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killsaki · 1 year

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implode — there’s only so many feelings one can hold in, especially with bakugou blood in their veins.

bakugou katsuki x little sister!reader

6.7k | minors dni | read on ao3

cw / tw : incest, drugging, hinted noncon gangbang, scummy!denki+sero+kiri, aphrodisiac, weed, alcohol, fingering, creampie, reader calls bkg ‘bubba’.

is it hard being the sibling of a prohero?

of course! they disappear for days to weeks at a time—leaving for training, meetings, press events, and then for missions. you go from having them all to yourself, to sharing them with the world. from being their number one fan, to merely feeling like one amongst a million. and there’s so many things to worry about, from them going to work and never coming home, to a villain coming after you out of spite of being captured by said sibling.

those all sound logical answers to the question, normal ones. hence why you’ve practiced saying them so many times in case anyone ever asks.

but, truly, you knew most of those were things you’d never have to worry about. not when you’re the younger sister of none other than bakugou katsuki.

your brother being, well.. himself, was enough to keep any thoughts of danger from your mind. he was too fast, too strong, too skilled, too protective for anything to ever happen to either of you. but this peace of mind only gives room for you to dwell on other things.

like the social media ‘famous’ girls who just don’t shut up about how hot your brother is—which shouldn’t bother you so much, not in the stomach churning, phone gripping way that it does. and you could blame your intense reactions on the fact that you have to see it literally every time you try to scroll down your timeline, or that it’s just weird that your brother is suddenly getting so much attention.. but that's less believable than the first excuse to you.

and then there’s the out of context candids posted in tabloids of him saving civilians, who understandably look at him so longingly, and then there’s a picture painted of him as some kind of bachelor. to make matters worse, said online articles become almost impossible to escape no matter how much you try—partially thanks to your old school ‘friends’ sending them to you asking for all the details to share with their group chats, as if you’d tell them.

to top everything off, your brother, as doting as he is, never has time for you anymore. despite how you live with him, have your own room and bath in his unnecessarily large condo, and even have a card to his bank account for anything you could possibly need—still, you rarely see him. he’s so consumed in his work, from partols to missions, and when he’s not on the clock he’s forced to do press and modeling for whatever goodies they want to slap his picture onto.

and you could never hold that against him, not when he’s been working towards this his whole life. but still, having just a moment with him could cure all the thoughts that hang heavy in your mind daily. just a second to be reminded that your brother is yours, all alone. that you’re the only little sister he’ll ever have, the only girl he’ll ever need.

luckily for you, a day comes that your brother gets a day's break—more like he’s forced into a vacation as he never takes any days off. and he’s able to lounge about, meaning that he’s sitting on the couch in sweats and bouncing his leg waiting for someone to call his phone saying he can finally come to work as if being away from it was excruciating. you could giggle at the thought, what person besides katsuki would rather be out fighting petty criminals than relaxing on their own couch.

“did you hear me?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he looks over at you.

you shake your head, too caught up in your thoughts to realize he was even speaking to you.

“the guys want me to go over for a bit. i won’t be gone long.” he repeats before turning back to his phone screen as he finishes typing.

your heart jumps into your throat. tonight was exactly what you’d been longing for, time with just the two of you, so you could reassure yourself the importance of the role you have in his life. so that you could have katsuki all to yourself. so that you could pretend for just a little while, that he’s just your brother again, not the hero you have to share with the world.

“i wanna go too.” you spit without thought.

he shoots you another look, lifting a brow as he blinks at you. “i want to come hang out too.” you say again as you chew at your lip, unable to back out of the situation your loud mouth has already gotten you into.

“no.” he replies back coldly, pushing himself from the couch before stretching his arms up, revealing the bottom of his toned stomach as he does so. “there’s going to be a lot of people, and drinking.” he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes before mumbling on. “and denki’s gonna be there.”

you snap your gaze up to him in confusion about the mention of a certain friend of his. but, he doesn’t let you get any questions out, heading off towards his room to get ready to leave. you pad right behind him, arms crossed while you walk, letting out huffs every few minutes just to remind him how you’re not going to give up. you sit on his bed as he collects an outfit to wear and little things he needs for a shower, noticing how he avoids making any glances in your direction.

it’s not until he’s already fully showered and starting to dress himself that he cracks, groaning as he looks at you.

“go fuckin’ get dressed.” he orders with out any actual malice in his tone. “once i get in the car, i’m leaving.”

your brother is many things, but a liar is not one.

so, you race to your room, tearing into your dresser to slip into that one outfit you’d been holding onto, hoping to wear the next time you’d gotten the chance to go on an outing with katsuki. though, you’d pictured something with more room for alone time, you suppose it would work at a party with his old friends too.

you’d just finished touching up what you need in the mirror as you hear his car engine start up, giving you only seconds to force yourself into your shoes and jog out to his car.

“you stay by my side until we leave.” he looks over at you, while you reach over your shoulder for the seatbelt, his crimson eyes squinted warningly. “i mean it.”

he didn’t mean it.

it’s not even half an hour after you arrive, barely finished shoving your way through the sweaty bodies crowded in someone’s living space, hardly enough time enough to adjust your ears to the shitty music and screams of laughter—something catches your brother's eye, to which he leaves you in the hands of his old classmate. ‘be back in a minute’, he says, pushing you into the red head’s side. but it’s not a minute, it’s been thirty and you haven’t managed to spot the blonde mess of a head, not even from your seat on the kitchen’s counter over the crowd merely feet away.

“what’s wrong?” kirishima raises his eyebrows slightly at you from behind his solo cup.

“just expected to be with kats’,” you huff, fingers twiddling with the end of your skirt. “kinda the only reason i came.”

he nods, glancing down into his drink before peering over his shoulder.

“want a sip?”

you know that you shouldn’t, how mad your brother will get at the both of you if he shows up to find you wasted and slung over his best friend.

“it’ll help you relax, at least until he gets back. i won’t let you drink too much, i promise.”

you can’t resist the small smile he gives. he’s so warm, safe. being with him is almost the same as being with katsuki, almost.

one sip turns into two cups, and suddenly it’s not just you and eijiro anymore. sero and denki showed up somewhere along the way. but, it’s fine, you think. they’re heroes alongside your brother, and they’ve known him long enough to know any better. only, in your slurred thoughts, that voice in the back of your mind starts to hope otherwise.

they’re all undoubtedly handsome, the three of them much taller than you despite the height difference amongst themselves, and all so strong. there’s sero with his shaggy black hair, signature grin and pretty ring clad fingers that grip the cup he’d been babysitting since he’d walked over. denki and his pretty pink lips he never stops running his tongue over, his slightly whiney voice and golden eyes that just get so much deeper when he looks at you. and then of course, kirishima, who’s just so unreasonably big, length and width—wait, that's… not the right words. but now you wonder—

“what are you smiling about?” the blonde asks from where he’s propped on the kitchen’s island across from you.

you shake your head, biting your lips when you realize how caught up in your thoughts you let yourself get with them still right in front of you.

“i was just thinking.” you let out, trying to look anywhere but at kirishima.

“thinking about?” the voice pipes in from beside you, resting his head on your arm as he leans back to look up at you. your heart races a bit when you can physically feel how close he’s gotten to you without you realizing.

“yeah, you’ve been so quiet. not really living up to the bakugou name.” sero shakes his head with fake disapproval.

“my brother’s not that loud.” you giggle, knowing it's a lie before it even hits your tongue. “i was just thinking about how i never see you guys, you’re so different than you were when i met you back at the graduation.” you sigh. “he never lets me go out with him when you guys invite him.”

you miss the look that hanta and kaminari share, how the corners of the blonde's mouth perk up for a split second before he paints on a confused expression.

“when do we invite him out?” he asks, tilting his head slightly when you look up at him.

you nearly mimic the movement when you register his words.

“always?..” you ask, but glancing at the dark haired man and the red head who share the same confused expression, you don't need an answer. “but he… i’m so confused.”

you can only blink, staring at the black side of the fridge, thinking back on the rare nights that he gets off with enough time to do anything besides shower and sleep. how he’d knock on your door, letting you know he was running over to one of ‘the guys’ house before it got too late. he was never gone too terribly long, but that’s just how your brother is. you always thought he literally only went to say hi and came home—wanting to get enough sleep for another full day of hero work. that’s the only thing that made any sense.

“hey, don’t worry about it.” kirishima’s large hand has somehow found its way to rub soothingly at your side, arm now wrapped behind your back.

“i’m sure he could’ve meant midoriya or something.” denki still wears a straight face, speaking with faulty concern.

sero stays quiet while he pulls out his phone, scrolling through something and finally starting to sip out of his cup.

“i should go try to find him.” you go to slide off the counter when denki speaks up again.

“i think you should stay with us.”

the words send a gut wrenching feeling to your core, your body screams to get away, but you fight it.

“why?” you dumbly ask, the smallest bit of curiosity keeping you.

“your brother’s busy.” he shrugs, bumping sero’s shoulder with his own.

the long fingers you were admiring minutes ago faint against yours as he hands you his phone, the screen showing a man you recognize unmistakingly as your brother, dressed in the outfit he’d worn tonight. his arm snug around some girl's lower back, ducked down with his mouth to her ear, the camera’s quality is shitty but even so, you can still see the way their bodies are pressed together. you feel your heart sink, though, you’re not entirely sure why.

you let yourself get slotted back into kirishima’s side, finding a sense of comfort in the weight of his arm around your shoulder as they walk you to the glass doors at the back of the house.

“don’t looked so bummed little baku’!” denki shoots you a grin. “we’ll keep you entertained for the night.”

the air is warm outside, not helping to cool your cheeks that are still hot from the alcohol. the four of you end up sitting on some cushioned benches near the middle of the yard, surrounded by small bushes. it’s much nicer than being inside, but you’re not entirely sure why they brought you out here. not until sero pulls out something rolled and a lighter. you watch as he puts it between his lips, lighting the end and inhaling til the end burns red without the flame. you forget to look away whenever he exhales, giving him the chance to catch you watching him.

“you want to hit it?” his voice suddenly sounds like silk, acting like ties as it’s doing everything to pull you in despite the way your nerves are still screaming at you.

“i’ve never smoked before.” you laugh awkwardly. “my brother would kill me.”

he flashes that big toothy grin, shaking his head for the who-knows-what time that night and you know you’re in for it whenever you see your brother again. but just for this second, you think it’ll be okay.. if he’s busy with some girl when he told you he’d be by your side for the night, then you can have fun with his cute friends.

“he doesn’t have to know.” sero pulls you back to the moment in front of you. “come here, i’ll teach you.”

you’re moving without thinking, giggling again at the way he shoo’s denki from beside him so that you can sit. he teaches you how to breathe it in easily, but how not to take too much. and you do exactly as he says, letting him put it on your lips, you pull in a slow but shallow drag. holding it until he tells you to let it out.

“good girl.” hanta smirks, the warmth of his hand holding your jaw as he moves the damp paper back to your mouth. “now do it again, just like that.”

you listen, thinking nothing of it. thinking nothing at all, actually. you can’t. the flood of warmth lingering in your veins from those drinks that you’re just realising were much stronger than you thought and the clouds now fogging your consciousness, too much to form any kind of thought.

“here, try this.” you hear from the side- no, in front of you. denki’s leaned over with a diamond shaped candy on his palm.

you hesitate, but not able to talk, body already working overtime to remember how to breathe properly.

“it’ll just make you feel good, i just took one too.” he reassures, gesturing again for you to grab it. if you could feel your body right now, you’d feel every single inch of it aching to run. you’d feel that same feeling in your stomach as it started to churn. maybe you would’ve listened this time. but instead all you can feel is the race in your chest as you eye the light blue against his pale skin.

“c’mon.” kirishima’s showing off his sharp teeth with how wide he’s grinning, trying his hardest to be just as reassuring as he was to get you to drink with him a while ago. “we’re your brother's best friends, you know we wouldn’t let anything happen to you.. even if he is busy.

you take another deep breath, nodding. right. katsuki wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

“let me.” denki’s suddenly standing over you, candy- pill pinched between his fingers, a grin just as big plastered on his face. “open up.”

you miss the devilish intent hiding behind those smiling faces. you miss the almost telepathic conversation they all have in the glances they share as you flutter your pretty eyes closed, letting your tongue fall out for denki to drop the pill on. it hits your taste, dissolving almost immediately. you swallow the bitter grainy bits, grimacing as you only have your spit to get it down with.

“give it just a few minutes.” the blonde speaks again, much more eagerly this time. which should alert you, all of this should.

you could blame it on the alcohol you have a low tolerance for, on the weed you’ve never smoked, on the fact you trust anyone who attaches their name to your brothers. but really, it’s because you’re dumb. you don’t think anything bad can ever happen to you. not like this. not when your brother is so close.

“it’s kinda warm out here.” you mumble, shifting uncomfortably on the padding. you feel the heat across your cheeks and down your neck, skipping to your stomach that warms slowly, trickling down between your legs and across your thighs. “think i want some water.”

you slowly push yourself to stand, body feeling heavy as you move. you don’t catch how they all follow right behind you, until sero—no, denki’s arm slinks its way around your waist as you walk. he pulls you away from the path back to the glass door and towards the gate in the big wooden fence.

“it’s too hot in there.” he tugs you again when you weakly attempt to pull away. “kirishima’s place isn’t too far from here. we can just hang out there while you cool off.”

you shake your head, mind racing to how badly you just want something to drink, and to be with katsuki. mentally cursing out the stupid girl in that picture for taking your brother away from you, for stealing his attention when you’re the one who needs it. and you curse yourself, for not listening to his warning when he said denki would be here.

“denki.” you drag your feet, doing anything to attempt a fight against the push of his much stronger hands. “what was that? the…” it’s hard to think, even harder to push those thoughts into words and say them aloud “the pill. what’d you give me?”

“i told you,” he smirks, glancing behind you and nodding one of the men over. “it’s just to make everything feel better.” stepping aside, kirishima’s heavy arm replaces denki’s, locking you under it and forcing you forward. your heart races at all the implications that could have. you don’t even notice you’re shaking until he wraps his other arm around you, bending his head down to graze the shell of your ear, whispering into it

“it’ll make things easier,” something about his tone makes you want to vomit. “just don’t think about it, pretty.”

“don’t get too friendly, dude, i’m the one who set this up.” denki bites, pulling his keys out as the four of you near a car. “there’s no way you get first.”

sero snickers again, sighing as kiri opens his mouth to snide back about how he’s been waiting two years and that you should at least get to pick that much. you can’t really make it out anymore, all you can hear is your own heartbeat banging in your ears.

you try and struggle out of his hold, which only makes them all laugh in turn and your heart falls into your stomach. you’re with pro heroes, if anything bad is going to happen to you here, at their hands, there's no way you’re going to fight your way out of it.

sero’s fingers wrap around the handle of the car’s back door when the voice booms out your name down the small hill the house is sitting on.

you can physically feel kirishima tense up and his heart start to race, you can hear the way sero and denki stop breathing in unison. you can even picture the way they all freeze without having to look, you can imagine the absolute fear in their face as they stand there, gaping at your brother.

his red eyes dig into you before taking a second to glance at the men around you.

“why do you look so fucked up?” he barks out, brows furrowing deeper with each step he takes towards you. “where the fuck were you guys about to go?”

he’s eyeing kirishima now, tugging you by your wrist out of the red head’s hold and into his own, gripping you as if he lets go, you'll get stolen away.

“she said it was hot in there.” kirishima shrugs awkwardly, face stiff.

“and who the fuck said you could take her anywhere?” bakugou tilts his head face twisted dumbfoundedly at the boldness his old friend suddenly seems to have.

“my place is just up the street she wanted to—“

“and why the fuck do you have her around denki?” you can feel bakugou’s skin grow hotter to the touch with each word he spits. or maybe it's you that’s getting hotter. god, it’s fucking hot.

“i didn’t drive.” he shrugs again, breaking eye contact to look over at the other blonde.

“she’s not a baby bakugou, she can be around whoever she wants.” kaminiari says smugly, like the idiot he is.

“i’ll kill you.” your brother doesn’t hesitate with this threat, and it wipes the smile off denki’s, raising his hands slightly in defence.

you use the hold he has on you to wrap your arm around his, feeling a great sense of relief pressed against him.

“he didn’t touch you did he?” katsuki’s voice is still gruff when he talks down to you, but you don’t mind it.

you know that he did technically touch you, but not enough to hurt anything. and if you answer truthfully it’ll just drag this out even longer, and all you want is to be wrapped around him. so, you shake your head, and you hope he doesn’t hear the way they all sigh in relief.

your brother doesn’t say anything else, just pulls you away towards where he’d parked. the second he turns around, you peek back at the men. kirishima has his head tossed back, hand over his chest as he takes in a deep breath, sero, leaned against the car shoulders shaking with laughter while denki curses and slams the driver side door shut.

“i’m hot katsu’” you whine when he unlocks the door for you.

“how much did he let you drink?” he scoffs, leaning across you and buckling your seatbelt for you as if you’re unable.

you huff, watching his strong arms reach over your body. his warm chest coming down to press into yours, that you find is so sensitive. so much so that a small whine escapes your throat before you’re able to register it he’s already pulled back looking down at you. one hand on the top of the car as he leans over, eyebrows pinched together.

“‘m just hot, bubba.” you assure, face burning in embarrassment and whatever else was setting your body on fire.

he immediately blasts the AC as soon as the car is on, and in the second that it satiates the burning under your skin, you remember.

“who was the girl?” you question, voice somewhere between shaking and slurring. you shouldn’t be asking, there’s no reason for you to do this right now—or at all. “the one you left me to go see.”

katsuki just stares ahead for a second before his jaw tightens.

“and where did you see me with a girl?” he asks blankly, like he already knows the answer.

“sero had a picture. they said you were busy, that’s why i stayed with them.” you answer truthfully, hoping he’d driven far enough to not want to turn back.

“i didn’t know her, sero at introduced us.” he scoffs, scowl resting on his face as he keeps his eyes focused on the drive.

the heat begins to dig into you again, the cool blow the ac’s aid only a temporary fix.

“why? why didn’t you come look for me? text me?” he asks, his short fuse burning already.

“you were busy.” you reply shortly, too focused on the ache going on in your lower half.

“and? if i knew that shit face was going to try fucking with you we would’ve left as soon as we got there.” he shakes his head, voice raising only slightly.

“you were with a girl, katsu! i didn’t want to interrupt.” you throw your head back against the cool leather, smoothing your hands out over your skirt, across the tops of your thighs as if that would help.

“you’re my little sister, that’s completely different.” he scrunches his face up as he glances between you and the road, the same thing he does anytime anyone says something he thinks is the slightest bit dumb.

“is it?” you ask.

“yes.” he snaps back.

“so if i wasn’t your little sister, you wouldn’t care?” you mumble, shifting at the warmth you feel start to spill into your panties. “or if i wouldn’t have come with you tonight, would you have left with her?”

he sighs, exasperated.

“what the fuck are you saying right now?” he keeps glancing at you, rushing a reply.

“why did you leave me to go see her?” you groan. “why didn’t you stay with me? why didn’t you wanna just be at home with me?”

he only gets your name and a curse out before you cut him off, the heat itching at you becoming too much.

“katsu’ ‘m so hot.” you mewl, raking your hands down your body, reveling in the momentary coolness under your own touch. you can feel the way he stiffens slightly next to you, but the previous tension is out the window, almost forgotten.

“i have the ac on.” he states, keeping his eyes on the road as you near the building the two of you call home.

“it’s inside katsu, ‘m hot on the inside.”

he stops the car with a jerk in the middle of the parking lot, snapping his head over towards you.

“what did they give you?” his question is sharp, voice filled with anger once again.

“denki gave me candy—no, a pill.” you toss your head side to side, thighs rubbing together mindlessly. “to make me ‘feel good’—make everything, no—something feel good that’s what they said, but i just hurt.”

you can hear death threats spill out his mouth as he watches you squirm in the seat.

“i’ll take you to the hospital.” he mutters, putting a hand on the shoulder of your seat to look behind him as starts to back out.

“no!” you whine, grabbing his hand and pulling it to your lap. “i don’t want doctors touching me.”

he keeps his eyes on you as you put his palm against your inner thigh, watching how you keen against the seat when his skin touches yours.

“want you to help me, bubba, please.” he pulls his hand from you, face contorted with.. something before he’s rubbing his palms over his face and pulling at his hair. you realize what you just asked and for the umpteenth time tonight, your heart sinks. but this time you're sure that if you stood, it’d be sitting on the seat underneath you.

“i’m—katsuki, i’m sorry.” you start to babble out apology after apology, which soon all runs together and becomes broken as you tear up, voice cracking every other word.

the blond throws his head back, hard. quickly changing gear and moving his car into a private parking spot. you’re still crying when he pulls your wrist, strength easily shifting you over the middle console of his car and into his lap.

“tell me that you need my help.” he blinks up at you, holding your waist just above his lap.

you nod, hoping it’ll suffice, but it doesn’t.

“i need you to help me, katsu—no one else can.” he drops you onto his lap, fingertips digging into the softness of your sides. “please, make it better.” you breathe, shakily.

he uses his hold to drag you across his lap, the friction making you drop your head onto his shoulder. pleasure shooting up your spine, small whines of his name getting lost in his neck as he keeps grinding you down onto him until your thighs start to shake, your moans turn into breathless whines and you’re crumbling against him as you make a mess all over his jeans…

the two of you sit in panting silence for a few minutes before he tells you to move, that you need a shower. and like you always do, you listen. following him inside and discarding your clothes from your still buzzing body in silence. but as soon as the showers water hits you, you’re burning again. the ache between your legs coming back stronger than before, the burn in your stomach twice as hot and the need is too much.

you don’t hesitate to make your way right back to his room, body still nude and dripping all over the floors as you do. but you don’t care—your brain and body only knows one thing right now and it’s that you need your brother.

“what are you doing?” he strains, turning his head back towards the drawer he was sorting through as soon as he takes in your naked body standing at his doorway.

“i still hurt, katsu.” you whisper, not caring if he heard you or not. just wanting him to give you more than what he gave earlier.

“i already helped.” you can hear pain in his voice and it makes you want to cry. you wish you didn’t put him in such a position, that you would’ve just been grateful and stayed home—but you need him, it’s all your mind and body can tell you, you need him.

“help again.” you practically demand, craving him too badly to be embarrassed or think much at all about what you were doing. your hands land on his shoulders and pull yourself up to kiss at his neck trying to entice him.

“i can’t.” he groans low, but doesn’t attempt to push you away, letting you drag your lips across all the skin you can reach.

you don’t say anything else, not until you manage to pull him down by his hair to look at you.

“make it better.. like you always do.”

it’s the pebble that cracks the glass, his hands grip your waist and all but throw you onto his mattress. you only have a moment to gasp before he’s hovering over you.

“say it again.” he commands, voice rough as one of his hands makes its way to the apex of your thighs. your eyes flutter at the vibration of his words against your chest, the knot in your stomach already tying itself.

“make me feel better, bubba, please.”

there was a reason behind why he’s left the condo the few times that he does get to sit in the house, a reason why he doesn’t want to be alone with you for too long. it’s not that he doesn’t have any restraint, but he’s known thatif something ever happened, where the little sister that has always been the exception his selfish attitude asked him to do anything like this—even without whatever the fuck it was that denki gave you—he’d do it.

he drags a heavy finger along your slit, up to your still swollen clit making you gasp against his lips as they ghost your own. he teases only for a second, not able to bare you being in pain when he’s there to do something about it, just like he’s always been. he uses your excessive slick to rub harsh circles over your clit, it sends your eyes rolling back, it’s so much more practiced than the pathetic frottage he pulled in the car.

“need more, katsu, please.” you push your hips into his hand with the little bit of strength you have, desperate for as much as he’ll give you.

he drops his forehead to your shoulder this time, looking down as he moves his fingertips to your entrance, pushing two in without warning. he immediately works away with them, curling into your swollen, most sensitive wall and fucking into you with a strength that could only be possessed by such a high ranking pro hero. your wetness sticks to his knuckles with every pull before it squelches obscenely loud when he pushes back in.

“kiss me, katsu.” you whine.

he brings his lips back to yours, red eyes flickering between both of your eyes for a moment, waiting for you to take it back. you don’t, instead, sliding your hands from where they sat on his shoulders up to twist into his hair.

“you can pretend ‘m someone else… just please kiss me.” his fingers pause their movement for a moment, and he pulls away. you start to whine, from the loss and out of fear you’d said something wrong again.

“why would you say that?” you trip over any word that hits your tongue. but you don’t need to speak, he does it for you. “i don’t need to do that,” his fingers pick their pace back up, drawing wonton moans from you that you wouldn’t be able to bite back if you tried. “not when i’ve always pretended everyone else was you.” he admits.

your heart leaps in your chest just as he presses his mouth into yours, the kiss is littered with teeth and spit—but neither of you can find a reason to care.

the familiar feeling starts to coil in your stomach, your hips moving on their own down on his hand to chase the feeling of ecstasy but it never comes, you cry out as the pressure fades.

“more.” you cry softly against his lips, keeping your eyes screwed shut so you don’t have to face any look that he might give you. “‘need you.”

but, he complies, tugging himself out of the sweats he’d thrown on after his shower and kicking them off to be dealt with later. he doesn’t waste any time teasing, rushing to give you what you want—what you need, to make his pretty little sister feel good the way he’s been cursing his brain for imaging for the longest time.

he lines the thick head of him up with your already stretched hole, dropping back down to your lips as he eases in. the pop of the head of him pulls a gasp from the both of you, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust to it, knowing with how you’ve been aching to be filled all night that you can handle the stretch. which is exactly what he gives you, his fingers were nothing in comparison to the girth of his cock.

it stings, making your eyes tear up, and drags whine after whine from your throat. katsuki catches them in his mouth, swallowing them and shushing you while he continues to push in until he’s at the hilt. you babble out senseless ‘thank you’s while he pulls back slightly, never separating your hips and his own by too much. his hips make a circular motion, grinding back into you slowly, pushing the trimmed light colored pubes at the base of him against your ever throbbing clit and making you squeal from the pleasure of it.

he repeats it over and over, curved length of him dragging along your g-spot until youre twitching, your mouth hangs open, sounds falling against his lips as he drinks all of them in. your hips rise every few strokes trying to meet him, to egg him on to go harder, to give you more without having to ask for it, but he just wont. keeping his slow, sensual pace, as if he was fucking you at his own leisure and not because you basically forced yourself onto him

“love you, bubba.” you whisper drunkenly, lips dragging across his soft ones as you speak.

his hips stutter at your words, strong arms move from holding himself over you to grabbing the underside of your knees and pulling them slightly, wrapping your legs around him. “ah- my katsu.”

