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bluejayadler · 18 hours ago

Note

Thoughts on this post?

https://www.tumblr.com/do-be-careful-charles/786662921427206144?source=share

I thought it was fascinating and and fun and would love to hear someone else's thoughts on it.

Parallels!

So I received this ask in my inbox from an anonymous human, and it has given me an excuse to talk about parallels!

Now, the OP mentions Edwin being paralleled with Wilfred, the WWI ghost, and Charles being paralleled with Hope Devlin. But someone in the tags also brings up Crystal with Esther and Niko with Mick. So we're gonna look at all the Core 4 and their parallels.

Parallels are used in narrative and storytelling for a few different reasons. Largely its to compare or contrast two points or things - two parallel scenes might show progression along an arc, two parallel characters might show diverging character arcs or converging character arcs - loss of self of one character, reclamation of identity, the fall, the rise! So many things.

Edwin to WW1 ghost - this was a fate he could've had, but the sad thing is, that even though he escaped this fate, he really didn't. WWI and WWII battlefields, like most warzones, were described as Hell. Edwin died the year the draft was initiated. Sure, he wasn't old enough yet, but he may have still ended up drafted soon enough. Edwin actual death involved him being sacrificed to Hell - figurative or literal hell, no autonomy or agency in ending up there. Edwin's parallel is essentially a reflection. Also consider that there would've been a good chance he died MIA or ended up buried as an unknown soldier. Edwin may have been lost the No Man's Land and Hell just as easily. He didn't really "escape" this parallel fate but rather endured a more twisted version of it.

Charles to Hope - again, this is a fate Charles could've had but still basically did, in a twisted way. Hope tries to leave home and is murdered before she can. Charles does leave home, off to boarding school, but still ends up murdered. You'd have to wonder if Charles saw Hope and thought, just for a second, "even if she left, nothing would've changed" because, that was the truth for him. He escaped and then didn't. The fact is, either fate would've left him murdered by someone meant to care for him and protect him, someone he was meant to trust. And I don't think Charles would've found any more justice if he'd been killed by his own father. Child abuse is grossly under investigated, and even when it is, is very under-punished. Charles's father may not have received any real punishment, if he got caught at all. If anyone even cared.

I think the big thing for me with the boys and their parallels is that they both still essentially had their fated death! But also, them having their parallel in front of them fits so well with the themes of justice and "we didn't matter". Parallels in story telling serve a few different purposes - usually around comparing and contrasting. Often its holding a character up against an older or younger version of themselves (either literal version of themself or just representative/figurative version) and saying "this is what you could become" or "this is what you could've been". With Charles and Edwin, its oddly both or kinda neither. Sorry, I should be asleep. These are what they could've been and, at the same time, what they could become - Charles could become trapped in a loop of his own pain (and he kinda does) and Edwin could be cursed to forever live through that Hell again (which, again, kinda almost happens). Edwin and Charles both "escaped" that parallel outcome, but not really.

But their parallel is less about comparison to me, and more about the theme of justice. Again, parallels can be used for different things. In the case of Edwin and Charles, I think it helps highlight a core theme of the show.

Going back to the "we didn't matter" scene (amazing scene) - Edwin says "we didn't matter, so these cases matter. They have to matter." And I think this is what their parallels more play towards. Edwin and Charles come face to face with their parallels, but they are able to give those parallel ghosts something they didn't get - some level of justice or closure. And its not perfect by any shot of the imagination. Charles and Edwin don't PREVENT tragedy, just like no one prevented theirs. Given how against taking a living client Edwin is in ep 1, it's easy to imagine they do it VERY rarely, so unless they are hired by a ghost to save someone, they are coming in AFTER the tragedy occurs. That is also the nature of a detective who usually investigates AFTER the tragedy. The boys aren't preventing their parallels but they are allowing the next part of the story to be different. They see the parallel in their cases, some as strong as Hope and Wilfred, and others as not. But they don't leave their parallel in the same place. They step in - something that wasn't done for them.

And its interesting how they interact with these parallels - or rather, with each others parallels. Charles is the one that steps in with Wilfred. He offers him closure in that moment. And this makes sense for his character - Charles is the more positive one, the more social one. It tracks he'd be the one focused on that while Edwin was focused on leaving before the blue light came. But, Charles is also the one that offers Edwin safety too, the way Edwin offered it to him. Charles, in that moment, becomes to Wilfred what Edwin was for him in the attic - paralleling the moment of his own death and the arrival of his own blue light. In the Devlin house, Charles can't act. He tries but gets stuck in the loop. The same way Edwin was stuck in his loop in Hell - unable to escape the Doll House. Edwin pulls Charles from that loop, by destroying the tape and actually, with the help of Crystal, physically pulling Charles up off the floor. This is paralleled when Charles pulls Edwin out of Hell. Because, the Devlin house, seeing his own parallel and being unable to stop it, would've been figurative Hell for Charles. So, their parallel ghosts aren't even JUST about them separate but them together and their entire afterlife purpose. Its not just "what could've been" but "what can we make it", which is not a common use for parallels, least, not that I can think of.

So yeah, the boys' parallels are AMAZING! But the post I was sent included Crystal paralleled with Esther and Niko with Tragic Mick. So, lets look at that.

Cause, DBDa has a LOT of parallels, which I love. They have scenes that parallel each other and characters that parallel each other, and its fascinating. But focus, focus on just the Core 4.

Crystal and Niko fall more into the traditional comparison type parallels - the younger character paralleled against an older version of themself and "what you could become" motif.

Crystal and Esther - I touched on them a little bit during a previous NGL where someone asked if I thought Crystal was getting through to Esther during the final fight. Crystal and Esther parallel amazingly. They both are women who were wronged - betrayed in some way by people they loved who were meant to love them. They both turned to some power to protect themselves, specifically taking the route of power to keep others from hurting them, even if it meant hurting others first. Esther is the most obvious, but Crystal does this - the mean girl mentality hurting her friends emotionally, giving people nightmares, and the whole making someone walk into traffic! Add to this that both Esther and Crystal get their power from a similar place. I mean, Crystal's is her own, but it is strengthened by her ancestors. A female ancestral source. Esther gets her from Lilith, the first woman and goddess of wronged women. They both turn to this source as some point. And this is where they branch and they do it in a way I enjoy. Because, Crystal doesn't go all the way down the same route as Esther, even though she starts down that path. She stops. Her memories are gone. She doesn't remember being hurt. She knows she has the power to get what she wants and do what she wants. And she does - she helps. She finds Becky. She finds connection! Crystal is lost and alone and could use her powers to take, but instead, she uses them to help. And when she fully reconnects with her ancestors, her first act, is to save others. I like how her's is handled, because she never has an explicit "this is who I could become" moment, which, I've seen a lot of. This idea that either the character or the audience needs to parallel to be explicitly written out for them. But the audience doesn't. We can see Crystal struggling with herself, her past actions and current decisions and how to use her power in a way that helps without hurting, including herself. When she calls on Esther's pain and shares her own, she's calling out that parallel. She had a moment like Esther, and she chose to do better. But she isn't explicitly comparing herself or saying "I don't want to become you." The sentiment and arc are there and the show manages to tell it without having to explicitly write it out. I like this, because this is more real to me. Which, yes, I'm saying "more real" while referring to a sow with ghosts and demons and witches. But, DBDa does an amazing job ay making the characters and the arcs very human. If you think about all the big scenes people talk about - they're all human scenes. Like, human connection. The big scenes are huge set pieces or explosion or huge moments of action. They're focused on the humanity of the characters. And, in our life, we will probably see parallels to ourselves, but we often don't get the chance or have the foresight to think "this is what I could become or what I could've been" - not in a moment where that change it possible. Often, its unseen things and small choices that we make that get us there. We may have the idea someone in our mind, like Crystal, but Crystal didn't change because she looked at Esther. She changed because the let herself care and she found support and connection and wanted to be better than who she was before. Crystal does parallel Esther, and we as the audience get to see what Crystal could've become, but she changed for herself and for the people she came to care about. This is why I love her parallel in the show.

And now, we have Niko. And Niko gets another fun dual parallel, like the boys, but not exactly. Niko, I think, parallels Tragic Mick very well. Tragic Mick is cursed - living an isolated life, unable to return home. Niko, when we meet her, is just the same. And neither of them chose it. Tragic Mick was "sent away" by his mother, a punishment essentially for wonder. He was curious. He wanted to know about people. But his mother was hurt by them, so she cast him out. Niko was sent away by her mother, who was grieving, and for whatever reason, didn't want Niko there. She was sent away from home, just like Mick. And once gone, her wonder led her to a field of dandelions, where she was infested and "cursed" resulting in her own isolation. Both of them didn't deserve their fate. They didn't actively cause. They were essentially punished for their own curiosity/wonder and more so, for things outside their control (Huh, both got impacted by intergenerational trauma) and had to suffer through the results. Mick remains largely isolated - constantly seeking a way back to what was. Niko ahs her moments of doing the same. She obsesses, for one episode, about getting her father back. But, when the Night Nurse says "you don't want him back like that", Niko accepts it. Its where her parallel branches off. Niko is able to embrace the pain and what comes after. Not entirely. She still ahs to endure it and get through it. But she doesn't remain in isolation. She could! After the sprites were gone, she could've remained in her room, constantly focusing on what was and how to get back to a place that's no longer there. But she doesn't! She moves forward. She finds new connection and new joy. Like Crystal, part of Niko's shift from her parallel is her own action and part is the action of others - which again plays so well into the show's themes of humanity and connection. Niko would've ended up in a tragic fate were it not for Crystal and the boys intervening. But even after their intervention, she still had to make the choices to chance. Like Crystal - the agency gave her the opportunity and support so she could make the change.

And this brings me to the second parallel for Niko - the Principal. Who is Niko. So, maybe not a parallel, but I'm counting it. The Principal is great because she is what Niko becomes - keeping part of her parallel from Tragic Mick in the "you never know when the good you do will come back around" but also having her own path. The Principal is the parallel that happened because Niko found connection and now she continued the work of the agency from a different side - still helping, in some way, in her way. Because we have the Principal, which we know is Niko, while also having Tragic Mick who is Niko's parallel, we oddly enough get a complete parallel storyline! Yes, Crystal has turned off the path that Esther went down, but something could push her back. And the boys, well, they already ARE their parallel. But Niko, we get a glimpse at this more tragic potential future and instead we see what she does become - the Principal. We don't know how she got there, but we know she held pieces of her journey - quoting Mick, pausing at the sight of her name, using her "reading comprehension" to help, being brave and wanting to find closure for others. Niko becomes the Principal, in part, due to her parallel arc with Mick.

The parallels in this show do an amazing job of highlighting the individual characters while also bringing out the overarching themes of the show - humanity, connection, justice, "the good you do", etc. Thank you so much for the ask! I hadn't considered the Core 4 parallels with other characters before!!! So this was a fun analysis to do when I should've been sleeping.

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #dbda #dead boy detective agency #save dead boy detectives #crystal palace #niko sasaki #tragic mick #esther finch #dbda analysis #Someone asked me this and I then couldn't sleep without answering it #So here is my 3-5 am response...#I should've been asleep by now

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madam-whim · 2 days ago

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WIP Wednesday

tagged by @labskeever and @silly-little-diary - thank you, my dears!

no-pressure-tagging: @illumiera, @pinessydr, @lilarus, @graveofcalaxes, @pyre-of-pages, @elavoria, @yansurnummu, @sulphuricgrin, @dirty-bosmer, @moriche and @umbracirrus, and of course anyone else who wishes to share! feel free to tag me as well, I want to behold your work!

I want to apologize for the missed tags last week - my mental health is doing funny things right now, and it has essentially banned me from writing. It's still doing that, kind of, but I've at least managed to make some progress with my beloved Drake of Blades. It's not much, but hey, it counts!

Or, well, that wasn’t entirely accurate, she decided upon taking a closer look. With how rotten the wooden bar that blocked the door was, the door could have been broken down a while ago. It rather seemed like nobody had shown any interest in doing that, however, and so she began removing it herself. She considered, of course, that there might have been danger on the other side, and that was why the door was barred from this side. But even if that was the case, it had been done a long time ago, and if something really did go wrong, she much preferred to go out fighting over inevitable starvation. Once she’d fully removed the bar, which had taken her quite a while with it practically falling apart as soon as one attempted to move it, she carefully pulled the door open and risked a tentative look outside. The difference was impossible to miss. She was still very obviously in the Imperial City sewer system, but this section was newer, and clearly well-maintained, judging from the lack of rubble and various old items in all possible states of decay. Instead, it even looked to her as if there was a flicker of light some distance away, down the tunnel to her right. A torch, perhaps. That was promising – not without danger, but promising, for it meant that someone had lit a flame here not too long ago. Ever so careful, she stepped out of the section of the sewers she’d already begun to call ‘hers’ in her mind. Even in disrepair, there had been a certain familiarity to them, after all, and the area she stepped into now seemed entirely alien to her, even if the architecture remained mostly the same. Idly, she wondered if that was what time did to a place not deliberately placed outside of it, like the Cathedral had been. A subtle change as the years passed, until it felt like a different space altogether, even if most of it remained the same… Or perhaps it was her, she who’d been trapped in time, who no longer fit into a world that had moved on without her? How much time had really passed since she’d entered into her pact with Akatosh? And – wasn’t that the question – why was she still alive, without the divine to sustain her? She supposed there was only one way of finding out. So she picked up her near-useless blades, and followed the light.

