#i think those are the only three scenes he flinches

[wellhellod0lly]

Javier Bardem being a 'Spanish ballerina' and flinching every time he fires a weapon

[so-long-soldier-writes]

The Light in My Darkness

damon salvatore x gn!reader | requested

summary: after your boyfriend's death, you fell back into old habits. now that he's back, you're having trouble kicking them again.

tags: angst, hurt / comfort, depression, s3lf h4rm, kisses

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i typically don't write for damon, however i feel comfortable writing this subject matter and i'm getting better with understanding his character. honestly, too, i rewatched s7 and i'm starting to love him even more. (i just love the traumatized characters.)

also, i'm not good at titles. my first title had the word 'put' in it, but i stared at it so long, it didn't look like a word anymore and i had to change it. i think i like this one better. i stg, titles are half the reason i take so long to post. whew, anyway... enjoy ❤️

“Stefan needs help at Whitmore,” Damon says hurriedly. He puts his phone in his back pocket and sighs. “Another Enzo situation.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, you stay here. I don’t want him anywhere near you, given he’s in one of his moods and would hurt you for no reason.” He gives you a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He speeds out the door a moment later, leaving you alone in the large, empty house. You sigh. Your life is so full of supernatural drama, it’s hard to keep up. Honestly, you’re not even sure what the situation is with Enzo, or why he and Stefan hate each other so much, or how Damon knows what to do to de-escalate their arguments. Of course, Caroline debriefed you on it sometime ago, but with all the craziness happening lately, it pretty much went over your head. 

It’s been hard these last few months. Only recently had Damon returned to you from four months after being considered dead, alongside Bonnie, as the other side collapsed with him in it. Those months had been the hardest of your life, and you doubted your ability to make it through them. Losing your best friend and your boyfriend was something you never thought you’d have to endure, yet it happened. Losing them almost killed you, too. 

For three years, you were clean. You hadn’t touched a single blade since you and Damon got serious. He gave you a reason to stop without even knowing it, and with a lot of patience with yourself, you managed to kick the addiction. After he died, though, when you couldn’t bear to live without him, you picked it back up. Part of you is pissed for falling back into your old ways, but the other part has convinced yourself it’s what you need to do to survive. 

When he came back unexpectedly, you were filled with just as much panic as you were joy. You had him back, but had relapsed majorly, and now have to recount your old steps into being sober again. It hasn’t been easy. 

It’s been a couple days since your last time, and while your skin’s no longer bright and swollen, it seems to beg for your attention. You have to plan it carefully, making sure Damon will be gone long enough that he won’t sense the fresh blood. When he grabs your wrists to kiss your face, you don’t want to flinch in slight pain, or let him pick up a chance in your heartbeat. 

It’s such a complicated addiction to have when dating a vampire, yet fighting the urges are so hard, sometimes you can’t help but give into them. 

The blades in the bathroom are ready for you when you enter. A brand new pack sits in the drawer. The boys won’t miss one or two. The one time Stefan did notice, you blabbered a quick lie about needing one to scrape a bit of food dried to the stovetop. He was in such a rush that day, he didn’t catch any lie, and you were able to smile and flee the scene a moment later. Since then, you make sure to hold onto the one you have until there’s enough to not see one missing. 

With everyone seemingly involved in the Enzo situation, you don’t bother to shut the door completely before dragging the blade across your skin. The boarding house is empty, and this bathroom in particular is tucked away nicely behind the stairs. You make a few scattered cuts and watch the blood seep from them. It always seems to calm you in the most grotesque way, and, quite ironically, gives you the perfect dopamine rush that raises your spirits despite the pain. It’s a terrible addiction but with a high reward… until you have to hide the evidence. 

That little reminder makes you sigh. Too many scars are hard to hide, and with Damon back, you have to be careful. It would break him to see you this way; that thought alone makes you put down the blade. For a moment longer, you stare at the tricking blood, committing the sight to memory to maybe fend off the next urge. To imagine the blood on your skin may convince yourself it’s there, and maybe you won’t cut the next time you’re so desperate. Maybe. 

You reach for a piece of toilet paper to dab the wounds. The bleeding needs to stop before you crave another scare. It’s so tempting, but-

“Hey,” Damon appears suddenly, peeking through the door. His eyes are narrowed, as if sensing something’s wrong. “What are you doing?”

You turn to face him and hold your hands around your back quickly. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” He opens the door a little wider, seeing the reflection of your hidden hands in the mirror. “Let me see your arms.”

“I’m okay.” Nervously, you pull down your sleeves to hide your wounds as much as possible. Your eyes meet the floor, unable to lie if you look into his blues.

“No, you’re not.” He argues, anxious to see your face; to not let you shy away and avoid his gaze. His approach makes your heart race, confirming his worst fears. “Let me see.”

“I thought you were leaving. I thought Stefan needed you.”

“He does, but he can wait.”

“But-”

“You’re my first priority. I can tell something’s up. Please,” he brushes a hair away from your face, “let me in.”

“Damon, I’m fine.”

“You’re hurting, and I can smell the blood, and I’m really trying hard not to freak out right now.”

You huff at the realization that he could smell it. You should’ve waited for him to be gone longer before breaking your skin. “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Just promise me.” Tears well in your eyes, but you let them fall, unwilling to take your hands off your sleeves. 

“Y/N, I promise. I could never be mad. Just let me see it.”

Slowly, you release your sleeves, but leave the task of rolling them up to him. You can’t bear to do it yourself. Damon takes one hand gently and pulls the sleeve back. Upon seeing the numerous cuts, he pulls the other back with a little more vigor, but is still careful not to hurt you. He stares, unable to speak or move, as his heart breaks with every passing second. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. His eyes meet yours and you finally break down into tears. 

Without a moment of hesitation, he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms protectively around your body. You feel safe in his arms, you always do. Damon has a way about him that always makes you feel safe, no matter what anyone else thinks of him. He’s loyal and understanding, and that is part of the reason you feel so horrible for not telling him this. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, now sobbing into his chest. 

Your heart beats and reminds him that you are alive. The cuts made into your skin weren’t deep enough to take you. The pain you have been feeling hasn’t swallowed you whole. He concentrates on your breathing, and your crying, and uses it to anchor himself before asking the thousands of questions flooding his mind. 

He pulls away, finally, and wipes your tears with his thumbs. His hands grip your shoulders with a gentle desperation, as if he’s afraid you could dissipate at any moment. 

“Y/N…”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Did you mean for me to find out at all?”

Your heart feels heavy as you reply, “honestly, no.”

“Why not tell me, Y/N? You know I love you. If you’re hurting, I want to be there for you.”

“I know… I guess I just didn’t want to disappoint you? Some part of me was embarrassed about it, and I didn’t want you to see me differently because of it. I don’t know.” 

“Baby, there’s nothing you could do that’d ever make me love you less. Nothing that would ever make me feel a different way, or see you in another light.”

“I know. I know my feelings are totally irrational, I just… they’re fears.”

“I understand.” He kisses your forehead, then releases your shoulders to hold your hands and kiss them, too. “Hey, can you promise me something?”

“I can try.”

“Come to me the next time you’re feeling like you want to hurt yourself, okay? Let me help you through it.”

“But-”

“It doesn’t matter what’s going on, or who’s texting, I will drop anything and put you first. But you gotta let me in when you need it. Okay?”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now,” he pauses, biting into his arm and holding it out for you to drink. His other hand meets the back of your head, stabilizing your neck to keep you comfortable. 

To his dismay, you refuse. You try to pull away, but his other hand prevents that, so you look down instead. “I can’t.”

“Y/N…”

“The scars are a reminder that I bleed. As soon as they fade away, the urge returns, but if they’re there for a little while, the urge is less strong. They’re kind of a comfort, I think. A reminder.”

“So you don’t want me to heal them?”

“I’d rather not. They don’t bother me too much. Do they bother you?”

You can see the hesitation in his eyes. He fights with himself, knowing the sight is a reminder of your pain, but understands their existence helps you heal. After a moment, he shakes his head. “No, baby, I only care that you’re safe.” He kisses them one more time. “Have you eaten much today?”

“Not really.”

“Well… do you mind if I make you something, even if it’s just something small, and then we can sit together on the couch? We’ll take today slow.”

“Okay. Wait, but what about Stefan?”

“Caroline can handle it. Then he’ll be in her debt and she’ll be happy about it,” he jokes.

You smile, appreciating his humor despite the somber mood hanging above both your heads. He’s the light in dark times, the much needed laugh that breaks the awkward silence. It’s part of the reason you fell for him so quickly. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay. And thank you.”

He pulls you in to kiss your forehead, then reaches for your hand. “Of course.”

[quack-quack-snacks]

Time Will Tell - Chapter 20

My Time Will Tell Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: Blood and injuries Word Count: 2,575

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“It will only be for a little while, okay? I’ll be back before you know it,” you promised, placing a kiss on Yeong-su and Su-yeong’s foreheads as they started to worry about you and the new plan you made. 

“Please, don’t get hurt,” Su-yeong begged you and you nodded with a smile, promising her you would come back safe and sound. 

You walked over to Jin-ok who was watching the scene between the three of you and placed your hands on her shoulders. “Please, take care of them while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon,” you pulled her into a hug and whispered your next words. “But if I don’t come back, don’t let them fall into despair. They deserve a good life.”

She nodded at you when you pulled away and you smiled. With a quick grab of your bag, holding just the bare essentials you had - including your soiled sweatpants after you changed into your work pants - you walked out of the nursery and started heading in the direction of the stairs. 

You hadn’t told Eun-hyuk you would be joining Hyun-su. Hell, you hadn’t even told Hyun-su you would be joining Hyun-su, but you were joining him no matter what. You didn’t expect him to stay with you anyways, you just needed to go to the 12th floor and grab the things you needed before heading back down. 

Because you hadn’t told either of them, Hyun-su had already started ascending the stairs and Eun-hyuk had already returned to the surveillance room when you reached the staircase entrance. You knew he would see you on the cameras and scold you when you got back but you didn’t care. You slipped through the doors as quietly as you could and started running up the stairs. You could see the messy mop of hair that belonged to Hyun-su just reaching the third level. 

“Hyun-su!” You called out and you could see the flinch it caused him to make. You felt bad but kept ascending. “Hyun-su, it’s me!” You said again, hoping to ease his fears. You got up to where he was pretty quickly - especially with him descending to reach you faster as well - and saw him standing there with a confused and concerned expression on his face. 

He said your name in a whisper, looking at you like you weren’t real. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be up here, it’s dangerous!” He said, trying to lead you back downstairs. 

“Cha Hyun-su, I am not going back downstairs. I need to get some stuff from my apartment so I am coming with you.”

He looked even more confused then. “Why didn’t you just tell me what you needed when I asked?”

You smiled lightly. “I don’t want you to worry about my stuff. You have enough things with those lists everyone’s been giving you,” you said the last sentence bitterly. “I’d prefer if you weren’t doing this at all but I know that won’t happen.”

You saw the light blush that started to creep up his neck but decided not to mention it. “I would’ve gotten them for you,” he tried one more time; this time, less confident in his words. 

“I know you would’ve. That’s why I turned your offer down,” you told him gently, slightly teasing but not wanting to scare him off. “Now come on, let’s go get the things everyone ‘needed’,” you told him as you held up air quotes with your fingers. 

He nodded reluctantly and looked at the list given to him by the residents. “The first room is 613.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “What do they need?” You asked and held out your hand for the paper. He gave it to you without any protests and you read it, your face getting more annoyed as you read through each item. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you cursed under your breath. You kept your walking at an even pace despite your anger and allowed him to continue taking the lead. “Sending you up here to get tarot cards of all things.”

He stayed silent and you decided to not say anything else about it. He probably had been thinking the same thing anyways. The two of you continued walking up the stairs in silence until you got to the 6th floor. 

After a lot of protesting from the boy, Hyun-su finally agreed to let you go with him and not just wait outside the staircase’s doors. You helped him enter the code to the door of the first apartment and search the rooms for everything they asked for. Luckily, the list only had three rooms to check on it. The rooms just had a lot of stuff you had to retrieve from it. 

You reached the door to the 12th floor and stopped in your tracks. Hyun-su stopped after a few steps, realizing you weren’t following him, and turned around. His face was confused, wondering why you were stopped on a floor they didn’t need to stop at. 

You smiled at him, albeit a little sadly. “I just need to grab some stuff from my room. You go ahead without me, yeah? I’ll catch up in a bit.”

It was then he realized the floor you stopped in front of was the 12th floor. Your floor. You walked over to the door when he didn’t respond and opened it, prepared to go in alone until the door opened wider without your help. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Hyun-su there with a determined look on his face. “I’ll come with you.”

“But what about-?”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he interrupted you to promise. 

You held the intense eye contact between you, both determined and unwilling to back down, but you couldn’t help the way you melted under his caring gaze. After a few more moments of staring, his gaze unwavering while yours started to falter under its intensity, you looked away and sighed. “Fine. Let’s go then; don’t want to waste any more time,” you conceded. 

He smiled a little as you turned your back to him and reached for the door. His smile dropped though and he rushed forward when your hand touched the door knob. “Wait!” He said loudly before clearing his throat and trying again. “I should go first, just in case something’s in there.”

You frowned. “If something is in there I don’t want you going first just to end up getting hurt. That’s awful.”

His stare was blank as he watched you, unrevealing of the storm of emotions whirling within it: confusion; relief; protectiveness; anxiety; but more of all, a growing affection he couldn’t quite seem to control. That last one made him more and more nervous regarding his monster. Whether he wanted to recognize it or not, he was falling for you and it was a hell of a dive. His desire - previously only being his want deep down to give back all the hurt he received to everyone who wronged him in his life, as well as his slight resentment towards anyone who was happier than him - started to include you in it.

He desired you.

Not in the resentment part, but in the way that he wanted you by his side forever. 

He wanted you by his side as he killed everyone, taking back what he deserved.

He hadn’t even realized his eyes turned black and he lost all control until it was already too late. 

You watched as the darkness unfurled from his pupil and covered the whites of his eyes, leaving them as a pair of bottomless pits that you could get lost in. The small gasp of shock you let out was almost unconscious, as was the step back when he took a step closer to you. Your hand was still on the doorknob, trapped under his from when he grabbed it to stop you from opening the door. A manic grin placed itself upon his lips, showing more of his monster’s side than his human’s. 

You didn‘t realize how you were being backed into the door until your back hit it with a soft thump. You would’ve hit your head on it too but Hyun-su’s hand was already covering it and protecting you; it made you blush a bit. 

“Um… Hyun-su?” You asked hesitantly. His eyes were still fully black and his smile manic but you couldn’t bring yourself to fear any part of him. Eun-hyuk would call you stupid, no doubt, but you just couldn’t be afraid of him. Not him. Never him. 

Not when he always looked at you so softly. 

Not when he always asked you if you needed anything before his trips.

Not when the few times he’d ever touched you he acted like you were made of glass. 

Not him. 

“I’ve been waiting to meet you,” he giggled, his hand protecting the back of your head sliding down your neck and shoulder to your waist. You gasped when his burning touch met you there but you must have been Rhianna because you liked the way it hurt and stilled your body in fear that one move and he would pull away. (Love The Way You Lie by Eminem ft. Rhianna)

“What do you mean?” You asked. You had a suspicion of what he meant but you weren’t sure. 

“The last thought he thinks about before he falls asleep… I have to say, the memories he holds pale in comparison to how you look in person,” he complimented and you felt your cheeks burn. He lifted the hand holding yours on the doorknob and brought it to your face, brushing a knuckle down the slope of your cheekbone. His eyes followed the path of his fingers as he did. Or… at least you thought they did. It was hard to tell when they were just a black void. “So pretty…”

You cleared your throat, trying unsuccessfully to cool the heated skin on your face before speaking. “Wha- I don’t understand,” you confessed. 

He laughed and buried his face in your neck as he answered; his words vibrated against your skin with each word. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

He then completely disconnected from you and you watched his eyes start to fade back to their natural brown. His face immediately formed one of concern as he looked at you. 

“Are you okay-?”

“Are you okay-?”

The two of you spoke at the same time. You lightly chuckled but he didn’t seem to find it amusing as he continued to watch you with worry. 

“I’m okay,” you promised when his glare wouldn’t abate. “Are you okay, though? You look a bit shaken up.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on your flushed face before going to the door behind you. “Yeah. Let’s go,” he then looked at you, a hint of amusement in his eyes but mostly remaining serious. “And let me go first.”

You rolled your eyes with a fond smile while he opened the door. The spear which you hadn’t even realized he set down at some point was back in his hands and gripped tightly. He was ready for anything and promised himself he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

The door opened with a soft creak and you cringed. Hyun-su stepped out first, looking back and forth in each direction of the hallway before deciding it was clear. He shot you a glance over his shoulder to make sure you were following before stepping through the door. 

You crept around behind the messy-haired boy, cursing yourself for not bringing some sort of weapon. If anything were to happen you would have to rely entirely on Hyun-su.

‘Fuck,’ you thought to yourself with a frown. ‘I’m no better than anyone downstairs.’

After that thought, you were determined to not be a damsel and looked around for something, anything, to protect yourself with. Your eyes brightened when they landed on a glass case with an axe inside. The case said ‘BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY’ and you thought this was emergency enough for you to take it. 

The only downside was you couldn’t figure out how to break it and you didn’t want to slow Hyun-su down any more than you already had. So, with an intrusive thought you didn’t think about nearly as much as you should have, you sent your non-dominant fist flying into the glass. It hurt like hell but you held your breath to keep from making any excess noise as the glass broke; luckily, the sound of it shattering was much quieter than you expected it to be, but that could’ve been because you were in the staircase for 12 flights of stairs and each of them made your voice echo loudly no matter your volume. Your knuckles were bloody, shards of the shattered glass had cut them. Damn, you were stupid sometimes.

