heard the people. Come for us, show us what you can do,” Mistress chants behind you, pushing and pulling her digits in and out faster, her thumb pressing hard onto the plug you've almost forgotten about.
Your whimpers are muffled, your stomach tensing up under her ministrations. Her hand moves in a quick sawing motion, her pinky brushing against your clit while her other fingers are pressed deeper into your fluttering cunt, thumb teasing your ass. In and out it goes, faster, harder, and the heat builds, wet and scorching deep inside you. You thrash in your restraints, hips stuttering, thighs twitching, the squelching noises growing louder and more obscene.
You couldn't care less, panting into your gag, eyes squeezed shut, focused on riding this high for as long as you're allowed. Mistress gets even faster, really ramming her hand against you, into you, parting your tense muscles until you suddenly freeze, almost choking on your own breath as your orgasm comes crashing down on you hard, the sensation so intense your body convulses uncontrollably, twitching against the fingers poking deep, and when they suddenly retreat, leaving you gaping and spasming around nothing, something warm and wet shoots from your core in twitchy jets, and a strange wave of awing noises washes over you.
Your core keeps trembling, pussy pulsing, the relief so intense you can barely breathe, before you collapse onto the table, completely exhausted. A wet hand wipes over your throbbing ass cheek, giving it a gentle slap you barely register.
“Well done, pet, what a show,” Mistress says through the cotton in your head. “Let's see if we can make her squirt again. Commence the play, ladies and gentlemen. Floggers next.”
Her words reach your brain, but they don't make much sense. You're still somewhat floating, pleasure bigger than the pain that comes when you feel the various tails of the whip hit your upper back. It's almost a caress, a gentle stroking, but unlike the cane hits, they are not reduced to just one. Someone keeps hitting the soft leather bands against your back, and each blow gets stronger, harder, until the pain finally settles under your skin, making you squirm and cry out into your gag.
The warm throbbing is spread out more, some spots more sensitive than others, but you're not allowed to focus on them, or turn them into pleasure even, when Mistress announces the next object. You can't really hear what it is, you only notice that her voice sounds from above your head now, and shortly after, you hear the clicking of her camera. Your core is hopelessly empty now, still spasming a little, with your muscles clenching around the butt plug instead.
Bracing for whatever comes next, you are still not ready when it hits you, the sudden impact a loud echoing thud, before the pain crashes through your nerves. Something wide and flat has hit your left ass cheek, and through the shivers, you feel someone standing behind you between your legs, a gloved hand gripping the base of your plug. You whimper against your gag, grinding your hips to get away from the sensation, but whoever is in charge is unrelenting, poking and pulling at the plug before you feel your muscles giving way to release it.
With it gone, you feel something warm and wet dripping from your clenching hole. The lube, you remember faintly, and you focus back on the memory of Mistress preparing your ass. You'd go back to that ten times over, anything but the continued pain from being spanked. A different set of fingers pokes at your sphincter, larger and thicker than a woman's hand, and you squirm, feeling the burning sting of your hole being stretched, muscles protesting, cold air hitting your heated flesh.
It's a strange sensation when the digits drill into you in a turning motion, pushing deep and with force, and you clench around them instinctively. At the same time as you feel knuckles pressing against your rim, another dull thud, a reverberating slap, makes your body jerk, your ass cheek burning under the flat surface of what you can only assume to be a paddle. It hits you again, and the fingers move inside your ass, in and out, forcing against your tense muscles, as you wail helplessly, hot tears streaming down your already warm cheeks.
A rhythm begins, fingers push in, the paddle comes down, stretch, slap, pain, fingers pull out, relief, fingers go back in, stab, push, drill deeper, another paddle blow, always on the same spot, pain blooms deep within you, it's all around, spreading, hot and heavy, tingling, throbbing, igniting the bruises on your palms and soles, and on your back, and still there's a strangely soothing heat building in your core.
Your muscles contract around the invading digits, your hole puckering around them, the motion getting faster, the paddle blows quicker, until they bleed together, and you scream a muffled scream as your body convulses uncontrollably, the mixture of pain and pleasure sinking right into your clit, and it throbs and pulses, your cunt clenching around nothing, and still you come, hard, thighs twitching, toes curling, straining your bruised skin, all of it combines into an orgasm that leaves you dizzy and seeing stars dancing at the edge of your vision.
The fingers in your ass disappear, replaced with the plug again, but instead of tensing around the narrow neck, your muscles pull it in, too loose to assume their original state, and you feel it slipping in all the way, deeper than before, though nobody seems to care, and before you know it, you feel something solid press against your pussy, a hard edge forcing its way into your entrance, but it doesn't quite seem to fit.
“Try the handle first,” you hear a faint voice. “You have to fuck her open, the tight little thing.”
The words make you even more dizzy, and you tense up badly when you feel something being pushed into you, slow but relentlessly, prodding until it slips in, swallowed by your clenching walls. You groan into your gag at the pressure and stretch, a strange fullness adding to the overall tenseness of your body. You try to breathe against it, adjust to it, but it only makes your heart beat faster when you realize it doesn't change anything.
The item in your cunt is moved then, pulled out and pushed in, its edges dragging along your soft flesh, poking at the plug stuck in your ass. At first the rhythm is almost relaxing, a continuous thrusting, but then whoever controls it, gets bored and impatient, and it goes from a slow in and out to a rapid pumping, and you gasp and moan, your muffled noises mixing with the hushed chatter around you.
It's dizzying how fast you're being penetrated, pummeled, hammered, drilled, your muscles giving way, allowing more to slip in, more to push deeper, and a strange pain like a stab crashes through your nerves as it is being pushed as deep as possible, poking right at your cervix. You freeze then, hoping to alleviate the pressure, your breaths erratic, limbs twitching, but it's even worse when it's pulled back with a sudden motion that feels as if you're being split right open.
You're left gaping, empty, your walls fluttering, a deep burning thrumming through your body. It doesn't take long for a new pain to take your breath away. It's bigger, wider at one side, flat, and you know as if seeing it behind your tight eyelids, that the entire paddle is forced into your widened cunt. A low groan escapes you as it fills you up, more and more, pushing deep, aiming straight for your cervix. Stars and black spots dance at the edge of your vision, your body struggling to cope with all the sensations.
For a moment it just sits there, impaling you deeply, the stretch aching low in your stomach. But it gives you time to adjust, at least a little, breathe around it, relax your tense eyebrows, and you even open your eyes (not that you would see anything but feet and legs in your current position). Drool keeps dripping from your open mouth, your teeth and jaw aching with how hard you're biting down on the silicone rod, but it's a good distraction from whatever is happening behind you.
Subdued voices, chatter and laughter alike, ring in your ears, the click and shutter noises of a camera taking countless pictures of your predicament, and the memory of finding these pictures in the first place, of seeing your cunt stretched around various objects, gives you a strange sort of comfort, knowing you've done this before, knowing your body can handle it, can return to normal afterward, meaning it may be over soon. Hopefully.
Though looking back, and it's hazy at best, but you try, you realize that, from a spectator's standpoint, nothing much has happened. There was this girl strapped to a table, a dildo gag in her throat, wrists and ankles tied, and strangers were allowed to touch her with gloved hands, cut off her clothes, grope her breasts and poke her cunt. She came once by the fingers of a random person, then bullied herself into unconsciousness for no apparent reason.
Coming back, she had been turned onto her stomach, tied up again, gagged once more, and had to endure cane hits to her palms and soles, a flogger to the back, and a rather tame spanking of her soft ass, then was allowed to come and squirted, before somebody decided to ram a paddle up her pussy. Looking at it this way, you suddenly know it is far from being over.
Something is shifting behind you, the object in your cunt poked and prodded at, pushed further, harder against your cervix, before it is being turned, its flat shape causing your walls to drag along it, the pressure changes, muscles stretched into a different direction, and all you can do is groan and whine at the fullness. It must sit (with its widest part) horizontally now, counter-intuitive to the natural form of your slit, and it burns, the stretch feels forced, making it almost impossible to breathe.
It does, however, allow your ass to relax, and in doing so, you give a little clench, a little push, and the plug that has been swallowed by your tense muscles pops out slightly, seemingly catches on the handle of the paddle poking out of you, before you hear a faint clattering noise when it leaves you that is followed by a strange murmur going through the room. A tsking sound comes to your ear. A hand grabs your chin, pulls up your head. You can still only see someone's legs, the top of their thighs, a black dress sitting tightly around them.
“Oh, pet, you shouldn't have done that,” Mistress coos. You blink tears away, trying to look up but being unable to. “Bring me the riding crop,” she adds, causing you to shiver and breathe harder in an instant.
She lets go of you, and you see her walking away, the clicking of her heels like an ominous echo, a vibration you can feel in your very core. In your attempt to ground yourself, brace for whatever comes next, you clench your hands into fists, using the sudden sting of pain in your palms to distract yourself further. It doesn't help much when the first blow lands on your body, right between your ass cheeks, directly against your puckered hole.
You scream into your gag, body convulsing under the impact, the pain sharp and stinging, and so concentrated it makes you clench around the unyielding object stuck in your cunt, which hurts even more as your muscles can't really get it to move. Your head is spinning, hanging loosely off the table, all the blood that's not pulsing under your bruised skin rushing into it, your limbs twitch with the aftershocks. Another blow hits the same spot, and the pain burns through you like wildfire, igniting every single nerve. You howl hopelessly, your sphincter positively aflame by now.
A third blow lands on it, sending another shock wave through your body, this one accompanied by a sudden motion in your cunt as the paddle is being pulled out slightly, only to be shoved back in with force, hard, unrelenting, parting your soft flesh, sinking deep, poking your furthest point with agonizing precision. Your noises bleed into muffled whines and grunts and cries, your body overwhelmed by all the different sensations. You feel even more lightheaded and breathless as the motion repeats, quicker and quicker, rapid sawing motions of an object that wasn't designed to fit into a human like this.
Add to that the throbbing pain in your asshole, and you find yourself on the verge of fainting all over again. But amidst the searing pain, a bubble of something hot grows bigger, expanding inside you, easing your nerves, your muscles, and for a moment it feels good, good enough for your whines to morph into moans, your body shuddering under the assault of sensations, and as it reaches its peak, when your back arches and your eyes roll back, when your hips stutter and your cunt flutters around the object plunging in and out, you find yourself floating, frozen in time and space for a few seconds as pure bliss explodes around you like fireworks.
With your mind filled with burning cotton that takes over everything, the aches of your body barely register, they're just a faint thrumming, throbbing, stinging, a numbing pain that doesn't matter as you ride your high – and when the paddle is pulled from your depths, a last impossible stretch, you think it's finally over, you can finally sink into the void, but luck is not on your side.
Something else replaced the rigid object, something warmer, a bit softer, and it slips into your cunt with ease, making you groan, your muscles clenching around it. And just as you slowly come down from your high, the thing inside you starts moving, and you feel it, its shape, its strength, what its attached to.
At first it's a gentle pushing and pulling, a barely there back and forth motion, before it begins to pummel your insides with not so gentle bumps, internal little nudges that stretch your walls, and you realize it's a hand, its knuckles dragging over your soft flesh, your depths molding into its shape as it pushes and pushes, a literal fist giving your cervix tiny little punches.
And the more it moves, the stranger it all feels, the rougher its movements, bigger swings, deeper pushes, and all you can do is squirm on the table, struggle against your restraints, howl into your gag, your body convulsing erratically as the fist keeps pummeling into your depths with force and vigor, eager to push you over the edge all over again.
Pain and pleasure melt together into a whirlwind of sensations, leaving you breathless and lightheaded, crying and groaning, moaning and wailing, until you lose all control over your limbs and muscles as they twitch and spasm, and your core weeps, your wetness squelching out with every plunge of the hand. It changes form then, gets thinner, pointier, still hacking away inside of you, unrelenting, bullying all those sensitive spots that give yet another layer to the strange mixture of pain and pleasure.
You can barely breathe, barely function, and it all ends when the fist is being pulled from your tightening walls with a sudden tug, leaving you gaping, your muscles clenching in confusion, but the heat just shoots out of you in erratic spasms, as you groan and grunt and moan into your gag, head spinning, body just twitching, no longer yours.
Before you can fall into nothingness, however, you hear a set of footsteps, then two hands grab your face, one is wet and warm, the other almost cool in contrast. A soothing shushing sound comes to your ears, and you blink your eyes into focus, or you try, everything's blurry, there's a thrumming ache all around you, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of weightlessness. The leather strap around your head is loosened, relieving the strain on your jaw as the gag falls away, allowing a little river of drool to leave your mouth. The hands are back to wipe at it, clean your chin and your trembling lips.