“keep telling me.” he grunts, sliding his hand down to your waist where your thighs fold over them. “tell me i’m yours, say that you’re mine.”

he finally picks up his antagonizing pace, hips still swirling into yours, pubic hair scratching against your bud with each push. the head of him presses deep against that spongey spot with each sway, heavy balls sticking to your leaked juices as you chant out the i love you’s like a mantra, like it’s the only meaningful thing that you’ve ever said. it’s not long before your legs start to shake, his cock hitting all of the right nerves in your throbbing cunt.

“don’t stop.” he repeats when your mouth drops wide open, orgasm creeping up on you.

“mine! you’re mine!” you cry as your vision turns white and your walls spasm around him. “‘m yours, all yours, bubba.” you whimper as the ache in your cunt becomes the pain of overstimulation.

your words and the steady throb of your clamping cunt ultimately bringing him to his end with you. you feel the heat simmer down as he fills you, warmth spilling out even as his cock still plugs you. and you couldn’t be more thankful for denki being such a scumbag.

you don’t have enough strength to stay awake past that, all of your energy left with the last orgasm. at some point you wake up, you’re clean between your thighs and cuddled up on your brother's warm chest. you shift only an inch and you could feel him jump awake to pull you closer, leaving a kiss on the top of your head before you drift back to sleep with small smiles on both of your faces—happy to be your brother’s girl.

a / n : obligatory bkgs little sis tag : @vampireloverz <33 thank you stevie for inspiring me to write this in first place!!!! +++ happy birthday to The Guy !!!

reblogs + feedback appreciated !

#bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #my hero smut #mha smut #bnha smut #boku no hero smut #my hero academia smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #my hero x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero x reader #lets how long i keep this up #this is so good fr tho you should read it and praise me

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tkaulitzlvr · 8 months

Note

Plz write about reader accidentally kissing someone else. Thanks in advance!

MISTAKE - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: a fan puts you in an awkward situation, tom getting the complete wrong idea, putting a divide between the two of you as you try to explain yourself, tom thinking of a different way to resolve this.

content: angst, angry sex, a little fluff at the end.

a/n: thank you for the request i hope u like it, i had sm fun writing this!! sorry it’s so long i got carried away…😭😭

“oh my god i love you so much!” another fan says, tears streaming down her face as i sign her autograph, sending her a warm smile and moving onto the next.

tom isn’t too far behind me, signing other fans autographs and taking pictures with the rest of the band, this being the standard before and after every event. we had just wrapped up the 2008 EMAs, getting ready to leave, not before acknowledging his fans. with me being his long term girlfriend, aside from the occasional fan who would hate on me purely out of spite, i had become quite popular amongst his fanbase, signing autographs and interacting with them turning into a regular occurrence, but i didn’t mind it. these people had given tom the success he has, and i couldnt thank them enough, taking pictures and speaking with them, even if it is only for a few seconds, being the least i could do.

and to say that tom likes how much his fans adore me is an understatement. he treats me like his prized possession, his face beaming with pride as i speak with every fan i can, occasionally turning around to see him smiling back at me, so much love in his eyes that my heart could melt at the sight. he wore two headbands, one black and the other grey, his long dreads tied up in a ponytail, losing his usual flat cap and opting for a dark brown t-shirt that read ‘tokio hotel’.

i however, wore a long black dress, the bottom split at one side, the material hugging my figure perfectly, paired with some black heels, my hair straightened and makeup caked on, excessive amounts of jewellery around my body. i was surprised tom hadn’t made any moves on me the whole night, the public eye never really stopping the PDA from him. he didn’t shy away from telling me how beautiful i looked before we arrived, promising that he would show me once we were back at the hotel room, and i knew exactly what that would entail, the details better left unsaid.

my body begins to feel slightly tired after being at the award show for hours, the amount of fans that i’m yet to speak to not going down. i approach the next one, already a little weirded out. he looks around my age, maybe a few years older, a strange smirk on his face as his eyes rake down my body, undressing me with his gaze. i already feel uncomfortable, unsure of what to say as his eyes stop at my cleavage, not even uttering a word.

“hey! how are you, is there anything that you want me to sign?” i eventually say, the guy quickly looking upwards, as if he hadn’t been checking out every inch of my body seconds before.

“can i get a picture?” he says simply, his tongue poking out as he slowly licks his lips, not breaking eye contact with me.

my insides are churning, the thought of him checking me out making me want to throw up, internally praying that tom could be beside me right now. i quickly look over, seeing him too immersed in signing fans autographs to glance in my direction, the high pitched sound of girls screaming his name leaving him a little distracted from me, understandably. i plaster a forced smile on my face, trying to be done with this guy as soon as possible so i can move away from him, already feeling super on edge.

“of course!” i say, moving closer to the barricade as he pulls out his phone.

he moves his hand, reaching it outwards as i assume he is going to put a friendly arm around my shoulder, not minding this as it’s something a lot of fans do. instead, his hand stretches towards my face, turning it so that it is facing him instead of the camera like it previously was, placing a kiss onto my lips before i can even register what is happening.

the second that i process another person’s lips are touching mine, a person that isn’t tom, i frantically pull away, my breathing fast and heavy as i quickly turn to face tom. he is already looking at me, having just witnessed the entire thing from a few metres away. he is pissed. his jaw clenched, eyes hooded, chest heaving up and down as he completely ignores the girls shoving paper and pens at him, begging for an autograph.

i ignore the guy, knowing that if i speak my mind to him in this moment, i’ll deal with a pretty big scandal. instead, i rush over to tom, tears clouding my vision, trying to push them back as i force a smile, walking over as he steps back from the fans, facing away from the crowd.

“we’re gonna talk about this once we get back. don’t think that you’re getting off the hook, what the actual fuck?” he whispers, his teeth gritted. “now you’re gonna act like everything is fine until this whole thing is over, yeah?”

“but tom i-” i begin, desperately trying to explain myself.

“i don’t wanna fucking hear it. you’ve done enough, don’t you think? now smile.” he mutters, quickly turning back around to the crowd, wrapping his arm around my waist and planting a kiss onto my cheek as if nothing has happened.

the fans go wild, screaming loudly, the paparazzi loving this, knowing that pictures of tom and i are something that the world goes literally crazy for. flashing lights blind my vision as i try to blink the tears away, doing so successfully, putting my emotions aside for the sake of tom’s career, desperate to get out of here so that i can explain myself, tom clearly getting the wrong idea.

“kiss her properly tom!” someone within the crowd of paparazzi shouts, tom flashing them all a smile, pecking my lips as the cameras go wild, taking advantage of the opportunity. i can tell that he is pissed from the way his lips touch mine, his hand around my waist, the other hanging loosely by his side, no love in the kiss. but he doesn’t let anyone else see that. to anybody else, it would look completely normal, like a couple with no problems, not as if tom had witnessed me kiss another guy with zero context. his hand grasps mine, interlocking our fingers, taking me over to an interviewer beckoning us over, this the part i am dreading most.

she smiles warmly at us, speaking into the microphone, tom still holding my hand, squeezing it slightly, this not to comfort me, but to remind me to act normal.

“so guys, how are you both? and, congratulations to you, tom, and the rest of tokio hotel for winning an award tonight!�� she says, pointing the microphone to tom as he smiles before speaking into it.

“we’re doing great. it feels so crazy to win another award with the band, we couldn’t have done it without our fans, so thank you, all of you.” he says, smiling warmly at the camera as the interviewer takes the mic back.

“and, as tom’s girlfriend, how does it feel to be here with him tonight, and, i’m guessing there’s gonna be big celebrations later on!” she laughs, winking at me when saying the last part.

“yeah, it’s amazing. i feel so honoured to be here with him and the rest of the band tonight, i’m just so proud of how far he’s come, and i’m so thankful to be on this journey with him.” i nod, smiling and looking into his eyes as convincingly as i can, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

tom leans into the mic, the interviewer pointing it in his direction. “and to answer the second part of your question, i don’t think we’re gonna be doing much sleeping tonight.” he smirks, winking in my direction as i laugh lightly, smacking his arm and rolling my eyes playfully.

as angry at he is right now, he is good at not showing it as even i question if he is acting anymore, his affection so natural that it doesn’t seem forced.

the interview drags on for at least another ten minutes, asking questions about our relationship, to which we answer the best we can, appearing to convince the interviewer and crowd pretty well. she ends it by thanking us, wishing us a great night as we walk away, big smiles plastered on our faces as we head to take more pictures, paparazzi again demanding us to be as intimate as we can, tom and i obliging, followed by more interviews.

“tom can you please just listen to me-”

“i don’t want to hear it, just get in the car.” he says, opening the door for me and climbing in, sitting silently with his arms crossed as the car falls silent, the driver taking us to the hotel room.

the entire ride home is silent, tom completely ignoring me as he won’t touch or even look at me, his head resting on the window, jaw clenched and his entire expression angry. i try to hold his hand, moving my fingers and attempting to intertwine them with his, but he shrugs them off, refusing to say a word.

we stop outside the hotel, the driver opening the door for us as we both say our thanks, stepping out of the car. tom walks ahead, not waiting for me as i struggle to keep up, only catching up once he buzzes for the elevator, both of us stepping inside, tom standing on the other side, looking downwards at his feet and refusing to make eye contact with me.

“baby please just let me talk, i can explain.” i plead, my voice a little shaky, slightly scared of his ability to so naturally act like he is in love with me in front of the cameras, but once we are alone, he can turn from caring to cold in seconds.

“what, you can explain kissing another guy right in front of me? can you fucking hear yourself?” he scoffs, tutting as the elevator opens. his hands are in his pockets as he lifts his body up from where it was slouched against the wall of the elevator, walking ahead of me once again, using his key card and entering the hotel room, finding the rest of the band already there. they had left earlier than us, already finished with their interviews as the band had done their collective ones earlier on, tom and i only needing to stay to do our separate ones.

“hey guys.” tom says, saying nothing more as he walks into our shared bedroom.

bill furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and i send him a small smile, mouthing ‘i’ll explain later’, before following where tom had gone. the bedroom is dark, tom not in there, but the balcony doors are open. i can make out his figure through the darkness, smoke coming from his mouth as i look towards the lit cigarette in his hands, hesitantly joining him on the balcony which overlooks the city.

he takes a quick glance at me, looking forwards and ignoring me as he had since the incident had happened.

“you gonna keep ignoring me? or can i explain?” i ask, trying to stand a little closer to him, testing what my boundaries are.

“nothing for you to explain.” he mutters, bringing the cig to his lips, inhaling and watching the smoke exit his mouth.

the cold breeze of the night causes me to shiver a little, my strapless dress not helping me out as i rub my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm myself up.

“i didn’t fucking kiss him. jesus christ do you think i’m some slut who can’t contain myself? i haven’t cheated on you throughout our whole relationship, tom, and i definitely wouldn’t do it in public like that.” i sigh, the tears already beginning to form in my eyes as i can see that he isn’t in any position to hear me out, his mind already set on what he thinks he has witnessed.

“what so i was fucking hallucinating when i saw him kiss you?” he scoffs sarcastically, putting his cig out and looking into my eyes for the first time, his full of rage, a lit fuse ready to blow. he shakes his head when i stay silent, walking back into the bedroom.

i don’t give up yet, quickly following him into the room.

“he asked for a picture. i wasn’t even looking at him, i was looking into his camera. he grabbed my face and kissed me. he forced me onto him, and i pulled away. so can you stop being so fucking stubborn, ‘cause i’m tired of this shit. i shouldn’t feel bad when you’re too childish to hear me out! so fucking grow a pair and-”

my heated rambling is quickly cut off my tom firmly pressing his lips against mine, walking me backwards until my back harshly collides with the wall, a gasp leaving my mouth as i do so.

“fucking shut up.” he mumbles against my lips, his hand reaching behind me as he quickly pulls the zipper of my dress down, pushing his tongue into my mouth and kissing me with so much hunger that it is hard to remember why we were even arguing in the first place.

but the harshness of his kiss tells me that he is still irritated, taking out his anger on me in the best way possible, his hands reaching for the top of my dress, pulling it down my frame without removing his lips from mine, letting it hit the floor, leaving me in only my black lace panties.

he moves his hands to underneath my thighs, lifting them up in one smooth motion, wrapping them tightly around his waist as he walks us to the bed, his tongue still exploring my mouth, only fuelling the need to feel him inside me, the burning in between my thighs getting harder and harder to ignore.

he lays me on the bed, wasting no time in climbing on top of me, my hands scrambling to removing his t-shirt, lifting the material up and over his head. he moves his knee in between my thighs as he unbuckles his belt, the hunger mixed with pure lust causing me to grind on him, brushing perfectly against my clit as i sigh out in pleasure. tom has his tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth, almost mocking my desperation.

“getting off on my knee, you’re that needy? baby you need to use your words. i’ll give you what you want, you just need to say the word.” he teases, pulling his pants down and throwing them somewhere on the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, our underwear now the only thing separating us.

he climbs back on top of me, moving his knee as i whine slightly, a little frustrated at the loss of contact. he buries his head in the crook of my neck, biting at the skin harshly, soothing the slight pain with his tongue after, sending a chill down my body, my breathing becoming erratic as he begins to grind down on me, knowing exactly how to tease me.

“you know what you want.” he whispers against the skin of my neck, before carrying on placing slow and wet kisses there, knowing he will leave marks afterwards. “just say it. say what you want.”

i feel him smile against me, enjoying the way i wither beneath him, completely at his mercy, so desperate to feel his dick inside me.

“i need you…inside me.” i breathe out, my fingers moving to the inside of his boxers, fiddling with the waistband as i just want them off, tired of his teasing.

“was that so hard?” he asks, kissing me roughly as he moves my hands away, tugging his boxers down and moving to my panties, pulling his lips away from me and using his teeth to pull them down a little, loving the way my breath hitches in my throat when he does this. he replaces his mouth with his hands, swiftly taking my panties off, leaving us both naked.

“don’t think i’m going easy on you. i’m still pissed about earlier.” he begins, positioning his tip at my entrance. “i just knew i’d be able to get you all worked up doing this.”

he stops, looking into my eyes as our faces are inches apart, before moving into me, stretching my walls as he gives me no time to adjust, bottoming out inside me and almost completely pulling out, snapping his hips once again.

“fuck- too much.” i whine, the pain overtaking the pleasure as i squeeze his bicep, my eyes watering as my teeth sink into my bottom lip.

“i thought you wanted this.” he taunts, slowly moving out of me again, before thrusting into me again, a restrained groan escaping his mouth. “can you not take it, hm?”

all i can do is moan in response, trying to caress his chest as he begins a fast rhythm, showing no remorse as he moves in and out of me at a rapid pace.

“mm, no touching.” he says, taking both my arms and placing them above my head, using one hand to hold them in place, whilst the other begins to toy with my clit, the pain quickly subsiding as i am lost in pure ecstasy.

his tip brushes over my g-spot, a loud moan emitting from my parted lips, my eyes screwing shut, unable to take the pleasure as it hits me faster than ever.

“oh my god, there…right there, please tom!” i cry out, biting my lip to try and contain my moans, remembering that the rest of the band are right down the hall, not wanting them to hear any of this.

“here?” he teases, angling himself so that he isn’t just brushing over the spot, his tip is directly hitting it over and over again, my release fast approaching.

“that guy…” he begins, pressing his hand on my lower stomach, the print of his dick moving in and out of me now visible. “he couldn’t fuck you like this. only i can, mhm? say it.”

i am so lost in pleasure that i don’t even register what he is saying, my eyes rolling to the back of my head, legs going numb as they instinctively wrap around his waist, bringing him closer into me, allowing him to drill into me even deeper with each thrust, hitting angles that i had never felt before. i don’t comprehend his words until i feel his thumb touch my bottom lip, dragging downwards until it releases with a pop.

“fucking say it.” he demands, grunting lowly and moving in and out of me even harder, my legs feeling a dull ache between them as the knot in my stomach only tightens, my release fast approaching.

“only- fuck! only you can do this.” i manage to breathe out, my words so incoherent that they can barely be made out, so lost in pleasure that i am beyond the point of caring.

“i’m close baby.” tom says, connecting his lips with mine once again, our mouths sloppily colliding as small moans are muffled within the kiss. i can’t even tell him that i am close too, but the way i clench around him gives him enough of an idea.

his dick twitches inside of me as he pulls away, his mouth hanging open whilst his head falls back, a choked moan escaping his mouth as i feel his cum coat my walls, this triggering my own release. my ability to speak is quickly lost, a high pitched moan leaving my mouth as i let my release take over, my vision clouding up as the pleasure becomes too much, tom clearly not looking to stop as he chases another release, my eyes squeezing shut as i quickly become overstimulated.

“too much…” i whine. “cant take it.”

“should’ve thought about that before you let me catch another guy kissing you. i’m not stopping till you fucking understand only i can do that.” he replies, flipping us over so that i am on top.

“ride.” he says, placing his hands on my hips as mine rest on his shoulders, his lips moving to my collarbone.

“i can’t.” i sigh, tears clouding my vision as i fall onto him, completely exhausted. my legs ache, my inner thighs sore from him not letting me adjust, my throat dry from the sounds he made leave my mouth.

he sighs, guilt taking over his expression as he begins to feel a little bad, his hands reaching to rub my back.

“you did so good schatz.” he says, pulling out of me as i whine from the loss of contact, my body hot, forehead glistening with sweat. “you okay? did i go too hard. sorry, i was just angry, if i took it too far you have to-”

i cut him off by gently pecking his lips, reassuring him. “it’s fine, tom, i’m okay. i’m really sorry about tonight.”

“it wasn’t your fault. sorry i was such an ass about it.” he apologises, tracing random shapes along my back. “i think it’s best i don’t leave your side in public from now on, yeah? i swear to god if i see that asshole again-”

“don’t worry about it, it’s okay now.” i laugh, taking his hand and playing with his fingers, my breathing slowing down. “i don’t think he’ll be coming to anymore events that we’re at, you should’ve seen how humiliated he was when i pulled away. fucking loser, i don’t understand what else he wanted me to do.”

he chuckles slightly, tightening his hold on me and planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

he takes my hand, laughing at the way my legs shake as i struggle to walk, taking me towards the bathroom and running me a bath, showering me with kisses for the rest of the night.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz smut #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz angst #kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #tomkaulitz #bill kaulitz

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the-al-chemist · 6 months

Text

Jitters

So, it’s almost a week late, but I was told that Weasley Week is more about vibes than punctuality. Here’s the final contribution, and this one’s all about Ginny. Thank you @thethreebroomsticksfic for organising such a fun event!

Warnings: mentions of past trauma.

September 2003

Ginny Weasley prided herself on being fiercely independent. Being the only girl in a family of boys, she had learnt to take care of herself and others in a way that her brothers had never been encouraged to. And being the youngest, she had watched each of her older siblings leave home, go to school, and embark on careers, leaving her behind, a little more alone every time.

There was, of course, one time she had allowed herself to become truly vulnerable, to rely on someone else. It had backfired terribly. Ginny had been eleven years old when she had first opened Tom Riddle’s diary. She had been eleven years old when she had stopped trusting anyone, even herself.

That trust had come back, bit by bit. She had made friends, eventually. She had gone on dates, had been heartbroken, had battled, had grieved. She had carved out a career for herself, made a name for herself, had finally gotten to know herself and trust herself again.

So why, on what should have been the happiest day of her life, was she doubting herself?

She loved Harry. She had always loved Harry, even when her definition of love had been a schoolgirl’s infatuation. He made her happy, understood her in a way few others did, and loved her in spite of that. When he had asked her to marry him, her answer had come as swift and as sure as she was on a broomstick.

Right now, she was less sure. Which was unfortunate, because right now, there were only minutes to go before she was supposed to walk down the aisle and marry the wizard.

In moments like this, Ginny preferred to be alone. Declining her bridesmaids’ offers to help her with her dress, she backed out of the vestry and headed for the bathroom, where she stood facing a mirror and holding on to the edges of a sink. Her head was spinning, her heart racing, and her stomach churning. She felt unbearably hot, though the room was cold. She took several breaths, annoyed by how shallow each one was, and found that this was useless. In a final desperate attempt to cool herself down, she turned on the tap and let the water run over her hands before splashing it onto her face.

That was a mistake. Now she had yet another thing to worry about. Her make-up, which she had painstakingly spent the morning doing — she hadn’t permitted anyone else to do it for her — was now entirely ruined. And, even worse, she had left all of her belongings back at the Burrow, not thinking that she would need them over the course of the ceremony. All she could do was try to clean up the mess she had made of her own face.

As she used her wand to remove the smudges from her cheeks, a toilet flushed behind her and a beautiful woman and small girl, both with the same shade of silvery-blonde hair, emerged from a cubicle. Ginny forced a smile as the woman helped the little girl to wash her hands in another of the sinks. Her niece looked particularly cute in her bridesmaid dress, but there was no one she wanted to speak to less at this moment in time than her sister-in-law.

Fleur Delacour-Weasley eyed Ginny over the top of her daughter's blonde head for a few moments before telling her, “I ‘ave makeup in my bag, if you would like some.”

Ginny couldn’t see that she had much choice but to take Fleur up on her offer, so she nodded. Her sister-in-law passed her a dainty clutch bag, which on opening, Ginny found to be far bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside.

“Va chercher ton grand-père, Victoire.” Fleur placed one hand on the back of her daughter’s head and stroked her hair gently as she spoke, and Ginny’s niece skipped out of the bathroom with her clean hands. Ginny expected Fleur to follow Victoire, but instead she turned back towards her and asked, “Would you like some ‘elp with zat?”

“I can do it myself, thanks,” Ginny replied, but her hands were shaking so badly that she was struggling to do anything by herself.

Fleur stood stock still, watching her as she tried and failed to wield mascara with any form of precision. Ginny was growing increasingly impatient and frustrated with herself, with Fleur, with everything. Eventually, she held out Fleur’s bag at arm length and snapped:

“Fine, you do it then, if you think you can do better than me!” Her sister-in-law blinked at her slowly, her lips pursed, and Ginny sighed. “I mean, yes, I’d like some help. Please can you help me?”

Her tone hadn’t been friendly in the slightest. Fleur shrugged and took back her bag.

“Close your eyes,” she told Ginny, who did as she instructed. A soft brush swept over Ginny’s cheeks, and Fleur’s voice spoke to her. “Victoire ‘as freckles like you now. ‘Ave you noticed?”

“No.”

“Zey look quite cute, I zink. A proper Weasley, no? It is a shame zat I’m covering yours up.”

“Yeah, well.” Ginny swallowed. “I’m not going to be a Weasley for much longer. Might as well get rid of the freckles while I’m at it.”

She sounded far more bitter than she intended. She could not see Fleur’s face, but by the way her sister-in-law continued to work on her face, she supposed that she might not have noticed.

“And ‘ow are you feeling about today?”

“Great, obviously. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it is a big change,” Fleur said. “And because you are in ‘ere splashing water on your face when you should be about to walk down the aisle.” Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but before she could say anything, Fleur instructed, “Open your eyes and look up at the ceiling.”

It was hard to focus her eyes. Ginny could almost feel them filling with tears as Fleur applied mascara to her lashes.

“How did you feel on your wedding day?” Ginny asked Fleur, trying her hardest not to either cry or blink.

“Probably the same as you. ‘Appy, but also a little nervous.”

Ginny looked down from the ceiling and at her sister-in-law. “Really?”

“Yes. I wanted ze day to be perfect, and zere was a war going on, so…”

“So, you weren’t nervous about actually getting married? You didn’t have any… second thoughts or anything?”

Fleur seemed to consider Ginny’s question. When she answered, she did so with a small and almost secretive looking smile:

“Yes.”

“You did?” Ginny was relieved, for some reason. “What about?”

“What are your second thoughts about?” Fleur asked. Ginny sighed.

“I dunno, I just… I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am, Quidditch-wise. I’m worried that once I’m married, no one will care that I’ve done that, they’ll just think of me as Harry’s wife and not my own person, because I won’t be, will I? I’ll be Mrs Potter, not Ginny Weasley, not… Not me.”

Ginny cast a look at herself in the mirror. She never usually wore white, it was too easily dirtied, and she couldn’t remember the last time her hair had been restrained in such an intricate up-do. Even her freckles had been covered with makeup. She scowled at her own reflection.

“I already don’t look like me,” she muttered. “What’s to stop me from just slowly disappearing altogether?”

“I cannot imagine zat will ever ‘appen.”

“It almost did, once,” said Ginny. Fleur was looking at her, and she avoided meeting her eye. “Back when I was younger, that year… That diary, his diary… I put so much of myself into it, I poured myself into it, and before I knew it, there was almost none of me left. I was nearly lost forever, and I…” Her voice tailed off. “I don’t want to lose myself, not ever, not to anyone or for anything.”

Fleur put one hand to Ginny’s hair. For a moment, Ginny thought she might stroke it, the way she had Victoire’s, but instead, she reached back and undid one of the clips. A strand of Ginny’s hair came loose.