Hyun-su whipped his head around at the noise so fast you would’ve thought he might have given himself whiplash if you were looking at him. Instead, you were reaching your non-dominant hand through the broken glass to grab the axe and pull it out. The bigger pieces of glass still connected to the case grazed your skin even more when you pulled the weapon through and the blood dripped down your fingers and onto the handle before falling to the ground. You didn’t notice Hyun-su was right next to you until you saw his hands enter your peripheral and ever so gently grab the axe from your hands. He placed it on the ground, leaning it against the wall beside his spear. After that, he wrapped a hand around the wrist of your injured hand and pulled it closer to him. 

“Why would you do that?” He asked softly, lightly scolding you but mainly worried and confused. 

“I don’t want to be a burden, so I’m choosing not to be one,” you said with a determined tone. He raised his gaze from your hand to look at you scrutinizingly. 

“You’re not a burden. Why would you think that?”

You sighed, trying to shove the guilt down for making him worry. You were so stupid, why didn’t you just use something else to break the glass? “If a monster comes and attacks, I would be useless and just have to depend on you to protect me. I don’t want to use you like that.”

He smiled gently, squeezing your wrist lightly. “It’s not using me if I offer it,” he tried to reassure you but you still frowned. He leaned down and grabbed both weapons in one hand while the other still held your wrist. When he stood back up, he turned to you with a look in his eyes that looked almost fond, but you pushed that thought away, not wanting to get your hopes up. “Come on, let’s go find your apartment.”

You followed behind him quietly, his hand still lightly wrapped around your wrist to keep you close as he led you down the hallway. He kept his eyes and ears peeled for any monsters but there weren’t any, luckily. Before you knew it, the two of you made it to the apartment and you entered the code quickly to get in. 

0717. It was the date of your parent’s wedding. You let out a shaky sigh just thinking about your parents but entered the apartment quickly nonetheless. Hyun-su followed close behind you and closed the door as quietly as he could. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Happy Christmas Eve.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

A mess of wrapping paper and gift bags litter the floor around you. Their contents are just as neglectfully strewn across the room, forgotten for the desecration bartered with their giving. Reality blurs between the three men as you’re passed between them, bent, contorted, twisted exactly how they want you.

Your thighs quiver as you’re left to fall onto your ass, heaving as you lean against the end of the section. Fuzzy-brained and bleary-eyed you watch a dark figure bend and the crinkle of paper triggers something in you. The urge to flee courses up from your stomach though you don’t have the strength to heed it.

“Mine,” Andy declares and drops a box beside your foot. You blink and don’t move.

“What the hell, dude? You’re up our asses about rules–” Lloyd challenges.

“Stop whining,” Andy growls back.

You shudder as you remain paralysed in the fog. The box hits your leg as it’s kicked towards you. You reach shakily, not sitting forward, and drag it into your lap. Your hands work without seeing. You pull free a thick ribbon and flick the lid off with your thumb. You feel the soft fabric inside, cashmere maybe? You wouldn’t know.

“Come on, honey,” Andy has you by the arm in an instant.

As he hauls you to your feet, the box and sweater falling forgotten from your lap, he stops. You’re caught in the vice of his grip as his arm stretches past another figure standing almost between you. Andy squeezes harder as he flinches, Lloyd jabbing a finger in his chest. You blink as you struggle to process the scene.

“If all rules are off, then you better not say fucking shit,” Lloyd snarls.

Andy shoves him away, ignoring him as he guides you back until your legs touch the sectional. You have only the gold medallion necklace and stockings left on you. The socks have rumpled below your knees unevenly as the gold charm sticks to your sweaty flesh.  

He eases you down onto your back and you sigh as your body relaxes instinctively. You’re not thinking straight. You’re clinging to the hope that this is over, or close too. You can’t take much more. They can’t do this all day.

Andy pulls off his sweater as he puffs. His exasperation tinges the air thickly. The other men loom behind him grumbling.

You wince as Andy pushes your knees wide. You try to close them but he plants one of his own between them. You whimper as your swollen cunt throbs. 

“Please,” you beg weakly, reaching to cover your pelvis.

“It’s okay, honey,” Andy sets a hand next to your head to hold himself over you, “we’re getting to the good part.”

“Fucking lame…” Ransom mutters.

You wriggle and put your other hand on Andy’s chest, “please,” you repeat.

“Shh, honey, I’m gonna be good to you,” he feels along your thigh and your insides clench. It’s not over.

You could sob as he touches your folds. You’re overwrought to the point of delirium. He slides between your lips, still slick from your last falling apart. He rubs your clit until you squeak, taking it as an invitation to do more. He dips his fingers into you and back out, repeating the act as your walls squeeze him each time.

He hushes you again as you babble. He pulls his thick fingers out and spreads your cunt wide. He shifts, jarring his hips around as he drops to an elbow. How breath scalds down your face and neck as he puffs through his nose.

He pokes his tip between his knuckles, grunting as he tilts his hips. It’s then you realise what he means to do. He stretches you around his head and you whine as you sink your nails into the furry muscles along his chest. You press your other hand to his hip, repeating again your pathetic plea.

“Always taking his fucking time,” Lloyd hisses, “gonna be all day before he gets his balls wet.”

“Is that good, honey?” Andy pets your forehead as he inches into you. 

You bed your legs and squeak. You can barely breathe as you strain to take him in. Your already tender cunt thrums around his intrusion. His small rocking motion jostles you as he tries to ease deeper and deeper. He stops halfway as you cry out, the resistance of your body trapping him.

“Just relax,” he coos as he frames your face, kissing your forehead, “relax,” he coaxes, hips still in rhythm as he battles past the barrier, “honey, I’m being… nice.”

He grunts and snaps his hips, breaking past your last defenses. You wail as you push on his pelvis, still trying to stop him. Your hand trails over to his stomach, slightly soft and as thick as the rest of him. There’s an extra layer of fat there unlike the other men and their firm abs.

“I’m fucking bored,” Lloyd growls but you can’t track his movement as Andy blocks out the room with his body.

You grit your teeth as he reaches his limit, well past your own. You arch your back and feet as you bring both your hands to his shoulders. Your eyes wet and roll back as you garble senselessly. You want him to stop. He said he wouldn’t let them hurt you but here he is, hurting you himself.

Andy’s arm slips under your neck, propping your head up as he covers your mouth with his own. That kiss disgusts you. A manufactured gesture of affection all while he violates you. You want to bite him and spit in his face. You don’t have the energy, you just let it happen. You let his tongue slip inside, you let him split you in two.

There’s another crumple of paper. You don’t react. You’re limp, nearly lifeless beneath Andy as he fucks you with long strokes. Your eyes slit just enough to see as something lands beside you on the couch. Another torn remnant of wrapping paper.

“What do you know?” Lloyd clucks, “it’s one of mine.”

There’s a slap of flesh that has Andy ramming harder into you as he parts from your mouth and grunts.

“Come on, big boy, turn her over.”

“Fuck off,” Andy sneers.

“This isn’t the deal. Turn her over,” Lloyd insists, “it’s two against one if you wanna fuck around and find out.”

Ransom shadow lurks closer as your eyes drift. Andy sighs and curls his arm tighter around your neck while hooking the other around your waist. He sinks down into you and turns you over with him, bringing himself under you. The hard zipper of his open fly bites into you.

You lay bent over him, your head lolling over his shoulder as you shiver with the new flow of cool air across your back. There’s the crinkle of plastic behind you. You don’t care. It can’t be worse if you don’t know what’s going on.

Andy frames your hip and keeps you moving on him. Your legs are weak and jittery as you straddle him. His other hand comes to your chin and he lifts your head, holding you above him as he once more draws you into a desperate kiss. A kiss laced in denial and delusion.

There’s a pinch on your ass and you squeal into Andy’s mouth. The sharp tweak is followed by a jarring slap across the flesh. Lloyd snickers and a cold liquid oozes between your cheeks. You clench at the slimy liquid leaking around your puckered hole.

“I got the flavoured stuff, pussy cat,” he clicks a cap as your ears prick, your eyes searching side to side.

Lloyd’s fingers slip between your cheeks and he circles around your hole. You whimper but Andy keeps you locked in, hand curling around your hip as his other stretches across your throat. The tickle against your tight ring turns to a stinging burn as a thick finger pushes inside, wiggling as it tests your resistance.

You nearly bite Andy as your eyes well. He pushes you away from his mouth as you heave and struggle to bear through the fiery pain radiating from your ass. Lloyd pushes to his first knuckle, then his second, and finally the last. You eke out tiny noises as you struggle to catch your breath.

Andy hushes as he rocks from below, still fucking you, still using you despite this new trespass. You dig your nails into his chest, arms trapped between your bodies, and quiver.

“H-urts,” you babble, “please…”

“Shhh, you’ll be okay,” Andy rasps.

Lloyd snickers as he pulls his finger out and lines up a second. You squeeze your eyes shut and tense as he forces in two that time. He’s less patient as he bulldozes inside, wiggling his fingers inside you once more. He thrusts in and out, the flames licking hotter and hotter.

He pulls his fingers all the way out and licks you instead. The sensation is almost soothing as he laps at your hole. He greedily swirls his tongue, pausing to poke his fingers in a few times, then resumes his loud, gross licking. 

The razing sensation of Lloyd’s tending mingles with the pressure of Andy inside you. Your walls twitch as you feel the coil winding tight. No, it shouldn’t feel good. Stop, please stop. 

Lloyd buries his fingers, keeping them deep, tilting his hand against you as he curls his knuckles. You can feel it in your cunt along with Andy’s steady motion. You bubble over and whine as you cum, both holes spasming as you succumb to the wave of rolling pleasure.

Andy growls as Lloyd snickers and slides his fingers free. You sense a shift behind you but the grip on your neck keeps you from looking. 

“Go for it,” Lloyd chuckles, “loosened her up nice and good for you.”

Another drizzle of cold lube drips down to your now burning hole. You flinch as two hands spread over your cheeks and pull them wide. Ransom pushes your ass together before smacking it. The impact scours your flesh.

He hums and slides his dick between your cheeks. His rigid length glides between the oily flesh as he leans over you, one hand on the armrest to keep himself on his feet. He rocks as he slickens his dick from tip to base before lining up with your hole.

He pushes the head of his dick against you, grunting as he leans his weight into you. You let out a shrill cry as he forces his way inside. Even just his tip is enough to break you. Tears spring free and stream down your cheeks.

He jerks his hips, ramming deeper than you’re ready for. You wail and grasp Andy’s wrist as he nearly chokes your voice out of you. Your eyes meet his, blurry with your agony, but you see the glint in his irises. That tic in his cheek. He’s lost in what he wants. You see him clearly. Selfish, a liar.

Ransom puts his knee on the end of the section as he thrusts again, deeper and deeper. As he does, Andy moves you between them in tandem. The crush of them around you is suffocating. The air is sticky and roiling around you. 

Your heart hammers as terror takes over. There is no pleasure to be found anymore. Your chest feels ready to burst as you pant through your constricted throat. Your head pounds as you hyperventilate through your nostrils.

Your hand is pulled away from Andy’s shoulder. Your fingers are once more closed around a rigid length, held closed by another to pump up and down. Your eyes flutter and flip back into your head. Your ears buzz and your body grows heavy. You feel yourself fading as you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

Ransom ruts harder from behind, jolting you into Andy. The fullness is painful and all-consuming. They work together, torturing your insides as one slides in only for the other to slide in. You are overflowing and overstimulated.

Your arm shakes and aches as Lloyd keeps it moving. He groans as he steps closer, his shadow cast over you. He grabs your chin to turn your hand above Andy’s knuckles. He groans as he keeps your hand moving around him. He grunts and aims his tip down, spurting all down your face, from your forehead, down the bridge of your nose, to your chin.

He drags his throbbing head through the glaze of his cum. He smears it all around and pushes his tip against your lips. He snickers meanly as he pushes between your lips. You taste the salty repugnance and nearly gag. You’re too tired, too weak to be disgusted. 

He fucks your mouth casually as Andy keeps you in place for him. He relents only as you feel him starting to go soft. He slides out and steps back, letting out an emphatic sigh of satisfaction. He taps your cheek with a cluck.

“Look at the little pussy cat,” he mocks. “Not so fucking smiley now.”

You blink and your head falls over Andy’s grip. Then the rest of you slackens. You’re a doll, lifeless between the men, a thing to be played with. You welcome your descent into the abyss, your only escape from this hell.

[lokisgoodgirl]

The Ceremony [Asgard! Loki x Fem. Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Every 1000 years, the gods of Asgard provide their sacred seed in a revered and respected ceremony🍆✨ Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Voyeurism. Language. Humour. A/N: Inspired by a scene in The Tudors where Henry VIII has a w*nk into a dish held by a servant. @lokischambermaid thank you for being my unwavering bad influence and cackle-merchant. (w/c 3.1k)

Loki sighed, turning and gazing critically at his reflection. He pulled the tie of his ceremonial robe tight around his hips. Green and gold. “Why we must endure this infernal sideshow of lewd banality, mother? It’s absurd.” Frigga rolled her eyes, a laugh catching on her tongue as she tutted gently. “I tell you this every millennia, Loki. The Ceremony of the Sacred Seed is not a sideshow. It is imperative to the good of Asgard.” “Watching the Royal family masturbate onto a garish golden platter is imperative to the good of Asgard? I see.” Loki huffed, smoothing his hair in the mirror.

The material was finest spun silk chiffon, the barely opaque fabric clinging seductively to every curve of Loki’s muscled body. A little too seductively, for Loki’s liking.

Intricate lace was hearted to the edging, pure sewn gold weighing on the hem. The ceremonial dressing gowns were woven by hand, the delicate work passed through generations. Creation of each of the three bespoke items for the gods of Asgard were legend, spanning the thousand years between ceremonies. Only the eldest and most revered weavers of the city were instructed; the knobble-fingered crones, Loki thought. He shivered, the image like freezing water on his balls. Frigga knew he was toying with her, but still...she felt the need to remind him of the role he must play. That all the men in their family must play. “You know very well that the seed is collected, that it is offered to the soil beneath the Tree of All Things to ensure Asgard’s continued prosperity. The people must-” “-The people must see that their gods' are strong, virile and willing to serve the realm with our innate power, brother. Our sacred seed gives sustenance to the tree, which in turn serves the people. Yes, mother?” Thor boomed. His own ceremonial robe hung loose at the waist, his oiled chest on display; the tie dangling ominously close to revealing all that lay beneath. He took a bite of an apple, the crunch making Loki flinch. “Yes, darling.” Frigga replied, squeezing Thor’s forearm as he grinned widely between messy chews. Loki grimaced, turning away. “Why must I always be last? It’s humiliating.” he murmured, tucking his hair behind his ears as he lingered on his reflection. His eyes flickered upward, seeing Thor’s beaming face appear ghoulishly over his shoulder. “Because you’re my little brother, brother.” the blonde smirked, taking another bite of apple. “I don’t know why you always make such a fuss, Loki. This is my sixth ceremony...and your fifth. Just close your eyes and think of someone pretty.” “We are not all as brutish in our carnal delights as you, brother” he hissed, “to whom the mere sight of a curvaceous table leg during a feast has him making a hasty exit to his chambers and the embrace of his hand. Some of us require more complex inspiration.”

Frigga raised her eyebrows, lips pursed at the familiar spat between her sons. Loki’s ceremonial gown swirled around his bare legs as he paced the floor, incandescent with self-satisfied vitriol. “...and inspiration such as that, I shan’t find behind those doors. Especially not as the third act to my father and brother’s sequential onanism.” “Onanism, brother?” Thor scrunched his eyebrows as a low cheer echoed from the hall next door, the sign that Odin’s contribution in the ceremony had been secured. “Self-pleasure, you cretinous rube.” the dark-god muttered, staring out the window-arch at the pink glow settling over the city below. “It’s time, Thor.” Frigga said, sensing the approach of the guards to usher her blonde son to his duty. He tossed the half-eaten apple towards Loki, a flick of his brother’s wrist making it vanish in mid-air. “Time to give the people want they want.” Thor grinned, throwing Loki a wink as Frigga tightened the belt around his hips. “Prepare yourself, Loki...I shan’t be long.” he rumbled smugly, making his way towards the now-open golden doors to the side, striding past the guards with arms outstretched. Loki could hear his brother working the crowd, their welcoming applause making him shudder. Two-hundred of Asgard’s dignitaries waited through those doors; standing in the side-wing of the great hall. Murals of past ceremonies decorated the alcove, visual reminders of memories that Loki would rather forget. Fifty witness spaces were balloted to the citizens of Asgard, the right to attend considered the highest honour. ‘The Ceremony of the Sacred Seed must be witnessed. We must be seen to be benevolent’, Loki thought, recalling his mother’s words in the lead up to his first experience with this accursed tradition. He rolled his eyes silently, making Frigga chuckle. “I shall leave you now.” she murmured, touching his arm lightly before her dress was but a whisper across the marble floors. For the first time, Loki felt the clench of nerves in his stomach. A thumbnail scratched at the gold edging of the robe by his heart, slipping to rub the muscle beneath. He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he summoned familiar thoughts of the one he adored from afar. The one he craved. The forbidden one.

His hand slid down his chest between the soft fabric, the tie of his robe loosening. Massaging his soft cock, he could feel the first stirrings as his mind perused well-trodden fantasies. Slipping down the shoulder of her dress to plant a biting kiss, a tug of her wrists fastened to his bedpost, one slick soaped-up calf rising seductively above the rim of his claw-foot tub. Loki shivered, a wave of desire rolling down his spine, ass clenching. The loose fist he had made around his manhood pressed outward, the flesh thickening beneath dangerous thoughts. He was ready.