“My good girl,” you hear Mistress' velvety voice close to you as she leans her forehead against yours, crouched before you as she is, and you blink again, trying to see her pretty face, her deep eyes, and the first thing you do see is the smile on her full lips. “You've been so good. Look at you, you took this so well. Such a good girl,” she keeps praising you, rubbing your sweat-slick cheeks, her wet thumb brushing against your bottom lip and into your mouth, making you taste something sweet and tangy, and you realize it's your own taste. But you can barely react to it, it doesn't matter anyway. You did good, she said so, you made her proud, right?
She leans in and presses her lips to yours, a short but sweet kiss that tingles in the back of your cloudy mind. You wish you would have the strength to reply to her ministrations, but you can't really move, still stuck in a place outside of your own body, though she keeps peppering your face with gentle pecks, brushing your hair out of your forehead, caressing your jaw, cradling your head. She's so gentle, and the contrast to how she treated the rest of your body makes you shudder deeply.
Slowly you come back to yourself, your limbs itching, your butt hurting, your cunt throbbing. You let out a little groan against her lips, and she leans away, watching you. “Do you need a break, pet?” she asks quietly, and you want to tell her to stop it altogether, no breaks, breaks mean it will continue eventually, and you can't keep going like this. Everything hurts, you feel so empty and boneless. But seeing her so close to you, still feeling the tingles of her kisses, how can you say no to this woman?
“Yes, please, Mistress,” you croak out, your voice nothing more than a rasping breath spilling from your swollen lips, raw and rough from all the voiceless screaming, but she understands you all the same. She nods, caressing your cheek, before she stands up and addresses the people you completely forgot about by now.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dear guests, I thank you for your attention and participation thus far. We are taking a little break, so if you like, I invite you to grab another drink and some snacks from the buffet in the entrance hall. We will be back shortly.”
1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4
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End notes: Well. Was the ending worth all the horrors before that? I hope so. More aftercare in the next chapter, we're through the worst, I promise! Stay tuned!
Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!
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MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS
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boizandgurlzinthehouse · 2 years ago
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.
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pairing: coriolanus snow x toxic!fem!reader
summary: someone always throw a spanner in her works, to achieve her biggest dream —being coriolanus' lover, wife and claiming power. luckily, y/n is not on the loser side when it comes to playing.
trigger warnings: mastermind!reader, toxic!reader (for real, she's doing nasty things), reader's family is a bit fucked up, reader is obsessed with coriolanus snow, lying, swearing, blood, violence, killing people, hunger games stuff, i just love volumnia gaul, reader hates lucy gray and everybody who's around coriolanus, mental health problems mentioned such as psychotism.
𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.
their peace was harassed. again. 
lying on her bed, y/n’s legs were flexing with the same rhythm as her heart beated and her brain ticked. 
that bitch. that dickhead. that fucking new rule.  
turning onto her back, y/n bruised her hands into her hair. too many things happened today, too fast and she couldn’t do anything. she couldn’t do anything to get closer to her first and only lover, coriolanus. it was the perfect plan she had made; going to the same places he went, organizing her whole life around him and gaining access into his heart. and after that? marriage, of course. and kids, and endless wealth that could be provided by her family and his position, because y/n didn’t accept anyone else as a husband than the president of panem. they could be the perfect couple, and her family almost gave the benediction to their marriage. 
only if this fucking day wouldn’t happen. 
today, in the school were coriolanus was studying –y/n was a private student, her family only trusted the teachers that educated the former younger members of the family like her older brother, who was now the leader of the first district–, a new rule was stated: students’ grades wasn’t the reason anymore for the plinth-prize, no. they needed to be a mentor for those poor losers who fought on the ruthless game named hunger games. y/n didn’t care about hunger games really much, but when her family was watching it on the tv in the salon, she sat down too, to watch how people’s true nature came out. while her family enjoyed watching it, they got her to take medicine since the doctor of the family stated her as a little bit mentally unstable. he said some symptoms like… lack of empathy, callous and manipulative? she was just like her grandma, astoria. it was nothing special. 
coriolanus got to be a mentor, and she got a girl from the twelfth district. it was not only the reason of her rage that that fuckhead casca took most of his chance away from winning the prize, and that he needed to work on this much more so they couldn’t be together, but… he got a girl. a girl named lucy gray. and lucy gray can watch herself if she does anything to woo coriolanus. 
y/n got to know him when they sat at the same time in the library; it was love at the first sight. she fell too deep, and from now on, she did everything to get close to him. if she was the universe, coriolanus was the sun; everything was for and about him. she made it known to him even, telling him that he has a big future, and that he needs to watch out because everybody’s going to hunt him down. but she’s gonna protect his safety, not significantly, because she knew how important pride was for men, even if she thought that it was sometimes hilarious. she’s gonna be the shadow around him, the shadow nobody can step over to get to him. y/n knew what’s good for him, and she made real intentions in the past too, from things like speaking with her father so he could soften up casca and give him that damn prize to the even action like being friends with his sister, tigris and his grandmother, the grandma’am. they were nice anyway, so she didn’t mind, same with the money she left in their house ‘accidentally’, or paying for oriolanus’ and hers dinner or snack or coffee when they were hanging out together. her father loved y/n endlessly, because she was just like his mother, her grandmother, but he couldn’t crawl under casca’s skin against the man’s will. while her whole family laughed at that damn girl, lucy gray, who sang and got knocked down on the ground, y/n knew that she was a potential danger. in that moment when she saw the way coriolanus looked at her, y/n decided that lucy gray, this or that way, had to go. there wasn’t any space for others in their love, and anyone that decided to harass it, was gonna pay the prize. 
turning on her stomach, she drew out her journal with shaky hands from anger, tearing up the page where she wrote down steps for the plan. she had another notebook for the doctor who read it monthly, and that notebook was full of ‘normal’ thoughts. but this, this journal… this contained everything that was her. and all of her love for corio, with pictures, letters they wrote to each other, little notes they changed through boring library afternoons, her plans for the wedding dress she’s gonna wear when they marry, and the names of the children they’re gonna have, not to mention the plan and the little footnotes she added to make it really, really perfect. scanning through the papers, she knew she hadn’t planned for this. how could you be so stupid? or was casca that dickhead, that fucker, he’s throwing a spanner in my works, but he’s gonna regret it. yeah, he’s gonna regret it, but not now. this was so perfectly worked out, it was truly a masterpiece, and now, some dickhead fucked it up completely. there were two things y/n didn’t like: people who stood between her and coriolanus, and people who thought they had the right to shit into her plan. 
throwing her journal away with a scream, her white, beautiful cat, persephone meowed loudly, jumping out from the way. looking into her direction, y/n called the cat closer to herself with bending her fingers. crawling into her arms, she rocked her like a real baby. 
“casca thinks he can stop us, sweetheart. but we gotta show him that we are clever, aren’t we, persy?” she asked, stroking the cat’s fluffy fur. persephone was y/n’s best friend; she never gave away her secrets, and always purred when the girl took her into her lap. “we can’t give up, no, sweetheart. we’re almost there, we can’t give up now, and we won’t, will we?” 
persephone meowed again, while y/n picked up the journal. grabbing a pen, thinking about the plan, what was wrong with it? was it not detailed enough? was it too straight? or… her cat accidentally tossed down a picture with her big tail, making y/n sigh. 
“you need to diet, persy.” muttering, when she lifted up the picture, it was her and coriolanus, her favorite picture. and in the background, there was sejanus, clemensia, arachne and many more of his classmates. in the background, blurred out, just as she liked… 
what do they have in common? 
they all had a relationship with corio. with her too, but… that can’t be all. what if the plan was wrong because she only focused on her lover? but it’s the point of it, to have a focus on him. suddenly, it hit her like a train her brother came last night with from the first district.  
she had to peel them down from coriolanus… one by one. it’s gonna be a little bit tiring and difficult, but y/n always loved challenges. and everything that could lead to coriolanus was worth fighting for –even if this fight was a little bit dirty. but her plans weren’t dirty, and she could never be dirty. she did it all for love, for their happiness. 
“you are a fucking genius, persy.” she muttered into the cat’s fur, making her meow again. 
before she could really write down the list of the people who could stand in their way, someone knocked on her door. 
“dear sister, could you come down for dinner?” it was her older sister, morphia. she was about to wed the mayor of the second district. y/n was gonna miss her, really, but not when she disturbed her mind while planning another masterpiece. 
“of course, i’m coming!” she opened the door. kissing the cat’s fur and putting her down to the bed so she could nap, noting in her mind that she needed to bring her food after dinner. morphia saw behind her back, on the bed her other notebook, the ‘normal’ notebook. 
“were you writing down your day?” morphia asked while walking beside her little sister on the hallway of the first floor of their home. they had a three floor house, the whole y/l/n dynasty lived together under one roof, including the husbands and wives who got married into the family. the wealth came from her sharp-minded grandfather, dmitri y/l/n, who had enough influence to get the control of the first and second district, getting ten percent of income from both districts for his own family after the war. he could do it because with his help, bombs were useful enough to stop rebellions. that way, the y/l/n house became rich between the richest, and they had enough respect so nobody doubted the wealth they had. did they get it dirty? yes. did they have guilt? of course not. 
“yeah, i was. so many things happened today. did you hear that corio has to attend the games like a mentor? he got a girl from the twelfth district, it’s so unfair, isn’t it?” she replied, walking beside the frescos of their deceased family members, facing the big windows shaded by heavy brocade curtains. the whole hallway covered with soft burgundy carpet, between the frescos, vases of beautiful roses stood on marble piles. everybody who took a walk in the y/l/n house, they could almost believe that war never happened. 
“you care so much about him, you’re gonna be the best wife. but still, please use your brain, sister. you are so clever, it would be a shame if our family wasted such a perfect mind between children and housekeeping.”
“i already submitted my papers to volumnia gaul. my grades and studies are great from biology and chemistry, maybe i can be one of her geneticists or scientists.” 
“it would be great. our family was never one of those who planned the games. father will be proud of you, just like me and everyone from the family.” morphia stroked her sister’s hair, going down the spiral stairs. the rain was softly falling, tapping on the windows. y/n’s smile was moderate; of course coriolanus was important, but her family was just as much. whatever, whenever, wherever you do, do it with pride. 
sitting through dinner, y/n formed the list in her mind, smiling and laughing when the others did, eating from the big plates. at night, she wrote down everything with persephone in her lap after her dinner too, a glass of wine beside the picture of coriolanus and a little, heart-shaped candle she got from him. 
the list. 
1.arachne crane. her family is part of the old guard of the wealthy from the capitol. they work in the travel industry, having developed luxury hotels in vacation destinations. she’ always very loud and always socking people. she’s not behaving like a noble, truly pathetic.  relationship with corio: they had grown up together, attending important events in each other's lives, as was natural for members of two families of money who lived close together, but did not really like each other. how to get rid of her: waiting. she got a girl from the tenth district, the tribute-mentor work will probably make her busy. at that time, i can speak on my behalf for coriolanus, maybe angering her towards me, to play victim. coriolanus doesn’t like her anyway. 
arachne was an easy prey. otherwise, the first rule of the plan was always to keep her hands clean. never, nobody could know that behind their downfall, there was y/n. 
2. clemensia dovecote  daughter of the energy secretary. she’s always up coriolanus’ ass, only because he’s the one who she can take advantage of. no original thoughts, only crawling up on everybody’s backs. really, really pathetic.  relationship with corio: only classmates. but a really annoying one.  how to get rid of her: she’s gonna fail herself either way, always wanting to be tricky, faith is gonna be her end. if not, talking with my father about her bad reputation, so her and her family’s gonna end up warned. 
y/n trusted her father enough to not to speak out loud that she was the one who intended on it. the y/l/n house always protected each other at all costs, and she wasn’t an exception. 
2. sejanus plinth // DANGER. only child of strabo and mrs. plinth, a wealthy couple from district 2. his father, strabo, made much of his wealth from munitions and weapon manufacturing. rich, has influence.  relationship with corio: his parents almost treat him as their own child. really, really dangerous.  how to get rid of him: …
y/n stopped while writing. sejanus liked her too, because he knew corio and she was almost a couple, but really… sejanus could stop him if he even said a word. it doesn’t work if she’s too kind, if sejanus himself doesn’t, his father will notice it, the bond is too tight and she didn’t want to suffocate in it. she needs to wait until something happens, and intervene when coriolanus is in doubt. 
“we have a lot of work before us, don’t we, persy?” she asked, leaning down to kiss her sleeping cat’s head. looking out the window, the rain fell continually, striking a bolt when she wrote down the fourth person. 