#my writing #wip wednesday #eso #drake of blades #oblivion

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calebslittlecrow · 2 days ago

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Identity Loops Are Quietly Sabotaging Your Shifting Journey

Identity loops are basically just your brain running on autopilot. Your mind loves patterns, it is addicted to whatever feels predictable and familiar. Even when what is familiar (*cough* CR *cough*) feels absolutely horrible. Your identity, or ego, (the version of yourself you believe you are, what you think you are capable of and how you think reality works), is on a constant feedback loop. Your thoughts are feeding into your identity and your identity keeps feeding you the same thoughts. Around and around we go. It’s like you are duct taped to a carousel you kinda didn’t want to get on in the first place. And your subconscious is kinda standing on the sidelines, clapping along while you are trapped. Not because it hates you like some people say, but because it thinks it’s helping in keeping you safe. To your subconscious, change = risk and risk = danger. Even if shifting to a better reality is all you ever wanted, if your mind feels like it’s unsafe, it will hit the brakes. Where It Affects Shifting Let’s theoretically say you’ve been stuck in a loop that sounds like this: “I can’t shift. Shifting is hard. I tried everything and it will never work”. Congrats, that is part of your identity now. And the second you get close to breaking out of that loop, your mind violently flinches back. “Wait, we don’t shift. We try to shift but don’t do it, that is what we are. Abort mission!” Suddenly you are too tired to focus. Or you become aware of every tiny distraction your CR throws at you. Old, really embarrassing memories pop up, you start doubting, all that shit. That’s not a sign that shifting isn’t working or some divine power is saying “not your time yet, buddy”, that’s just your mind yanking every rope it can to drag you back to what is familiar. To the identity it knows best. Even if that identity is frustrating and you hate it, even if you are miserable. Familiar misery still feels safer than the great unknown of total freedom when you are stuck in that loop. People love to say shifting is as easy as stepping into another room. Sure, the mechanism is super simple, but that metaphor forgets something important: you are not just changing rooms, you are changing who you are. When you shift, you step into a reality with a new version of yourself, someone who probably thinks vastly differently, feels differently, sees the world differently. Your old identity is being left behind. If your current identity loop sees this as unsafe or impossible, shifting will feel like an uphill battle. Like you are doing everything right, but shit still doesn’t happen. This is kinda the reason why you’ll hear “You don’t get what you want, you get what you are” from time to time. If your identity loop is “shifting is safe and easy, I can do it anytime” and you are that version of yourself, things fall into place and shifting will be easy. But if your identity loop is “Shifting is hard. I’ve never done it. Maybe someday, maybe never”, your mind will drag you back to where that statement feels true again.

What Now? I think the goal isn’t trying to force shifting to happen. The goal should be to break the loop, or update it, if you want to call it that. Change how you see yourself first, and things will fall into place. Want to feel pretty? See yourself as pretty first. Want to shift? See yourself as someone who can shift first. That version of you exists, your job is to stop being loyal to the version that claims otherwise.

#reality shifting #shifters #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting realities #shiftingrealities #reality shifter #shifting motivation #shiftblr #shifting tips #shifting advice #shifting awareness #desired reality

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aetherflowers · 2 days ago

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Ship Sleep Dynamics

Thank you so much for the tag, @p0lkadotdotdot! This is such a cute one.

No pressure tags: @in-the-drowning-deep @redheadsramblings @woundedsoul12 @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @jenn2d2 @davrinsleftpectoral @hedwigoprah and:

You!

Elona & Alistair:

How often do they sleep together?

Not very often at first, what with them being two awkward lil weirdos, but eventually it just makes more sense to only have to put up one tent instead of two. With Elle's insomnia and mandatory watches, they still aren't actually getting much sleep at the same time unless they're somewhere where they have four walls and a bed, and then they might actually manage to sleep the better part of the night. After the Battle of Denerim, it becomes much more frequent.

Where do they sleep?

Almost exclusively bedrolls at first. Luxurious. They have no shame about sharing the royal suite once in Denerim. I like to imagine the servants in the castle find a little relief in seeing their new king happily in love after everything the country just went through, especially once heirs come along.

How do they prepare to sleep?

There's typically little fanfare; on the road they take what they can get. Elle has a habit of reading herself to sleep from her Circle days that she takes back up once settled in Denerim as she's usually the first to retire to their rooms. Once Alistair gets there, he usually unwinds by telling her all the ridiculous things he's dealt with that day. Sometimes that continues into the bath, depending on the day he's had. A hot bath helps them both relax before bed and there's a rule to not take their work with them into the actual bed--the bed is the one place they get to pretend they are just two normal people living a completely normal life.

What do they wear to sleep?

On the road they got used to sleeping partially clothed in case of emergency. Hopefully they get down to linens before they pass out. On good days, smalls. On bad days, they figure out how to make it work in armor. If you're tired enough, you can fall asleep in anything.

In Denerim they have paid their dues. Alistair sleeps in the Thedas equivalent of very fancy sweatpants. Elle has robes and night gowns. There's a 50/50 chance the clothes last or not.

Do they cuddle?

Alistair is a big cuddler. It helps to keep her trapped in bed and combat her insomnia.

What are their preferred sleep positions?

Mostly Elle on her back and Alistair wrapped around her in some fashion. Side sleeping and spooning became more common in Denerim when pregnancy made it more of a necessity. Alistair loves to be the little spoon when he can.

How easy do they fall asleep?

Alistair learned how to fall asleep fast and even after, in Denerim, he's able to push everything aside and pass out. He even doesn't mind if she lights a candle to read. Elle slowly gets better about sleeping but at the beginning she sometimes just dozes.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

Blissfully, neither move a lot (even if Elle can't sleep). But Elle knows Alistair is having a bad night if he does. They happen, thankfully less and less.

Do they snore?

They've been known to sleep so hard they snore, mostly Alistair.

Who hogs the blanket?

They tend to cocoon themselves quite a bit. Elle runs cold, Alistair keeps her warm.

What do they dream about?

On the road, Alistair has the standard Grey Warden nightmares mixed with "everyone I care about dies" nightmares. Those ease post-Denerim, but sometimes he still has nightmares about it all. If asked he'll joke and say it was just another of those "show up on the throne naked" types of nightmares. He usually doesn't remember his dreams but he has fun making up things.

Elle is a vivid dreamer, which led to her insomnia. She dreams mostly of memories - her childhood, the Circle, their time on the road. Particularly vivid dreams involve her time in the Fade. In her nightmares she can't summon her magic or save people. Sometimes she's stuck in the Fade and can't find her way out. Time and stability help to mellow those out.

How easily do they wake up?

They both wake up very easily, at first from being on the road and eventually because they prefer not to be caught unaware by servants.

How awake they are afterwards?

Give them a breath and a few blinks and they're good to go, though they may not always be happy about it.

Yvette & Cullen:

How often do they sleep together?

After Redcliffe they enjoy one night before the mages start to pour in and Eve shares her cabin. But then after Haven, when she almost dies, he's in her tent every night because he needs to see and hear her breathing to even think about relaxing. In Skyhold it takes a couple of weeks to get things fixed up and settled but if they're in the same place they're sleeping together.

Where do they sleep?

Eve's (ridiculously) ginormous bedroom, if they're in Skyhold. I envision there being an old servant's entrance that isn't totally safe but is manageable and they're the only two people who use it. Staff knows that if the sun is down, her room is off limits unless the world is ending.

If they aren't in Skyhold, they will typically default to bedrolls. Less noisy than cots, and more durable.

How do they prepare to sleep?

There's a routine with Cullen's armor to maintain it properly that helps him at least start to wind down. A cup of tea while reading a few more reports. They make a list of things that need to get done the next day to help unburden their minds. If one is particularly busy, work is allowed in bed so the other can go ahead and rest. Neither like to be in bed alone.

What do they wear to sleep?

Typically just smallclothes, if anything.

Do they cuddle?

Cuddling is essential. Even if it's just holding hands across cots, they need the solid presence of the other to feel comfortable.

What are their preferred sleep positions?

Tangled. They don't tend to have a regular sleep position so much as the tendency to end up in a knot. The weight of one another's limbs, the warmth--those are the most essential parts.

How easy do they fall asleep?

It takes them both a bit to fully relax and succumb. Together it's faster but still takes time.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

When not together they're very restless sleepers, but together they settle one another down. There's still a lot of sleep twitching, though. Even together they still have demons to fight in their sleep.

Do they snore?

I don't think either of them ever sleeps deeply enough to snore; they're both light sleepers.

Who hogs the blanket?

They both tend to kick the covers off through the night.

What do they dream about?

What don't they dream about? Cullen's dreams tend toward nightmares--the past, his fears, his endless to-do list. His more pleasant dreams involve his family. The best nights are when he doesn't dream at all, which sometimes is accomplished through magic when his nightmares wake up Eve.

She has a pretty even split of dream and nightmare. Dreams tend to involve whimsy and the future; nightmares the past, particularly the Ostwick rebellion, Envy demon, and future she experienced in Redcliffe. If her nightmares wake him up he has permission to wake her from them.

How easily do they wake up?

So easily; they can wake just from the other muttering in their sleep. For a while their nights mostly consist of waking one another from nightmares. Sometimes they go right back to sleep, others they take advantage of both being awake.

How awake they are afterwards?

They are both immediately ready to go upon waking unless it was a particularly bad nightmare, and then they might need a minute. In a situation they can compartmentalize and jump right into action. Over time it improves marginally.

#oc tag game #dragon age #warden amell #inquisitor trevelyan

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hauntingblue · 1 year ago

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making a collection

making another collection with a threatening aura

#davy back fightbpart 3 letsgo #HOW do the three big guns get wasted on the eating contest... horrible plan.... luffy is fine bc well... but not sanji and zoro like damn.#luffy DOESNT WANNA EAT??? CALL THE NAVY!!!!#what was i saying.... bad idea putting the three beasts there #FRANKY FRANKY FRANKY!!!! they captured the two princesses :(#one sided beef squashed between luffy and foxy. friendship ended with random ex marine guy. now luffy is my best friend #usopp and franky bonding time hell yeah. throw usopp by the head once more pelase #nami with zoros swords just like holding them looks so cool like she should get a few swords too... nami three sword style oda drawing pls #i think this man underestimates nami and luffys power together he doesnt know about shiki #luffy saying he knows its a trap and sorry for being late.... lets go on an adventure all nine of us.... usopp yes anding his lie..... omg #cant believe nami isnt there yet. she could take this guy. oh there she is!!!!! she does look cool with the swords and jumping to get luffy #zoro screaming in agony from luffy getting shot omg THIS FUCKING GUY OF COURSE!!! this looks like its so over #zoro and sanji must feel so useless rn. they didnt even get the chance to fight like damn #komei-kakka??? more like come caca. boom #luffy face down dead on the floor akdjkaa chopper have you tried looking at the wound to see if it harmed him idk #it hit the face akdjskn usopp that was coom also #was robin flirting with the other guy and zoro caught her and she told hum to shut up???#'your friends got the best of me but you are still in my arms an-' 'HEAT EGG!! ALSO YOU'RE ON FIRE!'#flare maneauver that was so slay also luffy and nami in the same frame so twins of them. my children. birthed them one right after the othe #zoro and sanji fighting back to back. back to back to back to you i dont wanna fall right back to us maybe you should run right back to her #that is such a bop song. also post wano zosan. and post wci. see the recurrent theme #fighting in water.... being on top of the sword that was a slay... red hawk ace i will never forget you it seems #foxy liking his jolly roger omg nami fooled him ahdhsjs i think they should have pirate game event every year they yearn for contests #now since this experience foxy should make monthly multitudinary pirate games olympics hoping the strawhats join them a la gatsby #the faces at the mushroom akdhaksjs #talking tag #watching one piece #watching one piece movies #kinda loved how robin betted on franky against usopp.... i will take the crumbs

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formal-frog-shoes · 8 months ago

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Twiststuck stuff i just wanna get out

Im a huge Cater multi-shipper

Normally this wouldn't be a problem

BUT I CAN'T HAVE ALMOST EVERYONE IN THIS AU HAVE A FLUSH OR PALE CRUSH ON HIM THAT'S ABSURD!!!