On cue, respectful cheers rumbled through the wall signalling that Thor’s dutiful service to the realm had been a success. Quick and artless, as usual; Loki thought with a smirk. The engraved golden doors swung backwards, palace guards setting themselves at either side in wait of their prince. Loki took a deep breath, striding barefoot across the marble floor. The flow of his ceremonial garb grazed his ankles with each long step, his shoulders squared; jaw set. He stared ahead, as imposing in the luxurious garment as he would be in his battle armour. The god’s dark hair rested behind his shoulders, one curl falling forward as he gave a curt nod to the high-priestess standing in the centre of the alcove. She raised an arm with difficulty, the long draped sleeves of her white gown made of the same intricate material as his robe. Don’t think about the knobbled crones, Loki thought; cursing himself inwardly.

“Loki Odinson. Prince of Asgard. Second son of our most sacred royal lineage...” Her voice was strong and commanding despite her advanced age, the white of her hair strewn across the back of her dazzling gown. “God of Mischief and Chaos; sworn protector of Asgard and its people. Do you consent to a ceremonial offering of your most sacred seed this night?” Loki’s eyes went out of focus momentarily, the temptation to roll them almost overwhelming. “I do.” he muttered, to a murmur of approval from the shuffling crowd. He ran his gaze around the half-moon congregation, two-hundred spectators waiting with a mix of trepidation and awe as Loki took his place in the centre. His stare crawled across familiar faces from council meetings and feasts, dignitaries and statesmen who had roamed his father's halls all his life. Their presence was to be expected.

In the middle of the crowd, the Asgardian citizens stood, their clothes noticeably less refined. Less...gold. Many held their hats in their hand, reverent and disbelieving at the sights they had seen thusfar as sunset drew closer. Four guards stood in a square around the dark prince, each holding a pole from which white silk hung like a flag. They all turned; eyes cast upward as they raised their posts to conceal the prince from the waist up. Loki heard a disappointed hush of whispers from his left, tilting his head in half-interested acknowledgment of their discontent. Of course, he thought with a smirk; observing a small group of women. The wives and daughters of Asgard’s political elite. With one notable exception. “It is time.” the high-priestess announced, passing the infamous golden platter to her disciple. Loki nonchalantly untied his ceremonial robe, letting the exquisite green fabric fall loose at his chest. He threw a knowing glance toward the women leaning forward in rapt attention as the silk-chiffon slid down his shoulders, catching on the curve of his biceps. They giggled, quickly hushed by their elders. Every inch revealed more of the legendary landscape of his body, forearms tensing as his broad shoulders rolled back. Several of the women gasped audibly, the ceremonial robe pooling on the floor around his bare feet with a soft rustle. Loki knew that the dying rays of sunlight from the circular window behind would be radiating across his skin, sparking the gloss of every strand of raven hair. He raised his chin upward, letting the crowd admire their prince as he gave a nod to the high-priestess. A sudden scent wafted in his nostrils, making them flare. Poppy. Only one person in this palace wore the scent of poppy.

His stomach fluttered, excited murmurs from the crowd becoming white noise as his eyes fell on she who haunted his thoughts. She slid beside the gaggle of women muttering to each other. There you were. Your face collected; dutiful. Beautifully impenetrable. In every way. She’s not supposed to be here, Loki thought; biting his lip as he extended his hand, one of the guards pouring oil into his palm. “Begin, Prince Loki.” the priestess proclaimed theatrically.

Loki’s gaze fell to the man kneeling in front of him, head bent in dutiful reverence with the golden receptacle outstretched, ready to receive his offering. The platter bearer, Norns; Loki thought. Best seat in the house. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply with his chin tilted upward. The scent of your perfume hung in the air like smoke, tendrils invading Loki’s mind as it began to whirl with lust. So close. You were so close...and you would see him as you had never seen him. As you had been forbidden to see him. Loki smirked, loose grip running up his thick arousal. Sneaking into the Ceremony, against her father’s wishes? What a naughty girl. Long fingers flexed around the base of his girth, giving it a tight squeeze. His lips parted, a low sigh of need escaping under the smallest movement of his hand. His oil slicked palm slid up his member...all the way up, achingly slowly. A gruff ahh caught in his throat as his fingers grasped the sensitive tip, imagining your plump lips sucking brazenly in their place. Loki’s grip tightened; his teeth gritted in concentration as he widened his stance. The marble was cool beneath his bare feet. How many times Loki had envisioned how he would take you upon this sacrosanct floor. The skirts of your dress pushed around your waist as your nails clawed down his back. He would unmake you, devour you, he would free you from every modesty you had ever learned...starting with that beautiful cun- “Fuckkk...uhhh..” Loki moaned, the echo creeping to every corner of the hallowed alcove and beyond. His head fell back further, waves of his hair brushing against the centre of his shoulder-blades as he stroked himself shamelessly under the spell of fantasy. “G-gods...yes.” A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. The Ceremony was usually a silent affair, perhaps a whine or two at completion from its participants but nothing so...enthusiastic. From the level at which they stood, the crowd began to shuffle, craning to catch a better view of a god lost in his own ecstasy. Above the silk panels, his strong torso was visible from the navel, every thrust of his hips against his palm making that powerful stomach clench. The fading light cast shadows across deep abs, spasms of restrained desire making the muscles at his ribs jolt beneath the taut skin. Loki’s face was marble in motion, exquisite cheekbones sharpening and softening with each biting clench of his jaw, panting sluttishly to the muraled dome above. Loki’s mind wandered to the day he had returned from battle, coated in blood of a thousand foes: dead by his hand. You had run to him, concern etched across your brow, before you realised that the blood was not his own. How innocent you were. If only you had known the things that he would do to you. That he would have you do to him.

In his fantasises, he envisioned you pushing him against the balustrade, ravenously thrusting your tongue into his mouth. You would have relished every drop of him mixed with the sweat and filth of war that clung to his skin; consuming the grime as you would the one that wore it. Dirty girl, Loki thought; his stomach flipping with a wave of adrenaline, dangerously close to climax. You would be such a dirty slut for me. And only me. Loki thought of how your fingers would make quick work of the crusted ties holding his leather trousers at the hips. Of your hands slipping down to grasp his furiously hard cock in your delicate grip. His knees would buckle, delicious cleavage pressing against his bloodied armour; red streaks smeared across your cheek as you savagely took his pleasure at any cost. “Uh-uh-uh...Uh hhhh- y-yes...don’t stop...Gods.” Loki grunted wantonly, his face falling forwards with his mouth hanging open. His cock was bursting, flexing outward against the tight clamp of white knuckles. Blood thundered in his ears, a thick haze of feral lust coursing in his veins as he raised his gaze slowly, ceasing his heavy strokes to a crawl. The disciple at his feet raised his head in expectation, bringing the golden platter forward; flinching back down when he realised his mistake. Loki’s eyes locked to yours, watching him with that same concerned expression that you had worn in the hallway the day he returned. Or wait..., Loki thought as he palmed his cock gently upward, a shiver of desire rolling down his spine; Not concern. Need. Your lips were parted, brows knitted in concentration as you shuffled beneath his simmering gaze. Loki’s eyes ran covetously over your frame, your breasts rising and falling against the corset of that pretty dress. They may not know how much you wish to be behind these silk curtains on your knees choking on my cock, darling; Loki smirked to himself, as you let out a staggered breath beneath his smouldering stare. But I do. He let out a low growl, eyes rolling back as a thumb pressed up the centre of his wide manhood. The oil on his hand was hot with friction, slipping around the velvet skin beneath. Loki’s eyes never left yours, tilting his chin upwards again. His hair fell around his cheekbones, a strand sucked across his lips as he began to pant beneath the renewed pace of his palm. He observed you through half-lidded eyes, biting his lip as his ass clenched with every smooth swipe of his hand against that forbidden pleasure he knew you craved. How he wanted you. How he had always wanted you. Loki hoped your father could see the eye-fucking occurring amid this most solemn of Asgardian festivals. An honour: Loki thought with a sly tug of his lips, that even that odious old fucker could not deny, surely. “Oh-oh, f-fuck...yess.” Loki groaned, close to release; syllables dripping from his tongue like double cream. His fist flexed around his length, palming himself mercilessly while thoughts of you ravaging his cock invaded his senses.

The god’s eyebrows slanted upward, his jaw slackening. A murmur of excitement rolled across the crowd, seeing the prince’s shoulders tense and tighten. Biceps bulged as his free hand grasped his naked thigh beneath the silk panel, an audible gasp from the spectators as he threw his head back. The veins in his throat stood out, jawline sharp as Vanaheim steel in the embers of smouldering sunset. The curtain-bearers tenses in position, the manservant serving the golden platter forward as the muscles in Loki’s legs strained against the precipice of orgasm. His eyes squeezed shut. Knowing you were watching him come undone...that would need to be enough. For now. He could feel breaths catching in his throat, panting like a wolf on the hunt. Stars flashed and simmered behind his eyelids, mutters of anticipation rising from the crowd as his dark moans of shameless pleasure reverberated around the marble walls. In his mind, you were lying in his bed. Legs spread to welcome him as he lowered between your open thighs, melting into the curve of your breasts. “Take me, Loki.” you would whisper against his skin, as you guided his aching cock inside your wet, hot cunt. “I’ve been waiting for you.” With a thundering groan that would wake the dead, Loki came. It rang around the alcove, bouncing to every nook and cranny of the great hall beyond. He heard the group of women gasp in unison, their quiet whines peppering the air as he came undone. Glorious, pure white seed spurted across the outstretched golden bowl as Loki juddered. He steadied against the shoulder of one of the stoic curtain-bearers as shallow pants racked his body. Loki squeezed up from the base of his cock, every drop of his essence secured. For none could remain. Slow claps dotted the crowd, growing louder as the spectators showed their appreciation for his dutiful service to the realm. The god's eyes flickered to where you stood; a coy smile pressing against your dimples as you applauded demurely with a mischievous glint in your eye. He swiped the ceremonial robe held out to him, making a show of whirling it around his body, allowing you a final gratuitous look. Loki tightened the cord around his hips, straightening and smoothing his hair back as the curtain-bearers raised their poles to reveal his whole form once more. I’m still hard, Loki thought, realising immediately that he didn’t care. The high-priestess approached, giving a small bow. She smiled, leaning in toward him. “One can always count on Asgard’s second son for some...unorthodoxy.” she whispered. “It is nice to see that a millennia has not changed you, Loki.” She winked, accepting the golden platter and its contents from the kneeling man shuffling on his knees across the floor. Loki rolled his eyes. “Will that be all?” he quipped, pursing his lips. She nodded, the same smile tugging the corner of her mouth. He gave a curt nod to each section of the crowd, lingering a moment longer toward the one where you stood. Loki could swear there was a thin sheen of sweat on your collarbone, that you pressed your lips together to contain a bite as he raised his eyes to yours.

I have been waiting for you, he thought, feeling his heavy cock throb as he began the short walk back through the golden doors from whence he came. Tonight, my forbidden one; we shall wait no more.

Tags

@lokischambermaid @lady-rose-moon @gigglingtigger @holymultiplefandomsbatman @muddyorbs @xorpsbane @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @mrsbarnes32557038 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @lokiprompts @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @ladylovesloki @marygoddessofmischief @ravenwings73 @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokisgirll @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @peachyymallows @soldeloki @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden

[redcoralpot]

Smudged (4)

Rodrick Heffley x FTM Punk Reader

Warnings: NSFW joke and mentions of homophobia

Summary: The idea was bull, but it was worth a shot, you supposed. That is, if Rodrick can stay focused.

-

“I need you to do a favor for me,” Rodrick kicked his foot against the asphalt.

You could still hear the joyful chatter of children reuniting with their parents in the background, cars speeding past you, causing strands of hair to come loose, “No.”

“No? What do you mean no?”

“I’ve heard enough from Heather.”

His eyes snapped towards you, wide and attentive, for once, “What’d she say?”

“Obviously not something positive.”

Rodrick shrugged, his attitude uncaring once again. You huffed and turned away, fully planning on leaving him alone on that sidewalk. However, you only were able to take a few steps forward before a hand roughly grabbed at your back. Cursing under your breath, you whirled around to face the boy, squinting.

“Hey, hey, I’m being serious. I need your help, here, dude.”

“You could’ve fooled me;” you rolled your eyes, but didn’t remove his hand, “I won’t do your homework for you. Leave that in middle school, with Greg.”

Rodrick’s hand slid down your arm before he pulled it to his chest, “Actually– fuck, nevermind. Okay, that won’t work on you, but you’re a valuable resource with this!”

“And how is that?”

Instead of answering, he took a step closer, and waved a slip of paper in your face. You flinched back, allowing it to fall from his fingertips into your open palm. Rodrick was silent, snickering, and tapping his foot as he gleefully watched you crack it apart. Inside were printed words; his project slip, awfully crumpled. Two words, three if you count the category. Music; punk subculture.

He smirked, “It’s a research project. What better way than to talk to the only punk guy in town?”

“If you’re so sure, then what about the collaboration rule?”

“C’mon, nobody’ll ever know!” You could’ve sworn he almost whined, moving back.

You said, “I won’t fail ‘cause you’re reckless; I’m sure there’s another punk guy somewhere.”

Rodrick made a face, “There’s none that I know.”

“That’s too bad for you, then,” you replied. Kicking a rock towards him, you backed up, towards the road. He huffed, taking steps forward as much as you moved away. You could tell that he was getting desperate for your help.

“How about a trade? I help with yours, you help with mine!”

You paused, causing the drummer to smack face first into you, knocking your foreheads together. The two of you hissed, with Rodrick rubbing the wounded spot with a scrunched up, pained face. When he finally let his hand fall away, you could see an angry red spot in its place, and yours probably did not look much better.

“I’ll think about it.”

He snickered, hitting your arm, “Hah, think.”

“Heather was right, you’re a cornball.”

“Fuck you,” he groaned.

You shook your head in response to his complaints, “Deal with it, Heffley. I have your number, I can harass you with it all day.”

A small boy, about Holly’s height, if not shorter, appeared in the distance. He was running towards the both of you fast– well, as fast as a middle schooler can go on those little legs. Beside him, a chubbier, ginger child was struggling to keep up as his counterpart shouted, bringing his hands up to his mouth. Rodrick grew tenser, a kind of grumpier expression clouding his features. Ah, that would be Greg. Chuckling, you made the decision to instead flee the scene, not wanting to be a part of their petty sibling rivalry.

“What do you want, turd?” Rodrick sneered, gesturing beside him, “I was in the middle of something.”

“You promised you’d take Rowley and I home!”

“That means you have to be–” He took in the blank spot where you once were, “...patient.” “I’m gonna kill you the next time Mom’s not home, literally kill you!”

-

You fished your flip phone out of your pocket, slouching on your pillows with your socks only half-off. When the list of conversations popped up on the small, bright screen, you paused. Were you seriously contemplating this? Directly going against the rules to work with Rodrick of all people; you might as well have cheated with Daniel and that would have been a better idea. However– you shifted in your bed, kicking your socks across the room– Daniel knows nothing about drums. In fact, he talks about flutes more than any other instrument, as girly as his father calls it. Rodrick was better at it than anyone else in this shitty little town, so how bad could it truly be?

Against your better judgment, you typed in the number pattern printed on the invitation slip into a new contact, naming it accordingly. You held your breath, typing your very first message; “This is Heather’s brother.”

Your phone was smashed into your sheets and you hugged your pillow to your chest, peeking over at the device. It took a few moments, minutes really, before it vibrated against the cloth. Yet, you didn’t reach for it at first. This was your last chance, your last chance to refuse this and possibly not ruin your entire senior record, and so you hesitated. Curiosity got the better of you, though. “Trade or no trade?” 

Taking a deep breath, you responded, “Trade. Come to my house.”

Heather would be so mad at you for this, you thought as you set aside your phone to the side and hopped up. Most of the time would be spent in your room, and you would hate for it to be as messy as it is now when a guest is over, despite the fact that Rodrick seemed to lack standards for hygiene. Perhaps he only showered once a week, if you were lucky. Regardless, you half-heartedly made your bed and dumped a few garments of clothes that had littered your carpet down a hamper, hidden in your closet. Your violin and electric guitar were both leaning carefully on your wall, safe from harm in their cases. Your desk was scattered with markers, laces, and patches that you had neglected sewing onto your jacket. It wouldn’t hurt to stack them neatly, you reasoned.

Your room still had a certain chaos to it despite your efforts, and really, you weren’t looking to fix it. It had personality, it reflected you, just as Heather’s more tidy space reflected her personality. Books lined the shelves underneath your desk; one that you didn’t spend too much money on. A door, glass, a mat, and two near-height shelves as support gave you one easily; you refused to let your mother buy you a “proper” desk. The works were mostly fiction or topics regarding punk history, so you selected a spare few that you did not care too much about in order to lend them to Rodrick.

About ten minutes in, halfway through the time you expected Rodrick to arrive, you freshened up your makeup in the bathroom mirror, paying extra attention to your eyeliner. Just to one up the guy. You smudged it with your pointer finger, before lining your waterline with a matching black. Even so, you almost poked your eye as you were finishing the right side of your face when you heard a clang!

A faint, “Uh– shit, my fault.”

You lifted the lace curtains with a non-blackened finger to peer outside, only to be greeted by the sight of the devil’s gleaming white van, a fresh dent in the front. An angelic statue that had decorated your family’s driveway was now laying on the ground; a puzzled Rodrick above it. A sigh forced itself from your throat. Your eyes followed his figure as he awkwardly tried fixing the abused statue, before sauntering up to the door with a fist raised. It didn’t take long to bound downstairs and open the front door before he abused that, too.

