#names are here to be a method of self expression

[kkisstheladder]

╰┈➤ professor! ♡ j. yunho

⋆˚꩜  your professor wants to talk to you about your plummeting grades, so why are you now bent over his desk?

❤︎  pairing: professor!yunho x student!fem!reader . ❤︎  genre – warnings: smut (minors do NOT interact), nsfw, university au, power imbalance, unprotected sex, dubious consent, coercion, oral sex (m. receiving), throat fucking, dacryphilia, praise kink, hair pulling, slight choking, creampie, nude photos, use of ‘good girl’, ‘baby’, and ‘sweetheart’ . ❤︎  wc: 4.4k . ❤︎  notes: hi tumblr… this is 100% a fully self indulgent fic. zero shame. i'll be posting more atz, (maybe) enha, and skz too so pls stay on the lookout if u like this! <3<3<3 also im addicted to golden hour pt3… yungis wrecking me so hard rn.

⋆˚꩜ AO3 READER? ➜ here!

𝄞  tear you apart – she wants revenge

it was eerily silent when you reached the door you’ve been dreading all day. 

the footsteps echoed a little too loud as you approached, every subtle sound amplified in the dim corridor. the building was mostly empty, a few students wandering, the university hallways frozen. you can’t tell if the chills were from the temperature or something else.

you paused in front of the door. his name was etched into the frosted glass in clean black lettering: ‘Professor Jeong’. your nerves were all over the place, legs trembling as you raised your fist to the door. you knocked once.

”come in.” he said in that familiar, soothing voice, loud enough to hear, but not a shout. you opened the creaking door, hesitating just a second before stepping inside.

he was seated behind his desk, the warm golden light from the desk lamp catching all his sharpest features. his sleeves were rolled up, only slightly past his elbows neatly. he looked so beautiful sitting there. he just looked up at you, for a little too long, saying nothing at all. 

all your friends teased you about your silly crush on him, but you felt something deeper, a strange connection to him — like an invisible string tying you to one another, bound for life. he was the perfect man: compassionate, handsome, humorous, you couldn’t help but feel instantly attracted. you came to realise it would likely never happen, considering he was your professor after all, but you wished so desperately it could. 

“take a seat.” he gestured towards the chair across from him. 

you did, clutching your bag strap as you lowered yourself into the cold chair, bag rested by your side. his eyes followed the hem of your skirt, your bare thighs against the cold leather seat. you didn’t miss it. you noticed your papers sat on his desk, all marked with a big red ‘F’. the pure shame you felt was unmeasurable.

”so,” he spoke softly, setting his pen down. “struggling are we?” 

you nodded, feeling the shame building inside of you as you look down, avoiding any and all eye contact with him. “i don’t understand what happened. i’ve been following the same methods, formatting, researching…” 

he leaned back in his chair, elbows rested on the arms of his chair and hands intertwined. “and yet, you keep failing.” 

your chest tightened. “i’m sorry sir… i don’t know what i’ve done wrong.”

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly when he looked at you. “i really do hate seeing bright girls like you struggle.”

a shiver crept up your spine, goosebumps forming on your arms. you weren’t sure if it was from the cold in the room or the way he said it. the way he praised you. there was something about the way he looked at you — something predatory hidden beneath his sweet demeanour, and you were an innocent lamb. 

“i just… please… i need this scholarship. i can’t afford to lose it.” you sniffled, hoping it didn’t turn into a sob by the end of this discussion. your fingers dug into the bare skin of your thighs, clinging on to any source of comfort.  

his eyes darkened, leaving behind the once compassionate man, his expression now unreadable. “then we’ll have to find a way to get those grades back up, won’t we?” 

you blinked, frowning, teardrops gathering in your eyes. “yes. please. i’ll do anything.” 

the words slipped out before you could even think about them. his eyes flickered to yours in an instant, holding your gaze. 

“anything?” 

you swallowed. he hadn’t even raised his voice once, he never did, he never needed to, and yet something in the air had changed. 