#froge post #twiststuck #... theres so many good ships tho.#like riddle pale crush on him would be SO cute.#Though Riddle doesn't go through with it? Buuuut still might have lingering feelings of red and pale in the future?#(I will say this; Riddle ends up breaking quads but its Trey <> riddle but Trey is also his Auspistice. This freaks him out at first)#and Idia having a flush crush would be really funny too cause of how outgoing cater is #and idia's mind is like “woa... alien find me fun to be around?” and he gets a flush crush #I've already confirmed that Jade has a Pale/Flush crush on Cater though Jade isn't sure which one it is.#Jade also seems like the kinda troll who would mix his romances like doesn't quite follow quadrants and instead breaks them #Obviously Trey and Cater being in a relationship is a thing.#past or present? idk. but they've got something going on.#Malleus <3 Cater would be so good too #Prince Malleus learning about humans/ communication and other things from Cater and gains feelings of some kind Pale to Flush or something #Pale Crush Ace i think is a good idea but then Ace gets over it pretty quick. Same with Deuce probs. (these two red tho)#ROOK AND CATER?! LIKE ok that's a biiit of a Crackship? but like here me out???#Like Rook loves learning but also he's “trapped” in that little room and manages to see the world from Cater's pictures #and falls a bit for the photographer? who manages to capture the beauty of NRCBurb or whatever i call the game dfjsalkf #Vil and Cater is also good albeit probably one-sided on Cater's part? Though I can imagine Cater doing the good ol Sacrifice for him.#Cater will throw himself in harms away alot in this au actually.#if i write a narrative for it #Kalim and Cater being “Pale” despite both being human. Like Cater reigns Kalim in from his extravagant plans with more lowkey plans #also Cater did pretty much sacrifice himself for Kalim in the Playful Land event! so there's another point for self sacrificial Cater #I saw Jamil x Cater one time and I thought that was cute so that might be a one off joke-ish moment #floyd flush crush cater is also probably a one off joke too #during the “Jade thinks Cater is a purple blood era” and then loses interest when learning Cater is human. probably #watch me come up with more after posting #HOW DID THIS GET SO LONG HELLO???#Cater Diamond #twst

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arolesbianism · 9 months ago

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Thinking abt Sif Odile duo looping au again and I wanna be able to plot everything out more coherently but act 5 eternally looms overhead and boy I do not wanna look up

#rat rambles #stars posting #like I have a vague idea of some of the like themes I imagine being present late game but it doesnt change the fact that act 5 isnt very #duo looper au friendly especially in this case with most of the ideas I have #I rly want it to be both a breaking point for them as individuals and a breaking point for their relationship but idk how to go about that #fully taking the rest of the party into account especially since Im not even sure if I wanna give odile her own friendquests #like I Could but I also think it'd be fun for many reasons to not #and even if I Did itd be hard to justify having both be able to happen and go wrong in one loop #and theres not rly a good solution to that I think so my best bet is probably to just leave odile friendquestless #but Id rly like to still have odile quarrel with the rest of the party in a significant way #idk maybe it can be the scene where sif comes back to the lighthouse or smth?#like he comes back and odile just completely lashes out at him or smth and the others get rly upset with her #but then theres also the whole walk through the house that I have to figure out and Im also not set on how that should go #maybe it can be like reality almost splitting as they both try to use timecraft at the same time?#not sure how Id go about portraying that in story though since the rest of the party cant rly experience that I think #Im sure theres some way you could pull that off tho Im just too tired to have any good ideas atm #and then the biggest bastard comes in. mal moments.#like I cant just put them both there! that's not how that works!#and I dont wanna just leave them mostly vanilla thats boringgggg #but Id probably have to. alas.#afterwards is also a bit fuzzy but I have rhe general idea down #me and the bestie when we both made the same wish but dont know that and have both been falling into a spiral over it #(we dont even realize that the part of the wish that was the exact same was the core of the wish)#(we both just thought that we accidentally trapped the other with us in this hell)#(we also have been actively getting worse at communicating for months now so by the time the wishcraft stuff came up we were both deep in #the no feelings talky talk zone)#(we probably should have known smth was up when everyone started consistently thinking that we had a fight every loop)#(maybe we did but we just didnt want to admit they were right)#god I wish I was more confident with writing odile dialogue I wanna draw scenes from this au so bad #it doesnt help that I got too comfortable being into a media that had like 3 fans and now ppl might actually look at what I create

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garden0fyves · 3 months ago

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thinking about...baby trapping d1 athlete!toji, but you can't tell who's trapping who.

(tiny bit of context here. unedited.)

to toji, it's bad enough that you're the best thing to happen to him. it's another that you’re every wet dream toji has had in his life, and if it means ‘accidentally’ filling you with his seed to keep you, then he’ll do it. no one can ever experience this again, you’re all his. he’ll make sure of it. but, what toji doesn’t know is that you’ve stopped taking your birth control. you’ve started taking multivitamins and timing your late night dates in time with your ovulation cycle. you’ve been celebrating his wins with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, and your legs tight around his waist as he stuffs you full.

toji’s hands are strong on your hips as he buries his cock deeper inside of you. his jaw ticks when your tight cunt squeezes around him, and he twitches inside of you. your gaze is so soft, so pretty as you look up at him. you’re both sophomores in college and have so much to lose, but god his coach will just have to understand this “mistake”. he’s never seen how pretty you look underneath him, never seen the soft gasp you let out when toji presses a fat finger to your clit. and although he never will, he'll just have to accept that toji will be a father soon. toji's eyes narrow when you pull away from his lips to watch his face. your eyes drift from his eyes to his nose to the scar that rests on his lips. "i love you." you whisper softly, voice and eyes equally as watery.

if toji weren't already madly in love with you he’d have cum then and there, shooting you full of his love from the simple acknowledgement of your love for him. but, that’s already happened and toji’s slowly (very slowly) getting used to your sweet confessions when he’s fucking you particularly well. “i love you too, pretty girl.” he presses a wet kiss to your lips before he kisses your jaw and down to your shoulder. here, he bites down to leave the most obvious hickey he’s probably ever left a day in his life. toji doesn’t notice the way your legs tighten around him, only the clench of your cunt and the flutter of your eyelashes as your eyes fall shut.

“gonna be mine forever.” he whispers against your shoulder. it’d be a red flag if the same thoughts weren’t running through your mind. “gonna be yours forever, baby. gonna get married and have your babies.” you purr your words, eyes sliding open just to watch his reaction. toji’s dark green eyes slide up to yours. there’s something new in them, something primal as your words settle on his pussydrunk mind. “gonna be my pretty little wife, hm?” he pulls his hips back just to slam back into your pussy. you gush around him, back arching in pleasure. “tojiii!” you whine his name because he knows it’s true. he’s using your words to torture your poor cunt.

although his thrusts are sharp, they’re still filled with love. you can feel his love through the way his fat finger teases your clit. the way his kisses are gentle against your body despite the pounding your pussy’s experiencing. your stomach’s beginning to flip as your orgasm builds. your pretty pussy’s so loud, making noises toji’s never heard before. you’re so wet that the sheets are beginning to soak. every time toji’s fat cock slides into your cunt he feels like he’s reached heaven over and over again. “she’s taking me so well- fuck! one day,” he begins, cutting himself off with a throaty moan. “‘m gonna fill you up riiight here. make you a mommy, baby. fuck, you’d be so fucking pretty.”

toji presses a hand against your stomach, adding extra pressure so that he can feel the way his cock rubs against your soft insides. “why are you gonna wait? make me a mommy now. don’t wanna wait, wanna have your baby now.” your poor boyfriend can barely handle the words as they fall from your lips. toji’s head falls into your shoulder and stays there—tired and barely maintaining control. “don’t say that.” he whispers your name like a prayer, like he’s begging you to take your words back. by now, your legs have long tightened against his back. your thighs burn from the strength it’s taking you to keep him inside you. (as if you needed it)

“can’t- we can’t baby, not yet. gotta make it to the league first, mama. make sure you have everything you want.” you whine at his words because no matter how sweet they are, they aren’t what you want. you know toji means it. he always does. but right now, you want his child. fuck whatever millions he’ll make in the future from catching a ball. you want something permanent. something that screams that you love him more than anyone ever could. “doesn’t matter.” you whisper, sliding your nails up his back before they’re being dragged back up and into his hair. “cum in me, baby. give me a baby then you can take care of both of us.”

toji’s chest tightens with a newfound affection as the images flicker through his mind. you smiling and swollen with his baby, mini versions of the two of you running around. how fucking gorgeous you’d look being a mother—the mother of his children. he feels like a teenager again, like he’s never fucked before and it’s all overwhelming. he’s cumming, deep and plentiful into your fluttering pussy. you cry his name out, your own orgasm bullying it’s way to the surface. “god, you’re so good. my girl- fuck!” his hips jut into you at an attempt to get impossibly deeper in you. despite the overstimulation wracking your body, you soothe him by running your nails through his scalp. the sweat on your body’s ignored, the cum sliding out of you and onto his cock temporarily forgotten. “i love you.” you hum, pulling his head back just a little. “i love you too, mama.” you giggle, knowing that his little nickname may just be true soon.

to neither of your surprise, three months later you’re posting a baby reveal on your instagram’s. a tiny replica of toji’s jersey covers your belly as the two of you stand on the field with the biggest smiles anyone has ever seen from either of you. your phone’s never blown up so quickly, but you couldn’t care because your heart’s never felt so full.

back to the club!

#d1 athlete toji ☆#gardenofyves #yvieyaps #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen

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acheronsociety · 2 months ago

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✶ BLOODY CRAWLING BACK TO YOU

in which... you absolutely hate your co-worker, the insufferable Jeon Jungkook. but you're badly hurt, and somehow, your feet led you to his door.

pairing: jungkook x f!reader ✶ ( secret agents au ) word count: 7.7k content warning: smut ( mdni ) ✶ angst ✶ mentions of blood, bruises, fights, sex, and lots of cursing. a/n: although I'm a sucker for the arctic monkeys original version, this one was inspired by hozier's cover of "do I wanna know". hopefully it's not too soft for what I've written, and if it is... well, sorry bout that !

⋆ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒂𝒚...

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 was biblical—like the city itself had decided you were a stain it needed to scrub off the map.

You staggered through alleys slick with city grime, rainwater swirling in neon puddles at your feet. Every step punched a fresh flare of agony through your side, where your coat clung wetly to the blood seeping from beneath. You didn’t know if your ribs were bruised, fractured, or split like kindling—but every breath felt like dragging lightning into your lungs and hoping you didn’t catch fire.

They’d said four men. Maybe five.

They’d lied. It had been closer to eleven—if you were counting the one catapulted through the window. You’d clawed your way through that hell. Fought like an animal in a trap. And you’d gotten what you came for. The hard drive burned cold and hard against your belly, its weight heavier than steel.

But now you were bleeding.

And somehow, your body—battered, burning—had walked you here.

Of all places.

To him.

You stood at his door, water dripping off your soaked clothes to pool at your feet, hand raised in mid-air, suspended in hesitation. The alley behind was too quiet. The storm outside sounded muffled, like the world was pressing in from all sides and this was the eye of it.

You hated him.

You hated him with an intensity that tasted like smoke and felt like lust. Hated his smirk. His arrogance. His voice. His eyes. His mouth. Hated how often you imagined it against your skin, even now.

But you couldn’t walk another block.

And you couldn’t risk what was in your hidden pocket. Couldn’t risk losing yourself out there when you'd already lost too much.

Your fist met the door before your pride could stop it. The knock echoed through the porch. You turned your head, checking behind you out of habit, expecting a shadow to crawl from the storm. Nothing. Another knock, this time louder—sharper, more frantic. Pain bit at your side, sharp as a blade twisting. You doubled slightly, hand pressed harder over the heat blooming beneath your ribs.

And then the door jerked open.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook.

Fucking hell.

His black hair was a mess—still damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower, frowzy strands falling across his forehead. His raven eyes, sharp as always, scanned you in a single, sweeping glance. No flicker of surprise. No warmth. Just that same infuriating coolness that always made your blood boil.

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been? Losing a fight with a sewer?”

His voice was a cold blade, smooth and deadly.

You didn’t reply. You looked past him instead, scanning the dark corners behind his shoulder—checking for threats, anything to distract from his judgment.

“Hi to you too,” you muttered, lips twisting in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. Sarcasm was armor, and you wrapped yourself in it fast.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with his arms crossed like he’d been expecting you—and maybe he had.

That was the thing about Jungkook. He knew your tells like battle scars. And he used them.

"Can I come in?" you asked, the words rasping out before you could steel yourself. Your voice cracked, just slightly, under the weight of everything you were trying not to show. "Please."

That made him pause.

Jungkook wasn’t used to you asking for anything—let alone pleading.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside, eyes never leaving yours.

You passed him like smoke, brushing too close, too fast, but not fast enough to miss the heat radiating off his skin. You didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

“Thank you,” you muttered, half breath, half defeat.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

You and Jungkook had been orbiting the same hell for too long. Tossed together by whatever bastard thought pairing oil with fire was a great tactical move. You worked like wolves. Clashed like storms. And when it mattered, you covered each other’s backs with snarls and bloodstained fists.