3. lucy gray braid // (?) family member of the nomadic group called ‘covey’, coriolanus’ contestant in the 10th hunger games. rumors say that she got into the games because she was messing around with another girl from the twelfth district.  relationship with corio: neutral. keep in mind if something happens. her actions may be out from surviving.  how to get rid of her: she has to win, so coriolanus can get the plinth-award. other than that, she’s gonna be taken back to twelfth district. keep in mind if something happens. 
lucy gray, lucy gray… you’re gonna be in big, big trouble if you take him away from me. you looked at him in the wrong way. 
y/n sighed, tossing her pen down. she needed to do some research for the coveys, whoever they were. it’s gonna be a long night, but her happy, perfect life with coriolanus will be even longer if she makes lucy gray gone. 
“songbirds can fly high enough to get away from snakes, you know that, persy? but even they can’t get away from a big storm.” y/n giggled, finding peace in the monstrous rumbling above them, heavy droplets banging on the window. sitting at her dressing table, she chose the lipstick she’s going to wear when coriolanus and she shares their first kiss. it was perfect. looking into the mirror, there was a strange glint in her eye, the one she always had only for herself. if she can’t get him one way, she will on the other. 
and anyway… her storm is gonna rock the whole panem. 
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starsurfacemortalkombat · 7 months ago
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Gala Problems - CG Selina Kyle w/ Regressor Bruce Wayne
TW: Really light cursing (Crap)
I don't know if it's triggering, but there's talk of diet restrictions? Because Batman's Batman, and his body needs to be in top condition, yada yada. So I'll put it in here incase that makes anyone iffy.
Link to Fic: Gala Problems
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
None of the Wayne's truly liked going to Gala's.
They were loud, crowded. Fancy Gala's meant fancy (or restrictive, as Damian claimed) suits. Fake smiles, too many people touching, and the food way always a hit or miss.
Fortunately for them, Bruce really needed only one plus one when he got invited to an event.
Unfortunally for Bruce, he still had to go.
Luckily, however, this time his plus one was his girlfriend, Selina. They had been going steady, thankfully. A few hiccups here or there, but nothing big or terrible. And for once in a long while, the Dark Knight felt more peaceful than he had in a small while.
Still, Bruce zoned out as some rich prick rambled about . . . something- He wasn't actually paying attention. He knew he should, especially if it was Wayne Enterprise related
. . . But he wanted to go home.
He had been at this event for almost four hours! His usual nice suit no longer felt as nice anymore. He wanted something comfy. The food was eh, but he kinda wanted something else? Like apple slices!
. . . Crap, was he regressing? And at a Gala of all places?! 
No, no, he was fine. Just peachy! 
Sure he felt a bit fuzzy, and he'd love nothing more than to go home and watch Gray Ghost. Maybe he could tell Alfred about how yucky some of the food here was? . . . Uh, how unappetizing some of the food was.
Suddenly the man laughed, playfully hitting Bruce's shoulder, "Those were the days, huh? Well, I need to see some potential clients. I'll see you around, Bruce!"
Bruce gave a nod and a wave as the man walked off. He would have said bye back . . . But he wasn't even fully sure what they spoke about.
"He took forever," Selina scoffed, eyeing her boyfriend. ". . . You look out of it."
"Do I?" Bruce tried to cover it up with a smile. "Well it has been a long night-"
"Right, of course, long night," Selina rolled her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I have no clue what you mean," Bruce tried to brush her off. "Did you see the dessert table? I think Jason would have enjoyed it . . . Don't give me that look."
Bruce didn't like the look Selina gave him, or how she crossed her arms. It made him feel small, tiny. Clearly she didn't believe him. And clearly, she was waiting for him to speak about what was wrong. 
But Bruce was never a man to voice many things. So he also crossed his arms in reply, and the two glared at each other.
"Are you going to stay silent all night?" Selina sighed, putting a hand on her hip. "Or are you going to tell me what's going on? Because somethings clearly wrong, Darling."
. . . . Dirty cheap move, sweet nicknames.
". . . Wanna go home, Kitty," Bruce whispered, looking at the ground.
He didn't like calling Selina 'normal' caregiver nicknames when he was small, even if both her and Alfred insisted any nickname was normal. It felt . . . wrong, calling her 'Mama' or 'Mommy'. That title slipped away long ago. And while Selina might have adored the nicknames themselves, she didn't like how iffy Bruce got saying them.
Plus, Kitty was cuter anyways.
Selina's eyes widened, "Oh Baby . . ." She grabbed his hands, looking around. There were still many people, although none that came to bother them, yet.
Still, publicity was key.
And leaving an event before it ended wouldn't look the best . . .
"Do you think we can stay for another ten minutes?" Selina asked quietly, gently squeezing his hands. "Then we can scramble away from this silly party, okay?"
Bruce grimaced, he hated being small in public. He would always be afraid that someone, anyone, would pick up on the fact that he regressed.
He rarely ever regressed in public. Maybe once or twice, where he quickly ran home.
He was Batman, the Dark Knight himself. . . Who might have regressed the moment he walked into the Batcave after a bad night- But that only happened three times! 
But right now, he was Brucie Wayne. And if the press found out that he used age regression? 
. . . He didn't want to think of those headlines.
Still, he reluctantly nodded, ". . . O'kay."
Selina smiled, "Good boy. I know, I wanna go home too. But in about ten minutes we'll hit the four hour mark and then we can blow this joint."
But ten minutes seemed like so long! Bruce held back the want to stomp his foot and huff. They were in public after all, he couldn't be too pouty, yet.
Selina grabbed his arm, leading him towards the tables filled with food. Some of it was . . . there. Not healthy enough for Bruce's taste. Or perhaps Alfred just spoiled him with his cooking.
Still, there was the dessert table, which Selina made a b-line to.
"Look at all these sweets!" she said in a semi hushed tone. "Which ones should we try before we go? Hmm, such a tough decision, don't you think? I don't know which to choose!"
Selina was amazing at distraction tactics.
Bruce looked at all the tiny, bite sized cakes and finger foods. Normally he didn't tread near this kind of table. But tonight was an exception, he guessed.
He glanced around, just to make sure no one was watching or two close by, before smiling widely.
"Everything!" he whispered excitedly.
"Everything?" Selina gave a quiet laugh. "Someone's going to get a tummy ache if they eat all of that. How about we only choose a few?"
Bruce pouted, but looked again at all the yummy snacks. None of them compared to Alfie's snacks, but it all did look good. Better than the boring foods at the other tables.
He pointed to a mini cupcake, looking at Selina, almost for permission.
"Good pick, looks tasty," Selina smiled, handing Bruce the treat.
Bruce happily took the cupcake, immanently putting half in his mouth. Selina chuckled slightly at the scene. She wanted nothing more than to ruffle his hair, but they were still at the Gala, and Bruce needed to look presentable.
"Thank yew, Kitty," he managed through the mouthful.
Alfred would have a field day if he saw that, talking with his mouth full.
"You're very welcome darling," Selina smiled. She reached out and wiped the bit of frosting that got on his face. "Such a messy boy."
She side eyed as another man walked over, probably one of Bruce's many bushiness partners. He had a smile on his face . . . Selina didn't quite like it.
Bruce quickly shoved the reach of the mini cupcake in his mouth, quickly wiping his hands with a nearby napkin. He was really hoping no more social interactions tonight. He knew they should have left earlier!
"Bruce! There you are, I was hoping to catch you tonight!" the man laughed, holding out his hand for a handshake. "I assume you caught my email?"
Alfred had warned Bruce about several businessmen at the Gala tonight. If Bruce had anything to go by the silly little name tag on his suit, this was the one that was the most persistent. Always trying to get some kind of 'partnership' from Wayne Enterprises. Which really just mean he wanted to use Bruce for his money. He thought Tim had dealt with him, the partnership didn't look very promising.
Selina noticed as Bruce tensed, almost glaring at her. She gave a sheepish smile, putting a hand on his back, gently running her hand up and down. She hoped it would soothe him a bit . . . Which it did.
"Ah, yes of course," Bruce nodded, giving the man the best handshake he could muster up. "Caught me at a poor time, I was just about to head back to the manor."
"Oh?" the man raised an eyebrow. "I was hoping we could have a conversation actually-"
"Unfortunately, as my boyfriend said, he's had quite a long week, and he's just exhausted. We were just about to leave," Selina stepped in,
"But-!"
Selina's glare made him shut up,
"Well- That's a shame," the business man quickly chuckled, seeming now a bit nervous. "Are you sure your alright there, Mr. Wayne? I mean, you usually spend a bit more time partying. Barely seen you with any drinks tonight!"
Bruce gave an annoyed smile. He didn't want to deal with people right now.
He wanted to go home, curl up in a nice blanket, and maybe have Kitty play with his hair. He could practically feel himself slipping!
"Fine," he mustered out. "Just tired."
Before the man could speak again, Selina grabbed Bruce's arm, giving another smile, "Well, we have to get going now. Have a good day."
Selina didn't care to look at the businessman's face as she dragged Bruce away and out of the building. She didn't bother to stop for anyone that tried to grab their attention, b-lining to the car.
". . . That was rude," Bruce pouted as they stopped in front of it, Selina already grabbing his keys. "Leavin' like that . ."
Selina huffed, "That man was insufferable. And you were in distress! We need to get you home, poor thing."
Bruce pouted a bit more, he didn't like leaving things unfinished. Especially when it came to his business . . .
But Selina's concerned tone and the little petname at the end made him decide it was better to just not argue.
. . . Another dirty cheap trick.
Selina carefully helped Bruce get into the passenger side, buckling him in, ". . . How about we get some McDonalds for the ride home?"
Normally Bruce was so strict about his diet, which made sense really. When competing against men like Superman or the Flash, who basically had super genetics, diet was important to being Batman.
Even little Bruce was a bit strict about what he ate, although a little less so. He gravitated towards things like fruit, which there was nothing wrong about that, but wouldn't turn down Alfred's cookies . . . or ten.
Still, Selina was sure he could coax him.
Bruce let out a quite hum, thinking. McDonald's sounded great right now. He'd probably regret it later, but right now? That didn't matter one bit! Big Bruce's problem after all!
". . . Can we get a toy too?" he asked quietly as Selina got into the car.
Selina smiled, turning on the car and starting to drive, "What if we go to Bat Burger instead? You could get a Batmite! Some Robin nuggets, a toy, some fries. How does that sound?"
Bruce seemed excited by the idea. Normally, Bruce didn't care much about the whole Bat Burger thing. Sure it was . . . there.
But his kids liked it. And more importantly, little Bruce liked it.
He fiddled with the cuffs on his suit, ".  . . Can we get some apple slices too? Please?"
"Of course, Handsome. We can get you some apple slices too, I bet they're very yummy, aren't they? Anything else you want?" Selina asked. "Chocolate milk? Apple juice?"
Bruce thought about it, shaking his head, "No thank you."
". . . I'll get you an apple juice," Selina promised, earning a small huff.
She pulled into the drive thru, coming to a stop. Luckily, there was almost no one in line, and they got their order done quickly, ordering something for herself too.
Selina handed the happy meal to Bruce, setting her own food on his lap, driving back to the manor.
. . . But he didn't open it. Just letting it sit on his lap.
"Something wrong, Kit?" Selina frowned.
". . . Alfie says it's not proper to eat on the car ride home," Bruce quietly insisted. "Wait till we get home. Eat at the table."
Selina had to suppress a small laugh at his insistence.
She gave a soft smile, "I doubt one time would be such a crime. Besides, Alfred isn't here right now. Kitty will take full responsibility if Alfred gets all huffy about it. So there's no need to worry, okay?"
Bruce shifted slightly in his seat, looking a bit upset. He didn't have many rules when he was small . . . He wasn't even sure if no eating in the car was a rule for when he was regressed. it was a rule when he was a kid, and none of his kids were encouraged to do so either.
Sure, Alfred never lectured him or got too upset with little Bruce. Mostly because Bruce couldn't handle certain tones when tiny. But he was rarely bad on purpose . . . Unless it was a bad regression night- But Alfred never got upset at those either! In fact he tried very hard to make sure he didn't snap at Bruce on those nights, no matter how stubborn or fussy the Dark Knight was.
"I won't tell," Selina promised. "No Alfie, or Clark, no anyone else, I promise. It'll be our little secret, okay?"
". . . Pinky promise?" he asked quietly.
Selina coulnd't help but smile more at Bruce's question. Pinky promise? he was too cute sometimes.
It was nice, seeing him act more like this. She hadn't been Bruce's caregiver for very long. Technically that role mostly applied to Alfred. But Bruce's regression . . . Well, she was glad he was more worried about pinky promises and being naughty than helping her baby stop spiraling.