“yes…” 

the silence remained for a while.

then he stood up, and slowly walked over towards a metal cabinet, reaching in to pull out some papers. he did it all so precisely, cautiously. even his steps were calculated as he made his way over to you. he sprawled the papers on his desk, right in front for you to see. he leaned back against the edge of the desk, arms folded across his chest as he looked down at you. his knee touched yours, and he didn’t move away. 

“you’ve always been one of my favourite students,” his gaze fixates on the papers, your previous essays, an ‘A’ circled with a small ‘Good work.’ under the grade. “always so eager. so attentive.” 

you couldn’t speak. his eyes were back on you, your little skirt, your innocent eyes. it was as though you were a locked door he already had the key to. 

“so why is it you’re failing my class?” he inquires, inching closer. 

“i-i don’t know…” 

he reached down slowly, fingers just brushing your chin. you stiffened, but didn’t pull away. 

“you don’t know?” he repeated.

the air between you was electric. his touch was light, but deliberate. you knew he shouldn’t be this close. he shouldn’t be touching you at all. but still, you didn’t move. 

“i’ve seen you looking at me.” he murmured. “do you think i wouldn’t?” 

then the trembling came. the dry mouth, lips parted, whilst he felt all morals slipping away. he wanted nothing more than to ruin you. break you. 

he leaned in closer, the feeling of his breath on your cheek. “do you know how hard it’s been? watching you come into class in those tiny skirts, feigning innocence?”

”that… wasn’t my intention, professor…” you gazed up at him, eyes wet, locked with one anothers.

he laughed, low, teasing. “then what was?”

his hand slipped to your jaw, and then your throat, his hand loosely wrapping around it — not tight, just enough to make your thighs clench instinctively. he noticed. 

“i could ruin you.” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “and you’d thank me for it.”

god you hated how much you wanted this. 

he released you just as slowly, hand falling back to the desk and pointing at your numerous papers. 

“i could fix this for you. one change in the system,” he paused. “but what would i get in return?” 

you practically freeze in that moment. the words sit with you, marinating in your mind, finally understanding what it is he wants. 

“i can’t… we… ca—“ he shushes you before you can say anything more. 

“be honest with me,” he whispered, inches from your face.

you nodded dumbly. his voice had a weight to it, teasingly dangling your scholarship over your head leaving you vulnerable, submissive — exactly what he wanted. 

“do you want to fix this?”

”y-yes…” 

“then ask me nicely.” 

your cheeks burned. “ask you… what?” 

“ask me to help you, sweetheart.” 

the contact made you dizzy, his slender hand cupping your jaw. you couldn’t think. 

“please… help me. i don’t want to fail.” you cry to him, pleading and begging. 

his eyes seem so sweet now as he looks at you, even though you know it’s all fake. “you’ll do anything to stay, won’t you now?” 

you swallowed whatever other words you were going to say. “yes.” 

he smiled. not sweetly, not an ounce of kindness in his smirk. the way a wolf might smile at its prey. 

“thought so.” 

his hand slid from your jaw, down the curve of your throat. his fingers lingered there once more, but he pressed harder this time. not too tight, but enough to make your breath catch. his other hand made way to your thighs, leaving the hem of your skirt. he tutted. 

“look how short this skirt is…” he uttered “you knew how this would end, didn’t you?” 

you shook your head, eyes pleading and welling up with tears. “n-no i didn’t… i didn’t know—“

”you mean to say this isn’t for me?” he almost sounds disappointed.

his grip tightened ever so slightly, light, but sending a message. one that reads as ‘i have all the control.’ 

“be honest. you wanted me to look. you liked it, didn’t you? sitting in the front row, desperately trying to get my attention, feeling my eyes on your thighs and pretending not to notice.” 

your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, the heat building between them unbearable. 

“i liked it…” you whisper, loud enough for him to hear.

”hm?”

you couldn’t look him in the eyes. “i… liked it.” 

his thumb pressed against your pulse. “look at me.” and you did just that. 

once you looked up you saw it: hunger. desperation. the loss of control in the way he looked at you, like he was starving. 