“I can see zis,” Fleur said, reaching for another hairclip, “but I don’t zink it is something you need to worry about. Zat diary, it was evil. It wanted you to lose yourself. ‘Arry would never want zat for you, ‘e just wants you, as you are. It is all ‘e ever wanted.”

Ginny took a deep breath. Yet more locks of her hair tumbled around her shoulders as more clips were removed, and Fleur continued:

“Getting married, it does not mean zat you are losing yourself. You are gaining another piece for yourself, making a family zat is yours and someone else’s. It means you ‘ave to share, but you must be used to sharing, with all those brothers you ‘ave.” She chuckled softly, and Ginny felt her own lips twitch. It was true, she was used to sharing. “The only piece of yourself you are giving up is your name, which you don’t ‘ave to do. And zat was ever really your name, either. It is all your family’s name, no? And even if you don’t have zeir name, you are not going to lose your family. Especially your family. You are all very stubborn.”

In spite of everything, in spite of herself, Ginny laughed out loud. Fleur smiled triumphantly and nodded her head at the mirror.

“See? You look more like yourself now.”

Fleur was right. Ginny’s hair was now almost entirely loose, a mane of red curls framing her face. Her freckles were still invisible, but her laugh had caused her cheeks to dimple and her brown eyes to shine with mirth.

Thinking about it, Fleur was right about a lot of things. Harry was not Tom Riddle. He had nothing of Tom Riddle about him, not anymore. And even when he had, he had never once allowed it to consume him, not the way the diary had consumed her. He had never wanted anything from Ginny, except for her to be… well, Ginny. Not Ginny Weasley, not Ginny Potter, just Ginny. In all the time she had been making a name for herself, Harry had accepted her and loved her for herself.

And she loved him. Had accepted him, the way her family had accepted him as one of their own. He might not have their name, but he was still a part of them. She would still be a part of them, even if she didn’t have their name anymore. She wouldn’t lose them.

Harry had lost his family. All he had left of them was their name, the one that was written on a pair of tombstones in the graveyard behind the church in which she stood, where he was standing at the altar waiting for her. Waiting to begin their life together, to share that life together.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Ginny’s father’s voice sounded from the other side of it.

“It’s eleven, Ginny. Are you ready?”

Ginny glanced at Fleur, and again at the bathroom mirror, where her own face stared back at her, defiant and stubborn and entirely her own.

“I’m ready.”

#weasley week #ttb #ginny weasley #fleur delacour #weasley family #hinny wedding

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

time to dig up those graves, m | myg, jjk

misfit toys au continuation of intro >> don’t play >> this game

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, jungkook x reader

summary: In this world, there are those who get stabbed and the ones who do the stabbing. Is it fun for you, Min Yoongi? Is it fun to see who gets the fatal strike in this game of sex and lies you've created with your stepsister? It's not so fun, though, when you actually witness her parring hits from your very own father.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; warning! implied sexual abuse (no direct actions are described); name calling; equally wealthy and SHIT parents that abuse their adult children in the name of filial piety narcissism; descriptions of a peeping tom event and a physical fight; stepsiblings; intense smut (fem reader, D/s (switches, sub!JK), fucking in a hot tub, thigh riding, nipple play, heavy biting / marking / scratching, fingering, cumming on reader's face, cum eating, m-receiving oral, restraints, blindfolding(?), use of a makeshift gag (panties) + cock ring, cock-warming, spitting, choking, cowgirl, cum feeding (from a condom ew), reverse cowgirl, ball torture); non-idol!AU - orange-haired!Yoongi x savage, bad bitch!reader, ft protective, security guard!Jeon Jungkook; shifts between Yoongi's, yours, and JK's POV

“Enjoyed your date, slut?”

He had to hand it to her for the hotel selection at least. The large penthouse balcony allowed for a sprawling view of a city skyline below, complete with tiny glittering windows, artificial stars shining for the restless still awake in this late night. The separation from inside area to the outside veranda was a wall of glass doors that only required a few buttons to fully open up the space, folding back into the wall to allow the guest to walk freely from the massive bed to the hot tub.

Min Yoongi walked into this extravagant hotel room with a curled lip and spite in his tone.

A voice rose from the water like rising steam.

“It wasn’t a date. It was only a client from the club.”

“That’s not what the media said.”

He saw her back first. Base of shoulder blades and up. Her elbows rested on the stone tile edge of the hot tub. Her hair was twisted into place with a long metal hairpin, revealing the curve of naked shoulders, the glistening skin imploring for his bites.

The more vicious, the better.

As he approached his stepsister, Yoongi noticed the hairpin had a thin silver chain with a charm on it.

An onyx cat head.

Her head turned, barely. The charm swung ominously in the air, making him feel like some sort of body should be attached, but the design was clearly meant to be a disembodied head attached to the end of a thin metal stake. An instrument with the sole purpose to be stabbed into tangled hair to thereby deem the wearer put together.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with the squabble of simpletons, Yoongi.”

A wry chuckle.

“It was a dull dinner, honestly. The client was asking for some of the girls for his birthday party.”

The sound of churning water mixed with fingertips dancing on the surface. A low, mirthless hum. He could feel the cloaked rage in her otherwise calm tone.

“I told him my employees are not circus animals.”

“You don’t own the brothel, you know,” he muttered.

Silence.

An Icy itch slithered down his spine.

Yoongi had the distinct feeling that if his stepsister had a knife with her, it would now be buried into his anatomy with furious precision.

Instead, she inhaled slowly. Long digits fanning out, lifting, right hand gracefully landing on the stone tiles. Sliding out, her shoulders and head tipping back, and he saw her eyes were closed, wispy strands of hair fluttering over her cheeks and forehead. The water was milky with bath salts, aerated waves washing over her chest, concealing it save for the upper swell of her breasts.

She sank down as she leaned back, pink pillowy lips parting to let out a smokey sigh.

The onyx charm of the cat head clinked against the stone.

Scraping.

“The establishment is a gentlemen’s club. Not a daycare that rents out adult babysitters for crass, immature worms that still have birthday parties.”

Those beautiful eyes opened, darker in the dim light of the wall sconces set on low. Yoongi stayed where he was, a few meters away from the hot tub. Any closer and he didn’t trust himself. Her head tilted, gaze piercing right through him even when upside down. He noticed his eyes were wandering, glancing at her hands. Her arms. Her lips. The shape of her collarbones now prominent from the position. His tongue flitted over his lips, wetting them.

Flexible.

He knew that about her, of course. Remembered the arch of her spine with his hand on the small of her back, his tongue licking a thick, wet stripe up her torso, tasting the sinful sweetness of her skin.

Yoongi shoved his shaking hands into the pockets of his gray acid-wash jeans.

Nodded slowly, looking away from those accusing eyes.

“It’d be bad for business,” he mumbled. “Doing that kind of service.”

Seconds that felt like hours.

“I knew you would understand, Yoongi.”

The sound of shifting water.

When he glanced back, he was staring at the back of her head again.

“Where are your guards?”

“I sent them home,” she drawled absentmindedly, waving her hand. “No need for them when you’re around.”

He scoffed, ticking his head. “Hah. Like I would save you from any danger.”

“We both know saving is the last thing I want.”

The conversation lulled once more. An unpleasant, bitter feeling festered within his chest, her words ringing in his ears. He had received the envelope only a couple hours earlier. The day had been wasted away in his music studio once again. Eventually, he had given up and collected his bomber jacket to leave, finding a bright red envelope taped to the outside of his door. It had contained an address and a keycard.

“How did you know I would come?” Yoongi muttered.

The middle finger of her right hand tapped against the stone. The rhythm of her nail was barely audible over the roar of the jets of water.

“I didn’t.”

He flinched.

As if shot.

A strange kind of ache in his ribcage, as if a gaping hole was forming.

A part of him wanted to run. Not just physically removing himself from this moment. Running could mean so many more things than that. Running was lashing out. Running was trying to find the words that hurt most. Running was holding onto the meaningless pride of needing to be more than. Running was the kind of thing his father did; exercising clout, money, pettiness to defend his conceited, selfish character.

Yoongi tucked his tongue into his cheek.

His right hand raised and rubbed the left side of his chest, pressing the jersey fabric of his t-shirt to tense muscle.

He saw her left arm shift.

It swung out, landing in the same position as her right. Fingers fanned downward, elbow resting on stone. Her decorated wrist didn’t touch the tile, keeping the silver chain bracelet with black glass beads out of harm’s way. It shone wickedly, catching the light.

Yoongi lowered his hand.

Kicked off his shoes.

Removed his jacket, letting it fall to the floor.

Her hands remained the sides of the hot tub, at rest. Calm. Not reacting to the sound of his pants falling onto the carpet, socks shed, shirt pulled up and over his head. Hooked his fingers on the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and pushed down. Fabric collapsed onto the floor, one by one, and then the sound of his heavy step on wood.

And yet.

Nothing.

“Hey.”

Nothing.

Yoongi found he hated her saying nothing more than her calling him brother.

He lowered himself to his knees.

His hand reaching out, gliding it against her cheek, stroking her damp skin with fingertips. His thumb brushed against her lower lip. An exhale. Her soft lips pressed against the pad of his thumb, making him shiver. The ache in his ribcage was transforming into something ravenous as his fingers pressed into her jaw, turning her head while he lowered his, blurs of red-orange shielding his peripheral vision as his hair swung forward. His eyelids lowered, weighed down by the heat radiating from the bubbly, hot water.

Her head turned.

Her chin lifted with his touch, half-lidded eyes finding his.

Yoongi kissed her deeply.

Her body twisted, rising slightly, nimble tongue flitting between his lips.

He stilled his breathing.

Trying not to shudder.

She drew back, alluring eyes pulling away from him, her fingers skimming his knee. Floated backward to make way for him. He lifted his knee and swung his leg into the water, propelling his body into the waves. The temperature change from night air to churning heat shocked his nerves, sending pinpricks of goosebumps all over his skin, but he ignored it, reaching out again, his hand grasping her upper arm and pulling her back to him.

“Don’t try to escape,” he whispered.

Husky and rough.

The corner of her lips ticked upwards.

“Speak for yourself.”

She planted her hands above his shoulders, gripping the edge of hot tub, and closed the distance.

Kissing him.

Yoongi knew he didn’t have any particular morals. He didn’t care about being perceived as right or having correct conduct or who the fuck knows what else people wanted to be. Breaking rules, crossing lines, digging his fingers into his stepsister’s hips and sliding his thigh between hers while sucking on her tongue, he did these things without much remorse and without much thought, because thinking too deeply about it would mean facing parts of himself that he wished weren’t real. He knew what he should be doing. He should have stopped.

He knew that.

Her body rose, rivets of water trickling down her breasts, beading when they reached her hard nipples, fierce kisses deepening and his head tipping back, giving into the addictive, binding taste of her saliva and his mixing together, tongue to coiling tongue.

A few times of this, sure.

A few times could be forgotten.

Under the churning water, she sat on his thigh. Angling her hips downward, making them both hiss at the contact. Sensitive nerves rubbing against hard muscle. His tight grip guided the deliberate pace, staring into each other’s eyes, shaking breath shared in the mere centimeters between their faces.

Yoongi knew he could have many beautiful things.

Her eyes gleamed as her smirk reached them, shamelessly stimulating her clit against his flexed thigh, not hiding, aroused enough that he could feel the viscous juices clinging to his skin for a split second before it was washed away by the jets of water around them.

He could have many beautiful things.

She’s the most beautiful one.

He tilted his head and ran his tongue over the side of her neck, feeling her hips flinch and her head fall back, a sweet moan injected into the air above his ear. The city sounds were akin to white noise due to how high up they were, but Yoongi wouldn’t have heard them anyway, too focused on cascading water and rolling hips and the taste of her skin, her head moving aside to give him more access. Muscle and pulse under his teeth.

He bit down, marking her.

A satisfied, airy chuckle.

“I hoped you would, Yoongi.”

Power and blood underneath his mouth and his fingernails, dragging them roughly across her ass, sucking hard as she fucked herself harder, riding his hard thigh with lustful vengeance, chasing her orgasm in pain and pleasure and heat.

Out in the open, high in the sky, seemingly untouchable.

Her left hand flew off the edge and grabbed the back of his head, locking her fingers into his hair and sending flicks of red-orange tips into the edge of his vision, pinning his vicious mouth to her throat as she came, sliding closer, her soft thigh flush to his erection. Hips strongly flinching in his hands, pulsating softness pressed into his skin. Leaking honey washing away, washing away, the traces of her release reduced trembling muscles and heedless, hazy sighs laced with his name. Heartbeat roaring in his ears, his own breathing erratic and melding with her moans, all of it drifting up, up, up into the night sky where planes roared past.

Clueless sheep flying above the tangled snakes.

He kissed up her bruises and his marks, curling his tongue around her earlobe, diamond earring quivering from his raspy growl.

“Turn around.”

She slowly let go of his head.

Her breath feathered against his ear, words breezing past twin platinum hoops.

“Don’t want to look at my face, hah?” she whispered, light in tone and heavy in implication.

Yoongi said nothing.

She obeyed, untangling for less than a second before twisting her body, backing up without fear, leaning against his chest, layering their heartbeats. He raised himself a little, sliding his erection into the dip of her ass, a familiar feeling now. She hummed and rocked her hips back, rubbing his hard cock against her juicy ass.

He stopped her.

One hand gripping the inside of her thigh and the other in her hair, his fingers digging into the bun held together by a metal hairpin. The onyx cat head charm swung unsteadily, metal to gemstone rattling.

A breathless beat.

Yoongi flicked his wrist, forcibly rotating her head ninety degrees so her parted lips were against his cheek, holding her there. He breathed out. Exhale, unhurried, her warm breath drifting over his left cheek. His hand on her thigh sliding down, down, bodies surrounded by aerated water, brushing his fingertips against her shivering slit.

His eyes shifted, turning his head to look into hers.

Said nothing, letting the direct eye contact do the talking.

She held her breath.

Yoongi let his eyes explore every detail of her face, pressing two fingers to her engorged clit and rubbing slow circles. He memorized her expression. The tension in her jaw lessening at the hunger was soothed by his touch. The lowering of her lush lashes, gazing at him with desire. The way bliss slowly but surely crumbled the cloaked anger, swollen lips parting and snaking moan rising as his fingers tangled in her hair, pulled, tugging her head back and exposing his bites.

Broken vessels and seeping blood the cause of those red-purple marks, his teeth marring perfect, pampered skin.

He stared into her eyes and leaned in.

Shoved two fingers into her pussy as he covered her open mouth with his, swallowing her cry.

Yoongi did not want to forget.

His hand cupping the back of her head, pressing her body to his with his forearm, adding a third finger and thrusting his tongue into her mouth, devouring her stifled moans with greed, and he knew he did not want to forget, knew he wanted the memorize the way her body clenched around him and sucked him in, more, needing more, countless times, a hundred times, a thousand times, never enough, looking into her beautiful eyes, roughly fucking her with his fingers all the way to his knuckles, encouraged by the way her hips bucked and shuddered. Lips locked, continuous. The constant milky water adding sensual slip between their bodies. Her left hand on his hip, sharp manicure digging in deliciously. Her soft ass bouncing against his stiff length, keeping him on the edge of almost enough.

He shoved her up against his torso repeatedly.

Over and over.

Her other hand lifted from the bubbling water, sliding into his hair and intensifying the kiss.

Lost in his tongue and his hands.

Heat intensifying, lust compounding, lightheaded from shared breath. Neither of them stopping. Faster, harder, in unison, her tight grip on his ass, the kiss broken with a faint gasp, suddenly staring at the perfect arc of her straining throat and feeling the sting on his swollen lips.

“Yoongi, fuuuck…”

His name so saturated with ecstasy that even he felt his nerves sing.

She writhed against him and her hands shot down, jamming his three fingers as far in as they would go, locking him in place so he could feel deep inside, feel the powerful, slippery walls clenching around his digits, feel the cum drenching his skin in waves, bear witness to sharp throbs rippling up her torso, her back arching, moan so wanton that the sound itself was enough to make his already hard cock swell even more.

He worked his fingertips into her hair, massaging her scalp, his body on fire.

Pressed his lips to her neck, nicking the skin and eliciting a fucked-out hiss.

“You…”

She was breathing hard, winded from the high achieved at this height.

“You should cum on my face,” she breathed out.

Arousal hiking, feral want clawing up his insides, the gears of this misfit toy click, click, clicking.

“Cum all over me, Yoongi.”

The air outside the hot tub was cold, but his body was too hot to notice. Splashing water as they repositioned, but neither of them cared, too ensnared by each other, lured too deeply by the forbidden passion, her elegant fingers spreading out over her jaw and open mouth, pink tongue hanging out and loose strands artfully framing this display, looking him up and down as he gripped his cock, sitting on the stone tiles, pumping himself right in front of her face, water streaming down his tense muscles.

Her eyes gleamed with rapturous glee.

Flexible tongue coiling in the air, dancing, teasing him as he thrust into his hand.

He clenched his jaw, looking down at the unabashed, lewd, pornographic display of indecency.

“I…”

The corner of her lips ticked upward.

I love you, so I act this way.

“I fucking hate you,” Yoongi gritted out, his core tightening, already there.

She grinned, and he gasped, shoulders jerking and throwing his hips forward, shooting a thick string of white across her cheek and neck, choking back his groans as she leaned back, floating closer and showering herself in his orgasm, his twitching cock painting dripping lines over her lips, her tongue, her cheeks, her neck, even down to her collarbones and up to her forehead, his heavy scent stuck to her skin.

She smeared it all over her face, collecting his cum, sliding her fingers into her mouth and licking them off, pressing her fingertips onto her tongue and rubbing circles right below the shivering, dark red head sticking out of his tight grip.

Yoongi panted hard, chest heaving.

Saw a bead of white clinging to the tip.

Quivering.

His eyes flickered to her, unsure.

That intense gaze locked with his immediately. No malice. No anger. Only a carnal craving unsatisfied, desire unrelenting, wanting him still. Wanting more, just as he wanted more of her. Both knowing the night was still young. Both still waiting to put their hands around each other’s necks and cum together without air. Both still waiting for the ache between their legs to be fulfilled.

She glided in the water, smooth and sleek, and her lips closed around his cock.

Yoongi let his eyes close and he let go, sliding his cum-covered hand into her hair instead as her head began to bob up and down, persuasive tongue swirling around his re-engorging shaft, and he cared not for what was right or what was correct conduct, tipping his head back and burying his cock into her throat with a moan.

“You are a disgrace. I leave on an important business trip and I come back to my lawyer informing me that my son has fuckin’ assault charges, again. Again! Do you know how expensive these settlements to these lowlife peasants are? Tch, and you still have that disgusting orange hair I’ve been trying to get you to dye back. Fucking clean up. Why are you dressed like a dirty street rat? Shit. You should be more like your sister. As usual, the gentleman’s club has no issues and I’m forced to clean up your messes instead. If you doing jail time didn’t reflect so poorly on me, I’d lock you in there myself.”

You said nothing.

Entire body on high alert, wearing a thick cream turtleneck tucked into suit slacks, hands folded in your lap, legs firmly crossed. No easy access. You were sitting on the rigid, black leather sofa of the living room that had not seen much living. Glass coffee table, ivory shag rug. Your immaculate hair was pinned back, every strand in a smooth wave cascading down the left side of your face.

You stepfather sat beside you.

To your left.

He was wearing a lavish gold and black robe, open to reveal his toned chest. Gold silk pants to match. Holding a glass of scotch in his left hand and his right arm was resting on the back of the sofa, his fingertips stroking the nape of your neck.

You didn’t look at him.

It took everything in you to not flinch away from the vile, parasitic touch threatening to caress your bare skin.

Your jaw was clenched so tight that it hurt. You couldn’t even look at Yoongi, who was standing at the other side of the coffee table with his tongue in his cheek. Dressed like the street rat he wasn’t, distressed black sweater with the threads torn apart, washed-out gray long sleeve underneath, and light blue jeans with giant holes exposing his scabbed, scraped knees. His freshly dyed, long red-orange hair was hanging in limp strings due to too much gel and fingers combing through it too many times.

Your mother sat on your right; artificially tightened body stuffed into an even tighter, low-cut, flashy cobalt blue minidress. She didn’t add anything to the tirade except her tight-lipped disapproval and the condescending upturn of her nose.

Her hip pressed against your hip.

She scooted even closer to you, practically sitting in your goddamn lap because you refused to more any closer to your stepfather, keeping a fixed fifteen-centimeter difference between your leg and his open legs.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” you stepfather barked shrilly.

His knee flapped open more and hit yours.

You bit back a snarl, clasping one hand over the other, forcing your fist down.

Yoongi clicked his tongue and dropped his shoulders back.

Cocked his head.

“Yeah. I got a question,” he replied lazily. “How young was the youngest girl you fucked in Europe this time? Another high schooler? Or have you stooped to middle schoolers now?”

The corner of your lips quirked upwards.

Your eyes shifted, locking with Yoongi’s smug expression.

“You–”

Your stepfather flew off the couch and kicked your stepbrother in the knee with his fur-lined, designer loafer, making him grimace and buckle. A loud thud as Yoongi caught himself with his hands, visibly restraining himself as his own father poured the expensive scotch onto his head and clothes, soaking him in alcohol. His head was barely visible above the glass surface of the coffee table.

Dark eyes shot towards you.

Yoongi smirked, rivers of liquid poison sliding down his temples.

You smiled, licking your lips.

Your mother finally rolled her eyes and stood up, huffing as your stepfather hurled the glass into the far wall, and now they were yelling, he does this all the time, what is the point of getting angry and destroying my fine crystal, roaring back, don’t tell me what to do, woman, and your crystal that you bought with my money?

Yoongi got up, shaking off the excess liquid in his hair with a growl, pushing past the maids that suddenly appeared to rush and silently clean up the shattered glass right away.

“Oh, don’t be so full of yourself! You can’t even get it up anymore without the pills.”

“I told you those were for my blood pressure!”

“I’m pretty, not stupid! I asked the doctor since I had to go to find out that I somehow mysteriously got chlamydia, again!”

Your stepbrother stopped by the hall.

Looked back.

Your lips parted.

His eyes darkened, cutting that nonverbal communication, and Yoongi looked away, turning to the right, disappearing around the corner without another word.

Your mother began to grab the various equally expensive and meaningless trinkets around her, vindictively throwing them at her husband as you got up from the sofa, in a haze, wandering out as strong-armed butlers rushed in, the shouting escalating, but all you did was run, turning to the left when you reached the hall, running, still feeling the ghost of a vile, parasitic touch at the nape of your neck.

Jeon Jungkook entered his apartment, closed the door behind him, and turned on the light.

The young Master was standing right in front of him.

“Woah!”

He jerked back and dropped his keys, the loud clattering shattering through the disturbed air of his exclamation. He was out of his security guard uniform, handed to the laundry clerk at the gentleman’s club for them to clean and return to him when refreshed and re-pressed. He had remembered to take out the switchblade with the engraved black tiger, of course. It was currently weighing down his dark-wash jeans, the clip concealed by his long-sleeved black shirt and padded leather jacket.

The woman who was effectively his boss was standing in his apartment.

Just standing there, staring at him with a blank expression.

Jungkook swallowed hard.

His lips tingled with memory, remembering the taste of her pussy and the way her hips grinded into his face, suffocating him in the stone basement as she toyed with his overstimulated cock.

“Um… Hi, Master.”

She blinked, slowly, and it was like she finally saw him, taking the time to observe his appearance from his thick-soled black boots, up his legs, up his torso, to his face.

“You’re home, Jungkook,” she said.

He reached down cautiously, looking up at her inquisitively as he picked up his keys. Her eyes followed, tracking his movements like a newborn hawk. “Uh, yeah. I live here,” he managed to get out, lingering a little before straightening, tossing his keys in the ceramic dish by the door. “I guess it’s in my employee file, huh? My address?”

The young Master tiled her head.

Jungkook felt the same way he felt when he saw her outside the employee lockers, seeing again those empty eyes bleeding distress. He should probably be bothered, annoyed, maybe even angry at this invasion of privacy, and yet he didn’t sense any ill-will emanating from her.

It was as if she too didn’t understand why she was there.

“Ah, did I give you a key?” he asked, now unsure what he had done in his lust-filled stupor. “I guess I must have–”

“I picked the lock.”

“What?”

He gawked at her, wide-eyed.

She ticked her chin to the console table by his door and he started, seeing a strange, brushed black leather pouch open with various pointy instruments.

“A chubby boy taught me how to pick locks in middle school in return for not ratting on him for peeping at his female classmates in the gym changing room.”

It was almost comical how fast Jungkook whipped his head around, his own black hair hitting him in the face as his jaw dropped in the stunned disbelief at this very sudden, very specific explanation of how she broke into his apartment. She nodded, looking up from the lockpicks to his shocked face.

“I found him stuffed into one of the tall lockers,” she continued calmly as if she was delivering a dry speech instead of explaining how she learned literal criminal activity. “He was being bullied by the older jocks. They would beat him up, piss on him, and then shove him into one of the tall lockers in the girls’ changing room.”

“What… the fuck…”

She shrugged. “He didn’t seem that distressed about it, because then he realized the girls liked the small lockers more than the long ones. They never opened the tall ones, so he stayed there and watched them. Wasn’t gonna do anything. Just watch them take their clothes off and put them back on. Eventually, the jock boys got bored bullying him, so he went back on his own and kept locking himself in to watch.” Her head ticked, as if remembering something. “I was in there by myself, skipping class, and I heard breathing. Yanked him out. At first, I thought he was hurt. I thought he needed help.”

Something strange flitted in her eyes.

“He didn’t want help.”

Jungkook felt an icy itch slither down his spine as he witnessed her vacant expression as she explained.

“He wanted me to go away. I told him I would tell the teachers. He said he would teach me how to pick locks then. He taught me, and I went away.” Wry laugh. Nothing was funny. “I moved back to Korea for high school. Never saw him again.”

Her eyes rose, locking with his.