Still, you had rules. Self-made. Non-negotiable.

No drinking with him.

No sleeping in the same room.

No letting him see you bleed.

No showing up at his door when you were breaking.

Too late.

The couch called to your bones, but his voice cut through the air like a whip. “You’re soaking wet.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging a hand through your drenched hair. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Your fingers found the back of the sofa, steadying yourself as exhaustion clawed at your spine. Your clothes felt like lead. Your skin itched from the dried blood you knew clinged underneath. If you closed your eyes, you were done for. So you didn’t.

He moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Leaned against the frame, arms folded, every muscle taut beneath the hold of a black shirt. The battered—and quite edgy—fabric hugged his torso like it wanted to be torn off. His sweatpants hung dangerously low, a taunt all on their own.

Your gaze flicked down. Just once.

Big mistake.

"I’m assuming you got it?"

The husky scrape of his voice pulled your head up. You stared for a beat, then moved to the table in the kitchen like your legs weren’t screaming with every step.

"What do you think?" you bit back, reaching into your jacket and yanking out the hard drive. You chucked it at him without ceremony. “Prick.”

He caught it with the kind of lazy precision that always pissed you off. No flinch. No reaction. Just a long look, like he was trying to read past the rain and bruises to what lay underneath.

But your coat was still on. Your secrets still safe—for now.

You slumped into a chair. He moved beside you, sliding his laptop across the table and plugging in the drive.

"‘Kay then, let's just throw the thing around so we lose the leverage we have and money we won’t be paid for."

You allowed yourself to shut your eyes for a second, and leaned your head against the wall behind you. “Dramatic as ever.”

The clicking of his keyboard filled the room. Rhythmic. Familiar. You focused on it like it might keep you conscious.

“What took you so long then? Are you that out of shape?”

A small laugh escaped, tight with pain. “As if.” You shifted in your chair, wincing as fire flared under your ribs. “They lied. There were more of them than their intel promised. A lot more,” you muttered, voice brittle with leftover rage.

The keyboard stopped.

You opened your eyes to find him staring.

“How many?”

You let out a breath. Winced again. “Ten? Maybe twelve? I didn’t exactly count heads while they were trying to break mine open.��

His expression faltered.

Just a crack. A flicker. Barely there—quick enough that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you saw it. The sharp flash of something unspoken that darted through his gaze like a blade—gone just as quickly as it came.

He stood slowly. Like he was bracing for impact. Like he could already taste the blood in the air. His movements were quiet, calculated. An animal not yet sure if it needed to strike or mend.

“You’re hurt.”

The words were low, almost a growl. Not concerned. Not yet. But deadly focused.

“Not really.” You shot back too fast. Too automatic. The deflection barely made it past your lips before another sharp wince cut through you, slicing clean under your ribs like a warning. “I’m just soaked… and sore. Pretty normal after rain and knocking out a few men.”

His gaze sharpened.

Whatever he’d been doing on his laptop no longer mattered. Jungkook stepped closer, leaving the glow of the screen behind like it was nothing. His full attention snapped to you like the click of a safety being released.

His eyes dragged over you—slow, deliberate. Mapping out every flinch, every shiver of pain beneath your soaked jacket. You felt stripped bare, despite the layers you still wore. You hated that look. Hated how closely he could read you. Like his fingers weren’t the only things that could undo you.

You shifted back in your seat instinctively, tension rippling down your spine.

But his voice cut through your retreat like iron.

“Take that off.”

The command didn’t even try to be soft. You saw the way his jaw tensed around it, like he hated how much he wanted to say it—and how badly he meant it.

Your breath stilled. An unholy cocktail of defiance and heat clawed up your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“You're drenched,” he said, cool and precise, but his tone wasn’t nearly as detached as he wanted it to be. “You're shaking. And now I can bet my ass you're bleeding too.”

His eyes dropped—too focused, too dark—and locked onto your side. His voice lowered, rough like gravel. “Just get in the bathroom.”

Oh. Oh. He was fucking serious.

And that made you want to punch him.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed the heat rising in it—rage, maybe. Or something worse. Your fingers curled tight against your thigh, jaw grinding. “You can ready your ass then ‘cause you couldn’t be more wrong!”

But even you didn’t believe that. Your body throbbed in agreement, every nerve screaming betrayal beneath the slick black of your sleeves. You knew how to fake strength. But you were running out of it.

You stood. Slowly. Painfully. If you could just make it to the door—

“You have the package,” you muttered, trying to keep your spine straight, even as your knees threatened to fold. “I already did my part. Now you keep it safe.”

You turned your back to him. The mistake was thinking he’d let you go.

You barely made it four steps before his hand was gripping the collar of your jacket, yanking you to a halt. “Just get in the fucking bathroom, for fuck’s sake!”

"Or what?" You spun, fury lashing in your tone, a snarl curling your lips as your fingers fumbled furiously with the zipper.

You would leave his place with or without the damn jacket. You didn’t care. This was a mistake—coming here, letting him see you like this, giving him even an inch of something he could hold over you.

"Or I'll fucking make you," he growled, yanking the jacket from your shoulders as the zipper finally gave way.

The motion twisted your arms awkwardly, pain lancing through your side with a white-hot burn. You faltered. A sharp breath escaped you as your knees buckled.

He caught you immediately.

And when he steadied you, it wasn’t with roughness. It wasn’t with victory.

“Sorry. Fuck—I'm sorry.” His voice dropped, rough and ragged, hands gently guiding you back upright. “Just… please, let me help you.”

Your head fell forward, forehead brushing the side of his shoulder. Not from affection. From sheer exhaustion. From not having the strength to keep up the fight.

When you finally opened your eyes again, his were already watching you, one hand dragging through his hair in a clear sign of restraint. His chest rose and fell beneath that clinging shirt, his breath a little too uneven.

“Look—you came to me. You’re already here.” His hand returned to your hip, grounding and firm. “Let me just take a look at that.”

You opened your mouth, ready to throw another snarky line just to keep the rhythm of control in your corner, but before you could, he was already steering you—gently, insistently—toward the bathroom.

“Jungkook—”

His hand shot up near your mouth, not touching, just fingers curling in the air like he was this close to losing whatever thread of patience he had left.

“Just—shut your pretty mouth for a second.” He turned to open the bathroom door, not waiting to see if you obeyed. “Get in. Take that off.”

He nodded toward your shirt and gave the smallest push to your lower back. “I’ll be right back. No arguing.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His bathroom was bigger than expected. Clinical. Sterile. Almost too neat for someone in this line of work. But it made sense, in that strange, maddening way Jungkook always did. Controlled chaos in the field—total discipline at home.

The dim light spilled down the tiled walls in long, moody shadows. The floor was freezing under your bare feet as you peeled off your shirt, every movement stiff with pain. Your fingers trembled, but you managed it.

Your cargo pants stuck to your thighs, soaked and heavy. You unfastened them, sliding them low enough to access the damage—only to the curve of your hips. Anything more and your pride would unravel too.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid in just your open pants and a black sports bra, arms bracing hard on the basin. Your breath came shallow, dizzy from blood loss.

The door swung open, startling you.

You jerked, arms flying up to cover your chest. “You could always knock.”

“And miss the show?” His voice was low, shameless—but it didn’t bite. There was no cruelty, only that maddening velvet steel that was his signature.

He stepped in slowly, kneeling before you with a med kit tucked under one arm, movements deliberate and devastatingly calm. The sight of him like that—on his knees, flushed skin and damp hair, inked arm flexing beneath that cursed black shirt—made your stomach twist violently.

Desire, or pain. Maybe both.

“Just give me that—I can manage,” you said, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

But his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding your arm down with a tenderness that disarmed you more than any threat. “No, you can’t.”

He looked at you—really looked—his eyes falling to the crimson trail running from your ribs, jaw tightening as he exhaled. “This’ll sting.”

His hands hovered over your skin, the gauze paused midair. He wasn’t moving. Just staring at your torso like it told a story he hated reading.

You shifted. “Well?”

That snapped him out of it.

He pressed the antiseptic to your wound and your world exploded.

“Son of a—”

“Breathe.” His voice was a rasp, low and oddly soft, his free hand finding your hip. His fingers didn’t press—just steadied. A quiet promise not to let you fall.

And for a second, you let him hold you like that.

You lost track of everything once he peeled the bloodied gauze away, his movements deft and careful. Jungkook picked up a hooked needle with the same deadly focus you’d seen him use while disarming a bomb or loading a gun. His teeth came down to snap the nylon thread, the noise sharp in the bathroom’s too-quiet air. Your breath hitched.

Modesty didn’t matter now. Not with the sweat on your brow, the taste of copper in your mouth, and the burn that spread from your side like a live wire. You uncurled your arms from your chest and gripped the basin and wall behind you, knuckles whitening, fingers digging into porcelain.

“Oh, God…”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He noticed—of course he noticed. Jungkook’s eyes darted to your face. Then his hands came down to your knees, grounding you with a touch that was unexpectedly steady. Unexpectedly warm. Like an anchor.

You couldn’t stop staring at the needle, though.

Your gaze clung to it like it might jump at you. You weren’t new to fieldwork—scars littered your skin like a patchwork of every mission that had gone sideways. But stitching? That was personal. Up-close and brutal. It wasn’t the pain that got to you. It was the implication. The intimacy of being opened and closed again in someone else’s hands.

Worse than all that was him seeing you like this.

Panicked. Fraying. Human.

“Hey.”

His voice slipped through your spiraling thoughts.

Then his hand was on your face—firm and unrelenting. His fingers curved under your jaw and tilted your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his. He looked thunderous, but not in the way you’d grown to expect. Not cruel. Not smug. He looked… patient. Focused. Like he was trying to will the fear out of you.

“You really need the stitches, baby,” he said, and the nickname unraveled something low and sharp inside your chest. “I don’t have anesthesia—But I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You blinked at him, momentarily mute.

It wasn’t just the pain—it was the softness, the way he said baby like it was a secret he hadn’t meant to let slip. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or lean into him.

Your chest tightened. So you nodded, barely.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

And then he stitched.

The pain came instantly. Sharp and molten. Your whole body flinched, muscles locking as you grabbed your discarded shirt beside you and shoved it into your mouth to muffle the cry. It was either that or scream.

But you didn’t look away from him.

Not once.

Even through the haze of agony, you couldn’t ignore how he looked up at you between every pull of the thread. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lashes casting shadows over cheekbones sharpened by the low light. That little scar he had on his left one. Every few seconds, his eyes found yours, like he needed to make sure you were still breathing.

And worse—you liked that he was watching.

His fingers moved too near your skin, grazing the edges of you, slow and precise. With each tug of the needle, a jolt ran through your spine. Not all from pain. Your body was buzzing, alive in a way that made you clench your jaw and hate every molecule of awareness you had.

Because why did he have to be this close?

Why did you want him closer?

You took the shirt out of your mouth and swallowed hard. The tension in your voice matched the tension on your skin. “You always do this?”

He didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Play medic for strays?”

His jaw clenched tight, shadow gathering under his cheekbone. His hand paused on the final stitch, threading the knot harder than needed. His silence was louder than a curse.

He tossed the needle aside like it had burned him, shoving the med kit across the tiles with a careless flick of his hand.

“Only the ones that run into traps alone.”

The words cut deeper than the stitches.

His hands hovered in his lap, still curled into fists. You watched his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make that faint, telltale line dent his cheek. The one that only showed when he was furious. When he was trying to hold back.

You knew that look. You’d seen it too many times. He always wore it before things exploded.

“You should’ve told me,” he said finally. His voice was raw, softer than before. A confession, almost.

You couldn’t handle that softness.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight. “It’s just a scratch,” you muttered, but the words rang false in your ears yet again.

He sat back on his heels, eyes still burning through you. “Just a scratch,” he repeated, the laugh hollow. “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed wrapped around you like a vice.

Not peaceful. Not even quiet. It throbbed—the kind of quiet that made your skin prickle and your lungs tighten. It felt like something had cracked open between you, and neither of you knew how to close it.

You moved to stand, needing air, space—anything that wasn’t this. But before your muscles could engage fully, his hand came down, flat and sure, against your thigh.

Not a grip.

Not a threat.

Just there.

“Don’t,” he said.

You made the mistake of meeting his raven eyes.

Electricity. That’s what it felt like. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark brown whole, and there was something feral clawing behind them. Something wild. Untamed.

Not hate.

Need.

“I’m not staying,” you whispered, barely able to push the words past the burn in your throat.

Jungkook rose in one fluid movement. He was suddenly there, towering over you, too close, too solid, the heat of him crowding the air.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were a promise. A warning. Maybe both.

He turned his back to you before you could respond—walked to the sink like the conversation was over. He scrubbed his inked knuckles hard, the water hissing as it hit the porcelain, blood swirling down the drain in thin, ghost-red streams. He didn’t look at you once.