“you’ve been so good,” he murmured, finally releasing your throat as his other hand lay still on your thigh. “coming to me like this. all shy. vulnerable.” he caresses your thigh whilst leaning into your face. 

“you want me to change that grade?”

you nodded eagerly.

”then get on your knees, baby.” he demands, stern and unmoving. “show me how much you want this.” 

the words went straight through you, like you’d been shot in the heart in the best way possible. you stood on shaking legs before hesitantly lowering yourself in front of him. your knees hit the cold office floor. you look up, and he was already looking at you, like you were is newest addiction. he always had this unreadable expression, nobody knew how he was feeling, not even you. he undid his belt slowly. teasingly. his voice stayed calm, but the lust beneath it was impossible to miss.

“my perfect student.” he breathed, combing his fingers through your hair. you were his. undeniably his — to ruin, to corrupt and break. your knees were pressed to the cold floorboards, the act feeling so wrong in this quiet space. his scent was everywhere now — cologne, leather, arousal. above you, he simply smirked, a soft, sweet smile to anyone else. but to you, it was because he owned you. 

“open that pretty mouth, baby.” 

and you did. his hand tangled in your hair, gathering it all in one as he unzipped his trousers, pulling you closer and pulling himself out without shame. he was already hard, thick and swollen, and absolutely not gentle as he patted the head of his cock against your parted lips. you underestimated how big he was. 

“stick out your tongue,” he said, voice a low demand. 

you obeyed, eyes already watering. 

“i love how obedient you are when desperate,” he smirked, a devilish grin. “on your knees, crying with a cock down your throat for a grade.” 

you winced, crying even more as the shame made your thighs press tighter. 

“don’t pretend you dont love it.” he groaned, pushing forward into your mouth, dragging his dick across your tongue like he was trying to leave a mark. “you’ve wanted this since the first time you saw me.” 

then he shoved deeper, a tight grip in your hair forcing you down on him, hitting the back of your throat as he stuffs your mouth full of him, an involuntary gag coming from you with your hands flying to his thighs for support. 

“good girl,” he hissed, pulling your hair tighter, making sure you don’t go anywhere. he wants to savour this moment, the moment he breaks an innocent girl. “take all of it… let me see you cry for me.” 

tears spilled fast, your throat tightening around him as you choke. you could have tried pulling away, but you didn’t want to. every erotic noise, every humiliating word that came out of his mouth, and yet you still didn’t push back. the room echoed every lewd sound, spit bubbling, muffled coughs and splutters, the loud gasp for air you let out when he finally let you. he pulled out with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. you coughed and gasped for air, mouth agape. 

“look at you,” he whispered, pulling your hair to look up at him. you looked at him through blurred eyes, tears masking whatever heinous expression he was making. “a fucking mess already…” 

he slapped his cock against your wet, red cheek, once or twice as he watched the next tear fall down your face. he talks to you like you were inferior to him — less than.

he pushed back in with far more force, zero mercy when it came down to you, forcing himself down your throat with a groan as he started fucking your mouth in rough, rhythmic thrusts. he knew you couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t care. you clawed at his thighs, nails digging hard enough to leave marks through his trousers. the moans and chokes coming out of you helped him all the more, encouraging him to speed up, fuck harder and faster into your mouth. the front of your grey sweater had turned dark, covered in drool and spit. you were too far gone at this point.

”cry for me, sweetheart.” he groaned in a low, raspy voice. “let me see you. see what a mess i’ve made out of such a beautiful girl.” 

the tears didn’t stop, throat burning as he filled the empty space with himself, but your panties were getting wetter by the minute. your thighs squirm, wet and needy. 