It saddened her, really. 
She stuck out her pinky, "Pinky promise. And once we get back, I'll help you put on your comfy clothes, and then we can have a special night just for you. I'm sure you'd love to watch some Gray Ghost, right Sweetheart."
Bruce perked up at the idea. He loved that show! Both little and big- He could talk about it for hours if he could.
He hesitated, but linked his pinky with Selina's. Selina was telling the truth, and she wasn't going to tell on him. He immanently opened his happy meal.
He didn't eat . . . a lot. Only a fry or two.
But he quickly grabbed his toy, smiling at it, "Look! 'S Batwoman."
"Cousin Kane?" Selina asked, receiving a happy nod. "You'll have to show her it later, I'm sure she'd love to see a picture of it."
Bruce smiled at the thought, showing off his new toy.
They quickly arrived back to the manor, and Selina insisted on helping Bruce unbuckle, much to his pout. He might have been small, but he could very easily get out himself!
. . . But this once, perhaps he could let himself be helped and babied. Just a bit.
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
Uuuuh, I got really into DC lately.
Other requests will be done soon, I promise!!!
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cal-daisies-and-briars · 5 months ago
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🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️ 🗨️
FIRST WORDS OF THIS BAD BOY
84 for 🗨️:
---
It all starts because of a call to a senior’s home. 
Well, okay. Buck is sure it all started way before that. But in the immediate sense, it starts because of the senior’s home call. 
There’s a small kitchen fire in one of the units. Someone making stovetop popcorn, who forgot it was on the element. Honestly, it’s nothing the staff couldn’t handle with a fire extinguisher, but the LAFD is automatically flagged when the smoke alarm goes off. The problem is, the whole experience - the alarms, the smoke, the firefighters - triggers a panic attack in a completely different resident. A resident who, according to staff, already struggles with progressing dementia.
Her name is Alva, and when Hen and Chim approach her to try and help, she’s speaking rapid-fire in a language that is completely unfamiliar to Buck. Some flavor of European? 
“Sometimes when she’s stressed, her English regresses,” one of the workers explains. “She didn’t learn it until later in life, so…”
“Harder to retain,” Hen fills in. 
“So how do we communicate with her?” Chim asks. “What language is this?”
“It’s Swedish,” Eddie says. 
They all look at him. Buck did not know he could identify Swedish just by hearing it. 
But then he does something even crazier. Even more out of the realm of what Buck would expect from Eddie. Eddie, his best friend, who he’s supposed to know everything about. He approaches the woman and starts speaking to her. In Swedish. He doesn’t sound totally comfortable with it. It’s slow and awkward on his tongue, compared to hers. But he’s obviously doing a decent enough job, because the woman calms down enough to listen and respond to him. 
The four of them - Buck, Bobby, Hen, and Chim - just sort of gape at this exchange. Did anyone know? Why has this never come up before? 
Eventually, Eddie looks back at them. 
“Alva’s okay,” he says in English. “Doesn’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Thank you so much,” the worker says. “You’re a miracle worker!”
Eddie’s cheeks go a little red. “No trouble, really.”
They give Alva another few minutes to calm down and orient herself before a worker leads her back to her room. Then they all head back to the station. Of course, from the look on Eddie’s face as they leave the senior’s home, he understands he’s about to get grilled.
“So…” Bobby starts when they all sit down in the engine.
“Swedish?” Chim asks. 
“Wouldn’t have put money on that,” Hen adds.
“Why did you tell me?” Buck asks.
Eddie groans. “So I speak a little Swedish. No big deal.”
“Um, it is a big deal,” Buck says. “Because I didn’t know.”
“I’d say more than a little,” Bobby replies. “You really helped that woman, Eddie.”
“I’ve mentioned my mom is Swedish,” Eddie says. 
“Yeah,” Chim says. “But I thought it was, like, one of those things where it’s several generations past and culturally no longer relevant, but the white side of your family liked feeling special?”
Eddie snorts. “No. Like, she immigrated when she was seven.”
“And taught you Swedish?” Hen asks. “That’s cool.”
Buck frowns. Given what he knows about Eddie’s childhood, mother-son language lessons do not sound like they fit. 
“Not exactly,” Eddie says. “I picked some of it up. There’s not much else to say, okay? It came in handy today.”
They all know Eddie enough to know that that means the conversation is over. He’s great at putting up walls quickly. Shutting stuff down. But, although Buck may not know the full linguistic capabilities of his best friend, he does know one thing. Eddie only gets this dismissive because there is more to the story. So Buck will wait. Buck can wait to ask more. But he’s absolutely going to find out. 
🗨️
It’s sort of a sensitive time to be prying into Eddie’s life. Buck knows that. The guy has only been home from El Paso for two weeks. He’s got Chris back. That’s a good thing. But it’s not entirely smooth.
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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 8 months ago
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Any chance we could get a yandere Poe Dameron comeback? 😈
Somehow he has returned :o
The fire inside, the beauty outside
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Yandere!Poe Dameron x f!reader
Cw/triggers: Nsfw, Poe is lowkey creepy, dirty thoughts, masturbation(m!).
Poe recently heard about new recruits for the Resistance. Knowing his luck, Leia most probably would assign him to welcome them and give them a proper start.
The day the corvette with the recruits arrived, he got himself ready, reminding everyone of the new members.
You were amongst them, stepping out to join the others as Leia and Poe approached.
Leia smiled sweetly as she stopped infront of you all.
"Welcome to the Resistance everybody," she gestured towards Poe, "this is commander Dameron, our top pilot and the one who will make sure you have a great start."
You could feel the nervous swallowings of the others around you.
Poe looked at each one of you, but his eyes lingered on you for a second longer.
As Poe started speaking, explaining how everything will work, you listened intently while Poe caught your gaze more often than with any of the others.
When the introduction was finished, all of you were assigned to do some small work in the maintenance bay, with Poe's eyes fixated on you whenever he could, even sneaking glanced at you when he's talking to someone.
Poe couldn't explain how and why you specifically. Did he care? Not so much.
He looked around, seeing the others deepened in their work, then his curious gaze set on you working on a droid.
"Hey there, doing alright?" he stepped beside you, watching your fingers work on the dismantled protocol droid.
You smiled proudly. "Yes, I'm trying to fix his arm and it's giving me problems with the wires though."
"Want me to help you?" Poe offered with a friendly smile.
Accepting with a nod, you stepped more to the side, allowing Poe to help you, fumbling with the same arm as you did, occasionally brushing his fingers against yours, sending sparks through him, some even wandering downwards, with his heart fluttering.
Poe's breath quickened, he felt the heat rise up from the blood that's starting to flow downwards.
He tried to ignore all the things going on inside of him, wanting to genuinely help you but it was difficult with the bloodrush in his groin distracting him.
But despite all the distraction, Poe managed to help you with the wires. Thank the stars he was wearing his orange suit, otherwise his tight pants would threaten to bust open.
"You think you come along alone? I've got a meeting coming up shortly." He excused himself.
You look back at him, smiling. "Of course, thanks for the help."
With a quick reassuring smile, Poe swiftly made his way out of the maintenance bay, heading to a quiet spot inside the base so he could be undisturbed.
Once there, he pressed himself against the wall, trying to calm himself down even with his big problem inside his suit.
"Fuck, what's wrong with me?" He muttered, he couldn't bear the urge any longer, palming himself with one hand, unzipping his suit with the other.
The smile you gave him was almost too much for him.
Reaching inside his straining boxers and pulling his throbbing length out, he looked around one last time, then gave himself a slow, teasing stroke, slumping back against the wall.
With a groan he started stroking himself faster while his thoughts unintentionally went back to you, your beautiful face, your smile, your everything.
And your hands while fixing that droid? It drove him freaking mad with pleasure, imagining them moving somewhere else instead...
Slowing his handiwork down to edge and tease himself even further, Poe didn't want it to end, fucking his fist, thinking about you, wanting you - no, needing you!
Poe was a panting and hip-shuddering mess, having to support himself on the wall with his arm, squeezing the girth in his hand, imagining what it would feel like to bury himself to the hilt inside you. You, being a moaning mess underneath him.
He wished he could go down on you, ripping orgasm after orgasm out of you until you have to beg him to stop due to overstimulation.
Poe was already about to drop off the edge, he was so close.
With the last pump of his hand, he spilled himself on the wall. Exhausted, he leaned his sweaty forehead on his arm, subconsciously watching his cum flow down the wall.
Once he catched himself, he tucked his softened cock back into his boxers, then zipped up his suit, and adjusting its collar.
When Poe returned back to the maintenance bay, he saw Leia along with C-3PO speaking to you and the rest of the group.
Leia had already dismissed you and the others as Poe stepped beside her.
She raised an eyebrow at his sudden appearance out of nowhere.
"Poe, where were you?"
"I had to respond to an emergency with BB-8." he blurted out in fast thinking
"I'm glad you're here now though. They're all going to join us, for now I've given them free time to adjust. I'm giving you the same 'cause I think it was a hard day for you with them."
A hard day for Poe indeed.
"Yeah it was," Poe nodded, feigning exhaustion, "but I'm glad they're going to join us." he drawled.
Poe was looking forward to it. Specifically to you.
After he got dismissed, Poe went inside his quarters, trying to get a hold of himself but failed miserably. His mind was still clouded with you, only you.
Just a few minutes after, Poe felt increasingly restless, he wanted to see you again. So he got up, deciding to give you a friendly visit.
After a quick check, he now knows where your quarters are. Once there he knocked softly on the door, already having an excuse thought up.
Hearing no response, only silence, Poe made a bold move, pressing the button to silently slide your door open.
Poe's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness in your place. You were already in your bed in a deep sleep.
Admiring your sleeping form, Poe silently stalked towards you, then kneeled down at your bedside.
By the stars you are so beautiful.
Poe reached out, gently tracing his knuckles along your cheek as you let out a sleepy sound.
He smiled, wanting nothing more than to climb into your bed and trap you in his arms.
Poe leaned down until he was close to your ear then whispered lowly.
"Baby you will love it here. I'll take such good care of you..."
------------------------------
Tags:
@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
@mooksmouse @autismsupermusicalassassin @cordeliaelise @faretheeoscar
@appeltaartglitter @lunaana-02 @krakenkitty @marycat-memeblog @tokkiwrites
Wanna get tagged?
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dead-boys-club · 1 year ago
Text
†  birds of a feather : hawks.
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❥ scenario: hawks and his winged s/o ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested! it's late - i am sorry, i'm a mess. ❥ for the sake of writing, the s/o's wings are black.
keigo having a partner that has wings is going to garner so many terrible jokes, let me just get that out of the way. in all honesty, he would be over the moon about it.
he would be fascinated, always. he likes his own wings but compared to yours? he's always full of compliments about their size and color, the way they shine in the moonlight. he would have some sense of familiarity with you, being so similar to you in ways that would be impossible with someone else. the first time he saw you, he was just.. stunned. training with you is one of his most favorite things, wanting to see just how you could use them.
this may or may not come as a surprise, but he would like the idea of having an s/o who was so capable. unlike most, he'd have no issue with someone surpassing him - he'd actually find it pretty attractive. knowing that you were fully able to handle yourself, he would have no trouble leaving when he needed to. of course, the usual safety concerns would pop into his head but he couldn't do anything about those, could he?
keigo enjoys deeply intimate moments with you. your having wings would include grooming - he's very meticulous with wing care, for both of you. he'd like helping you keep them and take the opportunity to pet over the soft feathers, grinning to himself at how it would make you shiver and squirm. it would be a very soothing process for him, a mutual way of taking care of each other that he never had before.
the rivalry would never end, though playful. both of you would trade jokes, teasing comments, etc. the amount of races you'd have were endless. most of them ending in a park or a rooftop, laughing, and pretending to be normal. like you didn't have to wake up in the morning and go risk your lives for something.
your wings would be his absolute favorite thing in the world. and, he wouldn't hesitate to say that.
✧*̥˚ nickname *̥˚✧
as the day finally came to an end, keigo was content to make it back to the apartment, wanting nothing but to unwind with you. he was greeted by the sight of you laying half in the living room, half on the balcony, wings spread out as far as you could manage, enjoying the warmth of the sun on them. it was a sight that made him pause, taking you in for a moment but your senses were just as sensitive as his own.