“We have a doorbell, you know?” you stated, unimpressed, “Come in.”

He whistled a short tune as he took in the rooms around him, “So this is Heather’s house. I was starting to think I’d never get to see it!”

“You aren’t here to see Heather, you’re here for research. Don’t talk to her, don’t listen to her, and don’t even look at her; she’ll choke you out and then me.”

Rodrick bent his head in order to see through the crack in her bedroom doorway, but you took a hold of his ear and pulled him away; “Okay, okay, fuck!”

You dragged him through your own door, where you shut it and finally released the drummer to let him take in his surroundings. Pushing him forward slightly with the back of your elbow, you lean on your bed, taking a good look at him. He flicked his eyes towards you– probably scared you were going to rip his ear off if he moved. A humorous expression to see on such an arrogant guy, sure, but you stayed put, watching him. Rodrick must have taken that as a thumbs up, as he was immediately attracted to your desk. He chose to shuffle through your pins first.

“Woah, you made these?”

“No.”

He read the miniature printed names, “Do they mean anything?”

“They’re bands.”

“Well, yeah, I totally recognized them.” He made a show of pointing out his eye makeup.

“Sure–”

He interrupted you, something seemingly catching his eye, “Wait, is that a…”

“Ah, crap, I thought it was something else.” It was a magazine, something you didn’t care enough about to hide away, and he seemed to snicker about it, “If it was, it’d be full of girls.”

You looked over his shoulders, before snatching it out of his hands, much to his offense, “I’m not into that kind of stuff.”

“You sure? I have one you can borrow if you really need it!”

“You’re weird,” you huff, throwing a small book at him.

“Positive?”

“Get to work.”

Rodrick finally sat on your bed, overly casual. You plopped the pile that contained your collection of punk media in his lap, much to his dismay. Christ, if this was still just some big scheme to get his dick wet, you swore you would stuff a leaf in his mouth.

The first book was all about the origins and meaning of such a subculture; the most important subject for his research. You had hoped he valued that, but as he squinted at the text, his eyebrows pushed together.

He tossed it back into your lap, and you threw it back, like some sort of cursed hot potato, “Dude, I don’t know some of those words!”

“How have you gotten to senior year like this?”

“Can’t you just summarize it?” It landed between your legs, to which you looked at him unimpressed.

Rodrick seemed put off by this, looking down at your lap and back up, “Uh, do you have anything to take notes with?”

“...No.”

“Jesus Christ, take a pen off my desk; take the whole book, why don’t you!”

“That’s fine with me.”

You cursed under your breath, even praying to whatever deity was out there to smite the boy in front of you with all their might. You flipped a page, to the first chapter, sneaking a glimpse at him from behind your eyelashes. Rodrick’s foot was wagging back and forth from its position under his left thigh, not even aware of your dilemma. Or he could be painfully aware of it, and just wanted to push more of your buttons by acting innocent. Yeah, that sounds more like him, you thought as you cleared your throat.

“Punk style started gaining headway, aka popularity, in the mid-‘70s in America, with the UK catching the spark a little later on.”

He sneered, “Hah, caught the spark.”

“Knowing that you know enough about history to make a nerd joke horrifies me.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he huffed.

“Sure,” you continued, “anyway, music was a huge part of this new era, but not the only thing included in it.”

Rodrick said, “I can see that.”

“It had fashion, dance, even a mindset to it.”

Glancing at your boots, currently collecting dust in the closet, you searched your mind for items you personally knew were iconic. He had seen you in your clothes, but based on his earlier comments, Rodrick knew next to nothing about the articles. He did not need to know the very deep parts of punk fashion, not for that project. Truth be told, you honestly didn’t want him to know the codes and such related to more personal matters. That knowledge was only for people who would understand, and you lacked that faith with Rodrick.

“You’ve seen me in my boots, leather jacket, and such, yeah?”

“Duh. That sparkly belt, too.” The drummer tapped his temple.

“It’s spiked.”

He shrugged, “Potato, patata–”

Rodrick was thankfully interrupted by a muffled shout from your mother, who slammed the front door shut, “I brought home dinner!”

“Fuck, yeah, I’m hungry,” he cheered, hopping off the bed and down the stairs before you had the opportunity to tackle him.

“Ah, crap.”

Heather peeked out of her bedroom, slowly turning to look at you with a withering look in her eyes. Your shoulders sagged as you saw a snarl take its form on her lips; defeat.

-

[byullielle]

Walls Could Talk // Bang Chan x Mafia!Reader

Part 2/3

Trilogy Playlist, Till Death Do Us Part, is what the vows contain. Hitched off to notorious mafia boss Christopher Bahng, and despite her volatile and bratty attitude–it'll be only through her that anyone gets to kill her husband.

Tags: Yakuza/Mafia AU, Est. Marriage, Marriage for Convenience, Eventual Lovers, Smut, Manhandling, Resolved Sexual Tension, Angry Sex, Rough Sex, Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: how chan looks in the freeze mv is exactly how he looks in this fic. SEX SCENE IS CONSENSUAL. MINORS DNI. NSFW Content.

Part 1 | Part 3

Guide: F/N - Father's Name

6.1k Words

You lean against the pillar of the infirmary of your manor, watching while Soyeon, your family physician, patches Christopher up. He winces while she gently prods at his bare torso, feeling for any more fractured ribs in the collision.

Minho is laid unconscious to be tended by Joshua, another physician who works under Soyeon. He did hit his head but was conscious enough to make it back to the estate awake. It was a disastrous crash, leaving Jisung and Changbin to clean up the mess left behind while Chris looked at you with mirth laden in his eyes.

You couldn't care less.

The moment you got home with the two injured men in tow, Felix came rushing to you with Jung Hyeon's file, finding out that she had the exact tattoo you found on the assailants the day before on her shoulder. All of them were piece by piece coming together—all your husband had to do was listen.

"We just have to wait for his X-ray results but he'll be alright with a few days of rest and to keep the wrist brace on at all times," Soyeon speaks up after hushed voices directed to Chris.

"Y/N-ah make sure he doesn't go out of the estate his broken ribs aren't fatal, thankfully they're only the floating ribs are affected,"

"Noted, Soyeon-ah," you nod, a bit frigid now that the adrenaline isn't needed yet still flowing through your veins. You nearly feel like your heart could stop in all honesty, a sharp pain stabbing through your chest that you simply take like it wasn't anything.

"Now you," Soyeon approaches before you hold your hand up apprehensively, "I'm not injured, Soyeon-ah,"

"I know," she sighs before taking your hand and pulling you into the doctor's office you set up for her team.

Jeon Soyeon has worked for your family ever since it was her grandmother running the medical field of the Jinyoung group. You were one of the few families who had well-equipped and strictly confidential doctors, making you less susceptible to hospital arrests.

"How are you doing," she asks before you sigh and lean back against the wall.

"The thigh wound isn't that deep, it'll heal in three days,"

She lifts her gaze from your file to you, "You know what I mean,"

"Do we have to do this?"

"The more you repress it, the worse it gets,"

You look down at your feet, hesitating before taking a stressed breath, "Yesterday. Happened while I was taking a bath, I think the attack on me the other day triggered it,"

You look up to see Soyeon's concerned face looking at you, "I dunno, kinda just remembered mom and stuff," you shrug, pulling your hands up against your arms.

She hums, jotting something down on a piece of paper before pocketing it, "Any more?"

"That's it for this week, I don't know if there'll be more,"

"And you still don't want to get medicated?"

"I think therapy is working just fine,"

She cocks a brow up, crossing her arms before leaning against her desk, "Really now?"

"I'm serious, Soyeon," you press your lips together, "I'm getting better, you said it yourself I'm just having some bad days,"

She shakes her head and pulls off from the desk, "Given your current situation with Bahng, those bad days would probably stretch on," she approaches you before placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, a flinch non-existent anymore.

"If you need someone, I'm a call away, okay?"

"Yes,"

Closing the door behind you, you head to Christopher's bedside.

"I'm sorry I nearly killed you," you sit down by the corner with a sheepish look on your face. The bandage on his forehead was definitely standing out, added to his already prominent collection of scars on his face, 'Continuously added by you, always,' your mind so helpfully supplies.

"Your unorthodox ways always seem to help," he sarcastically replies, making you frown a bit.

"You rest, and then I'll let you know what's going on,"

"No," he shakes his head, “You tell me now. You're still gonna help nurse me too aren't you?" he cocks a brow up and you can't help but scoff, "Aren't you a demanding one,"

"You nearly ended my life, Y/N, I don't know what that says about you,"

Somewhat miffed, you can't help but ball up your slightly trembling hands, "I wasn't planning on killing you! I was saving your life,"

"And how sure are you that it was for saving me?" he counters. You couldn't help but be frustrated with him, standing up from the bed while looking down at his sorry state.

"Oh please your injuries aren't even enough to kill you,"

"Maybe if you didn't act on impulse I wouldn't be on an infirmary bed with a gaping wound on my forehead!"

"I don't act on impulse!" you spit out bitterly, "It was a quick decision but I didn't do it without reason," you frown, voice getting higher and higher, more charged and agitated. He sighs and takes your wrist gently, making you jolt up slightly before he pulls you to his side.

"The Jungs aren't easy to lock down, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do,"

"Then you better make this worth it,"

You didn't know if it was him trying to get on your nerves or general mistrust but your hot temper was already on it's full throttle, you weren't about to hear anyone out because fuck that.

"You're so…" you trail off, closing your eyes before rubbing the spot between your brows, taking a sharp intake of breath.

"We won't get anything done here. Rest up," you mumble before walking away. If walking was stomping out of the infirmary then yes, you walk away there with a scowl on your face.

You saved his fucking life, not even a thanks.

'But then again, did you thank him for saving yours?' your brain nags and you stop in your tracks. Shaking your head away and letting out a fed-up groan, you carry on with the journey to your bedroom.

“Yeah well, she asked about where you were. She hung up on me,” Hyunjin recalls in Chan’s office, while his boss turns to Changbin with a cocked brow.

“She didn’t say anything when we left. Jisung did say she’s expecting either of us to follow,” the other guard explains while nursing a glass of whiskey, smoke puffed out of his lips minutes after.

“But Chan…do you mind?” Bin raises his head as he simply nods, “Go ahead Bin,”

“I don’t think she was planning to kill you,” he confesses, “Why go through all that trouble? She could’ve done it a long time ago if she really hated your guts,”

“Yeah but hyung that could be just her plausible deniability so that she doesn’t go suspect if the boss dies,”

“So you’re suggesting she’s pinning this on the Jungs,” Chan speaks up before reaching out to pour himself a glass.

“A little bit like that,” he meekly states, looking down at his glass. Changbin presses his lips together, “Although, I really think Jung is suspect, at least Jung Kwang-ho,”

Chan licks up his lips before sighing, “Clearly Y/N knows something. I might have to even talk to F/N-nim, he knows something about the Jungs,”

Changbin scoffs, “She did seem mad at you boss,” he shrugs, “Maybe apologize first before heading to her? And especially her father?”

Chan furrows his brows at him, simply receiving a shrug before Changbin stands up and grabs the holster harness off Chan’s table, “I’m on night duty today, I will see you two tomorrow,” he nods to Chan who simply nods back. “Good night, boss, Jinnie-ah”

“Good night Bin,”

“Night hyung,”

The door quietly shuts before Chan places his glass down the table, crossing his hands together before leaning against the oak desk, “Do you really think she’s trying to kill me?” he directly addresses Hyunjin, “I’m trying to be objective boss,” he sits up straight, setting his drink down as well, “Although a huge part of me agrees with Changbin-hyungnim, we can’t ever be so sure with her motivations,” he starts explaining.

“Y/N-nim seems so mysterious and closed-off after all, especially after getting married to you,”

Seemingly placated with his response, he leans back against his chair again, pondering the possibilities of what the fuck was happening to his territory. He knew a lot of people wanted him dead, in this world, there were more detractors than support, his head a constant prize amongst the pedestal of drug lords and mafia capos especially when branching out his reach in Asia or his bastardized status of being hailed as heir. If you have the world within your grip, its prickly sides would want you to let go.

He just won’t.

Sighing, he rubs the space between his brows with his fingers. “I’ll apologize to her,” he resolves. "Make sure I don't have any appointments tomorrow,”

“Yes boss,” Hyunjin’s gentle demeanor changes along with Chan’s. 

The heavy weight on your chest makes you unable to breathe, the struggle in your lungs heavily impeding your airflow. You crack your eyes open, a heavy gasp escaping you while you claw at the front of your gown, making Seungmin jolt up from his sleep as he rushes to your side.

“Boss,” he helps you up, concerned and worrying as you can feel the sweat on your back–sickly sticky and cold while the strands of your hair stick to your forehead.

Seungmin squeezes your hands once, looking directly into your eyes as you look around still shaken up by the feeling. “Remember anything? Where are you right now,”

“Bahng estate,” you answer breathlessly, “What time is it?” you turn to him as he checks on his wrist.

“2:30 in the morning,”

“Fuck,” you’ve barely been asleep, 3 hours in. “I– I don’t remember the dream, you frustratedly bunch your hair and rest your elbows on your knees, “But it felt…” you trail off, words dying on your tongue.

“Here, have some water,” he calmly hands it to you.

There’s a tremble to your hands, a little bit shaken as you take a big gulp, downing it in one go as a tired sigh escapes you. Night terrors–never one to quickly leave yet so fleetingly easy to overlook, to suddenly forget about what was so terrifying you felt as if your lungs were taken, left your chest bare and barren.

“I think I need to take a walk,” you shake your head and swing your legs over the bed, your bare feet touching the carpeted floor, “Go get some sleep. If something happens, Felix’ll be there,” you direct to Seungmin. You could see him hesitate, but ultimately take your order to rest up.

Wanting to feel the sensation of the cool floors of the manor you lived in, you forgo slippers, making it out of your room quietly as the patters of bare feet barely echo around.

Unbeknownst to you, Christopher sees your retreating figure, getting up to relieve some of the tensions of a sleepless night himself. Not wanting to impede on your time, he curiously follows behind right after, making sure his footfalls are light.

You feel comfort around the tall walls and wide ceilings of the house, it makes you feel smaller and a little bit more free, compared to the dark hellscape of a nightmare.

You take a few flights of stairs up, the faint crashing of the ocean audible to you from a distance as you hike up, carpeted floors further muting your presence as the textile presents a comforting roughness to it, like overgrown grass or stepping onto smooth gravel.

You could see the balcony doors, making a small skip towards it before opening it, the warm and humid ocean air pouring in contrast to the crisp air conditioning in the house.

With the deepest breath you can intake, you step out to the cool night breeze flowing against your body, barely covered by the silk nightgown and robe slightly damp with sweat.

Letting a shaky breath out, you let the door knobs go, leaving the doors open before heading forward to the ledge, arms placed atop the porcelain balustrade overlooking the moon shining brightly against the pitch-black ocean.

The silence of the night, crashing waves filling your senses vaguely while you let your nightgown brush and flow against your legs, and your bare feet resting against the cool marble, you could finally feel yourself breathe easy again.

Days of high adrenaline never came easy, the thrill of it all addicting to you yet the crash just as terrifying. You get used to it, but it always feels just as suffocating as the first time—it changes but it never tames down.

Pressing your lips together, you couldn't help but start humming a familiar song, letting the melody vibrate past your sealed lips before you could sense someone behind you. Abruptly stopping you turn and gasp to see Christopher leaning by the pillar of the doors. "What are you doing out here so late at night," he questions.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be on bed rest?"

"I'm not invalid, it was a few broken ribs, a wound on the forehead and a sprained wrist," he scoffs, not leaving his post as you simply stand there observing him.

Illuminated by nothing but the moonlight, his features are shaped out by shadows, sharp and chiseled but there was a certain moodiness to his eyes as it stared back at your very soul. You weren't in the mood for it. Y/N L/N loved holding grudges after all. "I'll leave your frolicking to it then," you sigh and detach your body from the balustrade, walking past him before he sighs out.

"I'm sorry for a while ago," his voice permeates throughout the empty hall.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, back turned against him. You walk away, unsatisfied with the flimsy apology. First he implies disloyalty and rebellion, next he disturb your midnight break? Unacceptable.

You knew Christopher could do better than that.

A knock permeates on the door of your father's den. Breathing out a puff of smoke, he signals one of the men to open it. 

You walk in, your four guards following right behind as your father breaks out in a grin. “Well, well, if it isn’t my baby witch of the westside,”

“Enough of this, I have things to ask you,” you sigh before signaling one of the rookies to give you a chair. They immediately comply, scrambling to move as you take a seat in front of your father, spreading the collected pictures in front of him before raising your brows.

“Well?”

“Ah…” he sighs and plucks one of the pictures off the table, “The Jungs, I know this tattoo well enough,” he grunts while leaning back against his chair, taking the cigar between his fingers before inhaling and blowing.

“What do you want to know, little flower?”

“What is the Jung family’s association with the Jinyoung group?” you ask.

He hums, “Trouble in paradise?”

You scoff a bit, rolling your eyes before crossing your arms, “Tough shit. Not a chance,”

A humored laugh boisterously bursts from your father, making him shake his head, “You’ve gotten smarter when you got married,” he side-comments, “Let’s see… Jung and Jinyoung group,” he tries to recall before almost automatically his head guard hands him a file.

“Oh right,” he flips through the papers, “Remember when rumors of Chan’s induction as head of the Bahng household started to transpire?” he raises your brows at you as you nod.

You were there after all.

“Eugene Bahng, the supposed heir was scrambling to get his hands on the position,” he looks down at the file, “Started pawning off promises to each family he could reach, one of them was the Jungs,”

You attentively listen. Christopher’s climb to the heir position was deeply muddled in objection and rejection. Your father was one of the men who sided with him rather than Eugene, the supposed “full-blooded” heir of the capo seat in the family.