But he didn’t have to.

He thought you’d stay.

So you stood. Fast. Pain stabbed through your side, but adrenaline burned hotter. You clutched your wet shirt like a weapon, storming for the door with your pride clenched so tight it nearly suffocated you.

He moved before you could touch the handle.

“What is it now? Huh?” His voice snapped like a whip. “What’s the hurry?”

He stood in front of the door like a sentinel. Like he’d expected this after all. His body blocked every inch of escape.

“I’m going home,” you bit, hand flying to the knob. “You have the damn drive, you don’t need me to run it. I’m done here.”

His hand clamped over yours, solid and immovable. His grip was hot, skin calloused. Like steel locked against silk.

“You were bleeding just a second ago, goddammit! You’re hurt. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of here.”

Your voice dropped, venomous. “You don’t get to decide.”

Jungkook leaned in, so close you could feel the fire of him, smell the faint cotton-and-cigarette scent clinging to his skin—a contradiction so sharp it made your breath hitch. His voice came out low, all grit and fury, the heat of it brushing your cheek like a threat.

“I do when my co-worker is falling apart and pretending to be fine. You’re not going the fuck out there like that and that’s final. I didn’t stitch you up only for you to drop dead.”

You didn’t speak. Not with words.

Your body did.

You shoved him.

Hard.

Your palms collided with his chest and he staggered back, spine hitting the door with a thud that echoed like a gunshot. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his neck. And for a second—just one second—you thought he might lunge. There was that flare in his eyes again. That glint of the monster you knew better than most. Want tangled with rage. But he didn’t move.

He just stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched behind those pierced lips he didn’t part. The way he stared—like he could rip you apart and worship you in the same breath—lit something molten in your chest.

Then, abruptly, he turned his face away, playing nervously with the loops piercing his bottom lip. Calmed himself. Swallowed it all.

“I’m running you an ice bath,” he muttered, voice flat but dragging like smoke over gravel. “It’ll help with the bruises. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You stood there, vibrating with the fury and the pull, while he moved like a storm through the bathroom, filling the tub. You could hear the splash of the water hitting porcelain, could see the slow swirl of mist rising where frost met heat. Jungkook crouched and pulled something from behind the tub—a coiled noose of silver tubing, a trickle system you hadn’t noticed. Typical. Always had a backup.

“There’s clean towels there,” he said, passing you on his way out, pointing to a cabinet with one long finger. His shoulder brushed yours—intentionally or not, it didn’t matter. It burned. “Don’t lock it,” he added without looking at you, already opening the door. “Just in case something happens. I won’t come in. Just—spare me from having to barge through it, will you?”

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him like a full stop.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the water. You exhaled slowly, peeling away the rest of your clothes as you hated yourself for complying so easily. The sports bra clung to your skin like a second wound, and your pants stuck as if determined to keep every painful inch of the night stitched to you. Your underwear followed. Cold air rushed in against your naked skin, but it wasn’t the chill that had your blood racing.

You stood over the tub for a moment, teeth sinking into your lip as your fingers hovered. Then, jaw tight, you slipped in.

It was ice.

Literal ice.

You hissed, biting down a scream as the freezing water bit into your bones like knives. But you didn’t get out. You let it happen. Let it burn the heat off your skin. Let it numb the ache in your side and slow the beat of the panic still coiled in your gut.

You stayed submerged there until the pain was dulled by another—the kind that started to settle in your fingertips, the subtle ache of skin flushing blue at the nails.

That’s when you moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

You rose, dripping and goose-pimpled, wrapping yourself in the thick towel you found exactly where he said it would be. Your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore, your brain spinning in that hollow, too-calm way that meant you were still in survival mode.

Your eyes fell to your soaked clothes on the floor and tugged at your bottom lip again. Maybe you could use Jungkook’s drier and then call a cab or something. You gulped drily, looking down on yourself and the towel that hid even less than your previous attire.

But then again, the feeling of having the wet clothing itching back your skin, tormenting your wounds, made you want to yell.

You decided by leaving them in a heap in the corner and opened the bathroom door with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall right across from the door.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew you wouldn’t bolt.

Like he dared you to.

His eyes dragged up your form slowly, drinking in the towel, the steam curling around your hair, the flush in your cheeks—not just from the water. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, but he didn’t speak.

The silence between you screamed enough.

He exhaled like he was trying to drag the edge off himself, and you stood there in a trance, waiting for him to move first in this chessboard you stood on every time you were face to face.

“It’s late. Take my bed,” Jungkook said finally, shoulders tensing, fists balled up inside the pockets of his sweatpants. “The couch is a wreck and you’re not curling up on the floor like some damn street cat.”

Your laugh cut through the air, sharp and disbelieving. “Don’t fucking order me around.”

“Oh, I will, since you bled all over my bathroom and all that,” he shot back without missing a beat, turning down the hall like he’d already won. He didn’t even check if you were following, but of course you did—seething and restless and not quite finished.

Jeon Jungkook was the king of final words. He collected them like weapons. Filed them sharp and threw them with intention. You doubted he even knew how to end a sentence without stamping it in blood.

When he reached his bedroom, the sight of his rumpled sheets made you pause in the doorway. They looked like him. Dark and messy and lived-in. He strode over to a dresser, fingers trailing over the wood as if the casualness could fool either of you. It didn’t. His every movement was intentional—controlled, like he was holding himself together at the seams.

“I’m not staying,” you said again, softer this time. A warning, or maybe a plea.

He didn’t turn around. “You are.”

Then his gaze lifted—through the mirror perched above the dresser. It met yours with devastating precision, and the current in the room sparked like something struck metal.

The bedroom shrank. The walls leaned in. The air felt heavier with every breath you stole, your pulse thudding traitorously against your skin.

You felt everything too much—the towel clutched tight around your chest, the damp fabric molding to your curves; the tendrils of wet hair brushing along your spine; the sting of cold air on your bare thighs. Your nipples peaked beneath the cotton, begging for a little more friction.

Jungkook turned finally, grabbed a shirt from the drawer—white, of all things—and tossed it to you with a flick of his wrist, eyes somewhere over your head. “I’ll dry your clothes after you put that on.”

You caught the shirt with one hand, inhaling as it settled in your grip. It was soft. Lived-in. You could smell him on it.

He gestured with a jerk of his chin. “Bed’s clean.”

You rolled your eyes instead of answering. Arguing now was pointless.

You could dig your heels in, sure. But your body ached. Your side pulsed. Outside, the rain hadn’t let up for hours. And the bastards you’d escaped tonight weren’t going to rest easy. If they were hunting, you weren’t up for round two.

Plus, he did say he would dry your clothes for you. You’d have to wait for that anyway.

Jungkook watched your stance shift—read the surrender in your silence like the tactician he was. Deciding it was safe, he stepped forward, back to the mirror, facing away from you.

He gave you privacy. As if it mattered anymore. As if he hadn’t already seen you stitched and half-naked, skin marked with blood and bruises.

Still, you waited.

You kept your eyes locked on his broad back, on the way his shoulders tightened when you didn’t immediately move. He wasn’t relaxed—he was steel braced for impact. Like he knew what would happen if he turned again.

You let the towel slip. Slowly. Let it fall in a whisper at your feet before grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. It clung in places, soft cotton sticking to damp skin. His scent curled around you, confusingly comforting, irritatingly intimate.

You tugged at the hem—useless. It barely brushed your thighs.

“Of all the black shirts you own, you had to choose the white one for me? For real?”

He turned then—and froze.

His eyes dropped again. Just for a second. Took in the stretch of your legs, the curve of your hips, the little puddle starting to soak through the shirt as you brought your hair all to one side. His throat bobbed.

And when his gaze snapped back to yours, it was searing.

“I’m fine,” you found the need to reassure him, stepping forward. Too close. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, voice wrecked. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes were wild—something caged came back, clawing just behind them once more. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d do something neither of you could undo.

And so, he bolted.

“I’ll finish checking the drive,” he barked, already halfway through the door, not sparing a glance back, closing it behind him.

You were left alone, blinking in the sudden silence, his scent still clinging to your skin, your blood still thrumming like a war drum.

You crossed the room slowly, each step softer than the last, until your legs hit the edge of his bed. And then, without thinking too hard, you slipped beneath his sheets, still warm from his body.

And for the first time in hours, you let exhaustion win.

Your eyes felt too heavy to open, but it was your own voice that betrayed you first—a soft medley of a moan and a whimper, curling out of your throat like it hadn’t asked for permission.

Everything smelled like him.

The cotton warmth of Jungkook’s bedsheets clung to your skin, soaked in his scent, and it made your limbs feel heavier, your thoughts more tangled. You shifted beneath its weight, your body aching and too warm under the covers. A chill skittered down your spine regardless.

Was there a window open?

You clenched the pillow under your head, breath catching as another whimper slipped out, softer this time, needier. “Jungkook,” you whispered into the sheets, the sound too raw for comfort, too real.

And then you felt it—that presence.

Like a sixth sense, prickling beneath your skin. The faint light beneath the door drew the silhouette of a man carved out of stillness, perfectly rigid, perfectly silent.

Your pulse surged.

Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe you were imagining it. Fever dreams could do that.

But your breathing turned shallow, and the room spun slightly, dragging your consciousness fully awake. You could feel him, even without seeing his face. You could feel the way his attention wrapped around you from the other side of the door like a noose waiting to tighten.

And then your mouth betrayed you again, raspy from sleep and dry with nerves. “Are you coming in or not?”

The silence fractured.

The door creaked, slow and deliberate. The knob turned with a soft click, and then he was there.

Jungkook’s eyes latched onto yours like a hook in the gut. Gone was the usual sharpness, replaced by something raw—wide and glassy, like he’d just lost a fight with his own thoughts. His hair was a darker mess than earlier, like he’d run his hands through it in frustrated loops. His face looked shadowed, haunted. Sleep hadn’t touched him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heat flashing beneath your skin. The thin sheet pooled at your hips, clinging to the sweat and fever coating your bare legs.

He just stood there.

“I tried the couch,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. Like it hurt to speak.

You swallowed. Hard. “M-My clothes are probably dry now, I’ll go—”

“No.” His voice cracked with something too sharp to be gentle. He gripped the frame of the door with both hands, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d do something reckless. “Stay. It’s not that.”

His eyes followed your leg sliding beneath the sheets, and your breath stilled.

“What is it then?” you asked, trying not to let your voice tremble.

Jungkook hesitated—then his jaw clenched, breath flaring through his nose. “I kept hearing you… couldn’t sleep.”

You licked your lips, nodding faintly. “I think I’m breaking down in a fever.”

That was all it took.

He stepped inside, slow like he was wading through quicksand. As if afraid you might flinch. His knees met the edge of the bed and he hovered there, wavering fingers finally lifting to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the slope of your neck. His touch was gentle, hesitant. Like he was afraid to confirm what he already knew—but hungrier for the permission to touch you than he should’ve been.

You didn’t look away.

Your eyes stayed locked on his while his palm lingered against your pulse. And there was heat there, not just from the fever. Your thighs shifted under the sheets, friction teasing your skin in all the wrong—and right—places.

“So?” you asked, breathless.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. His hand was still on your neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. His lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Let me… uh, let me check on the stitches.”

He pulled his hand away too slowly, reluctantly, and the air felt colder where he’d been. You nodded faintly, heart hammering, remembering suddenly—damn. You were still only wearing his shirt.

You swallowed again and tugged the covers higher over your hips before raising the hem of his shirt. You stopped right under your breasts, baring the stitched flesh to his eyes.

His breath caught audibly.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached out, and when his fingers found the edge of your wound, they were soft. Reverent. He traced the perimeter of the bruising like he was learning it by touch.

Your eyes fluttered. You hadn’t expected that kind of delicacy from him. But it was undoing you in pieces.

Then his fingers drifted lower. Barely an inch, grazing your skin like they had no business being there—but made themselves welcome anyway. Your stomach coiled, every inch of you taut with anticipation. And when he reached your lower belly, your breath hitched and a moan slipped out.

He froze.

“I—” he whispered, mentioning to pull back his fingers. “I should stop.”

You were faster.

Your hand shot out, seizing his wrist, eyes blazing. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

His breathing turned frantic, eyes wide and searching your face like it was a war he didn’t want to win.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” his voice trembled but made no move to get out of your hold. “You have a fever and—”

“And I’d say the same if I hadn’t one,” you interrupted, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt until his lips hovered over yours.

Jesus, you had to be fucking delirious.

You struggled to pin his gaze, feeling the burning of your wound from holding your abs tight from the position you were in. But you weren’t stopping this.

He growled low, like something deep in him finally snapped—and crashed his mouth onto yours.

Your fingers threaded through his hair instantly, tugging with just the right amount of pressure. He moaned into the kiss, biting your lower lip, devouring you with an intensity that blurred every line you’d drawn.