'evening, pretty bird,' you greeted, not even bothering to open your eyes.
he chuckled, making his way over to peer down at you, head tilted. 'hey yourself, big bird,' he mused.
raising a hand up for him to take, which he did without thought, you sat up with a small laugh. '"big bird"? that's new.'
keigo crouched down, leaning to peck your lips before straightening again. 'I think it's only fair you have a nickname, too, don't you think?' chuckling when you pulled at his shirt to get him to sit back down. he complied with ease, settling on the floor with a deep sigh, shrugging off his jacket. 'it's not as sweet, is that the problem?'
you laughed, a light sound, clearly amused with his new title for you. 'I mean, i can't argue with you on that.. but big bird? i'm not even yellow.'
watching as you moved around to crawl closer, practically falling and melting into him, he let his arms settle around your frame. 'it suits you. you've got these.. big, beautiful wings that i can't help but admire and adore.'
you couldn't do anything but shake your head, headbutting his shoulder. 'you're so weird but, if it makes you happy, i don't mind.' smiling, you looked up at him. 'it's kind of cute. i guess you can use it.'
sinking back to lay on the floor, he let his own swings spread out, taking a deep breathe. he was comfortable like that, your weight and warmth soothing the stress of the day. 'oh, i intend to. my adorable big bird.' you both knew if it was an actual problem, he would stop but he saw the smiles and flutters, knowing you enjoyed it. you were too honest to let him use something you didn't like.
your wings rested above his own, nosing into his shoulder. 'mhm, pretty bird.'
✧*̥˚ safety *̥˚✧
on a more serious note, keigo would find comfort in your wings. he's so used to his own keeping others safe that he never expected to be the one being kept safe. being wrapped up in them something new to him though deeply satisfying, letting himself sink into your embrace. you knew when he needed the comfort and provided without a word, something he would appreciate more than you knew.
keigo knows that he's allowed to be vulnerable in your hold and that's the only place he does so. he doesn't have to put on a brave face or hide how he feels about something. he can be himself and relax with you. he doesn't have to have his guard up.
the emotional bond shared between you would be something he cherished, knowing that you would be there to protect and comfort him, the same way he was for you. he often finds himself lost in thought over his luck in finding you; someone who understands him so well.
✧*̥˚ another little thing *̥˚✧
it was a rough night for keigo, the weight of the days events feeling like a cinderblock on his chest. the normal distractions to keep the gross feelings and threat of anxiety away hadn't helped, leaving him restless. he tossed and turned, eyebrows pinched as he couldn't seem to rid himself of the thoughts.
it didn't take you long to feel the movements or sense the distress beside you, a concerned frown forming as you blinked your eyes open, trying to clear your vision. 'kei?' you asked softly, reaching to lightly place your hand atop his head. 'you okay?'
most of the time, your touch, even your voice, would have done something to soothe the nerves but nothing. 'a lot on my mind,' he mumbled, sighing deeply. 'don't know why, but i can't seem to shake it tonight.'
you didn't need to say anything, knew it was probably best, and just turned to shift closer to him, spreading your wing to gently wrap around him. he didn't hesitate to turn and hide his face against your neck, sinking into the warm cocoon you created. the soft feathers against his skin and brushing against his own brought a sense of calm to settle over him. it wasn't completely taking everything away but it was doing more than anything else.
'thank you.' his voice was barely even a whisper, gradually starting to relax as he did his best to overlap and replace thoughts. your warmth earned a sigh.
holding him close, you flexed your wing against him, just wanting to hide him away from the world. 'you know i'm always here for you,' you whispered, a hand coming up to sink through his hair, 'anything you need.'
finally, he closed his eyes, even squeezing them shut for a second. he was soothed under the gentle strokes to his hair, the ghost of a smile forming when he felt the movement slowing, a sign that you were beginning to doze back off. it was okay though. he felt safe, protected from the nonsense and above all else, loved. he knew he'd struggle but at least he had you.
'grateful for that,' he answered, 'for you.'
you smiled, barely awake at that point, tipping your head enough to nose against his own, basically cradling him to your frame. 'whenever you need me, pretty bird.. i'll be right here..' you mumbled, slurring slightly, yawning against the blond locks.
wrapped up in the safety net of your wings, keigo let himself begin to drift off. the dark night began to fade into one of peace. it wasn't long before you were both asleep, wound up in each other.
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pathological-runaway · 5 months ago
Text
the elders playing minecraft:
daleth:
spends 98% of their time building
their constructions aren't that pretty but they have a lot of fun
spends the remaining 2% of the time chasing after creepers that keep destroying their house
switches to creative and peaceful as soon as they're told these exist (which happens A LOT later)
is a noob. the 'explodes the desert temple' and 'accidentally throws away items because they misclicked' kind of noob
really slow, which means they mostly play alone, which is not a problem for them at all
is so engrossed in the game they forget they have to eat and sleep
ayin:
has 360204 bees and 218400 cats. all with names and houses
builds a house in the most beautiful area ever
is nice to spiders and piglins but won't hesitate to defend themself if attacked
probably tried to mine diamonds with a stone pickaxe on some point
super organised. everything has its own chest
gets lost 24/7, even if they're just 20 blocks away from their house
accidentally got a village raided once, couldn't help and walked away in shame
teth:
tries to speedrun and fails every time
probably tried to sleep in nether on some point just because someone had told them not to
took a few dogs to the mines. all died. never recovered from this
the type of person who would explode their enemies with tnt rather than kill them the normal way
pretty good at redstone and uses it for big epic doors
can remember everything except for crafts. coordinates? easy. redstone mechanisms? of course. place of death? no problem. how to make a boat? no idea
probably tried to replicate their realm in minecraft but burnt out after 5 hours
samekh:
trolls that got banned from all the existing servers
speedrun but with cheats
play with crazy modpacks that make zero sense to anyone but them
probably were the ones to get others into playing
know everything about everything. besides how to tame horses
build huge and unnecessary stuff like 10 villas and 5 castles. and also 6 pixelarts of themselves, probably
pester teth about helping them with automitised farms
die every 5 minutes because they're too reckless
never sort their chests and have random stuff in their inventories
tsadi:
follows through on every plan and has all achievements
the only person who goes to end prepared
lives in a dirt box even after all this time because they prioritise efficient farms, easy to navigate mines and other stuff
never has full inventory
gives full armor and tools to their friends if they join
used to enjoy raids because they're challenging and require a strategy
...needless to say, having a war right in their realm made minecraft raids disgusting and triggering
...burnt out and tired, they mostly explore now. it calms them down
lamed:
"why is it like this? it makes no sense" about 80% of the game
has a weird organisation system no one else understands
very good at pwp
no monster scares them
always mixes up buttons
really invested in trading with villagers and takes this activity more seriously than anyone on the planet
the design of their house, mines, and everything else is a nightmare
...somehow, despite this, they're pretty efficient
tries to figure out stuff on their own, without any help, with leads to Epic Fails
has been playing since alpha
can't catch up on new updates. still surprised when they see turtles
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thevanillerose · 10 months ago
Text
SCORCHED | YANDERE!TODOROKI x READER | MY HERO ACADEMIA
~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.
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Stumbling. Collapsing. Staggering.
You were like a broken marionette, desperately scrambling to free yourself from the gargantuan flaming pyre which had once been your apartment building.
The events leading up to this moment were as hazy as the acrid fog of blackened smoke that hovered around you. Questions swirled like embers in the wind.  
Who lay at the root of all of this? Even you yourself would have struggled to believe it.
Todoroki. Todoroki Shoto. He was a boy of extremes you could say, but well enough liked by the students of U.A. High School. You had certainly liked him a lot, seeing past his cold, aloof nature, and always assuming there was something more that lay beneath it.  
In the end, you were right to feel that way. He really was a very complex guy.
In fact...he was far more complex than you had ever imagined.
Forget his past. Forget what he had gone through, and what he so often kept sealed away inside of himself. Forget his left side, and the history behind it.
For you...you were what truly became his vulnerability. Despite his best efforts, he simply couldn't resist you.  
Face. Voice. Manner. Was it possible for so many things about a single human being to be so flawless? Every time he laid eyes upon you, he yearned for you to be beside him.  
There was just one very big problem, besides his often unapproachable manner. A thorn in his side that was just determined to stick, and even more bitterly, was a 'friend'.
Midoriya asked you out. Midoriya.
 That wide-eyed fool who was less of a man and more of a child. Someone who wept and sniffled the moment anything got tragic, and yet he pretended to be tough. That was what Todoroki saw at least. A pathetic farce, put on to win your affections.
 The worst part? It had actually worked. When Todoroki initially heard that the green-haired imbecile had asked you out, he made the assumption that you would probably say no to him. No, he actually assumed it was definite. Yet...to his complete and utter surprise, you said yes.  
 Just like that, his chances had been shattered. True, Todoroki had never so much as revealed a centimeter of his feelings for you, but he always felt like you would wait until he was ready. When the time was right, you'd finally be together. So why...why would you do this?
 Why!? How could you!?
 It drove him mad trying to figure it out, and in the end...he snapped.
 It was a simple way to put it, but it also summed it up aptly. The last of his sanity slipped away thanks to a singular trigger, and of course, Midoriya was the one at the root of it.
 Was it creepy that the dual-haired boy was creeping outside the window of your apartment like some sort of red streaked spider? Yeah. Maybe. Was it bizarre that he chose to observe you both silently through the glass, ducking away whenever you happened to turn your heads? Sure.
 Still, in his messed up mind it was a necessity. How else, after all, was he supposed to keep a close eye on you and make sure things never went past hand-holding with this bastard?
 How else was he supposed to...scope things out?
 “Thanks for spending time with me today. I had a lot of fun, even if we just watched some movies.” you reached out and gave Midoriya's bouncy emerald hair a nice big ruffle. It was a habit you'd picked up, and it always made him blush. Whenever you saw his cheeks redden, you only fell that little bit more in love with him.
 “Yeah it was fun! Thanks, [Y/N].”
 Sure, at the start you had been in two minds. You still felt something for Todoroki, and that hadn't changed even now. Yet Midoriya had proven to just be the right one for you. He was so much kinder and funnier than you had ever imagined in the first place, and you could always feel your spirits lifting when you were around him.
 Simply put, things had changed. You'd fallen in love with him, and in turn, your attachment to Todoroki had swiftly faded.
 Yet as your affections drifted out of sight, something lit up within the darkness.
 Everything was fine up until that point. Initially you and Midoriya were happily relaxing on the plush carpet in your bedroom, eating some snacks and finishing off the final movie you were marathoning for the night. It was so nice to just spend some casual time with him outside of classes and all of that fighting too.  
 Neither of you were aware of what was about to happen when you kissed each other and said goodbye for the night. It never occurred to you even once that, as you stood there in the open doorway and watched him go down the corridor to the elevator, this would be the very last time you ever saw him. When you laid down to take a nap, you happily imagined him toddling away home, probably to dream about you too.  
 It was what you believed. So it seemed to be just right.
 That was not reality though.
 In reality, his charred cadaver was left jammed halfway through the doors, keeping the elevator from descending. Todoroki made sure to leave him there, so that not even in death he'd find any peace. After all, it had to be pretty bothersome, being repeatedly chewed on by a lift.
 Then there was the stairwell. Blocking the door was a given. Windows weren't much of an option anyway.
 Todoroki figured, that the only way to truly expel the rage he felt after watching you two kiss one another, was to burn this whole damn building to the ground. That included all the people inside of it, so he'd ensured that all the exits were turned to ash first and foremost.
 This was his revenge. If other people got caught up in it, that wasn't his problem. If you got caught up in it...well...
 He'd just have to make damn well sure that didn't happen. Everything would fall into place, he was certain.
 The only pity was that when the apartment building went up in amber and red, you had no means of seeing Midoriya's body. Todoroki had kind of been hoping you'd come across it first before realizing you were trapped, and that your sorrow would only increase grandly because of it. Alas...
 Instead, you couldn't even leave your own room. Everything caught fire so fast that you couldn't even touch your door handle, instead recoiling as the burning heat stung you.  
 “Shit! I can't believe this is happening!”
 You'd woken up to the sound of a blaring alarm, then nothing but the crackling of fire and the billowing sound of smoke as that too had ended up being melted and ultimately destroyed. The devastation was immeasurable, but you couldn't even pity others when you were literally on the verge of dying yourself.
 Climbing up onto your bed, you pressed your back firmly into the corner of the wall and huddled up desperately. You continued to hold yourself, blocking everything out, and thinking only of Midoriya.
Midoriya...Midoriya help me! Save me! Please!!
 “M...Midoriya...Midoriya help me...help me...” you even stuttered out, expecting no answer.
 Yet...you got one.
 “'Midoriya, ohh Midoriya, help me!'...Get a hold of yourself, [Y/N].”
 A taunting imitation. Slowly, you pulled your face out from behind your knees, raising your tear-stained visage so you could look up.