He was the one you were supposed to marry, but you decided you wanted to side with Christopher as well. Your marriage fortified his chain to the position, the smallest push to completely desolate the rest of the family to avoid mutiny.

Which was happening now, so it seems.

“Plain and simple, the Jungs want Chan gone so that they could usurp the promised territories for themselves,” your father finishes his wistful little recollection of events. “I was there when Eugene Bahng called the meeting, did you know he promised off Jongseon-do to me?”

“Did you get it?”

He laughs, shaking his head, “That boy was as stupid as his mother. Anyone with a brain knew his propositions fell flack,” he lights up another cigar, “Do you know why I backed Christopher up?”

You look at him with uncertainty. It wasn’t something you questioned, nor something he openly expressed. “Because he was the wiser son,” you try answering with confidence but your father shakes his head.

“I was too much of a coward to put you out there,” he admits, rendering you confused as to just where was this confession coming from, “You are your mother’s daughter, to have you killed because you meddled too much wasn’t in the itinerary,”

You lean back, a small yet steady lump growing in your throat. This was the most empathy your father has shown you in years. “Christopher Bahng. He saw your potential and took you away from my arsenal,” he chuckles before glancing at you. 

“To each your own. Now look at you,” he juts the cigar towards your direction.

“Hunting down those who threaten your family,” he digs the ashen tip into the glass ashtray, “Atta girl,”

Ever since you woke up, you’ve been avoiding Chris. And now that you’ve gotten back home from your father’s estate it seems like your own stubbornness didn’t want to let up. ‘Trouble in paradise,’ you scoff while Jeongin opens the doors for you, ‘If paradise was nowhere in the first place then yes it is trouble,’

It was a little bit petty of you, you were aware of that. In a normal situation, you too would act the way your husband did—you just wanted to get on his nerves. And wanted him to get on your nerves too.

Dangling a bait too delicious to not take was a waste for you, so why make up and apologize properly when you can constantly avoid his attempts to make peace in a civilized and normal manner. 

Time was still running through the hourglass, god knows what the opposing family is up to now but you can go out and play for a little bit more. Chris was still inside the house breathing and alive.

"Miss boss you're home," Hyunjin welcomes you by the foyer before Jeongin takes your bag and holster away, "I'm home," you tiredly announce before stripping your shoes off, handing them to a maid nearby. 

"The boss would like to have a word,"

You cock your brow up at him, turning to his direction, "Suddenly I'm the one adjusting? Tell him this," you take a few steps toward the guard, "I thought he wasn't invalid,"

You walk off with a snotty stride to you, absolutely biting back the smile off your lips when you hear his footsteps retreat back into the house.

Christopher was normally the more patient one out of the two of you; never impulsive, ultimately pragmatic and a thorough planner. Dream guy, you're sure.

But there was a little bit of fun of him blowing a fuse. You just had to be patient and wait in turn. Heading to the living room of the huge house, you tiredly slump down on the velvet couch, reaching out for the book you were previously reading.

Propping your legs up the couch you comfortably lounge on the couch. It doesn't take you 10 pages until the familiar footfalls prick your ears, Chris' heavy footsteps making itself known once he enters the threshold of the living room.

"You're home," he comments, only receiving a noncommittal hum from you. You can almost feel his heavy breath against your nape, picturing him with his hands on his hips, "Are you really doing this, Y/N?"

A response isn't pulled from you, simply flipping the next page of the book before it gets yanked out of your hands, making you look back with a scandalized look. 

"What the fuck is your problem Christopher?!" you shriek, intentionally sharp.

"My problem is that I'm trying to fucking apologize!" he answers back, breaking patience as you nearly quirk your lips up in a victorious smile. Just a little bit more—if it seemed too serious you'd stop.

Rolling your eyes at him, you let out an exaggerated groan of irritation, swerving around the couch to try and overtake him, "It's fucking useless to talk to you," you mutter before stomping off towards the stairs.

"You fucking get back here Y/N L/N," his voice booms throughout the stairwells.

"Or fucking what, Christopher Bahng," you snap, sharply turning towards him, "Why the fuck are you even apologizing,"

"Because clearly we need to keep moving,"

You let out a snide laugh, crossing your arms, "And? I had the impression you could clearly work without me. Save it," you bitterly spit out, stomping your way up the stairs like a toddler.

Chris follows you, almost giving you a small pave of way before nearly pouncing on his prey, speeding up because once you get to the top your back is roughly pressed against the wall with his hands gripping your arms tightly.

"Don't act like a fucking child," he growls, face merely inches away from yours. 

Your eyes flit down to his lips, then to his eyes, a silent message delivered.

Placing your hands into fists you push him away to the best of your abilities, getting him off you before further shoving him until he stumbles back a bit, "You're the child here! Go and wallow in the fact you thought I wanted to fucking kill you," you brashly answer back, with your own snarl against him.

"Should I have known my efforts would be met with such disrespect I would've left you for dead!" you deliver the final blow before something snaps. 

Before you know it, his hand is wrapped around your neck, making your head tingle and breath hitch as he forces you to look into his eyes. If he really wanted to kill you, he would've done so by now—easily being able to snap your neck in half with just his right hand.

Instead his thumbs press down your carotid, punching out a gasp from you. Your eyes meet, and despite the anger and passion burning in his eyes there was a silent question to everything. And you do everything in your power to relay the fact that he's forgiven, that he's free to apologize again and again along with doing as he pleases. 

And what he pleases he does.

With irritation still flaring in your bones, you press your clenched fists against his chest but never truly pushing him away.

"You're a fucking brat," he spits out bitterly, breath fanning against your face. 

"Not like you could do anything about it," you spit out with harshly.

"Watch me," he lets go of your neck only to grab your wrists harshly before throwing you on his shoulder.

A shriek is punched out of you, gripping and clawing at his back in a poor attempt to break free. "Christopher!" you yell, wiggling out before a harsh slap lands against your ass, groaning at the sting before your worldview changes, immediately facing the unfamiliar ceiling of his room while landing on his mattress with a thud.

He immediately gets to it, pulling your pants off with a rough tug. You bite your lip in order to hone in any noises you're threatening to make, gripping the sheets for stabilization before he strips his own clothing off. His half-hard member springs out of his pants and boxers, precum at the tip but not enough to make him wet.

You were salivating over the view before your ankles are pulled towards him as he stands by the edge of the bed, the pits of your knees now hanging off. 

"What, your brain got jogged in there somewhere?" he smirks cockily while pumping his cock with lazy strokes over your bare lower body. You want to close your legs together, feeling your slick leak out of your folds but with the position you were in his legs were lodged between your legs. 

"Look at you," his eyes zero in your leaking pussy, "What a fucking degenerate you are,"

You glare at him, leaning against your elbows before tugging at his dick a bit roughly, precum flowing out upon the contact, "Speak for yourself,"

Without warning, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out before taking his throbbing cock in one go, punching a groan out of him before you graze your teeth against his member, feeling him tense up a bit before easing it into your throat. 

Holding back a gag, your throat contracts and mouth tightens, tongue feeling the veins on him. 

"Fuck," he curses, reaching out to grip your hair but you smack his hand away, digging your long nails into his hips while bobbing your head up and down.

Spit flows from the sides of your mouth, slobbering about his long member. You knew it wasn't the best head you were giving but the way the oxygen was taken away from you by his huge dick obstructing your throat was sending sparks in your brain.

"You're so fucking shitty at this," he mutters before bunching your hair in his hands before bucking his hips.

A whimper escapes you, unable to pry his hands off this time while being forced to take his cock over and over again, the gagging sounds from you music to his ears. "You like that huh? You fucking slut, this is all it needs to shut you up," he sardonically laughs at you before pulling your head away.

You cough out, a mixture of his precum and your slobber accidentally getting out a bit while he gives you time to catch your breath.

"Fuck you," you mutter through tear-muddled eyes and spite. 

"Try," he pushes you down the bed before placing a bruising grip on your hips and lifting before his thumb pads around your clit. A stuttered gasp escapes you, clawing at the sheets below your hands.

"So wet," he whispers almost to himself while running a finger from your clit down to the shallow part of your pussy.

He takes his member with one hand before slapping the head against your clit, making you bite down on your wrist to hold back a mewl at the stimulation. He starts pushing down, tip catching in between your lips while your hips tremble under his hands. 

Eyes screwed shut, a shudder shakes you to your very core. And you know he isn’t faring well either, one of you ready to break the barrier of hate just so that you could move. Giving in, Chris suddenly slams into you, punching a shout from you before you reach out to claw down at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck- fuck, Christopher,” you mewl out, helpless under his grip as he chuckles at your wrecked state.

“God, already?” he shakes his head, “I’ve barely fucked you,”

“Too– Ngh– Too much! ” you whimper, hands snaking your way up to your chest to press and tug on your pebbled nipples against the silk shirt that you just realize was still on you–wanting to redirect the concentrated pleasure on your pussy somewhere else.

You were going to explode, his dick continuously assaulting the spongy spot right inside as the nerves jolt your body alight with electricity you couldn’t contain, cries and sobs punched out of you in sheer pleasure. The smacking of his hips against your ass was sticky, juices flowing down and spread out you didn’t know which one was yours and which was his.

“You’re–so rough,” you weep.

“You like rough,” he says through spent grunts, slamming into you full force as if he’s simply using you.

His’ to use, your own pleasure to neglect. Like he didn’t give a shit if he hit the right spots as long as his dick was rubbed raw along your warm walls.

He grits his teeth, thumb catching on your clit once again as a shuddering gasp is torn off your lungs for the nth time followed by a litany of moans.

“You wouldn’t…Fuck…act like such a fucking brat…’f y’didn’t enjoy this,” he slurs through the pleasure. Your back arches back against the tandem of his thrusts and the circling of your clit. 

“Shit! Christopher, fuck!” is what’s left of your vocabulary, thighs trembling against his hold as the knot in your stomach painfully tightens, body going rigid for a bit as the squelching sounds of your juices mixed around by his glorious cock echo around the room.

“That feel good huh? Are you gonna cum for me?” he leans down a bit, flames alight behind his eyes, hair plastered to his temple while he runs a hand over his curly hair, moving it out of the way.

You respond with nothing but a high pitched moan, pornographic at best once he slows down his thrusting to a grind.

"What happened to the big bad wolf that regrets keeping me alive?" he sardonically laughs, making you tear up at the sheer humiliation of it all. He stops his grinding, making you squirm around his dick while the walls of your core flutter around his member in anticipation.

"If you didn't keep me alive nobody would fuck you like this,"

Torn between wanting to keep your pride up and just wanting to cum, you sigh out in neediness, coming out as a pathetic and begging moan.

"Please, it escapes you in barely a whisper, "I'm sorry I said that Christopher. Please, just move again," you plead.

"You like begging don't you?" he mocks before starting his reckless and deliciously fast pace again.

He cocks a brow up, making you clench harder around him, his eyes flitting down from where he was sheathed in to your wrecked face, red and blotchy with tears, mouth with a trail of spit.

Your back arches, hands squeezing on your tits as they jiggle underneath your grip due to his ministrations, body slightly jogged around by his sheer force. His thumb is back rubbing circles on your clit, lifting your hips and thigh up before spitting on your swollen bud, picking up the pace.

You're nothing but a moaning mess on the bed, back arched, head thrown back and hips lifted up. The shocks course through your body like live wire as your clit is continuously abused the way your hole was.

"I wanna cum! Christopher fuck, I'm gonna cum!" you hiccup out.

“Then cum,” he lets go of your thighs while still grinding into the walls of your throbbing pussy. “For all I fucking care,” he takes your jaw into his free hand, letting go of your clit making you wail at the abrupt denial of your orgasm.

“No, no, no,” you try to tug his hand back but he moves it to your neck, squeezing with precision making your eyes roll back.

Squeezing his dick around you, it twitches against his member–making you shake and tremble under him as he doesn’t relent with his thrusts. His hands are still on your neck and you can feel the overstimulation rub you raw, making you arch your back and writhe around his hold which garners him to chuckle darkly, letting go of your neck before pushing you further into the bed. 

“You came huh?” he mocks you, making you sob against the sheets as you move your head to the side, body shaken up by his thrusts.

The pain steadily turns into pleasure as another tremor shakes you to your core, unable to speak, only drooling into the sheets with your eyes half-lidded and directed towards Chris. His grunting and moans start to spill out more frequently, thrusts getting more and more erratic.

And you couldn’t keep up the cruel facade, reaching out for his arm before he looks up at you. “Cum already…inside, inside please,” you manage to mutter out and he lets out a laugh of disbelief.

“Shit, Y/N,” his breath hitches. “Ask nicely,”

You whine, high and needy as the tears further spill from your eyes, cock still assaulting your spent pussy, “Chris!” you further keen, almost into a shriek as he hits a deeper spot than normal.

“Please please, cum already Christopher,” you sniffle. “I forgive you already! Please just cum! I can't take it anymore!” it comes out high and wrecked.

He clicks his tongue, "Yes you can," his thrusts become a staccato of shallow ones that did nothing but hit your g-spot.

It was getting too much, the coil breaking only to be tugged and tied back together. Your back constantly arched and legs trying to squeeze shut only to be blocked by Christopher's body.

“Channie!” the last of your brain cells fight, attacking the soft spot you knew he had, making him hiss. “Holy shit,” he huffs before three more erratic thrusts wreck your walls.

Warmth spills inside your hole, a soft sob wrecking your body while Chris cages you in between his arms, watching you as you tremble underneath him, chest fluttering up against the material of your now sweat-riddled shirt.

Then you feel it, while he pulls out, the obscene sound of your juices together coming from your pussy is heard and after a few seconds you can feel fluid flowing down between your folds.

Chris shudders and chuckles in disbelief, “Look at you,” he whispers.

You couldn’t do anything but let out a sigh, tired and definitely exhausted. “F-Feels…so fucking sensitive,” you whimper softly. 

“Wait here,” he mutters, landing two comforting pats against your thigh. 

You don’t know how many minutes it was, but you could feel a damp towel wipe you all over your body, sticky and soiled shirt now removed. He gently lifts you up a bit, deciding that the small yet damp spot by the foot of the bed could be taken care of tomorrow.

Opening one eye open, you could feel the bed dip before coming face to face with his bare body. You look up, and then your eyes meet. “Sleep,” he runs a comforting hand through your hair, then on your cheek.

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss on the soft skin, before detaching.

Kisses were foreign to you and Chris. And although you wanted to ask, there was a nagging fear that pulled you back down as to where your place truly stood.

He pulls the blanket up your body, a gentle caress on your shoulder garnering a soft and satisfied sigh. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, reaching out for your hand before pressing a gentle and chaste kiss on a healing scab on your knuckles, “And thank you,”

Through closed eyes, you savor his scent through the pillows plush against your head, a hum escaping you. “It’s okay,” you whisper, a hand landing on his bare knee as reassurance, “And I got you,” you spend the last ounce of your strength looking up at him, eyes meeting again. “Always,”

The light shines against your eyes, making you groan before feeling the throbbing soreness of your legs and hips.

Cracking one eye open, you notice the black cashmere covering your body contrasting the sheets you were accustomed to. The smell is also highly reminiscent of Chris' perfume and detergent, the pleasant familiarity helping rouse you out of the sleepy state you were in.

Looking around with a sleepy daze, nobody is found around the room but there is one thing you did come to the realization with. In over 6 months, it was one of the best rest you’ve ever gotten–no nightmares, night terrors, or panic attacks.

Sighing, you get up with a grunt before the door suddenly opens, making you pull the sheets up your bare body before Christopher walks in with a breakfast tray.

“Why were your guards so adamant about asking me how you slept?” he immediately asks while you rub your eyes and let go of the sheets.

“I get a bit restless when I sleep,” you mumble out before running a hand through your toussled hair, “Did something happen while I was sleeping?” you look to him before he shakes his head, handing you a platter of food.

“A few murmurs but nothing alarming,”

“Good,” you hum before taking the utensils with a small thanks.

He hums. “Meet me in my office later,” he orders, and you nod towards him. “Don’t let it wait until tomorrow,”

“I know,”

next chapter would be filled with plot, context, and flashbacks so please brace yourselves for the longest chapter in this series. :)

< previous next >

> moodboard; sampler 3

[harusaki-hugo]

I love your Hanagaki Twin Saga! Can you do a part 3: The Three Deities arc or her role in the final arc (I think she will fight along side her brother)

I have like 4 same requests. i just going to doing final arc because my peanut brain barely remembers the three deities, i only remember how beautiful Wakasa is and thats all. Okay, i might re-read the last chapter just to wrote this and i might overdone it. tehee.

Hanagaki [Name] is worried about her brother. She knows she needs to stay behind with Hina, but she can't shake the bad feeling that has plagued her all day, as if something is going to happen to her twin. "I'm...I'm going there!" she suddenly declares, causing Hina to look at her with wide eyes. Hina quickly grabs [Name]'s arm to stop her, but the girl's strength is much greater, and she practically drags Hina along with her . "Wait! Takemichi-kun told you to stay behind!" Hina tries to stop her, but she is unable to do so as [Name] pushes her away, apologizing, "I'm sorry, Hina." With that, [Name] rushes out of the house and runs towards the battlefield, knowing that with her speed, she won't make it in time.

"Need a ride?!" [Name] yelped as she felt someone wrap an arm around her waist and pull her onto a bike. Her eyes widened when she saw Taiju grinning down at her. "This way is faster!"

Takemichi's eyes widened as he saw Sanzu holding a katana above his head, intending to strike down the other boy. In that moment, he couldn't help but think of his sister and girlfriend, when suddenly a familiar voice rang out. "Get away from my brother!!" followed by, "What's the matter, Hanagaki?! Is this how you're going to let it end?!"