Searching.

Jungkook didn’t back off.

He couldn’t figure out what wasn’t quite right behind those eyes.

She looked away, turning, gazing in the direction of his expansive windows in the living room with the sheer curtains pulled. “Did you know Papa owns this building? He owns a bunch on this block. Seems like a nice area,” she commented hollowly.

Jungkook found he despised her talking about her stepfather, even in passing. “It’s okay. I picked it because it was close to work.”

That was not the reason why he picked this apartment building.

The young Master turned away from the windows. “Do you like work?”

The reason was standing in front of him.

“I’d hate it if you weren’t there,” Jungkook confessed.

She smiled.

It felt like a mirage, too distant to be a façade.

“The world is savage, Jungkook,” she said.

Clear and simple.

He answered, steadfast.

“I’m trained to be tough, remember?”

Later when he thought about it, he was surprised that he was even able to continue this kind of conversation. He usually struggled when there was a lack of straightforwardness. Yet this moment was so surreal that it felt like a dream. Something about this moment in reality was just slightly off track, a mis-clicking gear stuttering in place, all the right pieces but having trouble syncing up.

“Careful not to get backstabbed by the one you’d take a knife for,” the young Master told him, standing in his apartment after having broken in.

Jungkook took the pause that followed.

Followed the teeth of the gear, click, click, clicking into place.

“It’s true that there are two kinds of people in this world – those that get stabbed, and the ones who do the stabbing,” he found himself saying, and he could see the wary child peek out from the tangled forest of those eyes, not yet trusting him. Maybe wouldn’t. Maybe it was too late now. “But I think there’s one more.”

She tilted her head.

“The knives.”

Her soft lips parted.

“I don’t really have any particular thoughts about anything.” He shrugged. “I don’t have any solutions to the complexities of the world. I don’t know of or understand the sides to take.” He cast his eyes down, feeling strangely guilty about it. “But… I can listen. I might not know the words to say, but I have a voice. I’m capable.”

His eyes flickered upward, to the innocent fascination that received him.

“I’m a knife.”

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, hoping he made some sense.

She smiled too, then swiftly lifted her hand, hiding her lips behind her fingers as her eyes sparkled with revived mirth, relief washing through him at the sight. Her shoulders lightly quivered.

“You’re funny.”

He pointed to himself, wide-eyed.

“M… Me?”

The surrealness fell away, suddenly in reality with his warming ears.

“A-Ah, so… why are you here, Master?” Jungkook sputtered. Had he done something? Maybe a client complained about his behavior? Maybe it was a co-worker? Or… Maybe… But before his mind could go back to memories of the dark that sung melodies of pain and pleasure, he saw the shift in her demeanor. Her hand fell, no, playfulness trickling out to vacancy, no, please, the feeling of having said the wrong thing looming over him.

“You’re right.”

Detached tone and it tore up the insides of his chest.

“I should leave.”

Her face turned away from him and suddenly he saw all the details of her appearance – her immaculate hair windswept, the ivory turtleneck molded to her neck and torso, slacks made of a heavy-weighted black fabric that were wrinkled from running, and was he so preoccupied with his attraction that he forgot to observe all the pieces of this puzzle, forget this wasn’t his version of good luck and actually meant something else–

Jungkook’s hand reached out and touched her shoulder.

She recoiled.

As if shot.

“S-Sorry!”

Pulled back his hand, panic rising in his voice, the accusation in her gaze slicing through him.

“Sorry, I…”

His chest was so tight that it was hard to breathe.

“When I asked why you were here, I didn’t mean go away,” he rambled, his fingers curling inward in the air, crumbling inside, frustrated at his heart, shaking his head quickly, running away from her cowered stance and cornered eyes.

His voice.

Stricken.

“I don’t want you to go away.”

He raised his head, afraid.

It wasn’t anger that received him. Something else. Faltering, unable to look at him. “I… I shouldn’t be here. I broke in. You should be calling the police so they can lock me up.”

His mouth went dry.

He didn’t know.

But he knew.

The young Master locked eyes with him again and he hated it, hated this poisoned guilt looking back at him, hated that her lips were moving, and hated that he knew he wouldn’t like any of the words he would soon be hearing.

“Sometimes you can only be safe from danger if you’re the one in the cage,” she breathed.

Only an exhale, because annunciating those words was the equivalent of telling a dirty secret.

He bit his lip.

Jungkook shoved his hand into his jeans pocket and yanked out the switchblade with the engraved black tiger, holding it out on his palm, angry at the complicated world and angry that he could not make that poisoned guilt disappear.

“Is he the one hurting you?” he snarled.

The young Master did the thing he was afraid of.

She shook her head.

Jungkook felt like he was bleeding out with each slow, miniscule shake. Fatigue in the form of helplessness, unable to say anything, pulling his hand back and clutching the switchblade so hard that the ridges cut into his hand. No. Of course not. And he had a hint who, which was the worst part. He slid the switchblade back into his pocket, the weight not as tangible as the stale air in his lungs as he remembered the way the old Master’s husband looked at his stepdaughter, hell, even the way the old Master glared behind her daughter’s back, her own flesh and blood.

Tentatively, he raised his hand again.

Her right hand intercepted, sliding up her sternum and up to the left side of her neck, fingers curling over her shoulder. Her eyes flickering to his, but this was simple guilt now, no longer poisoned. He stilled, right hand still outstretched, centimeters from her cheek. She tried to look away.

His shaking lips let out a weak cry.

Jungkook didn’t want his selfishness to interfere, but it was inevitable.

She stayed in this eye contact and let out a soft sigh.

“I don’t want you to see even though you know what happened in that hotel room that night,” she murmured.

He swallowed.

Hard.

Made a decision.

His left hand lifting, and Jungkook closed his eyes, covering them with his hand as his right closed the distance, stroking her jaw gently. Breathed in. Breathed out. Listened to the sound of her caught gasp, felt the way she shivered, but didn’t back away, staying still as his fingers traveled, running his thumb over her lower lip. Involuntary shudder, remembering the insistence that mouth possessed, and he too wanted to be possessed again, lightly pressing his fingertips into her cheek, imploring.

Her body shifted.

Stepping closer.

His hand fell, covering hers over her shoulder.

“That’s none of my business,” Jungkook whispered.

Somehow, she understood.

Her hand slipped out from under his. He held his breath, seeing only the inside of his eyelids. Her hand came back, fingers wrapping around his, stroking his knuckles. Sank her fingernails in. He gasped, her name savored by his tongue like a delicate sweet, and she leaned in, bringing her heat and that carnal insistence, kissing him deeply in the darkness he created.

“Shh…”

Wrists bound with natural-fiber rope. So simple, the knot between them wound around several times and then brought up with another square knot, tied securely to a large lasso around the square base of the extremely heavy travertine coffee table.

Your fingers ghosted over the straining arms.

One heavily inked all the way to the shoulder. One clean save for a mole in the inner upper arm.

You leaned down and pressed your lips to that mole.

Licked it, dripping saliva and blowing on it. A cool stream over hot skin taut over hard muscle that shivered at the change in temperature. You continued kissing, down, down. Over collarbones sticking out due to the arms pulled upward. Over the shaking throat, hearing muffled shudders under the white towel placed over the head.

Your panties were stuffed into his mouth, partly overflowing to create a small pocket of air between the nose and towel.

Your fingers crept under the towel, pushing it up a little, and traced his lower lip, knowing there was a small mole underneath them, at the center. Wiped away his spit. Cleaned him up. Pulled your hand out and dragged your nails down his neck in the process. A small whine that clearly indicated syllables. A word.

Harder.

You raised your naked body and slid down, sinking your fingernails into Jeon Jungkook’s shaking chest and scratched him with your pointed, almond-shaped manicure, leaving behind angry red lines, growling deep in your throat.

His wanton moan under you, familiar and grounding.

You breathed out.

Calm now.

“You want me to be addicted to inflicting pain?” you dreamily sighed, question hazy like smoke, rolling your shoulders as you pulsed your slick pussy lips against his hard length that you had been sitting on for a while now. “That’s a dangerous game to play, Jeon Jungkook.”

His fingers curled into fists, muscular arms quivering, deliciously whimpering.

His head was on his living room rug, but the rest of his body was on the unforgiving hardwood. A jumble of clothes beside your bodies, along with two other things. You were straddling his hips. Slid back, jamming his stiff length in between his thighs forced together by yours pressing inward, rubbing your wet heat against the shaft, coating him with your juices.

You toyed with his nipple as you mused.

“I was not surprised your had condoms, but I was surprised that you had a cock ring.”

You flicked the small nub repeatedly, running your nail over it, feeling it harden under the pad of your finger. Abused the other one too, listening to his snuffed gasps and seeing his arms buckle, pulling at the rope. The travertine table did not move, of course. Licked your finger and pressed your saliva to his irritated skin to add a new sensation, slow circles agonizingly tender as you rolled your hips. You deliberately kept your pussy away from stimulating the head of his cock.

Then you pinched his nipple, hard, making him cry out at the harshness.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You lifted your lower body, reaching for a condom in the pile.

“Do you touch yourself and think about that night in the basement?”

He moaned desperately when he heard your rip the packaging open.

“Do you jack yourself off with the cock ring on, abusing yourself and wishing it was me?”

You picked up the silicone circle, surprised at the firmness. It had only a little give. A slight adjustment of your legs and you looked down, his twitching cock glossy with your slick, the dark red tip leaking pre-cum.

You leaned down.

Licked it.

Without the stabilization of a hand, his rigid length slipped, smearing pre-cum onto your cheek and bouncing wildly. A stifled sob shuddered under the white towel. Begging. You licked again, intentionally messy and not enough stimulation, tasting your vicious sweetness mixed with the strong bodily flavor of his pre-cum.

Jungkook whined, the sound vibrating in his chest.

You snaked your tongue around the head and collected it into your mouth.

Stopped.

Just covered the throbbing head with your soft lips and stilled, holding the condom in one hand and the cock ring in the other. Warmed it with your saliva, spit running down the length as seconds tick, tick, ticked by.

The whine morphed into inaudible pleas, his back arching, chest flexed, arms locked, muffled cries of your name to move, suck, do anything, anything at all, but you simply kept him in a warm, wet sleeve, not even the length but only the twitching head that was leaking more and more, tongue pressed to the underside to stimulate the thin skin and keep him hard.

The towel began to slip as his head tipped back.

You removed your mouth.

He barely had time to gasp before you seized his cock, squeezing roughly, his gasp shooting into a pained groan.

“Watch the towel.”

He made a subservient noise of agreement, lowering his chin again.

You let your breath out.

Gripped his thick girth and rolled the condom down, slowly, steadying your heartbeat to even. Taking your time. Pressed two fingers to the base and slid the cock ring over the latex, additional lubricant making it easy, closing your eyes as Jungkook quietly sniffed under you, relenting to your pace.

“Shhhh…” you murmured.

Soft and gentle and delicate, your thighs rising from his, leisurely opening your eyes as you lowered yourself again, relishing in the way his whole body shook and tightened when your pussy wrapped around him, swallowing his cock on one smooth stroke.

You glided your hands up his abdomen, not yet moving your hips.

His begging was silenced by his own teeth clamping down on your panties, his neck glistening with sweat and strain.

You spat on his stomach.

Jungkook’s entire body lurched, suffocated choke of your name striking the air.

You slapped your palm down onto the saliva and raked your fingernails over his side, bucking your hips with the slash and sending his body into a frenzy, shock and pain and pleasure barreling into him all at once. His hips jerked up and you slammed your hips down, fucking him into the floor with your knees to wood, switching between clawing his torso and pinning him down to fuck him harder, chasing, chasing the rush and the ecstasy, adrenaline high rippling through you with his swelling girth threatening to stretch you out, but you clenched your core and all around him, your sweet slick mixing your spit on his balls, loud smacks of hips to hips echoing throughout Jungkook’s apartment.

You wrapped one hand around his neck.

You fucked him right there, on his hardwood floor.

White towel over his face and his depraved moans distorted by your panties shoved into his lips and your hand gripping his throat. Tighter, blood thinning and oxygen not enough, his chest aflame with red lines, muscular body straining against the rope, writhing to fuck you back and get that agonizing depth, and you raised your other hand, scraping your fingernails against his now-reddened, hard nipples, causing him to howl and cry out, closing in his biceps to his head and holding the towel down over his face, black hair flaring out, wild and insane, your name torn unwillingly from his throat.

You felt his cock jerk and his hips froze.

“Oh?”

You clenched above and below, feeling the hardness twitch uncontrollably.

A distressed whine from under the towel and quivering, bulging arms.

“Came already, even with the cock ring?” you hummed, letting go of his neck. No outright disapproval. Just a hint. It was enough, maybe even better for him. You could tell by the despair radiating from the muffled sounds, the upper half of his chest flushing pink.

The corner of your lips ticked upwards.

“Shhh.”

You patted his hard pecs, the ricocheting heartbeat under your palm as you lifted yourself off his slightly softening cock, still maintaining some hardness due to the choke of the cock ring. You removed both, careful with the condom so to not spill the milky liquid inside.

Set the sticky cock ring beside his crumpled jeans.

Leaned over and folded back the bottom half of the towel, exposing the tip of a nose and swollen pink lips with your black lace panties crammed into them, the fabric now saturated from his drool. You tugged at the makeshift gag and his jaw unlocked, gasping as you pulled it out, silver lip ring on the edge of that sinning mouth trembling.

You pressed your thumb to the small mole right below his mouth.

Rolled the pad of your finger, nicking his lower lip with your nail, dragging it down.

“Open up.”

So obedient.

Waiting, soft pink tongue so inviting in the darkness.

“Let’s be dirty together,” you whispered, voice rough from the wrongness of what you were about to do.

Jungkook whimpered in agreement.

You spat into his mouth.

He moaned, runny clear liquid sliding down his tongue, gulping awkwardly, his lips still somewhat open from your hand gripping his chin. You forced his jaw open even more, hooking your index finger into the inviting darkness, pressing onto his teeth.

Then you poured the contents of the condom into his mouth.

His own cum and traces of used lube, wringing the condom as his body jerked, disbelieving gurgle at the taste, unformed questions beneath your grip, but you dove down with a starving hiss, releasing his chin and covering his mouth with yours, thrusting your tongue inside to drink it too, cum and saliva and the bitter hint of latex, turning his shocked cries into guttural groans, your hand over his eyes, pinning the towel down as your tongue-fucked him.

The only thing that made the tainted taste bearable was the sweetness of saliva and the high of orgasm.

His cock slapped against your thigh, already hard again.

Sweat was soaking through the towel, damping your palm.

You yanked the white towel up, pulling it away from his face as your body turned, dropping the used condom and picking up another, swinging your leg around his waist to face the other way. Wiped your hand with the towel, throwing it aside carelessly when you were done. Not going to bother with the cock ring this time.

You ripped open the condom.

Slid it down his purple-red, throbbing length and then sat on it, immediately starting a harsh, intense pace.

Behind you, a thin gasp and then a ripple of tension over his body, traveling down his torso that your calves were pressed against, to his legs, hard thighs clutched in your hands, snapping your hips and clawing at the inside of his shaking legs, jaw clenched, fucking him, chasing your high. Closer. Closer to between his legs, scratching him so hard that you marked up that tan skin, closer.

You gripped his balls and closed in your knuckles, hard.

Jungkook cut off his own pitched, obscene moan, reducing it to a stifled scream behind closed lips.

You tightened your core and smacked your ass down into his crotch, over and over, putting your power into your hips and just enough to your hand, keeping him in the immobile enclosure of your rigid fingers, clenching your jaw and feeling the rise, the climb to the high, every second another click, click, clicking gears of this misfit toy intoxicated by savagery.

Grasped the inside of his thigh, tipping your head back with a hazy moan as you left red crescents of pain.

Jungkook wailed behind gritted teeth, thrown into painful ecstasy.

The pleasure snaked to every nerve. Electrifying, oppressive, brutal bliss with the locking of your hips, pulsating flinches constricting around twitching hardness. Once again pumping a condom full. Your grip on him loosening, so good, losing yourself in wave after shuddering wave of hazy orgasm as you ran your palms up and down his inflamed thighs, irritated lines raised from the points of your nails dug too deep.

His muscles were tense and shaking, struggling to come down and uncurl his toes.

What have I done?

She fell.

The movement was so swift that Jungkook didn’t notice until it was too late.

Her back arched gracefully, left arm shooting out, grabbing the switchblade from the pocket of his jeans and yanking, her other arm arcing back even faster, grabbing one of his bound wrists and then her fingers glided to the joined knot between them.

Her shoulder blades touched his shivering pecs.

She sliced clean through the rope with a single flick.

Jungkook gasped, startled at the speed and dexterity. His arms smacked to the floor, pins and needles radiating due to his wrists becoming suddenly slack with no support, the shreds of rope scattering. She sheathed the blade and threw it back on his jeans.

Panted on top of his heaving chest.

His cock was slipping out, but the soreness and heat of the marks she left kept his afterglow at an all-time high, hazy and delusional and running on fumes. His forehead was sweaty. His back was sweaty. There was definitely a puddle of cum and saliva under his ass, sticky and cooling. His arms were aching, not from the tension of the rope but the tension of himself, stressed from keeping his whole body taut to prevent himself from moving too much, leaving himself at the mercy of unpredictable pain and pleasure.

It was torture.

It was the best.

He peeled his right arm off the rug and settled it over her collarbones, holding her left shoulder. Shuddering, the brutal bliss ebbing against his will. Staring at the ceiling of his apartment, wondering what the fuck he had just done.

Jungkook felt light fingertips ghosting over his trembling, hard forearm.

“You have scars.”

Soft breath and tone, just for him.

He did.

“Y-Yeah…”

He placed his left arm over his eyes, puffing heavily from exertion.

“I got thrown out a window.”

She touched the back of his hand, tracing the lines of his tattoos and the whispers of healed wounds.

“A long time ago, when I was a teenager. It was an older building, my high school. The windows were basically just thin panes of old-ass glass. No reinforcement on the first level, so I didn’t break any bones, but I got really sliced up.” He chuckled airlessly, pressing her to his sweaty body. “I was fighting.”

“About what?”

The irony was too real.

“I slept with some guy’s girlfriend, apparently.”

Curious inquiry. “Apparently?”

He snorted. “She failed to let me know beforehand. But, for some reason, it was my fault more than hers and I’m the one that got beat up. Go figure.”

Her hand settled on his wrist, fingertips resting on his knuckles.

“I knocked him out after crashing through the window. My taekwondo teacher always told me that learning martial arts was not about hurting others, but this guy threw me out the window, so I got tired of holding back and made him eat dirt. After that, I took up boxing lessons too. Just ‘cause.”

Her body vibrated under his arm.

She was laughing, laying on top of him, naked body to naked body.

“You’re funny, Jungkook.”

“Why do you like it?”

He was shirtless and eating out of the ice cream tub with a spoon. “What?”

You tilted your head at him.

“The sadism.”

Jungkook turned bright red despite the hefty chunk of ice cream he just shoved into his mouth. Choked and whipped his head away, dragging himself and the chocolate ice cream that had a whole lot of things in it that could only be described as the components of a small diabetes bomb. You craned your head to try and see around that broad back. There was an odd fleshy sound and then a wheezing gulp. He whipped around, face still shockingly scarlet, awkwardly laughing, jamming the lid back on the cold-sweet-death confection.

The spoon clattered into the sink.

“T-That’s–”

You looked at him, confused.

“That’s–D-Do you hate it?” he blurted. Black strands tousled and curled around his cheeks. His long hair was a mess. The floor wasn’t, not anymore. You asked what to do to help, but Jungkook instead took you to the bathroom and gave you a fluffy white towel from a linen closet. By the time you had come out, the traces of rope and cum were gone. Wiped away, as if it had never happened. Your clothes had been folded in a neat pile, set carefully onto the coffee table.

You had put them on as you heard Jungkook moving around in the kitchen.

Your panties were in the trash can.

They couldn’t be saved.

In contrast, Jungkook was in gray sweatpants and no shirt. He was probably commando too, but you didn’t ask or look.

You frowned at his question. “I don’t–”

I don’t do things I hate.

You stopped speaking.

That’s not true.

You looked away, furrowing your brow. “I don’t hate it,” you said firmly. That much was true. “I like it with you.” You tucked your tongue in your cheek, thinking. “It’s different.” And now you were realizing it was different. You have had shameless, mindless, pointless sex. Of course. This much money and nothing but time to kill when your mother had her back turned and ass up? Naturally, you took advantage of the situation. Got yourself into tangled limbs and dubious positions. Nothing was shocking anymore. Nothing and no one tasted good.

Except Yoongi.

Because…

You shook your head quickly, cutting the thought off.

Jungkook called your name and you looked up, surprised it had sounded so far away for a moment. So far away, but you dragged yourself back to Jungkook and the questions in his eyes.

You found yourself taken aback as a new thought popped into your head.

“I like hurting you because you want it,” you breathed. “Because it’s not an internal emptiness you are trying to fill. You just like the idea of me in complete control of you and your body.”

And then, the question.

“Why?”

His fingers on the ice cream carton tightened. He was a lot less red now. Large brown eyes shifting. Light shrug that consisted of a single lift of his right shoulder, the black mandala inked there gleaming under the overheard lights from his movement.

Jungkook found your eyes again.

You stared into those clear irises.

You had become so accustomed to the ways of the world where everyone shot everybody. So used to always scrambling for ammo to load your gun, so familiar to your silence so no one had any bullets to use against you, so used to war as second nature when money was the terrible master, and you had become so accustomed to it that you forgot that not everyone was a servant.

Not everyone was hiding something in order to step on others.

You were born into this game. You toyed with the players because you learned that, if you didn’t, bad things would happen. You had to become the snake that charmed without a charmer. Alluring enough to slide by on good graces, dangerous enough to warrant a warning label, and always keeping everyone guessing what your next move was.

You had to become an object of wonder to survive.

But, when Jungkook looked at you, he put this misfit toy on the other side of wonder.

“Are you ever in complete control of anything, Master?”

“Daughter, I don’t understand. What is the big deal? I don’t say anything about you coming to work and then disappearing during the night, but, you know, he does notice. This is such a small thing you can do you settle his nerves. How many times have you done it? Come on. You can help me out once again. He’s becoming so irrational and ridiculous. You have the power to control him.”

“I’m not going to fuck him, Mother,” his stepsister spat coldly, saying the last word like it was a venereal disease.

Yoongi froze in the dark hallway, staring at the crack of light from the ajar door.

“Hah, I keep telling you, don’t say it like that,” his stepmother cooed, sounding like she had slapped her palm with her other hand in slight exasperation. “That’s so vulgar and uncouth. That’s not what this is.”

He had been slinking around the family mansion, trying to find her. The moment right before he left the living room kept repeating in his mind for days. He couldn’t focus on music. He couldn’t go out and drink at shitty bars. He couldn’t look at the Han River without wanting to throw himself in those dark churning waters, all because of the last time he and his stepsister made eye contact.

He didn’t give a shit what his father did to him.

And yet.

He saw his father’s hand on his stepsister and didn’t say anything about it.

What was there to say?

Yoongi did the same thing to her, only worse.

The glaring revelation closed him off. He saw the hurt in her eyes when he ran and yet he still ran, ran and ran and ran, thinking about nothing until he was locked in his music studio, surrounded by soju bottles, and then all that liquid streaming down his checks wasn’t alcohol, because all four bottles were empty.

“You’re so full of shit.”

The hostile snarl sliced through his thoughts.

Yoongi realized that he had never heard his stepsister angry before. Known she was angry, yes, but she had always maintained composure when she was in his presence. He had never heard her voice fanged with malice, every word festering hatred.

Never.

An icy itch slithered down his spine.

“Oh, because putting your husband’s dick in my mouth isn’t vulgar and uncouth. That’s something, especially after your doctor’s appointment.”

“Ugh, I’m aware and I’ll have that taken care of,” was the dismissive reply. “Let’s not get too technical. I will be beside you the entire time. Haven’t I always kept a roof over your head? Besides, these kinds of men are stupid and easy. He will last seconds. You’ll practically do nothing.”

“A fuckin’ doghouse would have been preferred over those motel roofs. And why are you even asking me? The Master can’t do it alone?”

His stepmother was beginning to sound annoyed, the cloying façade crumbling at the mocking. “How many dirty, pill-popping addicts have you let cum in you? You are being selfish and not thinking about the big picture. I am trying to keep this family in one piece. This kind of thing is so small in the grand scheme of things. Tch, can’t you see this from my perspective?”

Yoongi backed away from the door.

Silently, quickly, turning and walking fast. His heartbeat roaring in his ears, wishing it was loud enough to drown out the words from his memory even though he knew they were true, even though he could see it between wordless gazes and inappropriate touches, even though he had said it himself, accused outright, hoping.

Hoping his stepsister would vehemently argue that no such thing was going on.

She never did.

He had hoped that she enjoyed it, hoped he could hate her and wash his hands free.

Instead, she enjoyed his hands, his touch, his kiss.

Yoongi stopped at the end of the hallway, now standing in the foyer with the large windows and crystal skylight high above. Bright and airy. Expensive and vapid. The sun’s hazy rays streamed down all around him, diffused from the faceted glass.

He turned back and faced the dark hallway.

Called her name.

Waited.

“Don’t pretend. You don’t give a shit about this family. You’re here to get some ammo to load your gun so you can enjoy holding it against that old man’s head as he pays you an even fatter alimony to keep your mouth shut. What do you think I am? Pretty and stupid? You have been trying to trap me in this childlike mindset even as a grown adult. How convenient it would be if I believed you? If only I take this bait and do what you want so I can be just…”

Pausing to let the damage sink in.

“Like…”

Taking the moment to drive the knife in deeper.

“You?”

You backed up and turned around, hearing Yoongi yell your name again, louder this time.

“You’re miserable and fake, inside and out.”