 “Seriously. You aren't calling anyone, and you're hiding on top of a wooden bed with flammable fabric, not even bothering to get any oxygen. Fire safety 101. Are you insane?”
 His voice didn't seem real, nor did his face. You were near delirious, not just with the smoke, but with the shock of it all. He was a blur of red, white and blue.
 “You're lucky I came by when I did...you're especially lucky that you're not already dead.”
 Todoroki gazed down at you, standing on the bed and staring right into the corner where you sat. It really was a miracle in some ways, though he had of course never intended to let you fry up like the rest of these pointless people. No...you were the only one among them who he would save. Firefighters didn't get to be choosy, but he did.
 You were the only one who was worth anything to him now.
 Plus things had worked out sweetly enough. You may not have seen Midoriya reduced to a lump of coal, but he could weave his absence into this faux storyline he was creating nonetheless.  
 “If only Midoriya had actually come. With all that begging, and knowing you were here, I wonder why he didn't...”
 Todoroki trailed off for a moment, and slowly, creepily, tilted his head to the side. His eyes went a little wider, pupils shrinking. The fire raged on in the hallway, creating an ambient crackling.
 “I mean, he should have, if he truly loved you, right? Maybe he didn't though. Maybe he just wanted you out of the way so he could find someone else--”
 “That's not true! You must have--” you managed to blurt out, trying to push him back. You barely graced his ankle before your body sank back against the corner again, eyes fluttering and showing the whites. Todoroki dropped to a crouch before you, remaining on his haunches and eyeing you up and down with an ever calm expression.
 “...You must have...done this...”
 Todoroki merely tutted. Of course you jumped to conclusions, but that wasn't an issue for him. He'd deal with those assumptions in due course...once this little introduction to your new life together was concluded.
 It would end in one of two ways. Either you'd willingly go with him, and he'd save you. Or, you'd push yourself away, try to get out or find your beloved, and he'd still do the same.  
 After all, he'd gone to the effort of making sure you had nowhere to go, nothing else, nobody to turn to, and no other choices. All of it had gone up in flames, and you were all that remained in this former haven, a place you'd so lovingly shared with Midoriya every evening. It would be a shame not to salvage you...
 “It's not going to be long before the flames burn down your door. You're already on the verge of passing out, do you really think you can survive for much longer?”
 Truly, your vision was blotted. You sank lower and lower, feeling like you might keel over and fall off the bed entirely, until it actually happened.
 The sheets slipped away, your carpet saying hello instead. But your hand shot out to stop the fall at the last second, nails digging desperately into the fibers.
I wake up to my entire apartment building on fire...and the only person who shows up, is Todoroki.
That's not a good coincidence.
 Adrenaline surged through your body all of a sudden, and you thrust yourself up off the ground, making a straight beeline for the door. Todoroki's power would match perfectly with what had happened here, and you didn't want to stick around for what else he had planned. Why he had it planned in the first place, you didn't know. You just knew that you had to get away from him.
 “[Y/N]! You're going to die if you go out there!”
 You only believed him once you actually did. Ignoring the searing pain in your hand after opening the handle, you burst out into the corridor, which was a mess of tumbling charred wood and spitting flames. Gagging on the strong stench of pure smoke, you had to push yourself onwards.
Todoroki has changed sides, and he's coming after all his friends! Right!? That explains everything, doesn't it!?
 Why else? Yes indeed...the thought that it might have stemmed from jealousy never occurred to you. It seemed too far-fetched, since your love for him had always seemed so one-sided.
 Whether this fire had been deliberate or not, you had to get out of here regardless. You only hoped that Midoriya was okay. That he'd escaped from here in time. When had this even started happening!? As soon as you'd fallen asleep!?
 Maybe it had only been a short time. Maybe he was still in this tall building somewhere!
 “MIDORI--AH!” you cried out, or tried to at least. Yet your own choke cut yourself off, and that seemed to be the final gasp of energy within you. Your legs truly caved then, the burning floor rushing to slam against your spine as you fell backwards.
 Before you could collapse though, a pair of hands met your back and lifted you up. Up and up, saving you from the roaring rage that sought to consume you along with everyone and everything else. It was almost like you were ascending somewhere, being spirited away.
 That was when your face met his firm chest, his arms wrapping around you fully. Todoroki held you tightly to him, as if determined to never let you go. And by all means, he was.
 Todoroki 'saved you', never once revealing that it was he who was responsible for laying the embers in the first place.  
 This was to be your 'fresh start'. He'd disinfected the wound in your life, the horrible gash that not just Midoriya, but all those around you had left. Torching this entire complex had rid the world of many people who knew you, many people who were especially close to you.
 People who no longer served any purpose in Todoroki's opinion. Not when he was here for you instead now.
 Finally, the love between you could flourish...
 …
 Time passed...and you never went back to your old home.
 Instead, after allowing you to stay with him, Todoroki became your new roommate, your new neighbor...and your new lover.
 Going along with the notion that the apartment block had been destroyed by some kind of boiler malfunction, you started to become convinced. You started to believe, even when initially he seemed like the prime suspect. You started to blame Midoriya, assuming that he really had abandoned you and everyone else, since of course there was no trace of his body now.
 “It's like I said, [Y/N]. He didn't want to risk his own skin to save you. That's how much he really cared.”
Yes. He's absolutely right. You never did care...did you, Midoriya?
 In time, thoughts of the green-haired boy faded, and they were replaced with those of the one who had now become your lover. His scarred face, his white and scarlet locks, the slight smirks he would give you now and then. This was the person who you began to recognize as your one, true love.
 When he kissed you, it felt right.
 When he hugged you, it felt even better.
 When you connected intimately, his voice in your ear, hands on your body...he made you forget all about your former lover.
 To think. At one point in time you had assumed he was the one who had caused that disaster. Now though...you could no longer suspect him as a villain. Never.
 No...not Todoroki.
Because you loved him.  
You loved him. 
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lixiesstorys · 1 month ago
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Vent (?)
NOT A FANFIC
Trigger warnings: talking abt self harm and suicide, addiction (?) to pain killers, abuse of pain killers, eating disorders, mental health problems/illnesses/issues
Normally I don't do those posts, because I don't want anyone to trigger theirselves with it or that people worry about me (or because if I write something like that, I feel like a burden XD) but I have to get this off my chest. (I'm about sorry and please don't read to trigger yourself or if you're senitive about those topics!)
I'm the quiet friend that nevere belongs anywhere. I'm the quiet friend that is the side kick you can go to when no one else is there and that you can abonton, but it stays with you. That is what I am. nothing but an annoying side kick that is only needed for listening to problems.
No one ever cared about my feelings. How I feel about that, what problems I have.
You know what the problem is when you're a perfectionist? You're as good as possible and most times that is good. But as soon as you write a worse mark than normally and you are sad about it (maybe from 9 - 10 to 7 - 8) you make things up and are too sensitive. 'that aren't even real problems'. Maybe it isn't a really failed grade, but for me it's as much pain as if someone really fails a grade. It is the same pain, but no one understands it. Maybe I don't really have to fight for my education, but it feels like that. And my marks don't come from donig nothing. I can't count the nights I skipped, so I was able to study, but got only a 7 - 8 (in Germany it's the mark 2).
For most people it looks like I ahd the perfect childhood, but in real life I didn't even have one. My father abononed me and my mom when I was 1. I got bullied in school (from my teachers). When I was 11, I was able to think like an adult. That may sound cool, but that is only the result of growing up to fast. I also got anorexia. With 9 I had nothing else in my head then grades, marks and studying. With 12 I burned out and got depression and social anxiety. I never had real friends, only those who didn't care about me.
I also lie alot. I don't want to, but as soon as I don't know what to say or if I'm overwhelmed, I start to lie. Those aren't big, but something like 'yes, I ate something' makes me feel bad for the person that asked. Another (maybe more understandable) lie is about my age. I won't say my age here, but I can say, that I'm still a minor.
Back to my time-line: when I was 9 i also started to hurt myself. Not by c&tting, but by punching, biting and insulting myself. With 13 I was (nearly) addicted to pain killers. They made me feel numba nd the pain would go away. I got bulimia in that time too. With 14 Io started to cut myself and with 15 I tried to kill myself several times. Those are the worst parts of my life, but no, I don't have problems, if anyone asks. I'm fine, don't worry about me. I was changing between binge eating and starving myself.
With 15/16 my mom wanted that I go into a clinic, but we agreed on therapy. There we found out, that i have PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), ADD, depression, burn out, obsessive-compulsive disorders, anxiety and social anxiety. With 16 I found out about littlespace ans a coping mechanism.
Sometimes I wonder if that all wouldn't have happened, if someone had really listen to me. If someone watched my smile fade away. Or am I such a great lier that no one noticed?
I'm still the quiet but 'happy' friend. I'm still the perfectionist no one understands and everyone is annoyed of. Nothing really changed except that I know why I am who I am. That I actually am non-binary trans masc (wich also can lead to depression if you don't know who you are).
But isn't it sad, that people have to harm themselves or even try to kill themselves? That people have littlespace as coping meschanism as reaction to trauma?
And another thing: why are mental health issues accepted (what is important of course!) as long as it's not gender dysphoria?
There we are again. I'm still a minor and so much happened in my life. And you know what is kinda sad? There are other people outside, that have the same problems like me. To everyone whos suffers: I officially tell you: I am here for you! Talk to me and I try to help you! (This is okay for me, since I told you I want to help you) But in every case: please, if you don't feel happy anymore, please search yourself help! It's never too early, only too late. It doesn't have to come that far, like with me, just because I didn't see that I needed help (I still don't see that, but I'm working on it. Please, just reach out for help and don't fear to talk about your problems. That is important! You are important!
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buffster · 4 months ago
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Triangle (BTVS 5.11)
This is part of my ongoing Buffyverse Project, where I write notes/meta for every episode in an attempt to better understand the characters and themes of the shows. You can find the BTVS list here and the ATS list here. Gifs are not mine.
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So, I think Willow is a resentful people-pleaser.
We've seen a few hints this season of some Anya/Willow tension, and this episode is when it finally boils over. I sat and thought about why they're having problems, and though this episode concludes they're both overprotective of Xander, I don't think that's the issue on Willow's side. She makes several comments to Anya about the way she presents in the world. Anya is bold, unbothered about people's opinions, largely unfiltered. Willow also disliked Faith--though some of that was bff jealousy--and I think it's because they aren't worried about people-pleasing.
With Tara, we see a contrast of someone who genuinely believes the kindest, most forgiving thoughts in given scenarios. We see someone who hates to hurt others and gets something out of making them happy. With Willow I think her nature is a survival mechanism from an overbearing mother and a lifetime of being bullied. We get several pieces of evidence that Willow isn't being honest when she gives her friends the most supportive, loving opinions. She masks as sweet, innocent, and naive but there's more beneath the surface. I think she becomes triggered by someone like Anya because she has the audacity to voice the cruel/unforgiving/just plain rude thoughts aloud.
Anya: I don't do magic now. You're the one with that kind of power. In fact, D'Hoffryn offered you my old job! You're closer to being a vengeance demon that I am! Maybe Xander should be afraid of you!
Willow and Anya's fighting causes Willow's spell to go awry and a troll to be released. This is where we get the infamous hammer.
I didn't really get the sense that Anya had many personal issues with Willow other than a little fear she was trying to turn Xander against her. Anya would have complained about stealing spell ingredients with anyone, not just Willow. She's proven as the one who loves Xander the most when he refuses to choose between Anya and Willow and Anya says to kill her.
We also find out the troll is a man Anya dated as a human. He cheated on her and she turned him into a troll, earning her spot as a Vengeance Demon. He says he didn't cheat "in his heart". What a line.
Anya: Xander? If you ever decide to go, I want a warning. Big flashing red lights and one of those clocks that counts down like on a bomb in a movie. And there's this whole bunch of colored wires and I'm not sure which is the right one to cut, but I guess the green one and then at the last second... no... the red one and click, it stops with three tenths of a second left. Then you don't leave. Like that, okay? Xander: Check. Big bomb clock....By the way, I'm not going to want to go. Anya: Good. Because that would hurt. I can't think about how much that would hurt.
Hmm. They're really presenting their relationship as solid this season. I still think the demise was a little weird. I'm going to have to write more about it after I finish the show.
Of course, our other big focus this episode is the fallout from Riley leaving. Again...something is missing from me in Buffy's grieving. It just feels a little...hollow. Anyone else getting this? Like she's more hurt that she messed things up/got abandoned than actually really missing him. We learn later that Riley is absolutely devastated at this point. Even with the random crying she doesn't really feel devastated. More scorned by love in general and worried about being alone. And also just...even if you weren't in love with someone, when someone is there every day for a long time and they're suddenly gone it's going to be upsetting. It feels more like that.