Every gaze sharpens as Taiju and [Name] come into view on a motorcycle, barreling towards Sanzu. [Name] leaps off the bike as Taiju accelerates. Touching down, she fixes Mikey with a glare, meeting his astonished expression. "Mikey!"

[Name] role in Final arc:

You basically the cool heroine who arrive late, you can't shake the feeling that something going to happen to your brother, so you just run there but luckily Taiju is kind enough to pick you up.

"I'm Taiju Shiba, captain of sixth Division for second generation Tokyo Manji!! I came to get the best seat to watch Hanagaki beat Mikey's Ass!" Ngl, this scene make me feel giddy lmao anyway-

Catching the jacket thrown to you by Mitsuya, you slip it on and declare to the others, "Hanagaki [Name], Vice President of the second-generation Tokyo Manji!" As you step in front of your brother, you slam your fist into your palm and announce, "I'm here to back up my boss in taking down Mikey."

You and Taiju easily open the way from Hanagaki making everyone gaped and in awed, "Crazy. They two like a beast..."

You and Taiju being stopped by Wakasa and Arashi. Taiju raises his fist toward you, and you bump it with him, "I take the big guy." Taiju looks at Arashi while you look at Wakasa, "And i take the pretty boy."

Long short story, you manage to take down Wakasa cooly. and now you facing Mikey who give in his dark impulse, dodging the Katana but not fast enough to dodge all of it causing you to bleed on your arms and face.

Looking at Mikey you suddenly lunge toward him making the male flinch, but he didn't expect something, that you willingly got stab in the chest just to hug him.

"[Name]?" Mikey's eyes widen as he feels your arms wrap around him, though the blood dripping from your wound suggests otherwise. Takemichi yells out your name as he rushes toward you, "Geez... this is why I told him to... choose his friends..." Coughing up blood, you slowly fall down, losing consciousness. In a panic, Mikey wraps his arms around you, sinking to his knees with your body. Blood pools around you both, "H-hey, this isn't funny..." Mikey shakes your body, "Why?!" You look at him with a pained smile, "Is it wrong to save someone I like?" Those words hit him like a brick, and tears start falling down Mikey's cheeks. "Like? After all I've done? Are you an idiot?! You're just the same as your brother!!" Mikey quickly grabs your hands as he feels your grip weakening. "...No... we both feel the same... that you're worth saving.." Giving him a grin, you then say, "Maybe... in another life... we could actually go for a ride.." Mikey can only stare as your head falls into his lap, motionless.

"No!" Takemichi quickly knelt down and grasped your body, his own frame shaking as tears streamed non-stop from his eyes. "No, no, no! Wake up! You promised me you wouldn't get hurt!" Takemichi yelled as he shook your cold body. "You said you wouldn't leave me! Wake up, damn it, wake up!" Everyone from Tokyo Manji began to cry as they watched the two desperately trying to wake your lifeless body. Mikey reached out and placed his hand on top of Takemichi, making him stop shaking you and look at him.

"I'm sorry... so sorry... I'm sorry..." Mikey sobbed, making Takemichi cry even harder. "Aaah! I'm so stupid! I should have never let her get involved!" Both Mikey and Takemichi held each other's hands as they wept, and at that moment, both felt the same desperate wish: to turn back time and start over.

"Hey! Take-nii, wake up!" Takemichi groaned as he felt something heavy on top of him. Slowly opening his eyes, he was greeted by a smaller version of himself, or more accurately, his twin sister. "..[name]?" But she was smaller than he remembered. "Geez, hurry up and get ready for school." You moved away from him and grabbed your school bag, then noticed your brother looking at you with teary eyes. "Hey, why are you crying?!"

You were confused when Takemichi suddenly dragged you with him, running down the street, insisting he needed to see something. Arriving at someone's house, you gave him a weird look as he was about to ring the bell. Then there was this boy punching your brother, which made you jump at him and hit him back. You and this Baji kid ended up fighting on the street, only to be stopped by a girl named Emma. It got even more confusing when more people appeared, and it seemed like your brother knew every single one of them.

"[Name]..?" You were confused when the boy named Mikey looked at you and started crying like your brother. He took a step toward you and just threw himself at you, yelling something along with your brother.

"We both time leaped!!!"

1k words baby, wooo we going all in.

[voxofthevoid]

Super late so if you’re not taking any more requests, feel free to ignore!

Can i humbly request your favourite scene you’ve written for the fics listed so far?

And for words:

1. Somnophilia

2. Love?

3. Overstimulation

We're still open for business 💗

I've picked pretty straightforward scenes for somno and overstim. Love reminded me that I very, very rarely write Gojou or Yuuji using the words "I love you," and when I do, it tends to be in extremely angsty contexts (you'll find out 😈). There are three(3) instances across all the fics I've written, and two are in the Time Travel Fuck-It. I've picked one of those.

The favorite scene parts are under the cut!

Somnophilia, from (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered

Gojou stops whining, and Yuuji doesn’t notice that until their absence fills his ears with the wet squelching sounds from further below, and then Yuuji doesn’t bother with it, focusing on just the tingling warmth of his breaths on Yuuji’s skin, until Gojou’s palm, also grown harmless at some point, falls off his shoulder and onto the mattress with a barely audible thud.

A twinge of instinct makes Yuuji stop and raise his head.

Gojou’s limp under him, and the shifting of Yuuji’s body makes even his legs unwind from Yuuji’s hips, falling limply open on either side of his body. When Yuuji takes his hand off Gojou’s mouth, prying it away finger by finger, his head just lolls to the side.

His eyes are closed, mouth still lightly parted.

He’s very much alive, chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He’s just…asleep.

After everything he did, after everything he said, he’s fucking sleeping.

“Are you,” Yuuji says softly, furiously, “fucking kidding me?”

Love, from everything burned, as promised

I wanted to make you happy.”

A tight little noise lives and dies in Yuuji’s throat.

“You’re very silly sometimes, Satoru-san.” He lays his head against Satoru’s shoulder. “You always make me happy. That’s how I knew.”

Don’t, Satoru thinks, even as he asks, “Knew what?”

“That I love you,” Yuuji says simply, easily. The eyes that briefly flit to Satoru’s are dark with knowing. “Don’t worry—I don’t expect anything. I just wanted to tell you.”

Don’t, Satoru wants to say. I’ll ruin you.

But he already has. He’ll do worse.

So he does the only thing he can, kissing Yuuji more gently than an uncaring god ever would, and it’s fine if it haunts Satoru, the taste and the warmth and the look in Yuuji’s eyes, but he wants this boy happy, and it’s not love, but that’s kinder too, probably.

Overstimulation, from (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

Satoru’s bullied to a shaking, shuddering end, but Yuuji doesn’t stop.

His protest comes out high and broken, any semblance of sense shattered by his own wet, ragged breathing. He tries to flinch away, knowing it’s useless but helpless not to try, and all that earns him is a meaner touch inside, where Yuuji’s got two fingers knuckle-deep and hooked, the pads dug into his prostate. It burns with oversensitivity, pleasure sharpened into pain by the orgasm that just tore through him.

It’s worse on the other side, his cock buried in that blistering, cavernous mouth. It’s obscenely open, the teeth kept well away from Satoru’s dick, but when he tries to pull away again, Yuuji brings them a little closer, the two rows just barely grazing the base of Satoru’s dick, and he freezes from head to toe.

“Yuuji?” he chokes out, suppressing a shiver when the teeth stay—a tender, threatening pressure. “Yuuji, let go.”

The thing is that I find it hard to pick a favorite scene because I...forget half of what I've written. Given the sheer number of fics and the word count as well, it's when I'm rereading for pleasure or proofreading for posting that I often find parts that make me go "oh, hey, I like this!"

With that caveat, I've listed very broad, brief descriptions of my favorite scenes from the listed fics. In some cases, the wording is extra vague to avoid spoilers. I'd say these would only make sense after the entire fics have been read.

Deaged Gojou series: there’s a lover in the story (but the story’s still the same)—The kitchen confrontation and table sex

Kidnapping Fic: (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered—The drunken noncon followed by dubcon somnophilia

Incest Vore: your resistance, prophetic self-destruction—Gojou interrupting Yuuji and Chōsō

Drunken Dubcon: break my patience, corrupt my sacred art—Yuuji carrying Gojou to bed and the immediate aftermath

Amnesia Fic: the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too)—The very first scene

Time Travel Fuck-It: everything burned, as promised—The ending scene

Train Groping & Alley Sex: your body language on me tells me to be unholy—The first blowjob with weird metaphors

Surprise Rut: taking the flesh is the only virtue—Nanami waking up to find Gojou in the room

Double Noncon: i could keep your bed warm, otherwise, i’m useless—Kenjaku healing Yuuji

Schrödinger’s Noncon: i can offer you a black-lit paradise—The initial gofushi noncon

Shibuya Swap: (this is also part of the story) how the story changes—Alt!Yuuji rescuing canon!Gojou from the Prison Realm

Doubledong Dickfest: (and he had said) darling, your looks can kill, so now you’re dead—Yuuji lifting and fucking Satoru against the glass

Itaokko Wall Sex: pretty girls don’t know the things that i know—The conversation where Yuuta realizes who else Yuuji's fucking

Role Reversal Cigarette Play: (the euphoric taste of your tears) swallow it, darling—The face-slapping scene

[bae-del-moon]

With Love, From the Other Side of the Apocalypse | Preview

pairing: sunwoo x f.reader rating: M (for suggestive and violent themes) | TW: death, blood, and zombie-decaying bodies genre: angst, romance, post-apocalyptic!au | childhood friends-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers, slow-burn fic summary:When the world came to an abrupt end, the years you spent avoiding your hometown and those who came with it after graduating high school fell kaput. After months of solitude, you find yourself packing what you can and driving for days just to get back. Unsure of what you expected, you find yourself having to confront the mess you left behind. You're no stranger to a broken heart. Neither are they. You're the one who broke Sunwoo's heart, after all.

A/N: a stolen moment in time from the draft fic that leads to one of my favorite scenes. here's to the new year & posting this fic soon 🥂

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Your breathing is shallow now, and you're half convinced you're going to pass out just as you're about to meet your end. It’s hopeless, you finally accept. You stop trying to pull your foot out of the mud and fall onto your ass, hands falling beside you, fingers digging into the mud. 

All around you, the zombies clump together, hands outstretched as if you were already in front of them. You wait for them and suddenly wonder if zombies are capable of teasing. Or does this count as torture? Because you're sure you've watched them move faster before, crowd around something living like it was a race. Or were they only fast during the apocalypse, when they were all freshly turned?

There’s a sudden rustle to your left, and you flinch.

There it is. The zombie (zombies?) coming from that side has yet to lose its zeal. Against better reason, you twist towards it to wait for it and watch as it comes through the tree line.

He bursts through it like a bull on a rampage, the hood of his poncho falling off his head like a parachute, and everything slows down. Lightning flashes. Zombies start to burst through the tree line behind him. And your life flashes in front of your eyes.

You lock eyes with him. Suddenly, Sunwoo’s ahead of you. Not the one who found you by coincidence looting a grocery store for food, but the fifteen-year-old you left behind. He’s smirking at you, his backpack slapping against his back as he runs toward you. He’s still in his soccer uniform, cleats and all, and his hair is damp in sweat. Strands of it clump together against his forehead.

He laughs. 

“It’s not sweat!”

Your lips don’t move, but you can hear yourself answer him.

“Yes, it is!”

“It’s not! Come here! I swear! I want my kiss!”

“It totally is! Even your face looks all sparkly with sweat.”

“That’s because you think I’m handsome! OH!” He kneels in front of you, hands around one of your legs, huffing. “Shit. You can’t blame me for this. All I wanted was my kiss.”

“Yes, I can! I was running away from you!”

“You promised me a kiss.” He whined, pouty, and you could feel yourself fight back the laugh that was building up inside you at the look on his face. You'd only been teasing him. Sweat or not, you were going to kiss him like you always did before the two of you went home.

“Sunwoo.” You huffed out with a barely suppressed laugh. “I’m only joking.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

You laughed and shook your head, “Sunwoo.” 

He lifted his gaze from your leg, the pout still prevalent over his lips. You smiled widely, and then locked eyes. Your smile dissipated without a single word exchanged between the two of you. Before you knew it, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips, your nose nearly brushing his. Your body buzzed, and you could feel your breath start to come out in long shudders. 

“Y/N, you need to try pulling your leg out! Pull! Pull it!” Sunwoo, voice raised into a near yell, fell onto his knees next to you.

You stared at him, stunned as fifteen-year-old Sunwoo disappeared, and the twenty-three-year-old Sunwoo took his place. He struggled, both of his hands wrapped around your ankle as he yanked at it frantically, trying to dislodge your foot from its muddy mold of a prison.

A shuddering breath, much like the one you'd just remembered, escaped you suddenly. The world sped up again, your will to live resuscitated, and you pulled at your leg again. It continued to refuse to budge.

Desperate, you took a quick glance around and felt your hope start to falter again. The group of zombies following you were closer now than ever. Half a minute, you decided, maybe less.

“This isn’t working,” Sunwoo grunted.

“You’ve got to go.” 

“Stand up.” 

You could still feel him pulling at your shoe. “Run.”

“Stand up!” Ten seconds. The flat, croaking moans of the zombies melded together and muffled the sound of the rain falling through the trees. You stood up as he wished, clutching his arms, and forced him onto his feet, even as he resisted you. 

A second later, when your eyes met his wide ones, you mustered all the strength you still had and pushed him away.

☣|| [++☠++] || [++☠++] || [++☠++] || [++☠++] || [++☠++] ||☣

You can find the FULL fic teaser here!

[itzzaira]

Donnie walked over to where Mikey sat, sitting behind him. He focused his gaze on Mikey's bandaged shoulders- something he could understand. He knew how injuries worked. He knew how he could fix those. There was logic he could use, past experiences he could rely on. Donnie always knew what to do- that was his role. His job. 

He didn't know what to do with Leo. 

Leo sat down at the head of the bed, grabbing the edges with a loose grip. Raph was the only one who remained standing, arms crossed. All three of them waiting for the oldest to say something.

"...April got mad at me after you left." He mumbled, head hanging lower. "For leaving. When I shouldn't have." 

The hothead snorted, sounding more sarcastic than anything. Leo sighed.

"She... she was right. To be angry."

"You think?"

"And you are too." 

They looked up with surprise, yet Leo didn't meet their gaze.

"I was. Am. Did. I just..." he needed a minute to get everything together, leaning his elbows on his knees and head in his hands, taking a breath to remember how words worked. They all wanted to say something- but kept their mouths shut.

The silence hurt more than anything else. They didn't reach for him anymore... perhaps his plan worked after all.

"There... was this thing. A very, very bad thing, that happened..." Leo started, not knowing where else to begin. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, his eyes surprisingly watery.

Mikey, not one to just watch by, reached out even if it was hesitant, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Leo?"

"Something bad was gonna happen. Something bad and all he did-" 

"No matter what you must sacrifice..."

He flinched, his breath hitching... then finally looked up with teary eyes.

His three brothers, his sweet, baby brothers were staring at him. Anger and annoyance faded into something else.

"Or who."

---------

A scene out of my 2012/rise crossover, "The Wrong Side of the Portal"

I think I did alright for a first time✨️

[howlingday]

Weiss and Winter Settle An Argument

Ironwood: Schnee! I need you both to settle a tiff between Qrow and I.

Qrow: Face it, Jimmy, it's not a tiff; it's a row.

Ironwood: And now it's a scene.

Weiss: Actually, sirs, I'd prefer not to get involved in your personal business.

Ironwood: It's not personal. It's a math problem.

Weiss: Er-

Winter: YES!

Qrow: Jimmy and I had dinner the other night for the first time in weeks since he started the night shift.

Ironwood: And Qrow thought it would be fun to ruin it with a math problem. And his answer is wrong.

Winter: Enough foreplay! Get to the numbers!

Ironwood: It's the Monty's Hall problem. You're on a game show, and there are three doors, behind one of which is a car.

Qrow: You're tellin' it wrong. There's three doors, and behind one of 'em is a car. You guess one, it's wrong, and the host asks you if you want to try again. Should you do it?

Ironwood: No!

Qrow: Yes!

Ironwood/Qrow: IT'S SIMPLE MATH!

Ironwood: There's no reason to try again! The prize is behind one of two doors! It's a 50/50 chance either way!

Qrow: It's two-thirds if you switch. One-third if you don't. Probability locks in when you make the choice. We've been over this eight times!

Ironwood: Seven times. (Smirks) Now you can't even do simple addition~.

Weiss: ...

Winter: Qrow is correct.

Ironwood: You're fired.

Winter: What?!

Weiss: Pfft!

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

Winter: Good evening, sir.

Ironwood: Is it, Schnee? Because I have yet to sleep because of that stupid problem! Now I finally understand Qrow's side.

Weiss: So the problem is solved, and we don't have to hear this again?

Ironwood: On the contrary, I fully understand how wrong he is!

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

Ironwood: Probability doesn't "lock in". Do I need to teach you Fourth Year statistics?

Qrow: That depends. Do I need to teach you Third Year statistics?

Ironwood: Do I have to teach you Second Year statistics?

Qrow: Do I have to teach you First Year statistics?

Ironwood: Do I have to teach you-

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

Ironwood: Now if you'll excuse me, I have to leave a scathing voicemail on Primary school statistics. (Walks away)

Winter: ...Okay, we have to help them solve this problem to save their relationship. And you laughed at me when I went to that math conference.

Weiss: Because it had the name, "Silly Slimes and Their Silly Slides".

Winter: That was the name!

Weiss: Well, I don't believe the math is the issue. The problem is this night shift keeping them apart. They would feel a lot better if they just boned.