You didn’t look back to see at you mother’s infuriated face. Didn’t hear her hissing at you to apologize, instead kicking the door wide open and stalking down the hallway in deliberate, large strides, white-hot anger scorching your veins, nearly colliding into Yoongi when you turned the corner. Gelled back, red-orange hair and all black outfit of a ripped denim jacket, designer t-shirt, and paint-stained jeans.

All of your fury dissipated once you saw him.

You cocked an eyebrow.

“What’s with you? Miss this that much, hm?”

You stuck your tongue out and smirked around it.

And you suddenly stopped, seeing his face. Something stricken across his sharp features caused your hesitation, pulling your tongue back. You had never seen this hopelessness before, especially not from Yoongi who was one that discarded everything and everyone with distrust. It must have only been milliseconds, but it was so potent in his expression that it was unmistakable.

Yoongi grabbed your left wrist so tightly that the glass beads of the chain bracelet you wore sharply pinched your skin.

“Come with me,” he breathed.

You felt your body lurch with his power and suddenly you were walking fast and he was walking faster, pushing past maids and butlers who pretended nothing happened, pushing past people living in the motto of better to feign blindness than to know, pushing past the sheep. He clutched your wrist like it was his lifeline. It hurt, but not in an unpleasant way. Confusion rippled through you and yet you let it happen, taking twice as many steps in your high heels and tight minidress, constricted by lace sleeves and a ruffled, high collar. All-black, just like him.

A pair of funeral-goers, maybe.

Apt for this household.

He practically dragged you down the stairs to the large garage with too many cars, shoving your keys from his pocket into your hand.

“Yoongi–”

He yanked your caviar leather cardholder out of his other jacket pocket and flashed it, jerking his chin to your vehicle.

“Get in.”

He didn’t have your cellphone and you didn’t ask him if he had it.

Your car unlocked as you neared the door handle. You got in, seeing your stepbrother throw himself into the passenger’s seat. Snapped the car door closed and tapped the button, whipping your head to him as the car hummed to life.

“I’m not your personal chauffeur, bro–”

“Please drive.”

You froze.

Yoongi was breathing hard, staring straight ahead.

“Please, drive and get us the fuck away from this house.”

You shut up and backed out of your spot. Put your foot on the accelerator and drove, just drove, Yoongi’s please ringing in your ears, taking a leaf out of his book and fuckin’ booking it out of there.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #misfit toys au

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mostlydeadallday · 11 months

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Lost Kin | Chapter XXXIII | With Clear Eyes

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: referenced abuse, referenced self-harm, gore, body horror AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXXIII | With Clear Eyes First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Chronological Notes: Surprise chapter time! I just finished writing chapters 42 and 43, so since my buffer is filled back up to 10 chapters, I decided to post early. Posting is likely to slow down again until at least the end of July, as summer events mean I'll likely have less time to write, but I'm getting to some big developments now and I hope you'll all enjoy them as much as I do.

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“Hornet?”

She jerked round, eyes focusing from what seemed like a great distance.

This was not the first time Quirrel had said her name.

Alarm pulsed in her head. True, he seemed trustworthy enough, but allowing herself to become distracted was one thing, and dozing off across the kitchen table from a near-stranger was another.

“What,” she said, rather more sharply than she intended. There was an edge of a snarl in it, a roughness that rattled her fangs, something she could not quite keep back.

Quirrel did not so much as bristle. Perhaps she was not as intimidating as she thought. Or, more likely, he was just hard to intimidate. “You were saying,” he reminded her, without a hint of reproach, “that you were told they did not feel pain.”

“I was.”

She sat silent for a moment, but nothing more came. Nothing but a slow-building, churning realization that rolled over her like a cold wave.

Hollow’s panic the day before returned to her, the sensation of watching them descend into terror, the look in their eyes growing wilder and wilder and the tension drawing them tight as a bowstring.

She had known her questions would distress them. They did not seem confident in their own ability to speak, especially when she wanted more of them than simple, immediate answers. She had wanted more, and they had tried to give it to her, bending to the breaking point merely because she asked.

But she suspected it was less the experience of being questioned—or not only that—and more the questions themselves.

You were told they did not feel pain.

How much pain you are in now?

If she had been told that they did not feel, they must have been told the same. Heard it from a dozen mouths, repeated as a fact beyond questioning, driven home by every casual cruelty and unthinking assumption.

And if, in spite of that, they did feel…

They had not expressed it. They had not exposed the lie. They’d had no voice, no language for their pain, until she had given it to them. And even now, they chose not to speak of it, chose to smother their own suffering rather than let go of the falsehood they’d been told. Told again and again, until every spark of pain must have seemed like weakness, every ache and twinge a sin, a stain on the vision of perfection their father had created.

No wonder they did not speak of it.

The Pure Vessel does not speak.

Another lie—though not precisely. The implication had been that not only did they not choose to break their silence, they were incapable of it. To speak at all—that must seem another trap sprung, another iron cage closing over their head. Their voice had been taken from them entirely; to be given another must, in their mind, run at odds with their purpose, their very identity.

What else had they been told? What else had they heard over and over, what other lies had been forced into their mind, into their soul, until they believed they were the one in the wrong?

Hornet blinked again, to clear her burning eyes, and the room came back into focus, the sharp, squared edges of the lumaflies’ light drawn in blue-white squares across the counter and the floor.

Quirrel had not looked away.

When she took a breath and could find nothing but anger burning bright behind her tongue, he held up a hand. “Perhaps we should have this conversation at a later date?”

“No,” she snapped, then turned her head to stare at the floor. “No,” she said again, softer. “I don’t—they shouldn’t hear this. It would only distress them.”

The cricket tipped his head, and when he spoke it was with genuine interest, a gentler thing than skepticism. “Why?”

Anger surged again, stinging like venom in her mouth, and the thoughtless words that she choked back seemed to sizzle. This was not an appropriate response to the question, but she was exhausted—she could admit that, if only to herself.

Once she had swallowed down her first response, and then her second, she finally trusted herself to speak.

“You saw that I taught them a sign for pain,” she said. “As well as for a range of amounts.”

“I did.”

“What you did not see was what resulted when I asked them to use those signs.”

Quirrel was silent, plainly curious, but she had to wrestle with the words before she could get them out.

“They can answer simple, factual questions quickly. Anything beyond that produces a long delay. I’ve tried to be patient with them, give them plenty of time to answer.” A steadying breath, and then she continued. “But when I asked about their pain, they… they panicked.”

Nothing, for a long moment. Quirrel seemed to be resisting prompting her, though one finger was tapping on the countertop at a slowly increasing speed. Hornet swallowed. The revelation she’d just had seemed clear in her mind, though when she tried to place words to it, it eluded her.

She tried anyway. “They have been… hesitant with me. Especially at first. The longer they are here, however, the more I see what they have kept hidden.” A pause, another deep sigh. “I do not believe they were meant to feel pain. Much as they were never intended to speak, or to think. They must have heard that as often as I, and perhaps begun to believe it.”

That was a decent explanation, though it didn’t express the choking roil of anger toward her father for his blindness toward her sibling, or herself, for perpetuating it. Irrelevant, and not something she wished to share. She finished with a shrug of her tense shoulders. “Their pain is, I believe, one of many things they dearly wish to hide.”

“I see.” His finger tapped faster.

“Do you?” she pressed. “Though I am not proud to admit it, this conclusion has taken me the better part of a week to reach. It is not one that I have come to lightly. And it has cost them much, in the meantime.”

He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head, his antennae briefly dipping downward. “It may only be easier for a newcomer to perceive. With clear eyes, as it were. But please”—and here he spread his hands in invitation—“continue. What, precisely, has it cost them?”

“I will get there. Be patient.” She clicked her fangs, making him wait a moment before she began again where she had left off.

She told Quirrel of her first fumbling attempts to heal her sibling, their panic at being forced to drain her soul, the ordeal of getting them into bed. The chandelier incident the next morning seemed important, in hindsight, so she related it in detail, only pausing to pick out a thought that occurred to her.

“I assumed, at the time, that they intended to find me and keep me in their sight, since they had displayed an urge to protect me the night before.” She chewed on the end of one fang, absently cleaning an overlooked smear of hemolymph from the tip. She’d already decided that was surely not the only reason they had attempted to find her, given how much they feared being left alone—but she had seen enough other instances of their protective instincts to convince her that their fears were not the only thing that drove them. Perhaps both were bound up together, their fears and desires intertwined, much like any other living thing. “I’ve since learned that they become agitated when left alone, and only calm when I return and stay nearby.”

Attempting to explain how she was able to judge Hollow’s moods seemed like an exercise in futility—the signs were so subtle, and she still worried that she misinterpreted them—so when Quirrel inquired, she shook her head. “It would be better if you saw for yourself. I would value an unbiased opinion.”

When he agreed, she continued on, describing the lengthy process of cleaning Hollow’s wounds and shell, and finding them asleep afterward.

Quirrel stopped her. “This has happened more than once, then?”

“They have fallen asleep while I bathed them twice, and once more just before you arrived, while I was simply holding them. It… seems to help.”

“And no wonder,” he mused. At her questioning look, he continued. “If they derive comfort from touch, the same as many mortal bugs, and have been deprived of it for an extended length of time, the symptoms that arise can be severe.”

“Symptoms?”

Quirrel shifted in his chair. “Well. Loneliness, certainly. Heightened anxiety. Difficulty sleeping. I’ve heard it said that touch can lessen pain, as well.”

That might explain why they had been desperate enough to ask for her to touch them, even after she had hurt them so.

She had much to make up for.

Somewhat distantly, she told him of the night she had taught them their first signs, relating her questions and their answers as best she could remember. She cringed when she recalled asking them what had happened at the temple; they had clearly been upset at that, perhaps reminded of events they did not wish to relive, and she had taken it for a threat, concerned only for her own safety, seeing all of their strength but none of their terror.

“I left the next morning to hunt, as my supplies were growing scarce. Before I did so, I told them to stay still until I returned.” She heaved a sigh, a simmer of frustration rising in her chest. “I was gone the better part of the day. By the time I arrived here, they were visibly distressed, and their physical condition had worsened. I’d noticed that morning that the infection had spread, but when I touched them, their shell was warmer than mine. And they acted as if they were fevered—shivering, panting at times, perhaps in an attempt to cool themselves.”

“Fascinating,” Quirrel murmured, and did not look up from his notes to meet the glare she arrowed his way. “My experience with other vessels is limited, as is yours, I suspect, but when I brushed by their shell, they were always cool, verging on cold, to the touch. It could even be felt a short distance away, like a block of ice in warm air.”

Hornet left his assumption where it lay, though she had far more experience with vessels than he could ever guess. And yes—they had always been cold, startlingly so, colder than a corpse, colder than the misted walls of the tunnels in the deeper reaches of the kingdom, and the void she spilled was colder still, so cold that it stung, that it sank into her shell like the touch of a flame-bright iron.

They had marked her, though there was nothing left of them. There were some scars she knew she might never shed, and she thought quietly that that was the least she deserved.

Given the choice, she would have left them alone, but she had been made intimately aware of the consequences should she do so, and so she had learned, against her will, how to hunt, and trap, and kill, and unmake them.

Never anything useful. Nothing that could help her with a vessel whose shade was chained to their body, who had endured far past when their mask should have shattered in two.

Nothing that could save their life, instead of end it.

Quirrel had been rambling, something about infection, and its effects on the body, and different species of hosts, and she listened dully until he ran down like clockwork and sat tapping his charcoal again, oblivious to her chilly silence at the other end of the table.

“But that is neither here nor there,” he concluded, which Hornet privately agreed with, especially since she had heard none of it. “If we assume their natural state is something similar to the other vessel I encountered, we can deduce that fever would be as damaging to them as any other bug—perhaps more so.”

“As I thought,” Hornet muttered. “They continued to deteriorate until the next morning. They were sluggish and seemed only half-aware.”

As she paused, considering how to approach what she must tell him next, the sensation of acid flooding over her hands came back to her, and the hideous pop of a blister breaking under her knife. Once again, the meal in her stomach threatened to make a second appearance.

She pressed a fist to her throat and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to recall anything more, any of the half-smothered twitches she had ignored as she cut her sibling open, or the void trickling down their back, cold as a glacial stream when she dipped her fingers in, or the smell—gods forgotten, the smell—

“I need a moment,” she managed, and leaned forward to rest her face on the table, blocking out the hard light, and the soft, distinct shapes of Quirrel’s shorthand, and the shellwood case sitting just out of reach, with its cold blades and velvet lining laid out so neatly, like an argument that would take her apart.

Hornet clenched her jaw and fisted her hands between her horns and was still, as still as she could be with every muscle straining to hold her together, not truly still at all but quivering with a useless, burning tension that she had trained out of herself long ago. It was all she could do, when every breath felt like hauling on an anchor chain, when her heart pulsed clumsily in her throat like something half-swallowed.

She would not throw up. Not least because losing the first fresh catch she had had in days would be an egregious waste of resources. Worse, it would be pathetic, and it would be pathetic where someone else could see, where he could see. She was already half-waiting for him to walk out the door, had expected it long before now, once her helplessness and desperation became apparent. There was no reason for him to stay, and yet he was still here. Anything she did might push him away, and she halfway wanted to bite and scratch until she struck whatever weakness was enough to send him running.

Few like him would be fool enough to reach out to a wounded killer.

Had she gone feral? Had all these years alone reduced her to nothing but her basest instincts? She was more than that, she was—

No. She was a lie, everything she knew of herself had been a lie, a pretty skin to hide the rotten core beneath. She was only what she had been made into, what served her mother, her father, and that was nothing now, both of them gone, both of them no use to her, nothing was any use anymore—

A hand on her shoulder.

She recoiled, curling away from him at the same time that her head came up and her fangs flashed out, extending into the harsh light to show him just how vicious she was, just how ready to be the beast the world had made of her.

“Easy.” Quirrel backed up against the counter behind him, the hand that had touched her now raised in supplication. “Easy, Hornet, it’s only—”

“Did I not ask for a moment,” she hissed, the words garbled by her extended mandibles, and immediately regretted it, with the way his antennae sagged down against his back, his arm drooping until his hand dangled once more at his side.

Yet rather than snap back in kind, or cower under her threat, he stood there, displaying no anger, no fear—nothing, damn it all, besides a hint of curiosity.

Did he never let go of that spark? That foolish warmth, that dim, trembling light that made him look at the world and expect more wonder than grief?

“You did,” he said at last. “You did ask. I am sorry.”

When a moment passed filled with nothing but her strained breath and the soft buzz of the lumaflies against the glass, he shook his head and huffed, the sound more than half a laugh. “You know, for a scholar’s apprentice, I never did learn very fast.”

It was unfair: unfair to him, when all he had done was what any decent person would do, and unfair to her, to place the blame for this failure on something other than her own foolish pride and her own rage that had no target now, nowhere to go but out.

And still, and still, she couldn’t make herself speak, couldn’t force out even a broken apology, with the beat of her heart still filling up her throat and the fear smothering her like a silk-shroud.

What she did at last was fold her mandibles away. Draw back the venom that made every breath rasp wetly through her fangs. Relax enough to straighten her shoulders. Shrug her cloak stiffly back into place.

When she trusted herself not to snap again, she said quietly, “I accept your apology,” as if she was not the one who should be asking the same.

Quirrel took no offense—or, at least, none that she could see. He did look at her a little sideways, as if she were the thing behind glass, beating herself ragged against the confines of the world. “I’m glad.”

Something odd twisted in her chest. What did he see, to make him look at her like that? If anything, he was the one worth studying. Why would he be the first to apologize? Why would he admit to wrong so easily, when she had made him pay so dearly for it?

It felt strange, and it was uncomfortable, and so she pushed it away for later, along with all the other things she’d never revisit.

That list was growing uncomfortably long.

She composed herself, lowering her shoulders and straightening her back and not acknowledging that Quirrel still stood at her side, waiting for something more than she could give him, some conclusion to an exchange she’d much rather ignore.

“I’m ready to continue.”

○

Quirrel took the hint. He returned to his chair and sank slowly into it, wiping a black smudge on his abandoned kerchief before taking up his charcoal.

He had to watch Hornet feign a poise he knew she did not feel, withdrawing behind a remove that she built up stone by heavy stone. The effort would likely not have been so obvious were she any less exhausted, any less worn down. He suspected she was used to being unassailable, a lone fortress looking down upon the world from the safety of her own detachment. That was certainly the impression she’d given the first time they met, although that impression had undoubtedly been aided by her ambushing him from a clifftop.

Still, she’d been cold then, as cold and as harsh as the constant gale that scoured his chitin, driving sharp-edged, glittering sand into every seam and weakness. She was barely a whisper of that now, and she was outright gentle with her sibling, lowering her voice and her guard both when she spoke to them.

Was she aware of it, he wondered? Was she even aware of the visible attempt she was making to resist it, her façade snapping back into place as soon as she turned to speak to him?

“I concluded that their fever would likely not resolve until I drained the infection from their body.” Her words almost faltered, but not quite. “I explained to them what I needed to do, and why. I ordered them to lie still, and—”

A brief pause, as she choked back something that sounded suspiciously wet, either a sob or whatever remained of that second tiktik. Neither option seemed like something she would want attention drawn to, so Quirrel kept his eyes firmly on the page.

Much as he wanted to reach out to her. Much as he wanted to apologize for asking her to relive this. This confession was, perhaps, lancing a wound of its own, and he was loath to interrupt it even to offer comfort—comfort that, he had to admit, she would not likely take.

A gust of breath, an aborted sigh, and Hornet found the strength to continue.

“I started with their back. The damage was less, there, and… and it was easier to deal with.” She sounded pained, and he noticed that she did not say why, although he thought he knew. “The acid had eroded much of the skin and muscle beneath the plate structure. It… was difficult to tell where to stop.” A harsh creak which, when he glanced up without lifting his head, he realized had come from the shell of her arms where her claws had clamped down.

She didn’t relax, only bowed farther forward, shoulders creeping up again, eyes distant, fixed somewhere beyond him.

“The blisters were layered, one atop another. They had pushed the shell open, deformed it. I had to… to cut away pieces of it to reach the infection, to see everything underneath.”

Hornet scrubbed one hand over her face with a rough scrape of leather pawpads over bone. Quirrel clenched his mandibles shut and kept writing, despite his own growing sense of unease.

Not unease, exactly. Or not only. No, there was something rising beneath that, a guilt and horror that were, if not equal to hers, then a mirror of it.

He knew. Oh, he knew what she felt, and it terrified him, and he had become very good at denying it. The things he’d seen, the things he’d been complicit in—he was not near as brave as she was, to air them so readily. He hid from his grief, and she met it head-on, snarling.

It was winning, but at least she had the courage to try.

“I know I went too deep. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t. They were bleeding, the shell I cut wasn’t dead, and I—”

Her voice crackled and split like kindling, and she breathed out hard, but kept going. “I-I didn’t know. I didn’t know that they could feel it. They never flinched, or—or I didn’t notice. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I know I wasn’t. I had to… to stop thinking, so that I could do it.”

Quirrel risked a nod, but she didn’t appear to notice, charging ahead with all the helpless momentum of an avalanche. “They panicked a little, when I made them take soul from me, when I asked them to heal. They… couldn’t do it the first time.” She laughed, a broken, rueful thing, something so small and shattered that he felt he could gather it in his hands, though it might cut him for his efforts. “I should have known. Gods, I should have seen it.” Her hands dropped to the table. “They breathed differently when I was cutting them, did I tell you that? They breathed as little as they could, moved only as much as they had to, trying to help me. To help me hurt them.”

He finished his last glyph with an abrupt stroke, looking up. There was a challenge in Hornet’s eyes, all softness gone, but the chill gone with along it. Something real, something raw, stripped bare, rose to meet him there. Though she jerked away a moment later, as abruptly as she had recoiled from his touch, and, he thought, for the same reason.

She was silent, waiting for something, so he said, softly, “You did not want to hurt them, Hornet.”

A heavy scoff was his only acknowledgement.

“I had to use a bucket,” she continued after another pause, and her voice had gone flat, but with even more bite in it than before. “To catch all the acid that drained from them. I couldn’t wring out the rags fast enough. Their shoulder was nothing but… scraps. Muscle and skin. The shell was gone, except for what came away in my hands. I didn’t need the knife for that.”

She seemed to be trying, deliberately, to upset him, and he felt the pressure of it, the weight of it on his shoulders, in his stomach.

He bowed his head and kept writing.

“I don’t know what did it,” she said at last, with a helpless shrug. “What sent them over the edge.”

Quirrel watched her, but she didn’t look back at him. He felt a warm prickle of frustration. Hiding, again; though this was as vulnerable as he had ever seen her, she could not stop herself from holding back.

“They had moved very little since I ordered them to be still. But I wasn’t really watching. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. Been more aware…”

Another shrug. “While I was draining one of the last cysts on their shoulder, they… jerked. Flinched, finally. I don’t know. The knife slipped. There wasn’t any shell left to stop it.”

Oh, damn it all. Quirrel might be sick himself, and he hadn’t even eaten since morning.

He deliberately loosened his grip on the charcoal, then his free hand from the edge of the countertop, and resumed his transcription, detaching his mind from the words on the page for the moment. He would see these wounds up close, if he was to help in any substantial way, but there were better times to think about that than at the end of very long, very fraught day.

That didn’t appear to stop Hornet. If he’d known her better, he would have guessed that she was intentionally lingering on the discomfort, turning it over and over like a cold stone between her hands.

“They were able to heal when I ordered them to, which stopped the bleeding. But they were distraught. I stepped away, thought to give them—and myself—a rest.”

Scratching on the paper filled the silence, and then nothing.

Her voice now was faltering, stilted, like clambering over rubble. “When I stepped toward them again, I—they—”

Quirrel held still, even his breath falling silent, not quiet believing she might actually break, might crack in two like one of the fractured shells on the counter to reveal the raw and bleeding core beneath.

She did not. However many years she had lived in this dying land had forged something stronger of her than that. He wondered if that was what was lending her strength now, as she gulped back whatever sounds wanted to break from her throat. Or her heritage, her mother’s might and her father’s reserve, her mortal fire and godly resilience. Or just plain stubborn pride, a refusal to show weakness in the presence of a stranger.

And he was just that, he reminded himself. A stranger, sitting there in her kitchen, waiting for her to spit out whatever it was that choked her voice back—though he’d expected as much since she first saw what was in that shellwood case.

A stranger. However much he already achingly wished to be more to her than that, to be something to someone, anyone, who’d give him reason to keep pulling himself through this world. A stranger, whatever kinship he sensed, blooming beneath the thorns that kept the world at bay. She would trust him, or she would not, and he would respect whatever distance she felt the need to create between them.

He would not add to her burdens, no matter what it cost him.

“They asked me to stop,” she said, finally. Muted, nearly smothered. “They used the sign I’d taught them, and asked me to stop.”

Quirrel did not interrupt, though something lurched upward in his throat.

“I-I wanted to be sure.” The air quivered as she inhaled. “I asked what they meant, and… they pointed at the knife in my hand.” Her hand clenched, the plates at her wrist flexing, nearly bowing with the tension. “I asked, as plainly as I could, if I had hurt them. And their answer was yes.”

Quirrel carefully pushed away every response that wanted to rise, every whispered oath, every purposeless word.

There were few things that he had found appropriate to say to confessions like this. Expressions of sympathy were often unwelcome, as were acknowledgements of error. The sense of wrong, the cold horror climbing through his chest, would aid nothing were he to expose them.

The only reliable response he knew of was to wait, to allow her to work through her own turmoil. His words were unimportant, his input unasked for.

If she had been anyone else, he would have reached out to steady her, but Hornet would not accept even that.

“I could not deny their awareness then.” She had straightened again, although her horns were still bowed. “Not after…”

She met his eyes, some of her courage regained amidst the shock he saw there. “They fell apart. They were crying, Quirrel.”

His fingers tightened on the charcoal again, then had to slacken as she kept talking, running ahead of what he had already written. “They were terrified, and half-wild with it. Like I might run them through.” She swallowed. “Or worse.”

With a start, she seemed to notice her own claws clenched into her palm and extended them. “Earlier today…” A false start, for she had to breathe deeply and begin again. “Twice now, perhaps more, they have intentionally hurt themselves. I’ve been binding their claws; so far, that has stopped them, but if motivated, they may find other ways.”

Quirrel could not stop the soft sound that escaped him, the catch in his throat finally releasing. Hornet did not react, only studied her own talons with an intensity they did not seem to deserve.

“They did not calm. Not until I knelt down and reached out to check their fever.” Her hands closed again, gently this time, as if feeling the curve of her sibling’s shell against them. “They pushed their face into my hand when I made to pull back, and I—”

She scoffed, harshly. “What else could I have done? I stayed. I stayed there with them. I rubbed their mask until they fell asleep. Until they stopped shaking. Stopped crying.”

Her chelicerae twisted, fangs skewing beneath her mask, an ugly expression. “And then I left them.” The words were blank and heavy as stones. “It was too much. I fled while they slept, with no regard for the consequences. I ran away.”

He could almost picture it, with the way she said It was too much. Could almost feel the guilt closing round her throat like a fist, forcing her voice flat, choking her into silence.

He was loath to say any part of it was deserved, but from what she had told him, she’d known her sibling would be terrified by being left alone. If she had not felt any guilt at abandoning them, he would’ve been forced to question whether he had formed an accurate opinion of her.

Even so, he had to resist the urge to pry. To ask, as he sat there watching her suffer, whether there was anything else she needed to tell him. Confessing this did not seem to have brought her any relief; she had looked away again, shoulders hunching and hands tightening as she tied herself into knots, and he could not shake the feeling that there were layers to this, grief and guilt and blame and hatred twisted up and bound atop one another, in ways she was only beginning to unravel.

She was silent for so long that he half-expected her to get up and leave.

Quirrel shifted uncomfortably. Prompting her had not been received well, but he doubted she would admit if she legitimately needed to stop. She wished to have this conversation now, he reminded himself, get everything out in the open, give him everything she could.