Olaf: YOU THERE! DO YOU KNOW WHERE THERE ARE BABIES? Spike: (to Xander) What do you think? The hospital, maybe? Xander: What? Shut up!
Spike is a hot mess this episode as he screams at mannequin Buffy about not being grateful he showed her what Riley was up to. He's enraged she doesn't love him back and showing some ugly entitlement. His "affection" is really gross here. He won't help fight the troll until Buffy shows up to watch and then he tries to get credit for not feeding off victims.
The whole episode I was just thinking...how the hell is Giles going to pay for these damages? This is bankruptcy territory. And in the original script Giles comes back and acts insanely chipper and calm about it. I would have liked to see that.
Giles is going to contact The Watcher's Council to get some info about Glory. Buffy expresses anxiety about what they'd do if they find out Dawn is the key. Giles assures her he isn't telling them that part...but it got me thinking he's probably already considered killing Dawn might be the best option. Just like they would.
Character Notes:
Dawn Summers: A boy named Rusty Keeler didn't sit with her at lunch and she cried for two days and spat in his milk. She's confused about Buffy's calm over Riley.
Rupert Giles: He gets drooly over the Watcher's library.
Spike: He loves chicken wings and blooming onions.
Tara Maclay: She's allergic to shrimp.
Willow Rosenberg: She accidentally hurt her pet fish and was banned for five years before she got them back. She tried using hellebore to de-rat Amy and she thinks it increased her intelligence. Interesting she's still working on it.
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kakusu-shipping · 5 days ago
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Oooooo 29, 32, 36, 46, and 50 for the Shadow polycule pleeeease <3
Yaaaaay thankyou!!
Ask from Here
29. Do they like public display of affection?
Jevil - Yes yes yes!! 100% yes! He loves any kind of affection and at any time. If he's not constantly in contact with someone he will start causing problems
Spamton - Kind of, it depends. He likes acting like he's still a Big Shot, and a public display of possessiveness is right up his alley, but he's still so hesitant about being Touched. So long as he's in control though it's fine, usually.
Ramb - Neutral. He doesn't mind it, won't initiate it, won't pull away if it's initiated upon him, etc. Whatever makes his partners happy. Course sexual advancements from Spamton in public aren't as tolerated.
Soul - Yes!!! Like Jevil must be in constant contact with someone or it'll get distracted and just. Float away. Almost always holding Ramb's hand or hugging Jevil like a plushie.
32. How do they comfort each other?
Jevil - He just fucking. Doesn't. Why bother, it's not real, nothing matters, they'll get over it. He likes to trigger Spamton on purpose sometimes for fun, and he's been trying how to upset Ramb in the same way recently.
Spamton - Wouldn't bother with Jevil or Ramb, but if the Soul's upset and crying he'll just start talking at it. He knows it likes to hear him speak, speech impediment and all, so he'd just start saying Whatever comes to his mind right in front of it till it calms down.
Ramb - THE comfort, not really by choice just kinda the only one who can. He talks Spamton through panic attacks, starting by taking off his glasses so he can see without all the static in his eyes, then counting out loud to break him out of whatever verbal tick cycle he's stuck in, then leading him through breathing. For the Soul he offers physical comfort, usually this results in being held like a teddy bear, but he doesn't mind
Soul - It doesn't know how to help Spamton and that freaks it out, so it can't comfort him. But it does try to comfort Ramb, who's less outward breakdown and more just... depressed and tired. It mostly just hangs around him, and if he slips up and calls them "Kris", it telsl him that's okay. He can call them whatever he wants. Whatever makes him happy. (Ramb still doesn't know how he feels about that...)
36. What is their favorite place to be kissed?
Jevil - HATES kisses thinks their boring boring boring!! He only ever accepts kisses from Seam and only ever not on his lips. If anyone else tries to kiss him he BITES THEM
Spamton - On the lips! But he doesn't have those anymore, so on the teeth I guess. He's just as unhappy with it as anyone, but kisses are his favorite form of affection so he's doing his best to work around it.
Ramb - Doesn't have a preference. The Soul likes to kiss his beauty mark the most, and he just thinks that's cute.
Soul - Where it's mouth would be if it HAD ONE. Mostly gets kisses from Spamton and gives kisses to Ramb.
46. How do they make each other laugh?
Jevil - Random silliness. He'll just bound around like a ball, randomly do a flip, tell a sudden joke. He's the easiest to make laugh and is constantly entertaining himself. Ramb also thinks he's kinda silly and likes watching him just Do Stuff
Spamton - Doesn't like being laughed at, always takes it as an insult even if he did say something funny.
Ramb - Quips. He's still got a bit of a sharp tongue left, so when firing back at Spamton he can say some pretty spot on, smarmy shit. Cracks Jevil up Every Time. He also tells stories about Kris that are funny sometimes.
Soul - Being just straight Stupid at times. Jevil and Spamton will loose their shit watching the Soul investigate something it doesn't know, floating around and staring at it all big eyed. Bonus points if it hurts itself. Ramb doesn't find it very funny.
50. Who would protect who in a dangerous situation?
The Soul for sure. For one it has bested both Spamton and Jevil in combat, so it's at least use to fighting, even if it took a LOT of tries. It's also the biggest of the for of them by a lot so it's much easier to shield them than have them shield it.
Spamton would probably try to help, he does do a lot to try and defend and keep the soul safe, in a protecting his property kind of way?? Jevil would fight just to fight, not to protect, but because it looks fun.
Ramb I can't see fighting. If it's not a physical altercation, he is the one to stand up verbally for everyone, but in a Battle he's pretty much useless, and he feels awful about it.
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softhums · 1 month ago
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★  ‧₊˚  ⋆  sienna  miller.  cis woman.  she/her  …  now  playing:  crown  on  the  ground  by  sleigh  bells  —  oh  ,  that  ?   might  be  babette  ‘babs’  mary-helen  dutton  ,  a  forty  six  year  old owner  of  the  pit  road  who’s  been  hanging  around  wicklow  ridge  for  eight  years/on  and  off  ,  just  long  enough  to  stir  up  some  trouble  if  you  ask  me.  they’re  a  regular  at  sunset  ridge  stables  ,  always  going  on  about  “fair is a place where they judge pigs.”  like  it’s  gospel.  around  town  ,  folks  say  they’re  devoted  &  impassioned  —  but  when  they  think  no  one’s  listening  ?  it’s  more  like  melodramatic  &  ill-tempered.  are  the  rumors  true  ?  maybe  not  …  but  it  sure  makes  life  around  here  a  little  more  interesting. psd credit.
( trigger warnings: death, alcohol mention, drug mention. )
★                       statistics.
full   name:   babette   mary-helen   dutton. nickname(s):   babs,   bette,   mama,   betty. age:   forty   six. date   of   birth:   november   11th. star   sign:   scorpio. sexuality:   bisexual. hometown:   dallas,   texas. occupation:   owner   of   the   pit   road. favourites:   glitter,   light   beer,   seeing   the   sun   after   a   long   night   of   work,   loud   cars,   arguing,   acrylic   nails,   the   smell   of   gasoline,   fake   fur,   pink.
★                       personality.
bette   dutton   is   a   whirlwind   of   a   woman.   big,   blonde   hair   wrapped   in   a   glittery   accessory   or   five,   when   she   walks   into   the   room   everybody   knows   about   it.   loud   and   proud   of   it,   bette   had   never   sought   to   minimise   herself   to   make   her   more   palatable   to   other   people.   if   others   find   her   abrasive   or   obnoxious   then   fuck   them,   right?   in   this   world,   you   fight   for   your   place   in   it,   and   she   believes   she's   more   than   fought   enough   for   the   right   to   exist   exactly   as   she   pleases.   maybe   this   makes   her   a   bit   harsh   when   it   comes   to   others,   willing   to   give   them   the   hard   truths   that   others   are   happy   to   skirt   around.   she   simply   believes   that   the   sooner   someone   knows   the   truth,   the   better,   and   if   everyone   else   is   too   weak   to   tell   someone   it…   well,   then   she's   happy   to   be   the   villain.   villainy   comes   easy   to   her   though   when   she's   as   dramatic   as   she   is.   unable   to   control   her   emotions   at   the   best   of   times,   if   bette's   upset,   it   becomes   everyone's   problem   –   except   her   daughter's,   of   course,   who   is   forever   spared   her   mother's   hot   pink   wrath. amidst   all   of   this,   though,   is   a   woman   with   a   generous   heart.   if   you're   beloved   by   bette,   you'll   know   about   it.   she's   a   passionate   woman   who   doesn't   do   things   by   halves   and   will   give   you   the   shirt   off   of   her   back   if   it's   what   you   need.   true,   she   doesn't   make   this   side   of   her   very   known,   a   remnant   leftover   from   her   dad's   ‘don’t   let   them   see   you   cry'   mentality,   but   it's   certainly   there   and   just   as   present   as   the   negatives   she   more   often   likes   to   put   out   into   the   world.   bette's   also   notorious   for   never   giving   up,   even   when   the   going   gets   tough,   even   when   the   going   gets   downright   horrific.   the   world   is   bette's   runway   and   she's   going   to   dominate   every   inch   of   it   if   it's   the   last   thing   she   does.
★                       biography.
i.   babette   mary-helen   dutton!   the   shining   star   of   the   dutton   family,   the   apple   of   her   mother's   eye   and   a   frequent   flier   on   the   pageant   circuit   since   before   she   could   even   walk.   accolades?   expectations?   pressure?   you   don't   know   the   half   of   it   until   you've   existed   as   the   only   girl   in   the   dutton   household,   born   to   the   king   of   the   dutton   car   empire   and   the   queen   of   texas'   beauty   queens.   truthfully,   babette   never   had   a   chance   to   figure   out   who   she   was   in   the   formative   years   of   her   life,   because   she   was   whatever   her   parents   decided   she   was   going   to   be.   miss   county   fair,   miss   dallas,   miss   texas,   miss   whatever   other   modifier   you   wanted   to   put   onto   the   end,   she   had   them   all.   she   had   three   older   brothers   who,   despite   sympathising   with   her,   weren't   exactly   interested   in   helping   their   baby   sister   escape   their   mother's   clutches…   lest   she   turn   her   gaze   onto   them   instead.
ii.   the   dutton   family   were   car   people.   always   had   been,   always   would   be.   they   serviced   some   of   the   finest   motors   in   the   world,   supplying   supercars   to   the   wealthy   and   selling   tires   to   the   average   joe.   they   had   a   finger   in   every   pie   of   the   automative   world,   so   to   speak,   and   bette   was   the   jewel   in   their   crown.   whilst   pageant   trophies   began   taking   over   other   rooms   of   their   grandiose   mansion,   she   was   trotted   out   like   a   show   pony   at   her   father's   car   shows   for   the   extra   press.   it   was   shameless   southern   belle-ism,   create   the   perfect   daughter   and   then   use   her   to   market   your   products.   genius,   right?
iii.   until   bette   got   so   sick   of   it   she   up   and   left   at   only   seventeen   years   old.   yes,   their   beautifully   perfect   pageant   queen   was   now   a   teenage   runaway,   having   disappeared   into   the   night   off   out   into   the   big   bad   world   that   they   assumed   would   swallow   her   alive.   turns   out   though,   bette   had   seen   her   existence   with   her   family   as   her   own   personal   hell.   she   wasn't   the   perfect   doll   they'd   thought   her   to   be,   she   was   miserable,   she   was   suffering,   and   it   had   made   her   tough   as   nails   to   bite   her   tongue   and   dig   her   nails   into   her   palms   all   these   years.
iv.   until   her   marriage,   bette   took   her   time   enjoying   the   world.   she   fucked,   she   fought,   she   laughed,   she   cried   –   she   found   her   freedom   on   the   roads   and   in   the   bars,   collecting   fucked   up   found   family   members   all   along   the   way.   it   didn't   matter   that,   for   this   period   of   her   life,   she   didn't   have   her   hair   rollers   or   her   fine   silks,   she   had   freedom.   she   had   joy.   she   laughed   so   hard   her   cheeks   hurt   and   joy   burst   forth   from   her   chest   like   a   beam   of   light.   she   learned   to   be   tougher   than   ever,   learned   where   the   soft   spots   were   on   a   man   twice   her   size,   learned   how   to   count   cash   quick   and   when   it   was   time   to   do   a   sneaky   shot   behind   the   bar.   she   was   exuberant,   she   was   boundless,   she   was   untethered.