Clothes started melting away, yours first. Jungkook’s mouth only left yours to slide his t-shirt over your head. Then his hands ran all over your naked back as he trailed a path from your neck to the sweet spot beneath your ear, lowering you back down.

His tongue lashed and you could feel his body was heat and tension and want as you pulled him closer to you. “You’re mine.” he whispered.

God, you needed his clothes gone.

You tipped your head back into the pillow, a whimper falling out of your mouth as you savored the warmth of his mouth back on your throat. The faint sting of his hand brushing against your ribs completely subsided by the knee he had between your legs, occasionally brushing against your core through the sheets.

“For tonight,” you teased with a grin.

Jungkook fisted your hair and covered your mouth ardently, and you moaned feeling his damn tongue all the way down between your legs where you needed him most. Your toes curled in pleasure.

You didn’t know if it was the burning fever taking control over your body or your own unbridled desire, but you needed him closer, needed to feel his skin on yours.

You started clawing his black t-shirt impatiently and he chuckled against your mouth, bringing his hand to the collar of it, pulling it out for you.

His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down to his thighs.

When you mentioned doing the same with his boxer briefs, mind dizzy as you felt him hard beneath it, he gripped your wrist, halting your movement.

“God, you’re killing me,” he lifted himself inches off your face, staring deeply, voice wrecked with need. “We can’t—”

“I told you. This is not my first rodeo,” you said against his mouth. “And I don’t want to think about all of this. Just finish what you started.”

Jungkook growled and his hand came down on your collarbone, pushing you. You fell back down onto the pillow, gasping as your hair fanned around you. He got up, baring his teeth, yanking his sweatpants and briefs all the way down.

Your heart started thumping in your ears, heat firing your chest, neck, cheeks, as your eyes drifted up his body. Your own burning for him.

Fuck. Perfect golden skin. Tight stomach, narrow waist. Toned arms, one of them inked to the knuckles—a devil in the night ready to pounce.

Killing smile.

Gentle, so fucking gentle with you tonight.

Jesus, you really were fucking delirious.

You clenched your thighs, but he kept pinning you down with his eyes, clearly unhappy about you being injured as well as you not wanting to think about the repercussions of what was going on between the both of you. Which you found adorable because his eyes kept darting to your breasts and then to your thighs as you peeled the sheets from them and watched him struggle to breathe.

Jungkook was as untamed as you were, and he couldn’t stop the storm coming any more than you could.

Suddenly, all of him was stretched above you, fitted against your body like sin. He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper left your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“Mmm,” you fisted his hair back again, relishing on the softness of his raven locks.

His hips dipped again, rolling against you, and you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You have—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Ah—please tell me you have something.”

He looked up to your eyes, smiling. “Yeah.”

You bit his lower lip, dragging your teeth as he gasped and squeezed your under-thigh. You locked one ankle on his lower back, pushing him into you.

“Ah, fuck,” he moaned.

His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his neck once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs.

Jungkook’s eyebrows were etched in anger as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. His eyes never leaving your body as he tossed it and fisted his cock.

Instinctively your hand came down to rub your clit and he groaned.

He looked like a god staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on. Your head swarmed with the vision, your fingers working faster, tummy coiling expectantly.

“You’re so fucking hot it hurts,” he breathed hard, coming down on you again. Your eyes locked as he reached between you to guide himself.

Your hands snaked around his neck, one tugging at the hair on his nape as he crowned your entrance, pushing inside just barely. You couldn’t help but clench. “JK…” and he groaned in response.

“You’ll be crawling back to me,” he whispered, pressing himself deeper and deeper.

You moaned, relishing how he stretched you.

“You can run away as much as you like,” he kept going, grunting as his inked knuckles wrapped around your neck. “Throw a tantrum for all I care…”

He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely, that a single cry torn straight from your throat.

“But after tonight, you’ll be crawling back to me,” Jungkook growled. “Again and again—You’ll be fucking mine.”

His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder.

“Oh, fuck,” your back arched off the bed.

Your breathing became labored as he propped himself with his other hand, staring you down as he plunged into you over and over. He gave a little squeeze on your neck, and you clenched around his cock, making him moan, dipping his head back for a moment.

Jeon Jungkook felt so good.

God, he felt amazing on top of you.

You clawed your way from his pecs, down to his abs, and you felt it tighten under your touch. His pace turning unruly, wild.

You spread your legs wide, as wide as they would go, dazed with fever and how good it felt the deeper he went. “Nhg, you feel so fucking good—fuck,” he gasped.

“I need–” you held onto him and he sucked the air groaning, “Harder, JK.” he rolled his hips into you on command.

God, you were spiriling.

Your hands snaked around his waist, and you digged your nails into his ass, helping him roll into you harder, as you met him halfway.

Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe. You couldn’t give a damn if the stitches would tear, the lush pressure of him on top of you, inside of you, kept your mind reeling.

You’ll be fucking mine, he had said.

You already were.

“Jungkook, I–” you gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. “Jungkook–”

“What, Jungkook, what?” he teased.

But your mouth came to the curve of his neck and collarbone instead, biting and moaning as he kept ramming your spot over and over.

Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him. You cried out as you found your release, the world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you.

Holy shit.

Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of your wound, shifting gently to the side.

You were both a tangled and panting mess. You closed your eyes, enjoying his heavy breathing on your mouth.

You felt his hand snaking to your hair again, turning your head to the side. He pecked on your mouth slowly until you opened for him, not helping the whimper as your tongues collided again.

“Jungkook, what?” he asked again lazily, his eyes barely opening, hazy with pleasure. “What was it that you were going to say before?”

A laugh rumbled on your chest, low. You nuzzled your nose on his and although you were unable to remember what the hell you were about to say, you decided to do what you did best—tease him.

“Oh, nothing… I was just going to say that, uhm, I hate you.” you kept your eyes closed, waiting for his reaction.

When he didn’t utter a single word, you opened one of them to see his eyebrows were angry and he tilted his head in that way you fucking loved to tease him about it.

“You do know I’m literally still inside you—?”

You snorted, rolling to the side and claiming his mouth once more.

God, you were fucked.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #jungkook oneshot #bts smut #jungkook ff #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook

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froggiequarium · 5 months ago

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(unedited) nsfw; caleb having you in a headlock & fcking you into the mattress :x inspo from this art based on this imagine

you'd always had a hard time keeping your eyes in check whenever caleb wore shirts that accentuated his arms, namely the loose tanks he'd sport in the warmer weather or even just during his workout.

you tried your best to hide it, you really did, but it was difficult to keep yourself in check when every subtle move or flex of his arm clearly showed off his bulging muscles.

aside from endless admiration for them, you often fantasized about having one of his beefy arms trapping you in a headlock, just to feel his strength in such a vulnerable state.

which is how you're here now, flat on your stomach against the mattress, meaty bicep wrapped around your neck, hands weakly gripping at the thick limb, gasping and choking out moans, drool seeping past your lips as caleb's body presses yours into the mattress, driving his hips against yours, the sinful sound of your connection ringing throughout the bedroom.

"couldn't stop starin' at em, could you? nngh, bet you were just waitin' for me to take you like this..."

his breath is raspy against your ear, only pulling another choked moan from your throat. caleb huffs out a laugh.

"you like when i get a little rough with you like this, don't you?"

you breathe out a sigh, floating to another world as he rams repeatedly into you, hips stuttering for a moment.

"ah, shit, you just clenched down on me. you're enjoying this, huh?"

"ca-leb—"

you needily gasp out his name, drool slipping past the corner of your lips and down his arm, the man wickedly grinning down at you in response, pace steady and punctuated, feeling your walls fluttering and clenching more and more— a sign that you're getting close.

he releases the pressure on your throat just slightly, your pretty sounds and whines going straight to his cock, ploughing faster into you, leaning closer to your ear, body crushing you into the mattress so fully.

you loved being taken like this.

"gonna make you feel real good, ok?" his voice is a sensual whisper against the shell of your ear.

"please... please, caleb! so close, hahhh" you whine under him, boneless body completely at his mercy.

in the next second, the pressure around your throat increases again at the same time that he slams against that sweet spot inside of you. he feels you clench down hard, groan escaping through gritted teeth as your eyes roll back, nails digging into the flesh of his arm, mouth falling open at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

airway constricted by the colonel on top of you, your sounds are choked, only managing needy pants as you reach your summit, cumming hard around caleb's thick cock still driving into you, helping you ride through your high.

"that's it, that's my good girl... shit, you really liked that, huh?"

he softens his grip again, hearing you gasp out for him, pleading whines of his name escaping your hoarse throat as he drives you into overstimulation.

"ca—leb, ah— sensi-tive, ah~"

"almost there, princess, almost—"

with a few more harsh thrusts, caleb cums with a loud groan, spilling himself completely inside of you. you whine underneath him at the sensation, weak and overstimulated from the treatment, courtesy of the man above you. you're trying your best to even out your breathing, fatigue tugging at your droopy eyelids.

caleb leans his head over your shoulder, planting a soft kiss against your bare shoulder blade.

"you okay, pipsqueak?"

"tired...." you whine, arms moving to hug his arm still around you, nestling your head against it.

he breathes out a laugh, warming your skin.

"yeah, i bet you are," he breaths out, free hand moving up to pet your head.

"let me clean my pretty girl up," he muses.

you hum, letting your eyes shut as he lifts himself off of you. you feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whimper at the loss before calming once more, breaths evening out waiting for caleb to return and clean you up.

and just as the edges of sleep are gripping at whats left of your consciousness, one singular thought circulates your mind:

you both definitely need to do that again.

this has been sitting here for a bit but i needed to finish it bc the art i saw was driving me insane tbh i need this so bad sigh

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corkinavoid · 9 months ago

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DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #batman #joker #danny refuses to die #not again #at least this time he gets to make it funny #the bats are mostly confused #is he a meta?#but what kind of meta just... cant die?#what?#cork prompts #just silly thoughts

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makkir0ll · 1 year ago

Text

"hmm, is it green apple?"

you giggle in his arms, shaking your head no and smile as he leans down to press another kiss on your lips.

the past fifteen minutes had been spent trapped under his arms while he kisses your plump, flavourful, lips. it started out when you put on some chapstick and he asks for some. you knew that this was his way of getting a kiss, but when his lips press against yours the flavor is different than your normal vanilla, its fruitier. "what flavor is that?" he asks, pulling you closer to him to plant another kiss on your lips, "berry?"

"no" you say smiling as you await his actions. hoping that he does exactly what you expect him too.

and he falls into your trap. the next fifteen minutes are spent with his lips on yours as he guesses what flavor it could be. strawberry? mango? pineapple?

all no.

at this point all he could taste was his own spit on your lips. completely kissed away all the chapstick that coated your lips. he breaks the last kiss with a whine.

"y/n put some more on, i can't taste it anymore." he loosens his grip on your body as you shift underneath him to find the chapstick in your pocket.

"close your eyes, i dont want you to see the label." you tell him and he obliges, squeezing his eyes shut in a childish manner as you apply the chapstick on your lips.

once you're done you toss the tube away, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down, he's smiling. his lips press against yours yet again but this time it's different. the kiss is deeper, he cups your face and his toungue swipes on your lips and you open your mouth slightly to let the wet muscle enter. it takes your breath away and you start to feel dizzy from his touch and all the sensations happening around you. he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connected the two of you. your eyes are still closed, processing what happened when you hear him say,

"it's berry isnt it?"

you nod your head no, hoping he will kiss you like that again, and he does. but little do you know that he caught a glimpse of the berry graphic on the label when you pulled out the chapstick from your pocket.

HINATA SHOYO. (probably doesn't notice the label though tbh). BOKUTO, hanamaki, oikawa fucking tooru, sugawara (he knew from the start it was berry but goes along with the act to amuse you), akaashi (same as sugawara). NISHINOYA. (same as shoyo, genuinely continues to guess), ATSUMU. KITA FUCKING SHINSUKE (he knew from the first kiss, but realized that this made you happy). KUROO. SUNAAAAA.

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nosyp · 3 months ago

Text

Ride or Die

Warnings = mentions of non-con🔞 , captivity, false hope, infantilization, use of guns, killing/murder

Pairings = Bonten x fem! reader

Summary = Meeting them was a mistake. A fatal mistake on your end. Now you're trapped in their operation.

Word count = 5.7k words

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You’re running, but you’re not fast enough. They’re probably just right behind you. You had no idea what you were going to do even if you were to escape; there was no safe house waiting for you whatsoever.

Who are they? And why are they chasing you?

Ah right— Mikey and his lackeys.

He probably had hundreds, but none come close to Kokonoi, Sanzu, Mochi, Kakucho, Takeomi and those freak siblings, Ran & Rindou. They were practically a package, if you messed with one of them, you messed with the others.

You couldn’t remember, but it was Kakucho? Maybe he was the one that offered you a job at his company. It was a simple task really, just be there for a few days of the week, not even everyday.