Winter: Weiss! How vulgar! Those are our dads!

Weiss: ...

Winter: Er, is what some would think. For me, General Daddy is just my boss.

Weiss: Wow.

Winter: Nevermind! I'm teaching Father to math!

Weiss: ...

Winter: Whatever!

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

Winter: (Looking around corners)

Ironwood: Schnee, you're acting strange. Is there something I should be concerned with?

Winter: I seem to have misplaced the brooch Nana Schnee left me.

Ironwood: Where did you last see it?

Winter: Actually... (Summons an ice diorama) It's behind one of these three doors~.

Ironwood: ...ARE YOU TRYING TO MONTY'S HALL ME?

Ironwood: Unbelievable! I not only have to deal with Monty's Hall at home, but I have to suffer it here at work, too!

Weiss: General, with all due respect, the problem isn't the math; it's the night shift. You and Qrow haven't pent much time with one another. You just need to bone.

Winter: (Flinches)

Ironwood: Whatdidyousay?

Winter: (Whispers) Don't say it again.

Weiss: I said you two need to BONE.

Ironwood: How... dare you, Huntress Schnee, I am YOUR! SUPERIOR! OFFICER!

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

Ironwood: BONE!

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

Ironwood: What happens in my bedroom, Schnee, is NONE of YOUR business!

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

Ironwood:

BOOOOOOOOONE!

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

Ironwood: Don't EVER speak to me like that again. (Storms off)

Winter: ...Why would you do that?

Weiss: He was stressed. Now he knows.

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

Winter: General, sir, I contacted an Atlas statistics professor and-

Ironwood: There's no need, Schnee. There is no longer a problem.

Winter: So the fight with Qrow is over?

Ironwood: Yes.

Winter: Because you understand the math?

Ironwood: No.

Weiss: Because you-

Ironwood: Yes. (Leaves)

Weiss: I told you.

Winter: ...

Weiss: See, what happened is your dads had sex-

Winter: ENOUGH, WEISS!

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

I've given this spiel on Discord already but I'm thinking about it again today so here goes

The reason Las Nevadas worked as pre-recorded, highly polished lore whereas other arcs were better served by improvisation (or, especially later, fell flat in the attempt to be more "cinematic") is because that style of presentation reflected and enhanced the themes of c!Quackity's story.

c!Quackity is a very image-conscious guy. He's performing strength, coldness, and viciousness. He's performing power, wealth, and masculinity. He wants to look respectable and frightening in the ways he's seen respectability and fearsomeness modeled by others.

But in the process, he eclipsed his emotions, his better self, and his very humanity.

Las Nevadas itself is a testament to that desire. It's grand, impressive, and entirely artificial. It's a harsh contrast to the organic awkwardness of El Rapids and the ramshackle simplicity of early L'manberg and the White House. c!Quackity intended it to be unlike any country before it - an improvement, an escalation, his unique legacy.

Even the style of the streams reflects that! They become more and more elaborate as time goes on, and yes, you could say more artificial. There's no improvisation. There's no room for silly mistakes. There's no breaking character. It's flashier, grander, more impressive. It's a bunch of bright, sterile lights, all alone in a cold desert.

...okay, now I have to talk about the face cam.

On the DSMP, there are only a few characters who never streamed from their own perspective. Of these, c!Schlatt and c!Dream are best known, and this lack of first-person perspective is often cited as a reflection of their villainy. However, I would also describe this as symbolic of emotional masking. It's vulnerability, and whether the narratives and the characters allow themselves such vulnerability.

c!Schlatt may very well be the embodiment of stereotypical toxic masculinity. He is obsessed with appearances. He lifts weights, takes steroids, drinks protein shakes, and harshly belittles anyone who doesn't live up to his standards. At the same time, he is a deeply paranoid ruler, who increasingly suspects (not without reason) even those closest to him of treason. His commitment to his "tough guy" persona in spite of his faltering health ultimately kills him, as his heart gives out - alone in a crowd.

c!Dream is also a deeply paranoid man (again, not without reason) who is so afraid of coming to terms with a changing world and his own changing relationships that he cuts himself off from all but a few other people and schemes for a near-impossible reunification. He becomes a caricature of a villain and locks himself in both a literal and metaphorical black box, in which he suffers and, yet again, ultimately dies. As with c!Schlatt, what began as a means of self-protection becomes an avenue for demonization.

(As an aside: c!Techno also never uses a facecam, although he did stream his POV. His arc proceeds in a much different way from other "antagonistic" characters; c!Techno manages to overcome his mistrust of others, refine his anarchist ideals, form a community of friends who help one another, and end his story happy. He's a wonderful foil to c!Quackity, though for slightly different reasons than the other two figures mentioned.)

These two (three with c!Techno) figures, alongside c!Wilbur (their polar opposite, insofar as his penchant for Hamlet-esque soliloquies goes), form c!Quackity's idea of what it means to be powerful.

In the first Las Nevadas episode, Quackity uses the facecam in the same way he did previously. We see every flinch, hear every doubtful thought, feel every change of expression. Where this changes, though, is the final scene: Quackity tears apart El Rapids, the last remnant of his early life and connection to his loved ones, and returns home covered in a prisoner's blood.

Las Nevadas 3 has a much different ratio of facecam to non-facecam scenes. During the confrontations with c!Foolish and c!Purpled, those in which he is at his most expressive and physically vulnerable (as both of these characters could easily defeat him in a fight, forcing him to rely on personal appeal), we see him acting through the facecam. But during his discussion with c!Sam about potential recruits, he's all business and all masked up. In c!Fundy's nightmare, in which he is more a manifestation of insecurity than a character, we only see his smiling skin and a frosty voice.

As for the prison scene... hoooooly moly I gotta talk about the details in that scene a different time. But I think it's fair to say that while c!Quackity is undoubtedly in a position of power here, he also breaks down in a way we haven't seen in this context yet. And by the end… well, he's confident. What reason is there to hide? The only person he might hide from already knows what he's capable of. This is the most honest he's ever been about his motivations for torturing c!Dream, and his straightforwardness and undisguised hatred amplifies the horror of the scene.

Las Nevadas 4, however? This is where the pattern gets really interesting.

The first segment of the stream is made without a facecam. c!Quackity walks c!Slime through lessons on how to be successful and powerful, each of which is challenged and peeled back. c!Quackity never fully removes his mask, even around this person he trusts, because he is trying to be an example for that person to emulate.

But there are two scenes in which the facecam returns. One, during the reunion with his fiances in Kinoko Kingdom, in which c!Quackity lets himself be relaxed and affectionate for the first time in months before pivoting to an outburst of all his resentment, sorrow, and anger. Two, when c!Purpled traps him and c!Slime and he is forced to fight for his life before screaming in grief at his friend's death.

And the final scene of the episode? We see not just the facecam, but full live action. The actor showing his full image, and c!Quackity being completely open and sincere. There's hope! There's a real human person still in there! Perhaps he can trust again and change before it's too late!

And guess what happens in the End of Las Nevadas?

THAT'S RIGHT, NOT A SINGLE SECOND OF FACECAM. NOT EVEN A CRUMB. HE'S GOING MAD (SCIENTIST) WITH POWER AND TERRIBLE COPING MECHANISMS FOR GRIEF. OUR MAN IS FULLY LOST IN THE MOTHERFUCKING SAUCE.

And that persona - no, not just the persona, the very person he tried to squeeze into his own image! - is the one who kills him!

And this is why I never liked the notion that Quackity's lore being so polished set the bar too high for other storylines. Because first off, imagine trying to insult someone by literally saying they're too good. Second, c!Quackity's whole arc in Las Nevadas was about how the pursuit of power and acclaim at the expense of your ability to be sincere will fucking destroy you. This way of telling a story is neither superior nor inferior to the more naturalistic style of other arcs. It all comes down to personal taste and how the medium can enhance the creator's intention.

And if Las Nevadas rings false to you?

Good. You understood.

Learn something from its fall.

[genshin-obsessed]

You know that prompt with the reader being brainwashed and ending up snapping out of it, only to sacrifice themselves for the genshin character (Manipulation was the name of the fic)? I would like that but with either Zhongli or Scaramouche (if you only do Inazuma characters). I adore your angst fics the most. Ignore this if the requests are not open (unsure, have been off Tumblr fpr quite a bit).

Hello! I hope you like it, I think it's a bit more improved since that fic came out ages ago! Thank you so much <3 I hope this lives up to your expectations!

♡ Manipulation (Diluc & Kaeya ver) ♡

➺ Character: Scaramouche ➺ Genre: Angst ➺ Warning(s): Character death

“Get off-” You were interrupted as Toxin’s hand grasped your throat. You gasped as you grabbed her hands, glaring at her weakly as she leaned in, her nose brushing up against yours.

“Aw, what was that? I can’t hear you.” She taunted, making you struggle against her. “Now, just be a good little minion and listen to me.”

“N-Never…” Toxin moved closer, making you flinch. Her lips were merely inches away from yours, but instead of kissing you, a green-like mist slowly seeped out of them. Toxin released your throat, making you involuntarily inhale. Once her mist entered your lungs, you felt it cloud your mind before everything went dark.

You didn’t pass out though, no. Now you were just under her control. You looked up at Toxin with a submissive look, making her smirk.

“Now be a good little minion and do as I say.”

“Yes, master.”

Scaramouche paced back and forth as his mind ran a mile a minute. He hasn’t seen you in say too long and that was abnormal for you. Sure, he was a busy man but he always tried to make time for you. But for you to not reach out was completely out of character, so he went to your home. But no, you weren’t there either.

As he searched your home for any clues, he felt off. There was uncertainty and concern that nipped at him but from the looks of it, nothing went wrong. Your home was neat and not a single thing made it seem like there was a struggle. But you weren’t exactly the one to just walk off.

Though there was little evidence, Scaramouche declared you’d been kidnapped. Even without proof, he just knew you’d been take away against your will. 

He immediately sent out search parties and they began for canvas the area for you or any signs of you. For three full days and nights, Scaramouche and his team searched for you. With little breaks and little rest, the desperation kept your boyfriend going. He needed to find you and he couldn’t stop until you were safe in his arms again. 

The last thing he expected was to hear what he was told by a subordinate. It was their third consecutive day they had been searching when a man ran to Scaramouche. With a shaky voice, he delivered the frightful news.

“We’ve gotten word that (y/n) may be with Toxin.” There was an uncomfortable silence that fell in between them as the harbinger tried to digest the man’s words.

“… what did you say?“ he asked, making the man stiffen. Lowering his head, he spoke once more.

“We believe that (y/n) is with Toxin.” As Scaramouche thought about it- everything made sense. That woman was the only one who could’ve set up a scene like that. She was one of few that didn’t fear him. Now it was finally time for Scaramouche to panic- he’d heard more than he wanted to about Toxin and she was a menace.

Unshakable, unflinching, unstoppable killer. Those were the words he would use to describe that witch. So the hunt began as he desperately searched for Toxin.

It wasn’t long before he found her. Well… more like she found him out of pity.

“Give them back!” Scaramouche yelled, a look of anger and fear swirling in his eyes.

“Or what?” Toxin challenged as she placed a hand on her hip. “I don’t think you could do anything to me… weakling.”

“I’ll kill you. I will!” He threatened to which she just scoffed.

“Handle this, dear (y/n).” Toxin commanded and within seconds, you were rushing towards your lover. His eyes widened as he noticed you were trying to attack him. He dodged again and again but you were steadfast and strong. You didn’t slow down, you didn’t even waver! After long minutes of running, he felt the mental and physical exhaustion take over. How could he ever hurt you? How could he even think about harming a hair on your head.

Scaramouche fell to the ground and you raised your weapon high in the sky. Before you brought it down on the flinching harbinger… you stopped.

“… what…?” She mumbled as you blinked weakly. The weapon slid from your grip and fell to the ground with a thud. “What’s going on?” Your weak voice trembled through your lips. You weren’t sure where you were or what you had been doing but… you were tired. Your eyes landed on Scaramouche, who was on the ground before you with his arms up to protect himself. Why… was he doing that? Why was he so scared?

His eyes met yours and widened when he saw the recognition in them.

“Kill him, (y/n).” Toxin commanded as a new weapon appeared in your hand. It was a glowing green sword. The magic and power it emanated was… intense.

“N-no…” you said as you turned to look at Toxin. Before Scaramouche could even think to move, large chains appeared around his body and held him down. “I can’t!”

“Well someone has to die.” She said matter of factly. “Either he dies… or you do.”

“No! Don’t hurt them!” Scaramouche yelled as he looked at Toxin. “(Y/n)… do what you have to..”

“I’m not gonna kill you!” You exclaimed with a look of disgust on your face. “Why would you even say that!?”

“You’ll die, you idiot!” He yelled back, “stop thinking and just do it!”

“No!” You yelled as you dropped the sword. “I’m not gonna kill you!”

“One of you has to die by your hand, (y/n). If you don’t want to kill him… you’re welcome to kill yourself.” You stared at Scaramouche before his eyes widened in horror.

“Stop… no- no! (Y/n)! (Y/n)!! Don’t do it! Listen to me!” But his words fell on deaf ears and he watched you pick up the sword and place the blade against your neck. You looked at him and saw the tears and pain. “Please… don’t you leave me too…”

“I love you…” you whispered, shutting your eyes tightly and sliding the large blade against your neck. Scaramouche looked away but he couldn’t stop the screams that escaped his lips as he fought against the bonds. The sword and chains disappeared and the harbinger crawled to your body, pulling it towards him.

“Stop… this isn’t funny…” he said as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He held onto you as the sobs slipped from his lips, filling the empty air around him. 

“How boring…” Toxin scoffed as she turned away. Scaramouche had no strength nor energy to go after her. He just wanted you… that’s all. His glossy eyes watched Toxin’s blurry figure get smaller and smaller but all he could do was hold onto you so tightly that he could’ve killed you… if you weren’t already dead.

[twisted-drawritings]

A Thousand And One

Prologue - Part Three (1, 2)

I think this is the longest chapter yet… it might have something to do with my Riddle bias 🤭

“(Uh-Oh!) Here We Go…”

~~~~~

Riddle’s arms were crossed tightly, his grip on his sleeve tightened with his rising frustration.

Honestly… where did the Headmage run off to?

No matter. he has a schedule to stick to, and by the Queen he intends to do just that.

As the last new student slips into the crowd of freshly minted freshmen, he checks the time and begins to corral his new students.

“We’re done with dorm and orientation assignments?”

Professor Trein nods an affirmative. Riddle nods back, and turns to the crowd of Heartslabyul freshmen.

A sharp clap easily draws their attention towards him and he clears his throat before confidently speaking.

“All right new students- let me be clear. At Heartslabyul House, I am the law. Break the rules, and it’s off with your head!”

Quite a few flinched at his final declaration. Good. It meant they were taking him seriously, as they should.

As the other dorm leaders follow his lead and begin preparing their own batches of first-years to get going, he scans his own crowd.

Nothing impressive. Ah, well. He’ll make decent mages of them yet… after drilling basic manners into them.

‘Honestly… sometimes it feels as though I’m the only person in this school with any sense…’

He decides to listen back in on his fellow Housewardens just as Vil questions Crowley’s whereabouts.

The floating tablet that came in lieu of Idia Shroud scoffed at Vil’s words.

“Some Headmage he is.”

Kalim piped up with his usual inane words. “Maybe he had a tummy ache?”

“I most certainly did not!”

Headmage Crowley enters as flamboyantly as ever, a short figure in ceremony robes trailing behind him.

“Ah, speak of the devil.”

“If you must now, I was searching for the new student who’d failed to show for orientation.

A short, greened haired student peeks out from their position behind the Headmage. Their light grey eyes roam over the group before meeting Riddle’s own. Their easygoing smile widens ever so slightly and they wink at him.

Riddle returned it with a scowl.

‘They’d better hope they don’t end up in Heartslabyul… I’ll have their head for causing such a ruckus before classes have even begun!’

They returned their focus back to the Headmage as he spoke sharply at them.

“You are the only one yet to be assigned a dorm. Step up to the dark mirror, and be quick about it. I’ll watch your weasel.”

The student nodded, skipping to the mirror while humming a cheery tune.

Riddle’s attention was drawn to a floating, loosely bound cat(?) that wriggled against its binds at that mention.

His scowl deepened. ‘This is a clear violation of Rule 28…!’

He focus returns to the student as they face to the mirror, their hood concealing their expression as they turn their back to the room.

The chamber fell into a hush as they placed a hand on the glass and spoke their name in a confident voice.

“Yuuval Harris.”

Riddle shuddered as he was suddenly overwhelmed with an intense feeling of deja vu.

“Nice to officially meetcha, Rids! Names-“

The red headed boy blinked rapidly as the scene around him warped to that of the cafeteria.

Yuuval was sat, hand outstretched and a friendly smile on their face.

“Yuuval Harris! But my friends call me Yuu!”

He doesn’t take their hand, opting to scowl at them and those they’re sat with.

“Yuuval…”

“Yuuval Harris…” The mirror echoes.

Riddle shudders, shaking away the scene. He feels a headache bloom in the base of his skull as the (Daydream? Memory?) whatever that was fade.

Whatever. He had more important things to focus on.

The mirror repeated the name once more, its surface rippling slightly.

“The nature of your soul is…”

Empty dark sockets widened slightly.

“…unclear to me.”

Muttering broke out through the students at the mirrors words.

“Unclear? What the seven does that mean?”

“Dude, what?”

“Did the new kid break the mirror? Lol.”

A sharp glare from him hushes the muttering (from Heartslabyul, anyway) as the Headmage slowly speaks.

“…What did you say?”

This…Yuuval turns to look back at the shocked student body, their face an infuriatingly unreadable smile.

“I sense no magical power from this one Soundless. Shapeless. Colorless. Utterly vacant. Therefore, no dorm would be appropriate.”

Then Yuuval has the audacity to shrug, their voice playful.

“Heheh~ That’s about what I expected, honestly.”

The Headmage stalks up to the mirror, feathers sufficiently ruffled.

Riddle’s ire lies solely on this… magicless person, who somehow snuck their way into this school, seemingly just to make a mockery of them all-!

He forces the tension out of his shoulders when he feels Trey’s hand on his back and refocuses.

“How could this have happened?” The Headmage muses aloud.

Turning his attention to Yuuval, he finds them staring at him.

Their eyes meet, and this time they wiggle their eyebrows at him before tipping their head to the side.

This drew his attention to their familiar, who proceeded to break free of his restraints with a burst of blue flame.

The cat-weasel’s tailed flicked irritably.

“ME! Let me have this students spot!”

The Headmage and Yuuval shout at the same time.

“Not so fast, you hyperactive weasel!”

“Go for it, Grimmy!”

The weasel sneers at them.

“Unlike that human, I can actually use magic! So let me be a student here!”

Yuuval locked eyes with Riddle, easygoing smile stretching to a shit-eating grin as they take a dramatic step back from their familiar.

Smoke curled from said weasel’s lips as he dawned a grin of his own.

“Look, I’ll show you! My spells’re the cat’s meow!”

And then there was fire.

Everywhere.

Freshmen fell into chaos as the mirror chamber quickly filled with smoke and flame.

The cat-weasel-thing (Grimmy??) was spewing fireballs indiscriminately as its green-haired master proceeded to cheer him on.

“Way to go, Grimmy! Try making a bigger one!”

Grimmy proceeded to do just that, and a group of terrified students ducked out of the way just in time for the fireball to hit a curtain.

The Headmage balked at them. “Will you cut it out? And someone, catch that thing!”

There was light banter (always inane drivel) before Azul-of course it’d be him- steps up. Riddle easily obliges.

Someone needed to lose their head for this mess, and he’d just been handed a target on a silver platter.

He and Azul proceeded to chase the cat around the room twice before coming to a stalemate. He sees Kalim in the corner of his eye.

Somehow, he’s still hasn’t managed to put himself out.

“H-hey, I’m still on fire over here!”

Yuuval has since moved, trying and failing to put out the white-haired boy’s rear end. They cough into their robe and shout-

“Geez! Don’t any of you know water magic or something?!”

Something seemed to click in Kalim’s head at their words.

“W-water! Right!”

He quickly pulls his magic pen from his robes, the magestone gleaming as he cries-

“Oasis Maker!”

In an instant, rain sprinkles down onto the student body.

Everyone is soaked as the fires are doused simultaneously. Riddle’s fury, however, is still burning bright.

He and Azul manage to back it into a corner, and he growls as he rips the rain-soaked hood from his head.

The cat-thing stumbles on the newly-wet floor with a strangled yelp.

It’s just the opening he needs.

Magestone gleaming red, he burns with magic and swings his arm in a satisfying arc.

Are you ready for your sentence?

The verdict comes after…

“Off With Your Head!”