v.   then   one   day,   she   met   chet.   things   clicked   in   a   way   for   her   like   never   before.   he   was   just   as   passionate   as   her,   just   as   crazy   and   wild   and   full   of   furious   beauty.   she   screamed   louder   than   anyone   in   that   crowd   for   him   and   felt   an   electricity   course   through   her   veins   that   no   substance   could   compete   with   –   was   this   it?   their   kisses   made   it   onto   the   big   screens   and   influenced   crowds   of   thousands,   their   chemistry   could   be   heard   over   the   devastating   roar   of   engines,   and   they   were   married   before   either   of   them   could   catch   their   breath. 
vi.   and   then   divorce   hit   like   a   truck,   and   that   was   that.   if   bette   was   being   honest,   she   would've   fought   like   goddamn   hell   for   that   marriage   if   dafne   hadn't   been   there   –   which   sounds…   backwards,   at   first,   but   even   she   knew   the   toxicity   that   would've   arisen   from   her   clinging   to   their   legal   marriage   would've   only   been   a   detriment   to   her   sweet   girl's   development.   maybe   that's   why   her   and   chet   keep   falling   into   bed   with   each   other,   even   after   relentlessly   slinging   mud   at   one   another   like   it   was   necessary   for   survival.   she   despised   him,   perhaps   because   he   had   dented   that   shiny   pride   of   hers?   no,   it   was   something   else.   because   he   had   made   her   feel   something   so   extraordinary   and   not   been   man   enough   to   stick   around   when   she   showed   that   ugly   side   of   her.   whatever   it   was,   it   made   her   harsh.
vii.   what   she   hated   most   of   all   about   it,   though,   was   that   it   gave   her   family   a   minor   window   back   into   her   life.   bette   was   careful,   she   never   allowed   her   mother   to   be   around   dafne   on   her   own,   concerned   she   would   project   the   same   self-image   issues   and   general   loathing   onto   her   granddaughter   that   she'd   tried   to   project   onto   bette   herself,   but   they   were   back   regardless.   when   you'd   revolved   your   life   around   a   man,   sometimes   all   you   wanted   was   your   mom   and   dad…   even   bette   dutton   was   guilty   of   vulnerability   every   now   and   again.
viii.   turns   out   she   got   that   tiny   sentimental   streak   from   the   same   place   she   got   that   tough,   take   no   prisoners   attitude   –   her   father.   he   had   kept   an   eye   on   her   over   the   years   and,   when   he   found   out   she   had   arrived   in   wicklow   ridge,   bought   a   garage   and   all   the   land   it   was   on   for   her.   for   the   inheritance   she'd   never   received.   the   plan   was   for   them   to   work   it   together,   for   it   to   be   the   olive   branch   they'd   always   needed   for   them   to   finally   come   together   as   father   and   daughter   and   see   each   other   like   they   hadn't   before.   the   last   time   they   spoke,   bette   and   her   father   were   discussing   plans   to   build   a   bar   on   the   lot,   giving   bette   a   legacy   of   her   own.   the   next   morning   he   passed   away.
ix.   grief   is   a   bizarre   and   strange   thing   to   grapple   with   when   you're   someone   like   bette,   even   moreso   when   it's   someone   she   barely   had   a   relationship   with…   yet   she   still   mourned   the   potential   they   never   had.   instead   of   properly   grieving,   she   poured   her   heart   and   soul   into   the   pit   road,   and   didn't   allow   herself   even   a   single   second   to   think   about   who   was   missing   on   the   day   the   bar   opened.   that   tends   to   be   her   modus   operandi   now   –   keep   your   life   chaotic,   keep   it   wild,   keep   it   loud,   and   it   won't   ever   get   quiet   enough   for   you   to   remember   all   the   things   you're   trying   to   forget.
x.   dafne   is   now   six   and   the   pit   road   has   been   thriving   for   a   few   years   and   everything   seems   to   have   fallen   into   place.   the   problem   is,   with   a   mundane   life   comes   quiet,   and   that's   the   last   thing   bette   wants.   she   isn't   sure   what   her   next   move   is   but   she   knows   she   can   feel   her   skin   itch.   when   putting   whiskey   in   her   coffee   and   having   meaningless   one-night   stands   no   longer   hit   the   spot,   what   comes   next?   maybe   it   really   is   time   she   builds   a   dutton   empire   of   her   own.
★                       headcanons.
i.   babs   is   really   a   nickname   solely   associated   with   chet   these   days,   so   she   despises   it.   in   truth,   she   never   really   liked   it   in   the   first   place,   but   when   it   came   with   his   drawl   and   charm   perhaps   there   was   something   attractive   about   it,   once   upon   a   time.   bette   only   please   or,   if   you   must,   miss   dutton.   but   never,   ever   babs. ii.   she   keeps   it   a   big   secret,   but   bette   donates   a   lot   of   money   to   horse   rescues   in   all   the   surrounding   states.   it   was   one   of   the   few   things   her   and   her   father   bonded   over   in   her   early   years   (bette's   love   of   cars   didn't   really   come   from   him,   ironically),   and   she   can't   help   but   indulge   in   that   wistful   nostalgia   that   comes   from   being   around   horses. iii.   she   has   so   many   phones.   it   used   to   just   be   that   she   wanted   one   her   family   couldn't   reach   her   on,   then   she   got   one   for   the   garage,   then   another   for   the   bar…   then   it   sort   of   spiralled.   all   of   them   are   bedazzled,   obviously,   and   she   does   her   best   to   keep   track   of   them.   there   are   currently   five.   maybe   you   should   just   go   down   to   the   pit   road   and   ask   for   her   in   person.
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rpgchoices · 2 years ago
Text
Dark Urge fixed some of the problems I had with act 3
This post has SPOILERS. BIG SPOILERS for both Baldur's Gate 3 and Dark Urge. If you check my tag dark urge I previously wrote an act 1 + act 2 summary of what to expect from it, without any spoilers. Without spoilers, very briefly: expect to have a past you cannot control (of course), your character will say some messed up stuff, you can give in the urges or resist but there are at least two scenes you have no control over, you do get loot for giving in the urges, the story has more mystery and lore, act 3 is the culmination of Dark Urge story too and you can have a happy ending.
Now with SPOILERS
I will go over the acts and write down what extra content happens when you compare Dark Urge to Tav, with BIG SPOILERS. If you want to see why I think Dark Urge is so much better for the story, skip everything and go directly to act 3. A general big change is that as Dark Urge you automatically get the "Baldurian" dialogue because you are from Baldur's Gate.
Act 1: In act 1 there is little Dark Urge content but an introduction. I kind of wish the game had just gone with DU (Dark Urge) instead of Tav directly, to hide the secret better, but I also like Tav a lot and I don't always want to play as an ex-murderer. Still, if you roleplay well the idea is that DU has these violent urges and think they are caused by the tadpole. So you will have to ask your companions about it, and the suspicion remains for half of act 1, at least until you give in the first obligatory urge. The narration oftens tells you that DU wants blood and carnage, wants to feel life slipping away and, well, wants to murder, and you can give in these urges (ex. attack people, bite someone's toe off, kill Gale?? or at least cut his hands) or avoid these urges. Everything else is exactly the same, a part from the fact that DU has a REASON for being on the Nautilus. While Tav is just one of the random people the Nautilus has taken, DU is the one who was put there on purpose.
There are two big events in act 1 and some smaller ones. You can kill a squirrel, but it did not trigger for me, so I don't think it is an obligatory event, but you will kill a bard. Alfira will come to your camp after you sleep a n amount of nights, and she will want to join your party. This happens even if you had not met Alfira in the game. During the night DU will brutally kill her and at this point you can hide the body, or confess your crimes, up to you how open with them. I always chose the option to confess. If you confess immediately you will have a group chat with your party and you can defend yourself (ex. I don't know how it happened but I must have been the one who killed her), or you can wash the blood and then volunteer the information the next morning when the body is found. There is actually a metagaming way to save Alfira… when you get the night scene, reload to the save before, go to Alfira, use the incapacitate instead of the killing option (in actions) and knock her out. Because she is knocked out, the next night a new bard NPC will come to your camp and will be murdered, but not Alfira.
After the murder you will meet the butler. It is immediately clear this is a magical being, and he knows you. He knows DU likes to kill, and he is surprised if DU refuses to give in the urges or even feels guilty for what he had done. You will also get an amazing cloak that turns a character invisible after a kill (it is great for Astarion's sneak attacks).
For the rest of act 1 there is little more content. You can talk minimally with your party about what happened or your urges, but that is it.
ACT 2: In the underdark and during the mountain pass there is no real content, but stuff starts happening at Moonrise Tower. You will meet characters who suddenly knows who you are. They are pretty cryptic about it, but they talk to you as if you were one of them who suddenly disappeared. It really feels like coming, well, almost home. Ketheric remembers you, even the jailer remembers you. There is also a cat in Moonrise Tower who is scared of you and if you talk with them DU WILL kill the cat, so be mindful to avoid talking with cats in the Tower. The skeleton dog from Ketheric room? He also remembers you and your smell.
When you put your hand in the cracks of the wall and hear the brain you will also get new and different dialogue.
After you meet Isobel, you will see your butler again and he tells you that to have a real gif this time you will have to kill Isobel. The quest will be there but you do not need to complete it. If you do not complete it, the butler will come back at night after the Moonrise Tower fight. This is where he asks you to kill your lover (in my case it was Astarion). He tries to convince you and if you say no, this is also where you find out that you cannot really control the urge - you will have to pass a wisdom check to take enough control to wake up your lover and tell them what is happening. At this point, they will tie you up because you are not in control anymore. You can pass 3 wisdom checks to try and thank them, or you can give in the urge but it does not look like there is any difference here but dialogue. The next morning you will have an extra talk with your lover and the party as well.
At this point it looks like the butler abandoned you because you failed your Dark Urge quest.
Another small thing, while under Moonrise Tower you can explore a bit and you will find one of the pod that smells like your blood and other small traces and hints to the fact that someone wanted to get rid of you and that is why you ended up on the nautilus.
Act 3: Act 3 is where most of the stuff gets resolved and things really come together. Orin targets you because you are family, you are her brother. She hates you because you were the Bhaal chosen one. My favourite part is that this really explains why the Chosen three's plan is failing. You were supposed to be Bhaal's chosen, not Orin. Multiple characters (Gortash and Sarevok) comments on how you were such a better Chosen because Orin is fickle, that is why she turns against Gortash. Gortash and Orin against each other always confused me during my Tav game, mainly because it felt so unexplained - like, they were so close to their goal, why is everything crumbling? Because she was never supposed to assume that role. She grew jealous of DU, chosen of Bhaal, and got rid of him by inserting the tadpole in his brain and discarding him.
When you talk with Gortash you also gets even more insight. It is clear that Gortash likes you, that is why is asking for an alliance. Not to a random adventurer called Tav, but to his old ally and friend. You and Gortash basically devised the whole plan, YOU took the crown, you were a fundamental part of it. And suddenly you stopping it (or taking control of the brain) for me had so much more meaning. While playing Tav I always wondered why is Tav even in charge, but when I played DU it really seemed like this was THEIR mess to fix. The confrontation at the temple of Bhaal is the end of the DU storyline which also wraps up why Withers was even with you.
You confront Orin and after you kill her you will meet your father Bhaal, who will ask you to become his chosen again. You can agree, and then at the end you will be able to claim the brain in Bhaal's name. But if you refuse, and give in the guilt for having murdered so many people (before your amnesia), Bhaal will take back his blood and leave you dead on the ground. At this point Withers will come in (and we know Withers is Jergal, the god of death before the Three) and will revive you. You will be born anew, your past is lost because the urge in you had been taken away but the memories with it. You can ask him about those memories too and he says that he can show you the names of your victims if you so desire. You are also a blank slate, a new person born from what you have learnt in your journey instead of your past. So yeah, you can have a good hopeful ending.
More importantly, this fell so well in the themes of BG3 especially the ones of being born again, changing and gods fighting for their chosen. Like Selune and Shar were fighting for Shadowheart, your character was also in the middle of a play of gods. Given Withers was with you since the start, it really feels like he was aiding you not at random, but because you were an escaped chosen one who could be stolen from Bhaal. And being born again and getting rid of your master/tormentor/powerful god/dictator fits so well. ALL your origin companions are in a certain measure subjected to absence of freedom or imbalance of power.
(Also before the Bhaal mission, but after the lover's personal quest you will have the option to break up with them and worry about the danger of killing them, which gives you an extra cute scene).
After the Bhaal mission there is no more content for DU and everything else seemed the same!
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