Seemed easy enough, but that was your mistake for thinking that it was just an innocent job. The job being having their cocks shoved deep inside your throat or deep inside you 24/7. Believe it or not, it felt kind of weird when you didn’t have something inside you. It was just the effect of it overtime.

Ever since the day you crossed paths with them, your life just seems to keep getting worse. From how controlling they get to how possessive they are over you, it was annoying.

You swore you could count how many times they let you out of the office with just one hand, and it was only three times. One was for clothes shopping and even then they bought a huge amount of clothes for you at once to avoid any unnecessary shopping trips.

You still felt that lingering feeling of their touches, even if it happened long ago. The way their hands just seemed to invade any non-existent boundaries just seemed to make you even more uncomfortable than you already were.

You remembered how you begged to let them let you put your clothes on by yourself. It was like they were convinced you couldn’t be trusted to do simple tasks, it was like they were convinced you were a child of some sort.

“Stop it, I can do it myself. Just let me go in the changing room, it’s not like I have any chance to escape,” you complain to Ran, even though you knew the argument was only going to come in from one ear and exit the other ear.

“Hmm? I’m just tryna help, just let me help you,” he says with an iron grip on the door of the changing room, not allowing you to close it.

And after that, the memory just blurs… but you just can’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

That time was also the time they implemented an “unwritten” rule of giving you 0 privacy. Whether it’d be showering, changing clothes, or even sleeping… one of them always had to be beside you, breathing down your neck as you did simple activities.

It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened most of the time. They did it mostly to annoy you if anything, they knew how you hated having no time for yourself, but technically, everyone hates it.

The second time was to have you trick their client into believing that they aren’t being threatened. The same way they had tricked you into believing that they were trust-worthy.

“S-sir please, they aren’t dangerous at all!” the lies spill from your mouth.

You had felt bad for the man; actually you felt bad for anyone who had the bad fortune of getting anywhere near Bonten.

“You’re clearly just as messed up as all the others! How could a sweet woman like you fall for their type of behaviour!” he spat out, each word hitting you like a sharp blade to the chest.

You could see the disappointment in his eyes. You felt like a daughter who just got scolded for failing the recent math test. Speaking of tests, the third and last time was… a test as well.

In some sick way, they all had collectively agreed to give you that false hope. The false hope of believing that you were able to be free.

You remembered it like it was yesterday. The door was wide-open, well not really. But that day, there weren’t any guards stationed near the entrance, and none of them were seen. You should’ve known. After all those weeks and months of carefully watching you, why would you be left alone all of a sudden?

You remembered the series of events. It started when you stood in the common room, looking through the shelves on the walls, the furniture, and the decor. They barely bothered to give you any sort of entertainment. They hadn’t let you have a phone, tablet, nor a laptop. Actually, they didn’t let you have anything.

The boredom drove you crazy; it was pure torture. That was when you started fidgeting with the door… and you realised.

The door wasn’t locked… it was unlocked.

You looked around at the surroundings, a lump starting to form in your throat. The usual watchful eyes, the always-present guards were all gone, as if they’ve dissipated into thin air. The hallway stretched before you, eerily silent, untouched by the suffocating presence that had come with your every move for months.

For the first time, there was no one. No lingering figures in the corners, no distant murmurs of conversation, no sharp clicks of your dress shoes against the polished floors. Just stillness.

And that was when the thought crept in, fragile and dangerous.

‘I could be free.’

The possibility lodged itself in your chest, a spark of hope so reckless it almost hurt. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body was torn between instinct and disbelief. It had to be a trick. It had to be.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if— by some impossible twist of fate— they had finally let their guard down?

But, no, of course they didn’t. They had given you that chance just to mess with you.

You remembered the aftermath of the ‘escape’. You remembered how they held you down and raped you. They claimed that it was a necessary lesson for you.

You remembered how you whimpered, begged, and screamed for them. The memory still rung in your head like a death knell.

And, even after that, you dared to try and escape again. That’s what you’re doing now. You’ve been trapped long enough to know that they’ve probably added drastic measures just in case you got too far but you highly doubted it was that bad.

The premises was a mix of an apartment and a work building. Half of it was dedicated to tending to business and the other half was for living in. And you had the oh so unfortunate experience of living in it.

Well, whatever, you’re here now.

People say “run like a girl” means to run for your life. And you agree with that. The way you’re running right now was like a crazed lunatic on drugs. Your lungs were on fire. Your legs were on fire. Everything was on fire. You disagreed with alcohol, but the way it burned your tongue helped burn away the pain.

You weren’t planning to escape right now, but you were planning to escape. The reason you despised school and having a nine-to-five job is because of how suffocating it felt. This is how you feel now and forever with them.

As mentioned before, you’ve tried to run so, so many times— yet they keep capturing you and bringing you back.

They were like annoying mosquitos who chased you around for blood, never able to leave you alone and similarly, hunting you down for blood. The only difference being their motive.

You lost track of time ever since you started running. Last time you checked it was 7.50 AM in the morning and you just finished breakfast with the same group of people who kept you captive.

It was like hell.

“Darling, why haven’t you eaten anything…? We are soooo worried about you,” Sanzu joked, earning a chuckle from all the other members.

“You should eat. We spent good money on the food.” firmly stated by Mikey. He was never like the others. He always had that intense, serious, terrifying aura surrounding him at all times— but don’t get it twisted, he was just as messed up.

“Fuck you.” you thought to yourself, but, oh, how badly you wanted to say it to them.

All you had— no, can— do right now was just to focus on running. You had managed to run all the way onto the main road. You threw your arms up high in the air around in hopes of gaining any driver’s attention, and luckily you did.

As soon as the door to the red pickup truck opened, you quickly blurted out: “Please, take me far, far away from here.”

“Do what the lady says fool, DRIVE.” a lady from the back suddenly appeared out of nowhere and said. She had beautiful, shiny, blonde hair travelling down her back and her lips were the perfect shade of pink… okay get yourself straight now.

“Alright! Calm it down a notch would’cha?” he says, each word being spit out.

Breathlessly and shockingly, you managed to mutter a small “Thank you so much…”.

“No worries! What’s it all about anyway? Runnin’ from yer parents?” she asks.

“No… no… nothing of that sort. I’m… just running from an…ooh…! Wait a second… let me catch my breath…” you gasp.

“It’s alright, just take your time,” the man in the driver seat replies.

Your gaze drops down, scanning your legs. The place was isolated, it was practically in the middle of nowhere, but not really… rather, it was in the middle of the woods. A few seconds of silence passed by to let yourself collect your thoughts and scene of events.

Wait… what even happened?

What date is today anyway?

All you remembered was seeing a job offer at… Bonten… building? There was a job interview for you on July 28th, 2017. You accepted it… and… wait what happened?

—

Around 6 months ago~

Your heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floor, each step measured exactly the same distance from one another and deliberate as you approached the receptionist’s desk. Yes, it might’ve been a bit too extra but you might as well since you’ve already gone through and through with all the other preparations.

Today, you had actually left behind your usual overstuffed purse to minimize the risk of dropping your bag and letting all the contents fall out and also for a lesser chance of drawing unwanted attention since having an extremely full bag did somewhat draw attention to you in an expected yet unexpected way.

You were dressed in a fitted black blazer to what people would say “over-ironed” white, buttoned shirt. Every piece of your outfit was meticulously chosen to show that you were there for business. A tight pencil skirt hugged your form, perfectly cinched at the waist by a thin belt and even your hair and makeup were flawless, every detail put together for the sake of looking professional.

Click. Click. Click.

“Good evening ma’am, do you know where to meet uhmm… Kakucho Hitto?” you ask her.

Her eyes darken before she looks up at you. Her eyes seemed dull, as if there were no emotions behind her. Well, now you understand why.

You should’ve noticed how her demeanor was back then. You could’ve chalked it up to just a “bad day”, but they way she acted was abnormal.

“Yes, he— I mean Boss Kakucho is on floor 10, third room to the right.” she firmly states.

“Thank you…” you gratefully say to her.

Ding!

The elevator doors slide open smoothly with a quiet chime following it, and you walk in. Oh, there’s also another person. He had… red and white eyes? It was rare enough to see someone with heterochromia let alone see someone with red eyes and/or white eyes only.

"She said the third room to the right… right?" you mutter to yourself, forgetting about the man beside you in the elevator.

A low chuckle comes from him, but barely hear-able from the low hum of the elevator. But you still shift your head towards him, locking gazes.

"Talking to yourself, huh?" His voice is smooth, but there’s something in his tone that makes your skin get goosebumps.

You stiffen slightly before forcing a small laugh. "Oh, yeah… Just making sure I don’t get lost."

His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes sharp and unreadable. "Third room to the right. Floor 10." A pause. "That means you're going to Kakucho's office."

You blink your eyes at him. "Uh… yeah. Do you know him?"

There’s a sudden, well not really sudden, shift in the air— a suffocating one at that, it’s subtle but inescapable. He exhales, tilting his head just enough for the overhead lights to cast a small ray of light along his sharp features.

"Oh…" he says. "That’s me."

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. But for some reason, you don’t move.

It reveals a long and narrow hallway lined with the same identical doors everywhere. The dim lights above cast small, faint shadows along the walls. It somehow made the area feel both like an endless void and yet… claustrophobic at the same time.

“Come with me,” he states firmly, ordering you. You do follow him and to your luck, the interview went smoothly.

That’s why you came back, no?

Now that you’re thinking about it, you weren’t lucky at all.

—

Once you’ve gathered everything in chronological order, the story comes out like a word vomit.

“U-ugh… So it StartsWithMeGettingAJobInterviewAndIGotTheJobButTurnsOutTheWholeCompanyWasJustAHugeMafiaThingOrSomethingAndAfterThat…”

And it continues…

With every word spilling out of your mouth, the two other people in the car just look even more shocked. You swore their jaws only dropped further on the ground as the story-telling went on.

“W-wait… so you’re running away from… them right now?” she clarifies with you. She doesn’t seem too confused about the story since, it’s just basically torture on your end.

“YES!” you say to her, glad that she understands for the most part.

“S-should we… call the cops…?” the guy asks, looking concerned as hell.

You stare at him for a while, completely unresponsive. Then, you swallowed the lump growing in your throat. “N-no… you can’t do that. If I get caught again, it’s going to be even worse if the cops get involved.”.

“Dude! This is crazy. I feel like it’ll get worse if the cops DON’T get involved?” the guy asks, slightly laughing at your logic. He takes his arms off the steering wheel for a while to show his shock and turns his body to you.

Your body jolts at the unexpected rise of volume. “I get it but look, I-I’m sorry… but I don’t want this to get worse!”

“Girl, you’re absolutely delusional if you don’t think we are gonna call the cops.” she says before whipping out her phone from her purse.

“Wait— no— stop!” you yell. Instinctively, you try to jump to the backseat to rip her phone from her hands.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the guy screams as your sudden shove jerks the wheel, causing the car to go into a wild, sudden swerve.

SCREEECH— SKRRRTT—

The tires shriek against the pavement, the entire vehicle violently turning left, then right, then left again— nearly spinning out of control. The force slams you against the door roughly, your heart starting to hammer against your chest as the car skids dangerously close to the separator thing in the middle.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he shouts as he tries to regain control of the car. His grip starts to tighten around the wheel, causing his knuckles to turn white from gripping the wheel.

“Ugh—! Just let us help you!” she shrieks, trying to loosen your grip on her wrist.

“No! Y-you can’t!” you yell back at her.

“GIRLS STOP IT!” the driver screams loudly. The outsiders probably heard it too.

“Alright fine, we won’t call the cops. Well, not until we find you somewhere safe.” the girl subsides.

“Thank you…” you say, going back to your seating position and crossing your arms angrily.

The car goes quiet for a few moments, all of you sharing the awkward moment. The only sound you could hear at this point was the hum of the car engines and the honking and yelling from the outside.

The silence was unnerving, but it was probably best that no one talked at the moment.

That was until you let out a sigh and finally muttered a response. “Fine… you guys promise to call the cops when I get to a safe—”

Then an impact came out of nowhere. One second, the streets were quiet with just the quiet sounds of the road along with the car and suddenly, the next being a pair of headlights cut through the dark, and then—

A huge crash.

The vehicle fell sideways. Metal screeched against the cemented ground. Glass exploded, sending shards everywhere. The seatbelt went deeper into your chest, locking you in place as the car spun out of control before slamming to a stop.

For a moment, there was only the ringing in their ears. The scent of burnt rubber. The weight of shock pressing down on their ribs.

Then— footsteps. They were heavy, terrifying.

A silhouette approached through the haze of broken headlights, the soft click of a lighter from the silence. The fiery glow of a cigarette revealed a familiar emblem embroidered in black.

Bonten. It was them.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t just an accident, no, this was your kidnapping version two.

—

You woke up with a bag over your head. You could tell the room was empty with how any small sound was echoing since there was nothing to absorb the sound, only the walls reflecting it.