It was another long, long moment before his patience was rewarded.

“I left the city. I flew for a long time, not caring where I was going. I could not return and face them, face the pain I had caused.” A short, rattling hiss that shivered across his shell, though he didn’t allow himself to flinch. “I would not.”

She collected herself, visibly, blinking hard and smoothing her posture down into something more neutral. Literally, in the case of the short spines along her neck. Were those a spider trait? He recalled meeting a species covered in fine hairs that stood on end when threatened, but where most spiders had at least some form of coat, her shell was as smooth and glossy as her sibling’s.

“And then I met you.”

These next words distracted him from this tram of thought, causing his gaze to jerk up in surprise. She met it, steady now, holding ground.

Did she know what that meeting meant to him? That it had halted a long descent into the dark, pulling tight like shining silk around his wrist?

If she did, she said no more about it, instead relating her decision to visit the Black Egg and what she had found there. He felt a queasy twist in his gut when she confirmed that the little vessel had indeed taken their sibling’s place in the temple, and that the door had sealed shut behind them. She pulled out the strange charm when he asked, though examining it told him no more than she already knew.

“I had thought to use the soul it produces to allow Hollow to heal further,” she said, leaning back and tucking the cord back under her cloak. “The healing spell itself appeared to make no further difference. Holding soul, however, might have.”

“I must admit I’m not terribly familiar with soul magic,” Quirrel murmured. “Are there normally effects to holding soul without using it?”

“None that I’ve experienced.” The spider shrugged, adjusting the lay of the cord around her neck. “It may have been my imagination, but they seemed to breathe easier when they held it.”

“We can certainly test that.” He made a note of it on a separate sheet, at the end of a growing list of things he was eager to try.

Pausing a moment, he examined the feeling, twisting and turning it like a chip of gemstone in the light. Eagerness. It was not something he had felt since his memories returned, setting him adrift in his own isolation. A reason to hope, maybe. A reason to keep going.

Truthfully, he recognized the beginning stages of one of his obsessions: a problem that would keep him up at night in unthinking concentration while the hours wore away. He was well and truly committed now, without having made any conscious decision to be—not only to the unanswered questions, but to the task in front of him, the messy, thankless work Hornet had shouldered on her own. She had not even stated what she wished him to do, what kind of help she required, but he knew now that he would do it.

He had known from the moment he stood from the lakeshore and took up his nail to follow her. He would do anything, be anything, that she needed, if only for the relief of someone to need him.

He looked up. Hornet was staring into the middle distance, still picking at the cord with the tips of her claws, but she didn’t seem distressed, or at least not as much as she had been.

Deliberately, he tapped his charcoal to get her attention. Her gaze flicked over with a faint spark of annoyance, but annoyance was better than despair, better than whatever kept dragging her backward into the mire of her own guilt. He would know.

When she began again, describing what had happened after her return, she was calmer, though he hesitated to assume that this was positive; just as likely, she had reached the end of her ability to feel, or simply grown tired enough to slip into numbness, a sensation he knew well.

Still, he was reluctant to stop her when she had to be drawing near the end, when every new piece of information gave him a greater chance at assembling the whole picture.

Finally, she reached the moment he arrived and halted awkwardly, as if unsure whether to continue. He lifted a finger until he finished writing, then leaned back, lacing his ankles around the legs of his chair. Mentally, he sifted through the details of her account, setting the knowns from the unknowns, placing jagged pieces together, smoothing their edges into one another. The highs and lows of this tale would have played out admirably on any stage, save for the fact that it had no ending.

An ending. That was what he needed to determine—something they could both agree on, a goal to look to, a whole to be made of the pieces.

He sat forward, pushing the pages aside and laying the charcoal down. They were off the record, now—he wanted her to meet him here, alone, without any lingering doubts or listening ghosts.

“Answer me honestly,” he said, low, even. “What do you want from this? What do you want for them?”

She bristled again, but the anger faded quickly, as if she was merely too tired to keep hold of it. “I—”

That was all that would come out for a moment, as the words halted in her throat and she shut her mouth, inhaling deeply.

When she answered, it was a half-choked whisper, quiet and fierce, a muffled challenge to the world, like the soft warning note of a blade against its sheath.

“I want them to live.”

And, he guessed, when she searched for words and found none, everything that came with that—every joy and heartbreak, every love and sorrow and trifling annoyance, every dawning promise and fading regret. Everything that had been denied their kind, that they were never meant to experience. Vessels had been made for one purpose only, and that purpose existed somewhere between life and death, between the soul that gave them being and the void that rebirthed them in its image.

He jolted slightly, unaware that he had ever known enough to put such precise terms to it, but as soon as he grasped for more, it slipped through his fingers and he fell back to earth.

Where Hornet was watching him, as she always did. Waiting for an answer, or for reassurance—he didn’t dare guess.

Much as he hated to ask his next question, it was necessary.

“And if that is not possible?”

He had expected her to hiss at him, to voice her displeasure at his suggestion that she might fail. Perhaps he was expecting too little of her, or allowing her status to cloud his judgement. She only bowed her head, her shoulders wilting briefly before she found the strength to straighten them.

“Make them comfortable,” she said. “Ease their pain. Give them a… a peaceful death.”

Then she scoffed. “If that’s even possible, with them.”

“Easing their pain?” he prompted.

She eyed him sideways. “Dying.”

“Ah.”

Apparently, he had more questions to ask.

○

Taglist: @botslayer9000 @moss-tombstone @slimeel Send an ask or reply to this post to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

#lost kin fic #lost kin chapter #hollow knight #hollow knight fanfic #mywriting #hk the hollow knight #hk hornet #hk quirrel #hk

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 1 year

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Michael in the Mainstream: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3

As most people know by now, I am a huge fan of superhero movies and have been since I was a kid. I grew up with Batman, Spider-Man, the X-Men, and even Ghost Rider, and I loved the transition into the MCU and the huge leap in care and respect towards the source material.

Still, I don’t think it was really until 2014 that I really came to love the genre like I do now. I sat down in a theater for a little movie called Guardians of the Galaxy, not knowing what to expect since this was a pretty obscure superhero team comprised of characters I’d never heard of, directed by a guy whose work I wasn’t familiar with at the time (aside from Scooby-Doo, of course). The opening scene, in which Peter “Star-Lord” Quill watches his mother die before being abducted by aliens had me intrigued. But when the next scene began and Chris Pratt began dancing through the ruins of an alien world to the sound of Redbone’s “Come and Get Your Love,” I knew I was watching something special, something extraordinary. I left the theater that day with a new all-time favorite film.

Fast forward nine years. The superhero movie landscape has changed a lot in that time, but there are only two things really relevant to the topic at hand. The first is that people have grown incredibly tired of Marvel’s brand of humor and witty banter, something that really defined the first two Guardians movies. It doesn’t help that so many superhero films, even outside of Marvel, tried to crib their style without understanding why people liked it there (looking at you, Suicide Squad). People don’t mind some humor to lighten things up, but they also want dramatic moments and genuine emotion to let them connect to the characters.

The second is that the MCU wrapped up its decade-long overarching plot and gave a few characters the satisfying conclusions they deserved while leaving some threads dangling for the future. It was a truly massive event that felt like the end of an era… and it was immediately followed by Disney churning out dozens of movies and shows in only a couple of years, inundating the market and pushing out products that feel incredibly half-baked and underwritten. Even the ones I’d call great like Wakanda Forever or No Way Home suffer from the sort of wonkiness that the home runs of Phase 3 didn’t have, while the ones I didn’t like exacerbated all the problems people have with Marvel. Now I don’t believe in “superhero fatigue,” because people still want superheroes. What they don’t want is bad movies, and too many of the films lately are falling short of audience expectations.

And that brings us to Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3. Despite James Gunn having hit it out of the park with Marvel twice before and hopping over to DC to redeem their cinematic universe with two of their best entries, the aforementioned points weighed heavily on everyone’s minds. That’s not even getting into the film’s tumultuous development, with Gunn being fired and then rehired, which only further had people worried about the gang of intergalactic goofballs. Even from a man so known for quality superhero cinema that DC put him in charge of their own cinematic universe, the odds seemed stacked against this film delivering.

But in spite of all that, even with all these things against the film, Gunn managed to pull off one of the rarest feats imaginable: He went three for three and delivered an amazing finale to a perfect trilogy.

Now, when I say “perfect” I don’t mean the films are without flaw, because a movie without flaw does not exist. What I mean is that the trilogy consistently builds on core themes while maintaining its identity throughout, as well as maintaining a high level of quality throughout. Think of the original three Star Wars films or The Lord of the Rings to see what I mean. The key is to start strong, keep building through the middle, and then conclude on a strong note that wraps everything up nicely. In short: Be a story with a beginning, middle, and end. Vol. 3 manages to pull off being that satisfying endpoint that no other superhero third movie has been able to so far.

The big way the film does that is by recontextualizing the series in a big way: It establishes that, rather than Peter Quill, the trilogy’s true protagonist has been Rocket. It makes sense when you look back on the movies and see how he has had the most development (which is even more pronounced when you remember he and Nebula were the only Guardians to survive the Snap), and this film is no exception other than taking this to the logical conclusion by making him the focus character and the one who drives the plot. It’s frankly amazing how a character who spends two acts in a coma dreaming of his heartbreaking backstory still manages to feel relevant even when he’s not actively participating in the plot, and when he is Bradley Cooper makes a case for being one of the single greatest actors in the MCU.

That’s not to say the other characters are bad, though! Every single one of the Guardians’ actors brings their A-game here, especially the ones for whom this is definitively their last rodeo (Dave Bautista and Zoe Saldana). Bautista is finally given his due, getting to play Drax as more than just dumb muscle, while Saldana gets to play a more brutal and vicious Gamora than we’ve seen before. Outside of them, the very best performance is probably from Karen Gillan as Nebula who, while still as crabby as ever, genuinely feels like a part of the family for the first time and gets to play the straight man to a lot of antics.

I think it’s also worth pointing out how good Chris Pratt is here, especially after Quill was something of a joke in the Avengers films. Here, Quill is back to his proper characterization and gets a great character arc that plays to Pratt’s strengths, unlike many of his modern roles. I know there’s been a bit of a Pratt fatigue lately, but he’s in his element under Gunn and delivers one of his strongest performances yet. And with all that said, no matter how minor (Cosmo) or out of focus (Groot) a Guardian is compared to the core cast, they all get their time to shine in the third act with a finale that makes use of all their skills in unique and creative ways. No one really feels underutilized here, even if they don’t get as much spotlight as others.

I think one of the more divisive new additions is going to be Will Poulter’s Adam Warlock, though I think most of that will hinge on how familiar you are with his established character in the comics. As I’m not super familiar with Warlock, but do love Poulter even in films I hate like Midsommar, I thoroughly enjoyed him here. He feels like Age of Ultron Vision done right, a powerful being only recently born but forced into dramatic conflict. He is a bit underplayed unfortunately, but you know we’ll be seeing more of him soon enough, and at the very least he gets a handful of really funny moments and some cool scenes to build him up. They could have done more with him, but I certainly loved him.

This movie certainly ends up being one of the darkest films in the entire MCU, and nearly all that darkness is the result of the film’s villain, the High Evolutionary, who is quite possibly the most evil villains in comic book movie history, if not necessarily the very best (though I certainly think he’s up there). His entire character revolves around his insane god complex, and to satisfy it he abuses animals, cruelly experiments on living beings, and commits genocide with an unnerving casualness. On top of that, he’s just incredibly petty, never missing an opportunity to either figuratively or literally kick the dog. Chukwudi Iwuji is clearly relishing every moment he has playing a guy who can switch from classy visionary villain to frothing lunatic at the drop of a hat. If nothing else, it’s just so refreshing to see a villain without a tragic backstory or sympathetic motivations and who is just an asshole, plain and simple. This might not work for everyone because it does leave him as a rather simple character, but sometimes it’s just nice to see a villain who’s just a massive cunt that you want to watch die with every fiber of your being. He’s pretty easily the best villain of the entire trilogy, and considering how good Ego was and how fantastic Kurt Russell is as an actor, that’s really saying something.

You will not be surprised to hear that the soundtrack is good, because Gunn has not missed once when it comes to these soundtracks. It’s not quite as good as Vol. 2’s soundtrack—how could it be when there’s no Fleetwood Mac?—but the variety of decades the Zune brings beyond the 70s and 80s tunes of the first couple of movies really help set the scenes. It’s never bad to hear Faith No More’s “We Care a Lot,” and the movie has the best use of the Beastie Boys in a movie starring Chris Pratt that you’ll see this year.

What is surprising, though, is that the CGI isn’t dogshit. We’re not talking Avatar levels of quality, but it’s still a damn pretty movie, and this is supported by some fantastic practical effects and costumes. The only real complaints I’ve got are that the humor doesn’t always land and there are some rather weird editing choices, but aside from that you can tell everyone working on this was given the time to make sure this was the sendoff these heroes deserve.

And I think that’s the movie’s ultimate strength: It’s a true sendoff, and not just setup for the future. The characters conclude their arcs, and unlike with Endgame all of the endings our heroes get feel fitting, satisfying, and well-earned. We may see some of these characters again someday, but for certain members of the Guardians you can tell they’ve finally ended up where they need to be. And this is a good thing! All stories need an ending, and as far as endings go this is one of the best.

At the very end of the film, the audience gets to experience something the other characters have throughout these films: We get to clearly and without translation understand what Groot is saying, symbolizing how we as an audience have become as close to him as his friends have. In essence, we are all Guardians of the Galaxy now. Our journey, too, has come to its logical conclusion; we’ve seen these characters we’ve followed for so long complete their arcs and end up where they need to be. Isn’t it nice to reach a conclusion, however bittersweet it is?

This is one of the best superhero movies out there, and easily one of the top 5 MCU films. If you like superhero movies and are tired of the same old slop being shoveled out, you need to go see this movie, because it shows a bright future where creative control goes to the filmmakers so they can make films with heart and soul. The future of DC is definitely in good hands, that’s for sure. And if this is ultimately where you get off the superhero rollercoaster, I can’t blame you when this is the best stopping point we’re likely to get. For me, my days of obsessively making sure I see every Marvel project are over; I’ll stick to checking out what interests me, ignoring what doesn’t, and being at peace knowing my favorite heroes got a satisfying conclusion.

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 1 month

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Milky Way black hole’s magnetic field mapped for first time

Long-held theories on how black holes like the one at the centre of our galaxy, the Milky Way, evolve were proven right this week thanks to research made possible by Canadian scientists.

A team of researchers from the University of Waterloo and Perimeter Institute who are members of the global Event Horizon Telescope (EHT) collaboration, developed a powerful framework called THEMIS that processes the EHT data, generating clear and accurate images that cut through noise and identify what really exists just outside the black hole.

While the first photos of the Sagittarius A* (Sgr A*) black hole were unveiled in 2022, the new images revealed its plasma ring, but also the magnetic field lines that shape and organize it.

“Sgr A* is like a frenetic toddler,” said Dr. Avery Broderick, a professor at the University of Waterloo’s Department of Physics and Astronomy and associate faculty at Perimeter Institute. “We’re seeing for the first time the invisible structure that shepherds the material within the black hole’s disk and drives plasma to the event horizon, helping it to grow.”

THEMIS – led by Broderick and his team – assessed the credibility of any given image of the black hole by providing a reliable statistical method for studying the information Sgr A* sends us from across the galaxy. It also can image black holes like Sgr A* even though they refuse to sit still thanks to swirling plasma, which is constantly churning away over short timescales.

That can be modelled by THEMIS to provide an estimate for the “noise” in the data, which can be averaged out to produce a clear, time-averaged image of Sgr A* in spite of its rapid variability.

The researchers’ results reveal strong polarization patterns in the signals that Sgr A* emits. Polarization – a property describing the orientation of light wave oscillations – is the same principle that sunglasses use to eliminate glare in multiple directions. By measuring the polarization, scientists are able to measure the structure and strength of Sgr A*’s magnetic fields.

“The polarized light we see from Sgr A* is striking,” Broderick said. “Not only is it highly polarized, at three times more polarization than the black hole at the centre of the M87 galaxy, but it’s also highly organized. This new image limits the density of the plasma orbiting Sgr A* and reveals the magnetic fields that govern its fate.”

According to astronomers’ best models of black hole evolution, the magnetic fields in the accretion disk need to be strong enough to push the accreting plasma around. The new results from Sgr A* (and those from its much larger cousin M87* previously) provide the first direct observational evidence to support those models.

This new research marks a milestone in black hole astronomy, helping to tell the story of black hole evolution and bring the unruly core of our galactic neighbourhood into sharp focus.

This research was presented in two papers by the EHT collaboration that will be published on Wednesday, March 27 in The Astrophysical Journal Letters.

TOP IMAGE....The magnetic fields around the black hole at the centre of the Sgr A* black hole at the centre of our galaxy, the Milky Way. Credit The Event Horizon Telescope (EHT) collaboration

LOWER IMAGE....Side-by-side comparison of the magnetic fields around the black hole at the centre of the M87 galaxy (left) and the Sgr A* black hole at the centre of our galaxy, the Milky Way. Credit The Event Horizon Telescope (EHT) collaboration

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #astrophysics

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hriobzagelthewanderer · 5 months

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(sins of the sea) 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️ (lmao you don't have to do them individually, the Crew as a whole is fine)

It is not hard to pity them, those fools who have been trapped and tricked by the likes of Gorgos - or the many other names the vile thing has become known by over the many millennia it has existed, just as your predecessors have for at least as far back. That might surprise them... you do not judge them as readily as they seem ready to judge themselves, but rather you are more 'disappointed' than 'angry', at least as far as the Seven Sins are themselves. Hatred... that is more in line with what their 'Master' deserves, but not them per se.

Each of the Seven is in many ways self-made as what they are, but you perhaps are objective - or perhaps simply amoral - enough to look past the clear and obvious wrongs and see the potential beneath... the true kindness and goodwill they still have that could have left such a mark, if only they had not fallen into their respective pitfalls... or into His cold, clammy clutches.

'The Master' as he currently calls himself is another beast altogether - hard to place despite proudly(?) wearing the moniker of 'Sea Demon' in many times and tongues... you know from much experience, however, that he is no more a true 'demon' than you are 'simply' Fae - ironically enough, the Devil's in the Details to the point that even if a simple human is enough to harm him, truly ending him outright is, while possible, extremely unpalatable given what else would get dragged down to the depths of oblivion with him...

In spite of the clear hatred between you for all the most valid reasons, you have always had an odd mutual respect despite that; for all your respective power and history, it is hard to deny the true cunning and vicious skill in each other, enough to make calling him a 'Rival' as much as an 'Enemy' a fair admission, and him towards you in turn.

...That said, you can admire someone's talents and still hate their guts - that much has always been true, and never been in question. The true question is how to 'fight' the Master effectively... you have several options, but even so your current methods seem to be gaining traction... for now... though another little 'intervention' may be in order given recent events...

After all, Pettiness is not solely the domain of 'The Master', any more than Deal-Making is... And if nothing else, there are few things you enjoy inflicting upon your enemies more than Irony...

"...even now, even weakened and literally half-blinded by his own hubris... even now I still feel the ache of loss, watching Atlantis sink into the ocean, knowing I at least saved their souls but still bearing painful witness of each life being snuffed out as the waters claimed them... And the less said of Pompeii, the better. I know my time has passed, and my successor is likely not the one to end that cancerous blight of bloated corpses... but is it wrong to hope he bears witness to that vile creature's demise, all the same?"

"...Alas, it appears that there are so-called 'Demons' beyond my ilk that can rival us all the same... yet what claims has he to our kin? Naught but a shambling orifice of lies and stolen souls, Mockery of the highest order! May my power aid in the deposition of such filth, for even now, my bile churns at the notion of its victory."

#ic #ask memes #hriob answers asks #the devil in the fae #past lives of krakonos #sins of the sea #the fool - mainline #the emerald envious poppeteer #the gilded covetous cook #the navy languid medic #the amber gluttonous historian #the choleric crimson captain #the deepest of depraved spirits #the fuschia ardent flameheart

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ofshelter · 5 months

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. ✧ . * . ⌜ drew starkey, twenty-three, cisman, he/him / cringe by matt maeson + spitting insults with a smirk, ignoring the taste of your own poison, & restless nights knowing it's no longer just your father's war. ⌟ hey, have you met DRACO MALFOY yet? the PUREBLOOD is a FIFTH YEAR at hogwarts and are a SLYTHERIN. makes sense given they tend to be a bit CUNNING and DOMINEERING. it seems the death of the boy who lived has placed them on the DARK side of the looming war. let’s just hope they make it out alive.

basics.

name: draco malfoy

age: twenty-three

date of birth: june 5, gemini

sexuality: bisexual

blood status: pureblood, sacred twenty-eight

hogwarts: fifth year - slytherin seeker, astronomy club, dueling club, potions club

positive traits: cunning, clever, loyal, intelligent

negative traits: arrogant, spiteful, jealous, domineering

background & personality.

following what we know of draco in canon, up until the events of harry potter's death.

he was right. all of these years that he's yelled after saint potter, warning him that he's no match for the dark lord, he was right. he knew he was even when he was taunting him, a smirk on his mouth underneath his fake dementor cloak. but there's no grin on his lips at the sight of harry potter, dead.

he tells others (and himself) that potter had it coming. that he knew what he was fighting, he knew he was on the losing side. it was only a matter of time. and it's true - but draco wasn't expecting it to be so soon. it always felt years, decades, away. this return of the dark lord, this defeat of the boy who lived.

he should have shaken his hand, back in their first year. he chose the wrong side.

draco is on the winning side. it should feel victorious, there should be pride - and there is. but under it all, his hands shake and his stomach churns. he expected the winning side to feel differently. he expected to feel like his father - chin raised, wild eyes with no doubt.

that summer, despite the pleas of his mother, and the shakiness of his hands - draco becomes a death eater. his father doesn't see why it's needed, and assumes it's a lack of the dark lord in himself (so he gets crueler, steps further into the obedient server.) but draco doesn't have a mission yet. he's just a recruit in the expanding team, in branding more fighters on their side when it's time to stand. it'll be no different than before, his mother tells him, but he can't get the feeling of his skin burning out of his head.

the mark gives him a sense of protection, of safety. he feels a bit untouchable. but finds that that's not the problem - he thinks of what he will be asked to do. childhood bully is one thing, murderer is another alltogether.

he returns to school his usual annoying self, but a bit diluted if anything. he's desperate for a bit of normalcy, whatever that is, and returns to quidditch and to childish insults in the library. it's a poor attempt that he might give up on, but it's working for now.

he tries to ignore the war happening outside the castle walls and the one that's threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

here’s his pinterest for an idea of the Vibe. would love any fun, funky & fresh connection we can think of !! ex friends, exes of any kind, close friends, quidditch/academic/life rivals, unlikely anything, someone he had to tutor, group project, etc !! gimme it all xo

#fhqsintro #im half asleep so if this doesnt make any sense im sry

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rruination · 5 months

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ABOUT.

Felicity’s home was meant to be one of the very few peaceful settlements on Pandora, only existing to provide medical aid and equipment to those residing on the planet with their current mining operations at the helm. Felicity was on her way to become a doctor herself, though still somewhat inexperienced and with only a little knowledge on treating minor injuries or setting bones, she spent more time shadowing other doctors than she did in the practice.

Things would remain this way, somewhat mundane, without much trouble, until the bandits began uprising. With military officials pulling out more often, worries would start running through the settlement like wildfire.

Would they, too, be left behind.

And if that were the case, how would they survive?

These were concerns that Felicity had yet to truly broach herself. Having faith in some form of a system, she had come to believe their settlement was an asset and thus, valuable. Who in their right mind, after all, would abandon doctors, nurses, various medical supplies, and much more on such a desolate planet?

Her hope was that they would remain safe, certain that the authority in charge would stay true to their cause and, if need be, evacuate the entire settlement when needed.

Her faith was dashed, proven the opposite when a group of bandits settled their sites on the town. Night had fallen, a quiet interrupted by the deafening beats of music and gun fire, hoots and laughter. The settlement would be ravaged within that deep hour, doctors and aids killed for sport. Medicine was raided, supplies stolen, but most severely; the killing was for simple pleasure.

Amid the chaos, Felicity had taken whatever weapon she could find, ducking behind a building that had yet to be ravaged, and willed her body to still. If she could escape, she might be able to find help. But had their employers truly left them behind? The thought had left her running cold with panic. In her naivety, she had placed faith in a military group with the hope that medical advancement was an asset.

The reality was they were merely sheep herded to a slaughter when most convenient.

Her mind amid a race of panic and processing betrayal, Felicity had not noticed bandits drawing close to her hiding spot. In a hasty decision, she bolted. It wasn’t long before shouts of warning, laughter, and gunfire would resound out. The first shot she felt, heard, whiz passed her head. Two or three others had hit their mark. The burning of steel ripping through skin and muscle caused her cry out.

The events after were a blur. Fist coming down on her, blades tearing through skin, and the heavy scent of blood filling the air so thick, it would make anyone's stomach churn. Throughout the beating, the ringing in her ears ceased when she lost consciousness; several blows or kicks to the head ensuring that ( though she did not know which it was ). It was only welcoming, the embrace of darkness, and the last thought she would have was the hope she might die.

The heat of the day was what roused her next. Her body screaming from injury and head, pounding from a combination of trauma and sunlight, Felicity lay still as if death really had taken her. No sound but wind was what she heard; surely no one had survived. If they had, they would have fled far from here, leaving everyone else behind.

It is with that thought does Felicity’s laughter begin to bubble up and out of her mouth. Left behind by her contractors and then the thought of being left behind by her own people; all of which became oddly hilarious in those short minutes. Cursing her naivety, Felicity dragged herself back up despite pain ripping through her body. If she had survived, she decided, then she mind as well keep surviving, in spite of any and all odds against her.