~~~~~

Fun fact 1: This chapter was originally from Kalim’s pov but I changed it to Riddle because I figured he would be more thematically appropriate.

Fun fact 2: the song Yuuval is humming is ‘Erie Canal’ (the veggietales version specifically lol) Also, this chapter’s title comes from the song ‘Don’t Lose Ur Head’ from Six! Yet another thematically appropriate choice, I think!

Like, comments, and reblogs clear my skin and water my crops ✨

[pancake-breakfast]

Jujutsu Kaisen Ch. 242 Spoilers Ahead

Seeing Takaba's power in full swing is such a great reminder of how absolutely borked the power rating system is in Jujutsu Kaisen. The system is described as being a way to determine which sorcerers go to which jobs by having a sorcerer's grade show they're somewhat more powerful than curses of the same level, but throughout the series we see that both ability mismatch and politics make the system a bit more arbitrary than perhaps one would want when determining what curses they're gonna go up against.

Ability Mismatch Part 1: Nanami vs. Mahito

We first get discussion of this back in Junpei's arc with all the stuff between Nanami and Mahito.

Akutami makes it clear that, while technically a jujutsu sorcerer at a certain rank should be able to take out curses at their rank and lower (and Nanami, while only Grade 1, has an ability that allows him to do a LOT of damage to even special grades), a mismatch of powers can really upset the "rank" balance.

Both Nanami and Mahito are most deadly at close range, but Nanami's attack requires precision that Mahito's doesn't, and Mahito, being a curse, can just regenerate while Nanami can't. This means that while Nanami might be able to take down a special grade with a similar cursed energy level to Mahito, Mahito himself is going to give Nanami trouble because Nanami doesn't just have to have perfect offense. He also has to have perfect defense. Mahito, on the other hand, doesn't have to be perfect about anything.

Nanami's tough enough that the single hit he took from Mahito back then didn't kill him, but it did do a decent amount of damage.

It's easy to think that taking so much damage might be more or less a common job hazard for Nanami, but when he fights Jojo Siwa Shigemo Haruta in Shibuya, we see that's hardly the case. For all Shigemo's cowardice, he's actually reasonably competent, and between that, his ruthlessness, and his ability, he might actually qualify as semi-Grade 1. But when he kicks Nanami, Nanami doesn't even flinch, and Shigemo himself compares the feeling of the kick to kicking a wall of stone. What's more, the sword slash he landed on Nanami might have sliced Nanami's fancy shirt, but Nanami himself doesn't have a scratch on him. (Also, Nanami didn't flinch for that, either.)

Nanami's a tough cookie. Even Dagon, a low-to-mid-level special grade, comments on this when he sees Nanami didn't simply survive Dagon's fish attack, but has all his limbs and his wits (even if Nanami is a bit worse for the wear).

And, as anyone who watched the after-credits scene for Thunderclap knows, Nanami even took a direct hit from Jogo, who appears to be the strongest of the three cursed spirits Kenjaku's currently allied with, and whom he describes as being "as tough as eight or nine of Sukuna's fingers," and Nanami survived. Survived and is walking around, still holding his weapon, even when severely burnt by an attack we first saw Jogo use on Gojo's head when those two fought.

Point being, Nanami, a Grade 1 sorcerer, can absolutely hold his own against "lower tier" special grades, and is even likely to survive long enough to escape against some low-to-mid grades. But if he's up against a Grade 1 curse (or a low-level Special Grade like Mahito) with the wrong kind of close-range attack, they're gonna give him more trouble than expected.

But we actually see this "earlier" in the series, too, and against no one less than The Strongest himself.

Ability Mismatch Part 2: Gojo vs. Miguel (and theoretically some others)

I glazed over it in Part 1, but it's a bit difficult to gauge the exact grade of curse users. And I'm about to glaze over it again (for now), except to say that Miguel, the person Geto assigns to "keep Gojo busy" during the Night Parade of A Thousand Demons in JJK0, is probably (like Nanami) a rather tough Grade 1. He might maybe, possibly, be a Special Grade, but even if he is, what does it matter? He's up against the man, the myth, the legend, Gojo Satoru himself.

This fight should be a cakewalk for someone at Gojo's levels. Miguel might be a talented fighter, but you might have noticed he canNOT land a blow on Gojo. Meanwhile, Gojo is slapping him silly.

So why'd this fight last so long?

I mean, sure, Gojo was trying not to seriously injure any of Geto's family, but he starts the fight by telling Miguel he's in a hurry, and then reiterates he doesn't have time for all this later on. Why can't he speed things up?

Well, Gojo tells us himself.

The regardless of Miguel's own power level, the whip he wields contains a special-grade curse. Later in the manga (you were warned there'd be manga spoilers; get out while you can), we learn the curse negates other cursed techniques. Despite Miguel being unable to land a blow on Gojo, the curse is still mucking with Gojo's abilities. Gojo is basically slowly burning the whip away with sheer cursed energy, and he's probably only able to do that because, well, he's the strongest.

I think there's some discussion to be had on whether this fight gets dragged out because Gojo's concerned about Miguel using the whip on other allies of his, or if Gojo just wants something that might muck with his own abilities gone, or if Gojo's allowing himself to be distracted because he wants to give Yuuta a chance to tap more deeply into his abilities... but that's neither here nor there. The point is that Miguel, a considerably less strong sorcerer than Gojo, was still able to keep Gojo busy for so long Geto tells him he's late when he finally shows up. If Miguel hadn't had that technique-negating whip, it would have been much harder for that fight to have dragged on as long as it did.

But while we don't really see any other sorcerers or curses (beyond Sukuna and a quadruple-team-up of Jogo, Hanami, Choso, and Mahito) giving Gojo any real trouble in fights, the narrative lets us know that a few lower-grade characters (such as Grade 1 Sorcerer Hakari and the aforementioned Hakaba; Yuuta doesn't count at this point since the story's made it clear he pretty much matches Gojo at this point) might actually give Gojo a run for his money simply because of how their techniques work.

In fact, that stupid little ass Shigemo might also manage to escape Gojo (at least temporarily) or land a blow (though maybe not a killing one) due purely to his technique, and both Hakari and Hakaba definitely outrank him. Hells, Nobara might be able to get a hit on him if she could manage to create an appropriate shikigami, and she's not even Grade 1. Which reminds me....

(Seriously, guys. Get out now if you don't want spoilers for Shibuya.)

Ability Mismatch Part 3: Nobara vs. Mahito

Nobara might go into Shibuya under the premise that she's going to be assessed for advancement to Grade 1, but at this point, she's ranked as a Grade 3. And while one could make an argument that she should be Grade 1, it's also worth noting that when she sees watches Nanami go to town on Shigemo, she immediately feels horrendously outclassed.

So between those two things and just how much trouble Mahito gives Nanami, when Mahito goes after her, it should be an easy victory for his Special Grade self, right?

Wrong.

Unlike Nanami, Nobara's technique works best at range. She doesn't need to be close to Mahito to do damage to him. So once she gets him pinned down, she can start hitting him with relative ease.

What's more, at this point Mahito has split himself in two. AND one can't just damage his physical form to take him down. They also have to damage his soul, his sense of who he is. This isn't an easy task. At this point, only two characters have succeeded in it: Mechamaru (although he burned through a TON of power to do it) and Yuuji (because his technique is weird and because housing Sukuna makes him a Special Grade). AND Nobara isn't even fighting the real Mahito, so this duplicate is a bit more disposable than Mahito's actual body would be.

But Nobara's technique utilizes sympathetic magic. She only needs to damage part of the whole (or even just a doll that's been prepped as a stand-in with the smallest part of the whole) to hit a curse to its core. So by pinning Copy Mahito down and then smacking him with Resonance, she manages to land what's absolutely the most devastating blow Mahito has received yet.

That's right; the worst blow this Special Grade takes is from a Grade 3 (or, at most, a Grade 1 who's still technically outclassed by Nanami, who had to flee his first fight with Mahito, only did as well as he did in the second one because Yuuji was there, and... well, if you're reading the manga, you know how the third one goes). It's so bad that Mahito decides he's going to need to run away from her for a bit while he sets up a new strategy to take her out.

If she hadn't let her guard down at just the wrong moment, there's a good chance he wouldn't have won that fight. Man, what a difference that would have made....

But I've talked enough about ability mismatch. Let's move on to politics. Don't worry; this bit only needs one part, because there's one character who embodies getting screwed over by politics more than any other....

Politics: Maki and the Sway of Jujutsu Houses

Of all the students at Jujutsu High, Maki ranks the lowest: Grade 4.

Her own twin sister calls her a weakling, and by Jujutsu Society standards, her inability to sense or even see cursed energy without tools makes her worthless, little more than a normal human even if she has a Heavenly Restriction. To make matters worse, House Zen'in is old-school misogynist. Once it was clear she was born female, her only chance of being seen as a worthwhile human being by her family was by displaying impressive cursed energy and technique (preferably the house technique), but they already knew that wouldn't happen.

When twins are born into a family with jujutsu in their bloodline, any cursed energy they might inherit ends up split. Neither Mai nor Maki would ever have the kind of cursed energy their house demanded. While Mai ended up with some, it's barely enough to fabricate anything useful unless she seals it with a binding vow... which she does exactly once as she bestows the last of herself to her sister.

Maki's Grade 4 ranking puts her at the bottom of the stack, but she likely wouldn't even have that ranking if it weren't for Gojo. It's not like the Zen'ins were keen on her going to any Jujutsu High. They didn't want her to train, and saw her as little more than a failure and a bother. But Gojo wants to surround himself by strong allies in his students, and while I don't remember off the top of my head if he directly sponsored her enrollment, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he did.

And then he puts her up for assessment to jump straight from Grade 4 to Grade 1.

This might seem drastic if one has never encountered Maki, but as Miwa was quick to notice during the Exchange Event, Maki's Grade 4 title is hardly an accurate gauge of her ability.

While Maki's just as blown away as Nobara is by Nanami's display in Shibuya, when she ends up in Dagon's domain, she doesn't even slightly end up fish food. This is of course due in no small part to Dagon grossly underestimating her, but as she points out, his perception of her power level is inaccurate enough that he's unable to finish her with one blow.

Shibuya Arc Maki probably would have lost to Dagon, and lost hard, had she been on her own. Even with two Grade 1s fighting beside her, they weren't able to make a lot of progress. But then everybody's favorite (and Maki stans most-loathed) character Toji shows up to give us a bit of foreshadowing of what Maki can become. Because it's not any of the sorcerers that takes Dagon down. They mostly stand there slack-jawed while Toji, a man with zero cursed energy whatsoever and thus who couldn't hold a rank in Jujutsu Society on technicality alone, beats the shit out of Dagon.

It takes a while before Maki reaches (and then quickly surpasses) Toji's level, and after she does, she eventually goes toe to toe with Sukuna, the King of Curses himself.

Sukuna immediately recognizes her as a tough opponent. She withstood the rain of fire he sent via Nue and doesn't have a scratch on her. And while Sukuna notes his cursed energy output is all over the place, he also notes his physical movement is fine, right where it should be.

This doesn't stop Maki from landing several hits on him, even without Itadori running support. In fact, she and Itadori might have taken down Sukuna then and there if his backup hadn't shown up, so I think it's safe to say she's definitely at Special Grade level now, and probably even outclasses de-Sukuna'ed Itadori.

But at this point in the story, Grades are pretty much irrelevant. After all, they're a function of Jujutsu Society, and between Geto's disappearance, Maki's slaughter of Clan Zen'in, and Kenny's murder of all the Jujutsu higher-ups, subsequent forceful takeover of the resources in House Kamo, and Idle Transfiguration to bring back both a bunch of old-timey sorcerers and awaken a bunch more sorcerers (including a large number of Special Grades), formalized Jujutsu Society is effectively gone.

Even when it was there, it had a TON of outliers just due to politics. Maki aside, curse users are by definition separated from it, and as such they aren't granted ranks. Maybe there were more Special Grades hiding amongst them this whole time, but who can say? They're largely untallied, unaccounted for, and untested.

Jujutsu Society never had room for outliers. How fitting, then, that the house known to be the most unforgiving toward outliers would fall to the person they saw as their worst outlier?

But Let's Get Back To Takaba

And we thought Hakari's cursed technique was weird.

Takaba's ability bends reality to his will. If he wants things to go a certain way, they do. If he thinks something's funny, it happens. And everyone around him is caught up in it.

He's basically a World of Darkness marauder dropped into Jujutsu Kaisen. I'd say, "Thank God he's on our side," but long-term, that might not actually pan out so well. His lack of awareness of his own powerset means if he's in the right mood, he could easily sweep up allies and foes into his particular brand of reality fuckery, complete with altering their states of mind to what he needs for whatever scene he's creating.

Kenjaku is losing to him.

Since he was so eager to flee Gojo, it might be easy to forget that Kenny is MORE than competent with Geto's body both in hand-to-hand combat and in cursed technique use. At the end of Shibuya, he implemented Geto's technique to a level we never even saw Geto use as he employed several techniques from the array of curses he'd collected, signing it all off with Mahito's Idle Transfiguration on a national level. Geto wishes he could have pulled this off.

Then, when Kenjaku went after Tengen, he soundly beat Choso (who might be inexperienced, but is quick to adapt and hardly weak) and, with a much greater level of difficulty, took down combat specialist and Special Grade layabout Yuki.

Point being, he can hold his own in a fight. What's more, he's repeatedly shown he has a mind for strategy and is more than willing to take the time to plot out elaborate plans that take lifetimes or even centuries to come to fruition.

But that's just it. Takaba is not letting him think. Literally. All his thoughts just become part of the bit, which gives Takaba an advantage and keeps Kenjaku on his toes.

I'd say this is a true battle of wits, but Takaba seems to be acting more on instinct than anything else, so I'm not sure wits come into play at all on his side of things.

But until he showed up, Kenny hadn't spared Takaba a second thought. Takaba isn't brimming with cursed energy like Yuuta and he hasn't been overtly displaying his strength in a way the Culling Game measures like Higuruma, and so he wasn't even a consideration to this centuries-old sorcerer in a Special-Grade body.

Is Takaba Special Grade? Who knows. His output of cursed energy isn't high enough for others to be actively targeting him, but his technique itself is so bonkers-crazy it's taking down someone else who was once called The Strongest and who's being piloted by an evil mastermind. And it's doing it casually. Takaba is having the time of his life, seemingly having completely forgotten that he and Kenny are locked in a fight to the death (if Takaba ever knew that in the first place).

Maybe it was nice to think this was a series with a stereotypical power structure that could be easily defined and ranked up within. Then again, it was also nice to think this was a series where the stereotypical hero-type characters come out on top through the power of friendship, and look where that's got us.