Your wrists were tied behind your back and so were your ankles. They were starting to hurt with just how tight they were around your joints. The ropes seemed to be those huge, heavy ropes that you would use on a farm animal rather than a human. There were sharp strands standing astray from the pack, sharply rubbing against your skin. It’s going to hurt, just like their usual trademark.

You tried to jump up, but the only result was an echo of the metal chair moving.

Then— the door locks clicked.

“Get in quicker, you dumb whore.” Rindou orders. You’re sure it was Rindou, the voice matched his and so do the words.

“Alright, alright! Just be nicer— I’m a fragile girl okay?!” a female voice yells back.

The bag is ripped off your head, and now you can see. You can see the girl from before kneeled in front of you, her hands tied behind her back as well. Shit.

“Hey!” you jump. “P-p-p-please don’t hurt her!”

Ran moves over to you, hands moving above your head… and it goes down… and again… and again… in a stroking pattern. It might’ve been lovely… if only not for the situation. Then, he leans down to your ear to whisper, “Y’know… you should’ve just obeyed our rules.”

Right. Their three “simple” rules. Don’t escape, don’t disobey orders, and don’t do anything without one of them being present.

Click.

The sound of a gun.

And it was pressed onto her temple.

“Any last words to her?” Sanzu asks, his finger on the trigger.

“W-wait! I’ll do anything!” you suddenly yell out.

“Ohohoh… you really think you can do that now…? It’s far far too late for that now, darling.” Sanzu says, sadistic eyes drilling holes into you.

Shoot. What are you supposed to do? Someone who wasn’t supposed to get involved got involved and now they’re held at gunpoint while you were bound onto a chair, unable to help them.

Your breath hitched as you struggled against the restraints, the rope starting to drill into your wrists. Panic clawed at your chest, drowning out every rational thought. She was innocent, shaking… and she squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body trembling under the cold press of Sanzu’s gun.

“Please—” you choked out, voice raw with desperation. “Please, she’s not involved! This has nothing to do with her!”

Sanzu’s lips curled into a grin, his finger teasing the trigger. “Oh, but she is now,” he sings, tilting his head. “And whose fault is that?”

You.

It’s your fault.

Your mistake.

Your punishment.

“Please,” you whisper, throat tight. “I’ll take whatever you want. Just let her go.”

Ran lets out an amused hum, his hand still lazily stroking your head like you were some pet begging for mercy. “That’s cute,” he murmurs. “But you know the rules. No disobedience. No escaping. No acting without one of us.”

He clicks his tongue, and his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back painfully. “And you broke every single one.”

Sanzu’s laugh is light, almost playful. “It’s a shame, really. She seems so… sweet.” He leans down, his voice dripping mock sympathy. “Go on. Say your goodbyes.”

Tears burn in your eyes. “Please…”

Your voice cracks.

Sanzu sighs. Then—

Click.

Bang.

The sound rips through the air like a whip, and for a second, time stops.

A scream lodges in your throat. Blood splatters all over. It’s warm, sticky and all over your skin, and when you force your eyes open, your stomach turns to ice.

The girl slumps forward, motionless.

Sanzu hums, spinning his gun on his finger as if he didn’t just pull the trigger. “Oops,” he chuckles. “Guess you were too late.”

Ran releases your hair, letting your head drop. The weight of the moment crushes you, suffocating, unbearable.

Then, a hand cups your cheek— gentle, almost tender. You flinch.

“Shhh,” Ran coos, tilting your face up to meet his violet eyes. “You brought this on yourself, sweetheart.”

Sanzu crouches in front of you, resting his gun under your chin, forcing you to look at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

“Now,” he purrs, “let’s talk about…” Sanzu moves towards the door, pressing the door handle and opening the door.

It was to reveal the other guy. The guy who was supposed to drive you to safety. But only because you demanded him to. How’d you get 2 people killed in less than a day?

Sanzu grins, stepping aside to let the man stumble in. He was barely standing. Blood dripped from several spots on his head, staining the collar of his shirt. His breaths were ragged, uneven, as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life before being dragged here like a trophy.

"Look who we found at the scene lurking around," Rindou drawls from behind him, arms crossed. "He was trying to escape but… he was not very subtle, was he?"

Your stomach churns. He wasn’t supposed to get caught. He was supposed to be long gone out of this hellhole, far away from them. And yet, here he was.

The man lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. Defeated.

Broken.

Sanzu leans against the chair you’re tied to, sighing dramatically. “Now, I am gonna let this slide. Maybe teach you a little lesson and send you back to your pretty little room.” His fingers trail along the side of your face before he grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at the man. “But then you had to go and involve him too. How greedy.”

“Sanzu,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “Please.”

He pouts mockingly. “Aw, you sound so sad.” He spins the gun between his fingers before pointing it at your driver. "You already lost one. Think you can handle losing another?"

Ran chuckles, draping an arm over your shoulders. "Or maybe," he muses, "we make this interesting. How about a little… choice?"

Sanzu grins, eyes glinting with something wicked. "Yeah. That sounds fun." He crouches down next to you, tilting his head. "So, what'll it be, sweetheart? Him?" He gestures to the beaten man. "Or you?"

The room feels colder. Your pulse pounds in your ears.

There’s no right answer.

There never was.

Because you knew either way, you’d both die. It’s just they’d probably let you live longer, just to live with the guilt.

“So… how is it Y/N?” Takeomi asks, his deep raggedy voice echoing through the room.

“Shoot me.” you answer, with almost no hesitation.

“WRONG!” Sanzu yells before quickly moving the gun over to him, and pressing the trigger.

Bang.

The shot rings out, sharp and final.

Your body jerks against the restraints, a strangled noise catching in your throat as the man crumples to the floor. Blood pools beneath him, spreading like ink across the cold concrete. His chest shudders once— twice— before falling still.

Gone.

A choked sob forces its way past your lips. You did this. You led him here. You got him killed.

Sanzu exhales, almost bored, before twirling the gun and slipping it back into his holster. "Tsk, tsk. You really thought we’d let you choose?" He crouches, tilting his head with a smirk. "That’s cute."

Ran clicks his tongue, brushing a hand through his hair before crouching next to you. His fingers brush your cheek, almost affectionate. Almost. "See, sweetheart, it was never about the choice. It was about watching you break."

And you were.

Piece by piece.

Sanzu claps his hands together, standing back up. "Now that the fun’s over, let’s move on, yeah?" He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

His grin stretches wider, wicked and sharp. "You’re ours. You always were. And after this? You always will be."

Ran hums in agreement, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "Now, be a good girl and behave, alright?"

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because you can’t escape.

Then, the door opens once again. It’s Kakucho.

“Hmm, are you guys done?” his hand still on the handle, he glances shortly at the scene inside the room. “Clean it up. Once you’re done, bring her down. Mikey called.”

Then, the door shut behind him.

Your breath hitches. Mikey.

The name alone sends a shiver down your spine.

Sanzu clicks his tongue, rocking back on his heels before standing up. “Well, you heard him,” he sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ran hums, giving your face one last slow, mocking pat before standing as well. “We should make her presentable first,” he muses, glancing at the blood smeared across your face. “Mikey won’t like her looking like a mess.”

You barely register their words. Your ears are still ringing, your body trembling as you stare at the lifeless body in front of you.

It’s over. He’s gone.

Because of you.

A hand grips your arm, yanking you forward. You stumble, legs barely holding you up as Ran steadies you with an almost gentle touch.

“Come on now, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deceptively soft. “Let’s not keep Mikey waiting.”

Sanzu only grins, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what he has planned for you.”

And as they drag you out of the room, past the blood, past the bodies.

—

Somehow, their definition of making you presentable was putting you in a super see-through, lacy lingerie. It was a shade of pastel pink, and had a beautiful motive… it’s just the situation wasn’t as pretty.

The humiliation burns hot inside you, it’s hotter than the fear.

Sanzu lets out a low whistle, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. “Damn, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “You clean up nice.”

Ran smirks, tugging at the delicate lace strap on your shoulder before letting it snap back against your skin. “Mikey’s gonna love this.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, glaring at them despite the helplessness weighing you down. Your arms are bound, your body exposed, and yet, they look at you like you’re nothing but entertainment.

“You bastards,” you seethe, voice trembling.

Sanzu only grins wider, stepping closer until the cold barrel of his gun rests under your chin again. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his manic gaze.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he purrs, voice sickly sweet. “You stopped being in control the second you thought you could defy us.”

Ran sighs, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “Enough playing around. Let’s go.”

Then, without warning, they grab you, forcing you forward. You stumble, the cold air prickling against your exposed skin.

You go down the halls, then down the stairs. And when the doors swing open…

Mikey is waiting.

You expect to be slapped, beaten, punched, but no. He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he brings you out into the cold, dark night. Seeing the dark forest in front of you reminded you of the escape attempts.

His touch is rough, unforgiving. He releases you from his grip and pushes you out past the threshold. You stare out at the forest.

The forest is dark— suffocatingly so. The thick cluster of leaves letting small traces of moonlight through the dense branches. The air is humid and thick with the scent of earth, soil and death. The smell was the kind of smell that holds onto you and makes itself at home in your lungs.

The ground beneath is uneven. Roots coming out from underground and damp leaves creating uneven bumps on the ground. Twisted branches reaching out reminded you of your own fingers reaching out for help. They create shadows that move along with the faint flickers of movement, never failing to frighten you everytime.

It’s silent. But the silence isn’t empty. It’s laced with something, something just out of reach. It’s the kind of silence that makes the hairs stand up, one that messes your head up. It’s the kind of darkness that doesn’t just hide things. It’s like swallowing anything and anyone to enter whole.

You could barely see anything through the darkness, but those are the things you remembered from the many times you ran through the forest. It was kind of like your second home at that point.

Nonetheless, you were still far too shocked from before.

“W-what the hell d-d-do you want me to do…?” you ask, shivering since the sheer clothing didn’t do much in shielding you from the cold.

“Go. If you wanted to create such a huge scene, then do it. Run. We’re letting you have one last attempt.” Mikey responds coldly, completely inconsiderate of the situation you were put in before.

“W-what…?” you ask again. What the hell?

He lets out a loud, disappointing sigh before coming closer to your fallen form. “Go have one last run around the forest before we chain you up.” he pauses before crouching down to meet your eyes. “I have Sanzu, Takeomi, Kokonoi, Ran, Rindou, Mochi and Kakucho waiting out there for you. Once you’re done with your shenanigans, they’re going to bring you back.”

“H-huh…?” you stare at him in disbelief. “I-I-I-”

“You-you-you what?”

“I don’t want to…”

“Didn’t you hear me? Have one last run, go. I’m not repeating myself anymore.” he says with a finger softly stroking your cheek.

“I-I don’t want to… I want to stay with you… Mikey…” you say defeatedly.

Mikey’s eyes darken. Something shifts. The moment of forced gentleness vanishes like a wisp of smoke, replaced by something colder, sharper.

His fingers, once ghosting along your cheek, suddenly tangle in your hair—and then he yanks. Hard. Your head snaps back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as pain blooms along your scalp.

“You want to stay with me?” he echoes, voice eerily calm, but there’s a quiet rage simmering beneath it, barely restrained. His grip tightens, pulling your face inches from his. “After all that fucking running? After making us chase you down like some pathetic little stray?”

His lips curl, disgust flashing in his darkened gaze. “You really think saying that now is gonna change anything?” He tugs again. “Don’t act helpless now, sweetheart. You weren’t so eager to stay when you were trying to claw your way out of here.”

He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper, but it’s anything but gentle. It’s venomous. “Go run. Make it fun for us. Or do you want me to drag you out there myself?”

“N-no… please. I just want to stay with you… I’m sorry.” you pant, shooting pleading eyes up at him in hopes he’ll give in.

“Fine. Let’s just go back in.” he says, almost too easily. Mikey wasn’t one to be persuaded easily.

Mikey doesn’t say anything as he yanks you forward, his grip bruising against your skin. The night air still lingers on your body, cold and sharp, but it does nothing to stop the suffocating heat crawling up your spine as you step inside. The door slams shut behind you, cutting off the outside world, the last sliver of freedom you had, and replacing it with the suffocating presence of them.

They weren’t outside. They weren’t waiting. They were here all along.

Sanzu is just sitting lazily in a chair, spinning the gun used to traumatize you between his fingers. Takeomi leans against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Ran and Rindou are smirking, eyes filled with condescension, like they already knew how this would play out. Mochi says nothing, his presence alone enough to make the room feel smaller. Kakucho stands at the back, watching, always watching.

You feel sick.

The weight of their stares presses down on you, suffocating, humiliating. Because Mikey never intended for you to run. No, he actually let you go. Gave you the chance to run… because he knew you wouldn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

And now, standing in front of them, exposed and weak, it finally hits you.

You never had a chance.

Not against them.

Not against him.

And now, you were right where they wanted you. They had predicted you didn’t want to do it.

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