Suffering from the beating and torture in which she never wanted to experience again, Felicity covered herself from head to toe. She hid her scars, donned her armor, and swore two things; the first was no one would ever touch her again and the second was she would swear loyalty to no one.

PERSONALITY.

Due to her various traumas and head injuries, Felicity is an individual who is rather unhinged. She knows nothing of most social boundaries, treating every interaction like something of a game. Felicity loves picking and prodding at individuals, especially so if she considers themselves stuffy or boring in her mind.

Despite her supposed insanity, she's actually quite sharp. She's an observer who takes in her surroundings in extreme detail, all of this done in a bid to guard herself. Felicity swore she would never see herself a victim again, and as such, she makes sure she has an out for any situation or from any person, even if it means ending their life.

In this, she can be incredibly spiteful. If one were to betray what little faith she'd put in another, a wrath would come down upon that person unhindered. Felicity doesn't allow most quick deaths, however; she loves to make poisons that will tear an individual apart from the inside out.

One would do well to never get on her bad side.

Felicity, however, still has some vision of her original dream. She acts as a doctor, but not at all as a good one. For every patient she's saved, there are scores that likely had died beforehand.

She's trying to help, genuinely. You can trust her. Really.

This mad doctor dresses in a way that hides all of her features as well as her body. She calls it armor, despite the heat of deserts or chill of subzero temperatures ( much more comfortable in her opinion anyways ).

Felicity knows she looks edgy, no, she doesn't care what you think.

#to be tagged

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dancing-under-red-skies · 1 year

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EL TANGO DE DIABLO Chapter Two: It Took So Long to Realize; I Still Hear their Last Goodbye's

When Terzo had stepped into the remote cabin in a feigned effort to reflect on all that had happened in such a short amount of time, he was instead awoken by the fact that he’d been sleeping for nearly two days.

Though there were times that he had flashed awake to make sure that his reality had remained unchanged, noting the attic smell of the blankets on top of him followed by the sound of owls as they seemed to offer the night their thoughts. In the earlier morning, smaller birds like woodpeckers would be able to rumble him awake but only long enough to note the sorbet color of the sky before lulling back into darkness. From the outside he knew that this was unlike him but internally all he could think about was the physical toll a simple letter had taken on his entire body. Age played a significant role in that, but the fatigue that plagued him was unlike any he had ever felt before.

Carefully rolling upwards, his shoulders seemed to shift like unevenly stacked bricks before he brought very tender feet to press against the rug on the floor. It was scratchy and old, but it offered a sweet reprieve to the cold wood just beneath it. In spite of it being early spring, the air that seemed to whip about was cooler than he expected, blowing over the exposed parts of his skin and leaving him feeling as though he were surrounded in ice as he stared through the window.

In that moment he understood only two things:

The first was the fact that he was alive. From the urgency of this rendezvous, he was able to sit with the realizations such as the reckoning with the blessing that was still being allowed to breath. The violent shift in emotional trust was the most daunting to deal with, and he could feel himself do everything he could to reject it every time it bubbled up. He was no more than a small boy sitting there at the corner of the bed, begging Papa to tell him that the monsters in his closet weren’t real… only to have to feel the gravity of being a grown man staring down the nose of the monster being Papa himself. His stomach churned heartily in the agony of it, rolling him right to the second thing he was aware.

There was not a soul that he could trust now.

It was so simple, so easily to slip around his brain… but the weight of the actualization seemed foreign to him. There wasn’t a time in his life that he couldn’t recall being able to trust all that he called family… where he couldn’t find safety in the clergy and the congregation that followed then… Yet, as he sat there on the dessert-colored mountain surrounding by the whispering minds of elders locked in the bodies of owls… he was doing what he must to swallow a lifetime of never being allowed to return…

Something that did not make the churning in his stomach feel any better.

Rolling up on creaking joints a few disgruntled sounds left his lips, his body reminding him as to why it wasn’t good to lay around for days at a time now that he had gotten older. He chalked most of the pain up to the fact that he was so emotionally disturbed with the events of his life, and paired that with the fact that some stranger had informed him he was being protected by the devil Himself.

Much like the inklings of doubt had lived inside of him when it came to his safety amongst his family, he was also quite aware that there was a small part of him that had spent time doubting whether or not He was real. The power of his majesty was so overwhelming when it came time to really digest the divinity required to create humanity, and Terzo was not impervious to books and outside theories that had made their way down the halls of home. There were quite a number of dissenting opnions about how life worked, about where it all came from, and he had been quite open to hearing about them all no matter how intently he had to listen to others speak against what he believed in his own heart. These actions only seemed to make his faith stronger, his desire to serve Him more intent than ever… but, to be human was to doubt.

And doubt Terzo, did. Until he had heard someone vocalize the probability that He was real, after all.

Something that was awesome to the point that he could have fainted had he been greeted with visual confirmation of the truth right in that moment. The reality felt almost too much for the human mind to bear as he started to make overwhelming connections because Satan’s existence and His connections to the Earth.

Thankfully, for his sake, the only presence to be found was a familiar angelic voice that rang through the front door the cabin that had brought them together.

“Are you finally awake?” The girl seemed to call, Terzos paranoid eyes shooting towards the door of his room, trying his best to pinpoint exactly where the sound had been coming from. Yes, she was at the front of the house but was she light on her feet? Could she make her way up the stairs before he could realize she was there? His mind ached with anxiety, promoting him to run for a robe that he’d found hanging on the wall. It were as soft as a heavy winters blanket as he quickly wrapped himself up, taking a few steps towards the door as he tied himself in.

“Okay…” the woman sighed heavily, the sound of the door creaking open as she did. “This did really can-“

“WAIT!” He called out, shuffling forward as he also seemed to lightly trip over his feet at the same time. “I’m awake, yes, I’m here,” he puffed as he seemingly poured himself to standing at the top of the stairs.

The woman had stopped in her tracks, her shoulders squaring as she also turned on her toe in order to inspect the sight that had become of him. His hair was tousled with a desperate need for a shower, the make up on his face smeared about and rubbed from where he had been buried in pillows. However, through it all, she was able to see the crippling look of emotional despair that seemed to hide behind his sullen gaze. Him being there had carved his souls in way he would likely never talk about given how personally deep they were, but the windows of his soul were alight with the burning pain that ached from them… something that she could relate to deeply in her own soul.

“It’s good to see you standing! And, it’s good to see that the two days you’ve been asleep were enough to recharge your talking batteries. You were practically catatonic when you got here.”

His paranoid gaze hadn’t changed, however, and he offered her a timid, “thanks,” as he stood there and felt himself back in a similar position of needing to pace his speech in order to say the right things.

That’s when the two of them seemed to lock into a careful silence. One that allowed for the other to be studious and observant. Terzo was able to take a second and realize that the once perfectly put together mess of sweats that was the woman from a few mornings prior had not become someone entirely different it seemed. The hair that had been tied atop her head in a messy nature had been exchanged for flowing brunette locks that seemed to wave all the way down to the end of her tailbone. The sun from behind the door tangled up within them, highlight deep red lowlights that seemed to swirl about in a fiery haze.

The woman gone from covered in a burlap sack to fitting entirely to a pair of light blue jeans that ran down her rather long legs, ending at a fair of heavy, black combat boots. Spikes struck out from the back in a strip, made of shining silver and matching the ones that stretched out across the tops of her leather jacket. It hung heavy on her shoulders, weighted down by the absurd amount of decorative pins, studs, and patches that covered the face of it.

She, on the other hand, was able to stand there with hands on her pockets and hanging fringe tangling with her fingers, nothing that Terzo looked much older than he had when she saw him the last time. As if the two of sleep had aged him, the weight of his reality nearly robbing him of years of his life… The very sight caused her soul to ache. He didn’t know but she was not unfamiliar to this kind of familial trauma. All the more dedicating her to helping him, and making sure that he had to suffer as little as possible in the face of such a betrayal.

“What’s your name?”

The two of them had been so lost in thought that it had allowed for her to get comfortable in the silence, the sound of his voice nearly startling her as she shook her head in an effort to shake off the feeling that she’d been having.

“Hm? Oh, right, yeah I forgot that we didn’t get a whole lot of time for formalities the other day. Fucking fairy hours,” she managed to say with a soft laugh, “My name is Solana, which is-“

“Spanish for ‘Sunshine,’” Terzo said seamlessly, somewhat surprised at how eager he was to tell her that he knew that.

It seemed to stun her for a moment, allowing her a chance to narrow her emerald eyes at him, a brow raising to study him as he she did.

“Sorry,” the man then answered with a nervous puff of laughter, looking down towards his feet as he then began to descend the stairs, “I’m not sure if you’re aware but nearly seventy-five percent of the Spanish langue is derived from Latin and… well…”

“Wasn’t aware I was in the presence of star pupil,” Solana seemed to say with a purr, a tender smirk still tugging at her ruby-red lips.

“Well, I was born into the clergy, I’ve spent my whole lift studying, reading… doing my part to understand my own faith before doing my part in spreading it,” he confessed until he came to the bottom of the stairs. It was only then, when he was faced with her height, that he’d realized how much he had confessed from her. Her booted stance paired against his flat feet on the floor highlighted the fact that she was as much taller than him as he had suspected that first morning.

He had opened his mouth to speak, to offer something clever in the face of her comment, but he was met with that same verbal boot that had been stuffed down his throat previously. Why did her just being around make it so hard to talk? How was it possible to have too much to offer in the way of conversation, and yet find oneself silenced as he was then? Solana seemed no different than all the other women he had met, yet her presence seemed to demand a certain reverence just by her standing there.

She, however, seemed to bit confused with the way that he would start speaking and simply stop.

“You’re right,” she said with a head nod, shuffling a bit in her jacket before she did a violet subject change. “You like food, Terzo?”

The question seemed to perk a raised brow from his as well, prompting his to offer her another look of abject paranoia as they stood there.

“I just mean, like, you gotta eat right? I’ve got some food in the car, lets get you fed and hopefully that he’ll help you a little with the head noise you’ve go going on. Just, stay here, and do what you must to get comfortable I’ll be right back.”

Taking her exit, Terzo used the opportunity to charge for a bathroom. He wasn’t sure the last time he looked at himself but at that moment he was positive he must have looked as thought he had escaped a mental ward. Something he was able to confirm as soon as he rounded the doorjamb, coming to grips with the fact that he might has well have been a corpse given how he looked right then. Rushing about he took some time to clean himself up as best he could without running a shower, not knowing how long it was going to take for Solana to return from her car.

Though, he shouldn’t have been surprised that, when he had emerged from his tranquil primping spot, she already had the counter laid with certain breakfast favorites.

“Wasn’t sure exactly what you’d be in the mood for, or what nationality you’d find yourself craving, so I found an English breakfast, a Scottish breakfast, and a traditional American breakfast… and I figured you could just go at it with what you like altogether. Unfortunately people in your position don’t come with extensive dossiers and whatnot. It’s all a guessing game – which a good preface to apologize for the clothing selection in your closet. I get told sizes, I spy on you a little bit to get to know you, and then work with what I got.”

The woman seemed to say so many things so quickly, yet he understood everything she conveyed. While he would have otherwise been offended at anyone else’s attempts to discover his personal secrets like this, he found himself oddly comforted by her efforts.

“What do you mean, exactly, by people ‘in my position?’ Do you find yourself helping wayward strangers from being murder from their families often?” Terzo asked as he reached for a simple biscuit.

Solance grinned, that familiar smirk tucking itself into the corner of her mouth before she said, “only the cool ones.” Reaching for her mug of coffee, the one that had been set out next to one for him, she went ahead and took to leaning onto the counter. “But, that being said, I guess now is also the time to tell you that a lot of this is contingent on certain things.” As she spoke she hoisted her cup up, allowing herself a soft sip before she set it down. “He’s going to offer you a deal – it’s kind of his thing. See, he has a greater purpose for you, something that he feels only you have the power to do. Given your time with the clergy, the now violent nature of your family, and well… honestly, the daunting uncertainty of the future, He’s decided that you’re to be called to serve somewhere. Sort of like… the story of Moses, except it’s a lot cooler.”

“I’m no prophet!” Terzo seemed to stutter out, as if he were nervous at the prospect of such blasphemy being true. He seemed to nearly choke on the food that he’d been mid-swallowing, and Solana was quite enjoying watching him try to overcome it. He was struggling for air, he was doing his best to keep himself composed, and both efforts were providing quite the seal-barking show as the poor man tried to ease himself into what he thought he’d heard.

“Easy,” the woman said with a tender laugh, bringing up flat palms in an effort to show that he need to calm down with the way he was jumping to conclusions, “you have my word that this is not how prophets find out they’re prophets, okay? A lot of them, almost all of them, actually, have to endure quite a bit of time in mental health institutions and learning that common human medicines do nothing to drown out the voices that they’re quite literally supposed to be hearing. It’s actually quite sad the way that human beings treat their most lucid, especially when they’re so quick to give themselves to the carnal desires of their faith. Either way, considering that you’ve had quite a different life that didn’t require screaming yourself hoarse over the foreboding messages of the future, take joy in knowing that that is not the position you’re being called for.”

It was then that Solanas phone began to jingle, the ‘Power Rangers’ sound ringing with an air of familiarity as she reached for it. In no time at all, she was locked into a texting frenzy, her thumbs thundering against the glass like a stampede of thoughts. Her brows here knitted, her eyes almost a light with a deep fire as she sent message after message, all of them void of any type of colorful emoticons. Whatever it was that had insisted so much of her attention was clearly business, and Terzo found himself stunned once more.

In the short time he had known this woman he had been exposed to three different versions of her, and none of them seemed to align with the orchestration of his life alteration.

Yes, she was bright and capable but there was something about her than insisted she wasn’t exactly who she was pretending to be – no matter what version of that seemed to make itself evident when it needed to.

Once he realized that he seemed latched on, studying her more intently in an effort to unpack all that she was hiding behind her endless streams of well strung thoughts.

“Alright,” she then said with a sigh as she slipped her phone back into her pocket, a deep breath pressing from her chest as she shook off the business nature she’d had to assume to deal with the issue at hand. “So, do you have like… any questions?” And there the previous version of her was, and Terzo watched as she emerald eyes seemed to glisten differently as she turned and reached for her coffee once more.

“Only one that I’m sure is rather obvious,” he said tentatively, slowly picking at the food before him as he sat there trying to cautiously watch her without being noticed.

“Oh, right, yes, no of course,” the woman said with a seemingly impressed nod, “yes, we can absolutely see everything you do in the show and we’re a big, big fan of your Taylor Swift performances. You do an incredible rendition of, ‘Out of the Woods,’ I’ve gotta say…“

Terzo sat there with a deadpan face, starting at the woman before him before she started cackling like mad. In no time at all she was hunched forward, her hands gripping to the counter between the as she heaved out waves of laughter into the space before her. She was thankful that her gaze was downward, allowing her to avoid the fiery vengeance of Terzo’s gaze. His face had flushed an incredible shade of red and Solana was soon brought to her knees the longer she sat with the look of him.

After some time of her getting herself together she was finally able to get up and look at him in the face, doing what she could to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I’m glad you could have a good laugh about it,” he managed to say through lips that had been pressed into a straight line as he kept his narrowed gaze focused on her.

“Oh come now, relax. I hate the bitch myself, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there are some of her songs I can’t outrun. We’re all suckers for the Swiftie Fever every now and then, the only one who’s out to judge you about it is God.” As she spoke she allowed her laughter to subside a bit, catching her breath as she straightened herself out. “And, for your own peace of mind I guess… the ‘we’ I’m referring to is all of ten people, nine of which you’ll probably never see once you’re settled into your new post.”

The sentiment seemed to ring out enough to settle him, allowing him to opportunity to at least pick up eating again.

“As for meeting ‘Him,’” she went onto say, referencing the only question that he really had for her, “there’s a process. I know bureaucracy is typically Heaven’s thing but in the face of some changes to the power dynamics, Hell has had to take up a little but more of business model. So, you’ll settle in here and get prepared to stay here for an undetermined amount of time, you’ll be given time to read and digest your contract and then I’ll go over it with you to see if you have any questions once I’ve pointed a few clauses out. The damn things are comically long but in the face of soul exchanges and timelines that stretch for eternity there are just so many bases that have to be covered. Don’t worry, though, of all of His legal counsel that you can have on your team I can absolutely say I’m the best.”

“You’re… an attorney?” Terzo said with a puff of laughter he tried so hard to keep to himself, but clearly struggling.

Solana rolled her eyes, the smirk on her face undealinable as she shook her head. “Alright, alright, hit me with your best shot! I know you’re dying to get it out!” She said as she rose her hands in the air, the fringe on her leather jacket hanging down from the sleeves as it seemed to dance with her enticing fingers. “It better be an original!”

Leaning over the counter, Terzo was unrelenting in his wit when he said, “what do you call 500 attorneys at the bottom of the ocean?”

Leaning in to meet him midway over the counter space, Solana didn’t waiver before she crooned, “tell me, baby.” Her eyes flickered with a righteous honestly, one that enticed Terzo to keep onward in his cocky demeanor.

Leaning in just a little closer, the ends of their noses seemed to brush ever so closely before he whispered tenderly, “a good start.”

There was a soft pause in the room, the two of them waiting to see how the other was going to respond accordingly. When Solana saw that his words were that of only jest, it was easy to melt into a tender laugh that became an amused snort.

“Good one,” she admitted, nodding her head to show that she was unbothered by his commentary. “And you’re right, attorneys are evil. That’s why I retired from practicing law and went on instead to defending the rights of the damned and the lost.” With a smile she softened a bit for him before clarifying, “none of which are you. You’re a special case that I took on because we have some similarities that just meant something to me when your number came up.”

It was then that he felt as though he were looking at yet another version of her. Underneath the layers of masks she seemed to wear, there was another lying in wait beneath it. While it was possible for her to be so entirely dynamic and versatile that she could flow so seamlessly between versions of herself, but something about her screamed that she’d lived so many lives before this one… that every life after the fact was just another marathon to run before the next arrived. He was so intent to study her, as if she were a mosaic of puzzle pieces that would require extensive assembling to put together…

“I think that is very kind of you, especially in the face of all that has led me to this point. If you would have told me even four days ago that I would be running from my own family… I don’t think I could have mustered the strength to believe it. Even now I’m still rattled with the weight of it all. There is a large part of me that demands I run from this place, right back to the clergy to atone for what I’ve done in terms of disrespect… but my own observations fail to allow me to act. Because if I were not in grave danger, then there would not be such an effort to keep me alive. It’s… challenging.”

“Don’t ever try to take that from yourself, either,” Solana said as she did her best to ignore all the parts of her soul that seemed to ache under the weight of his words. She knew that this wasn’t about her and she wasn’t about to make it so, but there was no running from the fact that his story so closely echoed her own right then, and it made it challenging to not want to empathetically understand him. “You’re allowed to think that ti hurts, because your family is not supposed to be the ones who betray you like this. This is the kind of behavior you’d expect from God and his minions, of those who swore they had been called to serve him. There is nothing more toxic than God’s will, and so to have that very thought seem to infect your family only to chase you out of it is not supposed to feel good… not that you have to make the suffering your entire identity but don’t ever let anyone rob you of your right to be upset.”

Terzo watched her as she spoke, noting that her rather confident gaze had been cast out towards the empty space of the living room across from the kitchen. As if she were speaking from a distant point in time instead of right in that moment.

However, the look didn’t change how affirmed her felt in the face of her words. While he knew that he would be angry about all of this for a long time, it was strange how apprehensive he felt towards dealing with the weight of truth before she had essentially granted him permission to be angry about it.

There was a tender pause for a moment, the two of them lingering there in the unvoiced familiarity of their stories. Solana noted that there was nothing awkward about existing in these emotions with him and that was foreign to her, something that she wasn’t sure he wanted to partake in much longer given the added vulnerability of the topic. Terzo seemed to pick up on that, as well, allowing him the opportunity to be the first to break the silence since they first met.

“When do I get to read my contract?” He asked, rightfully changing the subject to something a bit easier to swallow.

The very ask seemed to elicit her business persona, that familiar smirk finding its way to the corner of her mouth.

“I’m glad you asked, I figured you’d want to see it as soon as possible given how everything is going so,” she said as she reached into her jacket to remove a fairly large manilla envelope. “It’s tagged where you need to sign if you’re the type that doesn’t care about the fine print, but on the last page you have to wait until you’re with the Big Guy before you can finalize your offer. Something about how he has to see your scribe it for yourself because of the Ancient Rules of Yore. That, and there’s no demon notary? Something I’ve argued is a mistake but you know, what do I know?”

Terzo offered a tender laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the envelope.

“Do you have any other questions for me?” She asked, reaching for a piece of toast to bite on as he took his new life into his hands.

“Just one, really,” Terzo said absently, examining the familiar shade of paper before him, “are you… a demon? Or undead? Or….”

Solana then rolled her eyes, puffing a laugh over her lips all while shaking her head, “you know, you can’t just ask people of they’re ‘dead,’ or, ‘possessed.’ It’s a lot like assuming a woman is pregnant: don’t ever do it. That being said, no. I’m not any of those things. I’m just like you, Terzo.”

He accepted what she had said in the face of his own feigned embarrassment, but still, he could tell that there was something off about what she had said. It were as if his brain had suddenly latched onto every weird human behavior she had, the way she dressed, the way she shifted and spoke… Who was this woman?

And why was it, every time he seemed to get a new piece of information about her, she left him with more questions than he started with?

Either way, there was much to learn.

About her, about life, about the way his entire life had managed to change with just two nights sleep….

[chapter 3 is near completion]

#ghost fandom #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #papa iii #terzo #terzo fanfic

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kazuwhora · 2 years

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TWICE AS HARD — S. TAIJU & T. MITSUYA

syn. taiju is the captain of his own ship, and mitsuya is his right hand man who knows just how to help his captain relax himself when he gets stressed

cw. threesome, voyeurism, dubcon, bondage, size kink, dacryphilia, basically you've been captured and held on a ransom by taiju and his crew and mitsuya knows how to put you to use for his captain

wc. 2.3k

an. brainrot courtesy of @spookykoko @bokuroskitten & @thetempleofnyx hehe

taiju never thought much about the people he held prisoner on his ship— he left the dirty work to mitsuya, who wound what felt like miles of frayed, blood-stained rope around your wrists as you struggled to break free from the gag over your mouth. his eyes were devious, but the way he tied the rope around your wrists was far from. instead, he tightened the knots with care, adjusting your hands to clasp together so the rope didn't cut into the skin around your wrists, strands of lavender hair cut in a shag falling in front of his eyes that came back into your line of vision. mitsuya couldn't help but admire the way your ankles writhed in their shackles, or the way you mumbled and whined against the fabric that covered your mouth. mitsuya stood back, watching you glare at him and he crouched on his ankles so his gaze met yours with ease.

"look real pretty all tied up like this" he smirked, raising his eyebrows every time you screamed into the fabric. "bet'cha cap'n would like ya too, huh?" he didn't give you the option to disagree, and your hands yanked at the rope that restrained you. "he gets real tense sometimes— says things he doesn't mean and gets after us all. s'a real pain in the ass when you've been workin' all day with nothin' to show for it." he watched as your voice receded back in your throat and your glossy eyes focused on his features as he spoke. "I think you'd be a perfect stress reliever, hmm?"

mitsuya tugged at the gag tied around your head, letting your mouth free for only a moment, but you only snarled and spit at his feet in response. clicking his teeth, he pulled the gag back over your mouth and turned his back to you as he retreated to the stairs that led above deck.

the boat rocked and swayed with your stomach that churned in a turmoil of anxiety, and your brain flipped through the events that led up to your capture like a movie, replaying and memorizing every character that played a role in your detainment for later use. yet despite your bitter hatred to the men above that called themselves pirates, you couldn't help but think about the softness of mitsuya's features, and the way his hands delicately tied the knots around your wrists and handled you with care until you spat and denied to acknowledge him. you were too focused on spiting his presence that you hadn't processed the words that came out of his mouth. it wasn't until the heavy clammer of footsteps echoed against the creaky planks of rotting wood below deck that you understood the motives that hid behind the allure of mitsuya's eyes. as the footsteps grew louder, so did your fear as mitsuya's body was shadowed by a man much taller, and much broader at that. his brows furrowed in a frown and his neck flexed with tattoos that decorated his skin. he looked terrifying, and you could only assume that this, was his captain.

"want'cha to meep cap'n taiju!" mitsuya boasted, extending his arms as if to present a winning prize. your back pressed against the wooden post, desperately searching for a way out as the two men approached you. if you thought mitsuya was a pain, taiju was another realm of intimidation. his body towered over you, absorbing your presence like you were nothing but a fly on the wall and he stared down at you with disgust.

"what about it" taiju scowled. mitsuya crouched beside you again, toying with the shackles around your ankles.

"it, has an awfully loud mouth" he remarked, offering a wink and a hint of a smile that reeked of cockiness. you complained against the gag, but to no avail.

"so?" taiju scoffed, looking away as his arms crossed his chest. your eyes focused on his body— on every muscle that pushed against the fabric of his clothes, on the way he stood so tall and proud yet his head dipped with shame and his eyes refused to meet your gaze. was he— embarrassed perhaps? you weren't sure, but your eyes stayed trained to him just in case.

"so, I think a loud mouth is better put to work by means of a blowjob, sir, wouldn't you agree?" taiju's face flushed red when mitsuya's words registered in his mind, and you squirmed against your confines as he cleared his throat.

taiju grumbled with a frown, gaze still averted as his posture was poisoned with insecurity. you were shocked by the shift in confidence that once dwelled in his body as he first stepped into the room. what was once an overbearing force to be reckoned with, now looked like a schoolgirl in front of her crush. was it perhaps that he had never slept with a woman before? was it the presence of his subordinate? maybe the nature in which the offer was proposed, with you tied to a post and and ankles shackled together.