“you don’t need good grades,” he spat, tilting his head back before looking back down at you with pity in his eyes. “you need to learn how to take dick like a good girl.” 

he fucked into you as hard as possible, with no remorse and absolutely zero shame. he knew it was completely wrong to have a relationship with one of his students, to treat one this way, if anyone found out, he’d surely be fired on the spot.

especially if they knew he was failing you on purpose.

the other students were uninterested, obnoxious. but you? you were special. you craved his attention, focused on every word he spoke, watched attentively at every move he made. so, he had to do something to get some time alone with you. he found only one solution; and you fell for it completely. now kneeled before him, letting him use and abuse you, a man you hardly know anything about. 

why can’t this moment just last forever?

you winced around him, mascara smeared and tears streaming, and he couldn’t stop looking down at you — like you were the most magnificent mess he had ever seen. despite all his words, you truly were breathtaking. he might tease and insult, but there was no one quite like yourself. he couldn’t believe his plan had worked so well.

“my perfect girl… fuck…” he moaned, tilting his head back and shoving himself all the way down your throat with no room to breathe. he never wanted to let you go, to stay like this forever, you look so perfect with his cock down your throat, face red and blotchy. you could only oblige, wanting to do anything to please him. his hands gripped the back of your head, fully taking advantage of your throat, leaving bruises for later so that when you think of them you think of him. “fuck— you’re doing so well for me sweetheart.” 

then he pulled out again suddenly, spit dripping down your chin. you filled your lungs as quickly as you could, coughing and gasping for breath, holding your throat to soothe yourself. then he kneeled before you, combing your dampened hair back behind your ear, with a gentleness that shouldn’t be there.

”look at me…” he cupped your face with his other free hand, holding you gently. 

you did as you were told, gazing up at him with those big, watery eyes of yours. 

“you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” 

without hesitation you nodded, eager to do whatever he says. 

“good girl.” he spoke so softly, too softly. his hand found your hair again, entangling his fingers in amongst it all, his other hand cupping your face gently as he pulled you up from the office floor, your legs trembling. 

for the first time, he kissed you. a sloppy kiss with nothing but desperation and lust — greed alongside it. he wanted more, far more than he originally planned. in an instant, he pushed your back up against the desk like it was nothing, arching as you clung onto the edge. he pressed up to you, breaking away from the kiss to whisper in your ear. 

“bend over the desk for me, will you?” it sounded much like a request, but nothing about it was. it was a demand, disguised as an offer. his calming voice made it worse. 

of course you obeyed. even if you could say no, you know you wouldn’t. you stretch across the desk, pounding chest pressed into the cold wood. he ran a hand underneath your skirt and up your thigh, fingers teasing at your underwear before he rolled your skirt up to sit just above your ass. he ran a finger between your clothed folds, shamefully soaked. 

“fuck,” he laughed, low and almost cruel, yet pleased. “this wet already? you liked choking on my dick that much?” 

he pulled your panties to the side, slipping two fingers in without warning, a loud moan escaping your lips before he shut you up with his other hand. 

“come on baby… we can’t be too loud.” he breathed down your neck, pulling you up and arching your back further, his other hand fucking in and out of you slowly, painfully slowly. “god you’re so fucking tight. it’s almost a shame to ruin you.” 

he was lying. there was no shame in what he was doing, or what he felt towards you. there was no way to describe it other than complete lust, addiction maybe. your moans were muffled by his hand, unable to contain them as he split you open with just his fingers. 

he pulled his fingers out so suddenly, pulling your panties down to sit at your knees, leaving you a sopping wet mess all over his desk. your breath came in shallow gasps as you tried to prepare yourself. he placed one hand on the small of your back, holding you down — right where he wanted you. 

“god, look at this view.” his voice was driving you insane, deep and calming as he praised you. you felt his fingers graze your thighs again, spreading your legs wider and just admiring what he owned. 

the shock that hit when you felt him, teasing you with the head of his cock at your entrance, was a feeling you’ll never forget. sliding his tip through the slick between your folds with slow, deliberate strokes. he wasn’t in a rush, making this all the more perfect and somehow worse. he wanted to savour the moment. savour you.

uncontrollable moans came out of your mouth as he pushed into you, inch by inch until he bottomed out, staying there momentarily. you winced and gasped, nails scratching at the wooden surface for some sort of comfort to grab onto. he stretched you in the best way, forcing your walls to adjust to the shape of him. he leaned down and whispered into your ear, pulling you up by the hair to make sure you hear him.