"don't worry 'bout it cap'n— it'll help ya relax. trust me" mitsuya smiled sweetly at you as if he hadn't just pawned you off for sexual favours to his captain, and he pulled your gag away once again. but this time you only laughed, watching as embarrassment took over his so-called captain. he stood with his head turned, stature still towering over you as you sat in his shadow. mitsuya stood from beside you, placing his hand on taiju's shoulder. you watched as the tension slowly began to melt under his touch. maybe, you reasoned with yourself, maybe if you gave in to their demands and played on their side, you had a sliver of a chance at being set free.

what happened next seem to pass by like a flash of lightning, and you had little time to object as mitsuya slid your body down the post until you were practically on your back against the damp wooden floorboards. your hands stayed bound behind you with arms extended over your head, and the shackles around your ankles remained locked in place over his shoulder as mitsuya ran his hands up you inner thighs. inklings of fear simmered in your chest the closer his fingers teased between your thighs and your eyes squeezed shut, refusing to look at the man responsible for your capture. yet despite the hate you held in your heart for him, you couldn't deny the shivers of electricity that spread across your skin like sheets of lightning each time he inched closer and closer to your cunt. you couldn't deny the throbbing ache of your clit that made you want to squeeze your thighs together, and you were sure by the way his gaze burned through your aura that mitsuya knew it too.

"I think she's ready for ya cap'n" he cooed, brushing his thumb over your clit that made your breath pause. "think you can take both of us?

his question was rhetorical — that much you knew by the way he had already freed his cock from his pants, stroking his length in his hand as he gazed down at the way your panties were already stained with a wet patch just like he had hoped. beside you was taiju, knelt beside your face with his head still turned and his hard cock pushing at the confines of his pants. you could feel the way his hesitation bled through the air, and you questioned if he really was a captain at all.

"go on cap'n" mitsuya encouraged, as he pushed your knees to your chest and teased your clit with the head of his cock. you whimpered, too distracted by the way he slipped only the tip in and out, collecting your juices that dripped from your folds before pushing himself deeper inch by inch. your mouth parted to moan, and taiju took the opportunity to shuffle closer with his cock held in his palm. he was thick— his hands were huge and the sheer size of him made your eyes widen as you held your jaw open just enough for him to hesitantly slip his cock past your lips that wrapped around his length. taiju groaned, letting hints of curses under his breath slip as you pushed on the thick vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue.

mitsuya watched as his captain's face relaxed and his head fell back while you worked, and he couldn't help but inch himself deeper inside you until your muffled whimpers filled the room and your legs squirmed rattling the shackles around your feet. his cock filled you to the brim, pushing your walls that fluttered around him as tears pricked your eyes. you were so full — so overwhelmed with both pleasure and pain as your cunt and your mouth struggled to take it all at once. but the faster mitsuya's hips snapped into you, the more your whines vibrated against taiju's cock as you bobbed your head making sure to never lose sight of his pleasure— after all, he was the captain, and if anyone was letting you free for your service, it was him. but the force of mitsuya's cock and the way his hand pressed against your stomach made your clit ache was overwhelming, and your body jolted and trembled with every thrust he delivered. he was quiet, letting taiju's groans fill the air and fight with your voice for dominance and each time his hips pushed his cock deeper down your throat and you gagged around his girth, a hint of a moan would slip from his lips and his brows would furrow.

"grab her head" mitsuya motioned, pressing his sweaty forehead against your legs while he caught his breath. taiju nodded, bringing his hand to the back of your head as he tangled his fingers in your hair. "that's it cap'n— good job" he dipped his head under the chain that kept your ankles together, spreading your legs just enough for him to push his cock even deeper until your eyes knocked to the back of your head and you lost your composure around taiju's length.

with his hand nearly covering your whole head, taiju pushed you further and further until your nose brushed against his abs that flexed with every gag around his cock, and you struggled to keep focus as he fucked your face like you were his toy. taiju watched the way his cock disappeared into your mouth, and the way you looked so small under his grasp and his cock pulsed with the kind of pleasure that only made him push you harder and further until he was sure you would break from the force alone. it was sick— twisted, the way he found so much pleasure in hoping you'd snap— hating himself with every force of his cock for defying the likes of god himself all for his own greedy self indulgence. and mitsuya, his right hand man pounding into your cunt while he watched was even more of a disgrace, yet he couldn't help but be thankful for the way his cock made you whimper and gasp around his own length in your mouth.

"fuck" mitsuya groaned, feeling the heat begin to rise in his face as his muscles flexed with every thrust. he dipped his head to your chest, ankles still strung over his shoulder and his cock teased your sweet spot enough for tears to well once again in the corners of your eyes. a wave of satisfaction washed over him as he fucked you deeper and faster, each tear that trickled down your face a reminder of the pleasure that bled through his skin and flooded the room. "gonna cum.. c-cap'n" he groaned as a smile washed over his face with satisfaction to follow. but taiju wasn't listening— his brows had knit tightly into his expression as both hands now forced your head down on his cock as you sobbed through the pleasure that was tightening at your core. you were so close— tears a gentle reminder to the stimulation that pushed you over the edge, and mitsuya moaned until his hips stuttered inside you and his seed spilled from his cock and coated your walls. he took a moment to bask in the bliss, his moans still echoing against the walls as he let his chest rise and fall at a steady pace. but as he came back to focus, eyes returning to the present, his hips began to roll into you again fucking the cum that dripped down his cock back into you. the sensation alone was enough to make you crumble as the warmth of his cum spread through your insides lighting your skin on fire as you choked around taiju's cock. your pleasure was contagious, pushing taiju himself to the very limits of his composure as he bit down on his lip and held your head in place— paying no mind to the way your body quivered or the sobs of both pain and pleasure that were nearly silenced by his thick cock that stretched your lips around it. mitsuya's arms held him up on either side of your torso, watching with admiration for his superior as his hips forced his cock deep inside the walls of your throat, letting his cum drip down your tongue in rhythmic spurts. taiju was quiet, with eyes squeezed shut like he was ashamed, yet mitsuya smiled as he pulled his dripping cock from your cunt and slapped your clit for good measure. the contrast was jarring, but your brain didn't have the capacity to think as taiju's cum filled your mouth and he released his grip on your head. you slunk down the post you were bound to, eyes stinging with leftover tears as your legs fell to the ground. you barely mustered the energy to watch as mitsuya followed his captain to the stairwell, and patted him on the back.

"don't think she'll be able'ta put up much of a fight now, cap'n" he laughed, glancing back at you with a wink that boasted the success of his plan.

and he wasn't wrong, either.

taglist: @wakaslut @cumfuyu @abgtora @manjiroscum @01-20-1992 @tirzamisu @maytey @keisaint @haruphilia @miytsuya @champagnej @lovemegood @tofu-and-aesthetic @ravenina14 @kokonoienjoyer @dilf-city @z-na @souyatr @icecreamranwich @shujiful @nikidiaries @toyomitsus @saitaso @chieeeeeee @lalalemon101 @wakasa-wifey @roppongiperfume @nanaminshousewife @manjiken @blueparadis @xehr

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silversatoru · 3 years

Note

Can i regurst a gojo x reader smut where y/n is gojo’s ex girlfriend and also a strong jujutsu sorcerer and they get back together asdfghjkl 🥺😂? Tyy 🥺

hehhee yes ma’am here u are!!! i actually loved writing this one (i think i just have a thing for writing gojo lately lmao) anyway! i! hope! you! enjoy!

to heaven and back

gojo satoru x f! sorcerer!reader

synopsis: you and your ex, gojo satoru, beat the hell out of a few special grade curses and then head back to his house to rekindle an old (and kind of kinky) flame

tags/warnings: nsfw (18+), smut, handcuffs, blindfolding, little bit of oral sex, teasing, alcohol consumption, some fluff at the end? just a little

word count: 3.1k

You lifted your elegant glass of random wine that you could care less about knowing the name of, and took a long sip. All of these old rich bastards talked way too much about brand names, aging, and what cheese paired well with each wine. They were missing what was really important — which one would get you drunk the quickest.

These kinds of formal events weren’t really your scene, and having to listen to a bunch of old, conservative, high-up jujutsu leaders was terribly boring — so why not take this opportunity to get a little tipsy? You deserved it for putting up with all of these assholes. After all, the only reason they invited you to this prestigious event was for protection. If that pesky band of special grade curses caught wind that all of the higher ups from both Kyoto and Tokyo were in the same place, they were sure to launch some kind of attack. The old, wrinkly douchebags couldn’t care less about your opinions of the jujutsu world and how you would change it, they only liked you for incredible cursed technique.

And so here you were, spitefully wearing your most elegant dress and downing glasses of wine in an attempt to drown out all of the nonsense around you. There was only one thing that could make this event any worse and—

“Hello everyone! The strongest jujutsu sorcerer has arrived — I know you were all looking forward to my appearance”.

And there it was. There was that one thing that could make this event any worse. Gojo Satoru.

You dipped your head low, burying yourself in your glass of wine and praying to any god who would listen to not let this man see you. It’s been over two years since the two of you broke up, but he still wasn’t someone you enjoyed running into.

Gojo was terribly notorious for having a long line of girls at his disposal, and with his incredible strength and annoyingly good-looks, it wasn’t hard to understand why. The two of you had never been in an officially committed relationship, and so technically Gojo was free to do as he pleased — but you were practically dating and your heart ached every time you caught wind of him being with another woman. And so two years ago you cut things off with him for good — you were tired of being the one he always ran back to at the end of the day.

He’d looked at you with eyes full of pain that night, begging and pleading to stay with him. He showed you a vulnerable side to him that you had never seen before — and he swore to you that if you had asked to make things official, he would have committed himself to you fully. You declined however, because you felt like you shouldn’t have needed to ask for that kind of thing — but maybe that was just your ego getting in the way.

“Hey, beautiful, I’ve never seen you around before, you must be from the Tokyo campus,” Some random assistant casually leaned against the counter you were sitting at and shook you out of your thoughts.

“If you’ve never seen me before then you must not be very important,” You shot him a distasteful glance, taking another sip of your wine.

The man’s face lit up with panic — he must not have been expecting such retaliation to his pathetic attempt of flirting.

“Are you bothering her?” A familiar voice came from behind you — a long, slender hand slapping down onto your shoulder, “Please don’t flirt with my wife”.

“Ah- Wife? I’m so sorry, sir,” The man stumbled over his words, bowing his head to Gojo and scurrying away.

Gojo wasted no time sliding into the seat next to you and pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle you’d already been working on.

“Really? You’re telling people I’m your wife now?” You gave him a deadpanned look.

“It worked, didn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from his glass.

You rolled your eyes hard, “Why are you here, Satoru?”

“Same reason as you. The old, conservative pussies are afraid those special grades might attack — so why not invite their two prized sorcerers to protect them?”

“Fair,” You let out a heavy sigh, “Not sure that was their best move though — I don’t think either one of us is very motivated to save these fuckers”.

“No, but I brought my students with me today. So, if anything does happen, make sure you put on a show for them,” He winked, already topping off his wine glass.

You looked over to see a few kids sitting a couple tables away from the two of you, chatting amongst themselves and wondering why the fuck they had to be here.

And so an hour or two went by, and to your surprise, you found yourself laughing hysterically alongside Gojo. The two of you had definitely drank a bit too much, and your personalities complimented each other a little too perfectly. You shared the same terrible sense of humor and he had quite the knack for bringing out this lighthearted side of you. You had missed moments like this these past two years.

Neither of you were paying any attention to the current debate that was occurring between the higher ups when a loud crash sent broken pieces of glass flying through the grand hall. Sure enough, the curses had made their appearance and came flying into the building through a now broken window.

“It’s our time to shine, huh?” Gojo looked over at you, and you imagined that his icy blue eyes were swirling with excitement under that mask.

“Yeah, let’s make this quick,” You found a warm ball of excitement churning in your own stomach — it’d been a long time since the two of you had fought together.

Your technique revolved around the manipulation of cursed energy and converting it into light. You could wrap yourself in a shield of light, send curse-filled bursts of light at your enemies, and move at the speed of light as well — which was almost as efficient as Gojo’s teleportation abilities. You had a series of more advanced moves as well, but those required more energy output and therefore you used them a little less often.

The two of you were both able to move so fast that the curses really didn’t stand a chance. You found yourself laughing as you flipped through the air, hurling balls of light at the curses as Gojo worked closer in hand-to-hand combat. At one point, while the two of you were flying past each other, Gojo stuck out his hand and gave you a high five, both of you smiling like maniacs who enjoyed fighting a little too much.

Between Gojo’s Limitless and your extreme agility and bursts of light, the curses were quickly forced to flee. Both of you were feeling much too drunk and much too lazy to chase after them, even with all of the higher ups begging you to do so. Gojo simply flipped them off and stuck out his tongue, saying that he did what they paid him to do — keep the curses away — and now that the curses had been scared off, he was no longer needed.

“You want to come back with me, relieve more of our old memories together? I remember how much you loved sleeping in my king sized bed,” Gojo looked back at you, offering one of his large, slender hands.

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was your stupid, stupid heart, but you reached out and took his hand, “Fuck it, let’s go”.

Gojo’s house on the outskirts of the Tokyo campus was just as you remembered — sleek black interior with modern furniture and extravagantly silky sheets on his bed — his same bed that you were currently sprawled out on, laying in nothing but your undergarments.

Gojo joined you a couple minutes later, his bare skin warm and familiar against yours. He pressed a few sloppy kisses to your lips, both of you still incredibly tipsy and unable to stop the small giggles from leaking out between your lips while you kissed.

“Take the blind fold off you weirdo,” You pulled at the back of the black fabric.

“Mmm, okay,” He mumbled, undoing the knot and exposing his piercing blue eyes.

“So pretty,” You murmured under your breath — his eyes really were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life

His fluffy silver hair fell down messily over his face, a drunken smile stretched across his lips. His smile quickly turned into a devilish grin as he slipped the mask over your eyes instead, tying a tight not at the back of your head.

“This isn’t what I meant,” You droned, but you didn’t argue — you certainly weren’t opposed to being blindfolded.

“It looks good on you,” He slurred, his words messy and his lips even messier as he pressed them back against yours.

The kisses seemed to last forever, and both of you were perfectly okay with that — your hands taking their time exploring each other’s bodies for the first time in far too long.

Gojo’s hands worked their way up your back, tracing lines along your toned muscles until he finally reached the nape of your neck. His fingers entangled themselves in your hair, soft hums coming from his lips.

“I still have handcuffs, if you’re still into that sort of thing,” he mused, massaging his fingertips into your scalp.

“Damn, I can’t believe you remember what I like. I thought my preferences would have gotten lost among the sea of other women you were pleasing,” You let the snarky remark roll off your tongue, though there was clearly no real spite in your words — you’re both adults and what happened then was in the past now.

“It wasn’t even that many,” He defended, “And you were the only one who ever mattered”.

“I’m flattered,” You laughed, “Now, where are those handcuffs?”

Gojo stifled a deep laugh, his hands leaving your hair as he lifted himself up and stood from the bed. When he returned a few moments later, there was cool metal wrapping around both of your wrists. He had two sets of handcuffs, putting one on each wrist and then hooking the other side to the bed posts.

You were entirely at his disposal now, your hands secured over your head and your vision blocked off by the black mask.

“I could tickle you right now and there’s nothing you could do,” Gojo observed aloud, pressing kisses up the side of your torso.

“Satoru, I would kick the living shit out of you,” You threaten, goosebumps growing under your skin.

“Yeah, but you can’t touch me unless I let you,” He retaliated, his soft hands reaching underneath your bra to feel your breasts.

You groaned in response — his Limitless really did make him impossible.

He cupped each of his hands around your firm lumps, gently massaging them between his fingers. His cool fingertips then made their way down to your lower body, swiftly removing your remaining underwear. You were now completely exposed to him, chills running down your spine as you wondered what he would do next.

You heard a shaky breath leave his lips, his hungry hands massaging circles into your thighs, “God, you’re so beautiful. I missed you so much, you know that?”

“I’m sure you did,” You breathed, “I’m a wonderful person to be around”.

Gojo let out a hearty laugh, and you heard what you assumed to be the sound of his own underwear getting thrown to the floor. A few seconds later he was straddling your torso, his warm thighs wrapped around your body. You couldn’t see it, but you knew his massive member had to be right in front of your face now.

“Remind me what that pretty mouth can do,” He cooed, pressing the tip of his length gently to your lips.

You graciously granted him access, parting your lips and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive tip, earning a few twitches from Gojo’s body. You began to bob your head back and forth as much as the handcuffs allowed, a few quiet moans leaving his throat in response.

He began to move his hips against you, gingerly pushing his member deeper and deeper into your mouth until you were taking the full length down your throat. He groaned and let a few curse words slide from between his teeth — your mouth was wrapped so perfectly around him. Tears pricked at your eyes and a couple rough gags ripped through your throat, Gojo finally pulling away and allowing you to catch your breath.

After that, you felt a single one of his long, slim fingers slide into your mouth, and you wasted no time wrapping it in your tongue and sucking hard.

“Good girl,” He murmured, plucking his finger back out of your mouth and moving it down to your aching entrance.

Between the saliva on his finger and the slick juices around your opening — his finger slid in effortlessly. He started moving in quick movements, curling his finger up into your g-spot each time. A few light moans left your lips, your fists clenching in the cuffs as your yearned for more. His finger felt good, but you wanted the real thing — you needed it.

“Satoru, please,” You practically whined his name, a tiny bit ashamed for how desperate you were for him right now.

“Patience, love,” He clicked his tongue and your heart did somersaults at the endearing name.

He removed his singular finger and intertwined it with a second one before sliding them back into your cavern. He picked up a steady pace again, your breath hitching in your throat. Two fingers was certainly better than one, but the continuous teasing was just making you even more desperate to feel his member inside of you. You mumbled his name over and over, small pleads and shameless whispers leaving your mouth as you bucked your hips against his hands.

“No ones fucked you as good as I used to, have they? You’re horribly desperate right now” He clicked his tongue again, removing his fingers and moving them up to your clit. He rubbed the smallest, softest circles against the small nub, your core growing warmer with desire.

“I won’t make you wait any longer then,” He whispered, sitting back and positioning the head of his length against your throbbing cunt.

“Please,” You mumbled fervently, any ego or pride that you once had was completely down the drain now.

Your pleads were finally rewarded, Gojo pressing himself deep into your tight walls. The immediate feeling was complete bliss, your head rolling back in pleasure as you heard a throaty moan creep it’s way out of Gojo’s mouth. His moans were so pretty — god, you’d missed the sound of them.

He moved in and out at a tantalizingly slow pace at first, your hips bucking and wiggling as you made fervent attempts to make him go faster.

“So eager…” He shook his head, continuing to move at a pace that was absolutely agonizing — you thought you might die if he didn’t rail the hell out of you soon.

“Please, fuck,” You gasped, “Stop moving so goddamn slowly”.

“Your whines are so pretty, baby. Say my name and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” He murmured, his voice low and husky.

“Fucking hell,” You gritted your teeth, “Please Satoru, please fuck me already”.

“Shit,” He mumbled under his breath, your words sending electricity coursing through his body.

After hearing you say that, he was quick to give you what you wanted, picking up his pace and wrapping his hands firmly around your hips. Strangled combinations of moans, whimpers, and cries filled the air as they flew from your mouth. You didn’t care how loud or desperate you sounded, you wanted him to know how good he was making you feel.

The two of you were an entangled mess of sweaty skin and throaty moans, Gojo filling your ears with praises and compliments the entire time. His lengthy member railed into you over and over, hitting that perfect pleasure point with each stroke and sending warm surges of ecstasy through your veins.

Your bodies moved together in sync, your breaths aligning and your climaxes threatening to arrive simultaneously. After a few more firm strokes, you felt yourself drowning in pleasure — euphoria crashing through your body like waves. Gojo reached his end point just a few moments later, his loud cuss words and strangled moans filling your ears.

The two of you rode out your orgasms together, and almost immediately afterwards Gojo collapsed next to you. He lazily reached up and uncuffed each of your hands, leaving the cuffs dangling from his bed posts just in case there was a round two in his future. He rolled the sticky condom off his member and tossed into a nearby trash bin, a relaxed sigh slipping between his parted lips. You peeled the black mask off of your eyes, finally able to meet his again.

He was staring at you with eyes filled with all kinds of emotions — the emotions that he’d been too afraid to admit to the first time the two of you were together. But he wasn’t afraid of commitment anymore, he was absolutely certain about what he wanted, and it was you.

“Stay with me,” He asked, his eyes pleading with you, “I’m ready this time, I promise. I’m all yours, if you’ll have me”.

You found a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you looked deeper into his eyes, “Of course I’ll stay, as long as you still feel this way when you wake up sober tomorrow”.

“I’ll feel this way forever,” He pressed his head into you and mumbled into your chest, “And I’ll remind you as many times as you need to hear it”.

You wrapped your arms around him in response, the two of you fitting impeccably together. He placed a few gentle kisses to your skin before his breathes began to slow. You found your own breathing to be evening out, your cloudy thoughts pushing you closer and closer to sleep. The two of you slowly drifted off together, your heavy breaths falling perfectly in sync.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsukaisen #gojo satoru smut #gojo #gojo saturo #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru smut #smut #smut and fluff #jjk gojo #jjk smut

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maries-gallery · 3 years

Note

Possessive/jealous Yelena or something angsty. A break-up would be good too.

Genre : angst

Warning : toxic behaviour, break up, toxic relationship

A heavy sigh falls from your lips as you step in your shared apartment, taking off your shoes. Muscles sore from dancing all night to the beat of colourful neon lights and party anthems. Aching for a well deserved rest and peace of mind as you make your way to the bathroom, Yelena’s voice reaches your ears as she takes off her jacket.

“Can’t believe this idiot thought he had a chance with you.” She grumbles, walking into the bedroom and unbuttoning her shirt, a frustrated sigh torn from her chest as she approaches you.

You stiffen in front of the mirror as her arms snake around your waist, lips falling on your nape, biting and sucking to leave a mark, pulling a pained gasp from you.

“Isn’t it clear enough that you’re mine ?” She queries, more to herself than anyone else in the room, onyx eyes shadowed over with anger as she stares at the purple imprints she left on your soft skin.

Carefully, you slide away from her grasp, out of the bathroom to escape from the stiffening atmosphere and the green monster crawling in her chest.

This is not the first time Yelena has shown herself possessive over you. Not the first time you had to come home early from an event because of her inability to see you interact with other people. And you were sick of it. Sick of making concessions, sick of catering to her wishes to whisk you away from your friends and anyone willing to approach you.

You hadn’t seen your friends in weeks now, filtering their calls and texts in fear your girlfriend’s nerves would snap like a rubber band. And you missed your life. You missed the freedom you had when things were normal, when things hadn’t gone off the rails yet. When she still considered you as her equal and not a possession to be owned.

Irritation churns inside of you as you whip around to face her, determined to speak your mind and put an end to this situation. Because the two of you couldn’t continue on this path, dark and poisonous, threading with caution every step of the way.

“We were just talking, Yelena. Nothing more, nothing less.” You explain matter of factly, hoping this would get through her skull even though you knew it to be thick.

She shakes her head, plopping down on the bed, head in her hands. “You’re just too naive, aren’t you ?” She voices darkly, sending shivers up your spine as a humourless chuckle falls from her lips. “I should have known this was not a good idea, that you, Bunny, would only get attention from pests like him.” She said, slowly gazing up at you.

She stands up, steps heavy as she approaches you. Soon looming over you, eyes piercing and cold as she stares you down.

“Because that’s what you do, right ? Lure them in with your sweet little voice and cute bunny smile. So innocent and easy to corrupt you don’t even recognise the big bad wolf when it stands before you.”

And that’s when you snap. In spite of the fear clawing at your insides as you step back and walk past her. Black eyes widening briefly before analysing your every move as you hurry to the living room.

You don’t have time to pick up your shoes before she’s on your tail, arms crossed over her chest as she regards you questioningly like a patronising father tired of their child’s antics.

"What do you think you're doing, Bunny ?" Her voice chills your bones, blood turning to ice in your veins as you put on your shoes and jacket, taking your phone and bag.

“Leaving. I can’t take this any more.” You answer through a tight throat, adrenaline flooding through your veins as her hand falls on your shoulder and halts you in your tracks.

“No, you’re not leaving.” She says, leaving no room for argument as she tries to pull you back. “We’re not done talking. And where would you go anyways ? It’s 2am.”

“Oh don’t worry, my friends will gladly house me for the night.” You retort, eyes meeting hers and you try hard not to cry as sobs rattle in your throat. “I’ve had enough, Yelena. We talked about this already. I thought you could change, make an effort for me and try to control your jealousy. But it only became worse !” You explain, tears now freely flowing down your cheeks as you continue in a broken voice. “I-I can’t take it anymore. I have to go.”

You step away from her, heart shattering in both your chests as you wriggle out of her grasp. And you only cry harder as pain and hurt flickers in her eyes, usually void of any emotion. Her hand falling limply at her side as she watches you go. Too shocked to stop you, too broken to raise her voice.

“And if you love me you’ll let me leave.”

And the last thing she does is letting you go.

Taglist : @fluffyneko @heyy-its-j @naiomiwinchester @local-ackerman-whore @hislittlecumwhore @juminly @cookiefics @sunshinedragonofthewest

#aot x reader #aot angst #snk angst #snk x reader #attack on titans x reader #attack on titan x reader #yelena x reader #yelena angst #yelena aot #yelena snk

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is.

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament.

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?”

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.”

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.”

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment.

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy.

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.”

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].”��

How considerate of him to spell it out for you.

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right.

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance.

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance.

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you?

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.”

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back.

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?”

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?”

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.”

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow.

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him.

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip.

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.”

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.”

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one.

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.”

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten.

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?”

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place.

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning--

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.”

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