“you take me all so well baby…” he groaned, tugging your hair so hard it was enough to make you wince out, breath hot against your cheek. “you like this? you like letting me use you, huh?” 

“yes… please — fuck — give me more…” 

he hissed as he pulled out and thrusted back in immediatly with a snap of his hips. you choked a moan, brains scrambled as he set a rough rhythm, brutal but precise. his fingers curled tighter in your hair as he fucked you faster.

“that’s right, take every inch…” his voice was so calming for a situation like this, soothing. your body jolted with every thrust in, his cock hitting so deep it made you dizzy. he kept your head held back, arched perfectly for him, his free hand sliding to grip your throat again. 

“so fucking good for me,” he murmured, soft and gentle. “so pretty with your face soaked in tears.” 

you hadn’t stopped crying — was it shame? disappointment? pure bliss? who’s to say, but you couldn’t get enough of him. he made you feel so good, the length, the pace, the praise, like you were his favourite sin. you cried for him more, face wet with your own tears as more streamed down.

”there she is,” he praised. “my perfect pupil. no one else gets to see you like this, nobody but me.” 

he pulled you back further until you were arched into him, face looking back to lock eyes with his. there was nothing but lust in his eyes, not love. lust. pure desire and desperation, determined to keep you his forever. 

“stay mine forever… please…” for once he begged. not pitiful, possessive. your knees almost buckled until he caught you, arm around your waist to hold you in place while he fucked you through it. you felt so oddly secure, safe in his arms as he slammed into you. you felt deserving of this, like you had earned it, you were the professors favourite after all.

”you hear how wet you are for me?” he breathed into your ear, kissing up and down your neck any chance he got, leaving behind dark bruises on your delicate skin. the sound of your bodies, lewd and obscene, echoed throughout the office. he wanted you to be quiet but couldn’t stay quiet himself, not when he thought you were the most perfect girl for him.

”sounds like you’ve been waiting for this moment, huh?” 

“i— fuck! — i have…” you spoke through broken moans, the desk shaking by this point, scraping across the floor, everything falling off. you spotted your papers, scrunched a bit and messied from the fallout. it reminded you why you were there, because of those essays. your eyes flickered to the ‘Good work.’ on one of your best papers, and couldn’t believe that is where this all started. your little teacher crush, now fucking into you with so much force you wont be able to walk into class tomorrow. 

“you make me so proud, baby,” he was right next to your ear, exhausted breathing breaking the words apart. “giving me everything i want, letting me fuck you so deep…” 

a high-pitched moan escaped your lips as he spoke, followed by his hand over your mouth once again, shutting you up for the time being. a part of you wanted someone to overhear, grow envious of your position, but the shame you felt stopped you. suddenly his thrusts slowed, just enough to let you feel every inch of him inside of you, his cock shaping your walls. 

“i want you to remember this,” he moaned out with every thrust. “everytime you sit in my class, you’ll think of what happened here.” 

you moaned into his hand with every movement from him, eyes watering and legs trembling. his mouth found your shoulder, kissing along it, nibbling at some points as his hand dropped from your mouth. you tried to contain your own moans until he pushed so deep into you his name came out in a low, soft whisper — not ‘sir’, or ‘professor’, his name, a trembling moan that sounded like a prayer. 

he slammed into you again, faster this time, breathing heavy, your words having flipped a switch in his brain. his grip tightened on your hip, using your body like it belonged to him. 

“you gonna let me cum inside, beautiful?” 

“y-yes… need it — i need you,” 

and that was all the confirmation he needed. he groaned, loud, deep, fucking you through it. his thrusts were sharp, hips smashing into yours until he came, cock twitching deep inside you as he buried himself to the hilt.

he stood there for a moment, his body up against yours, breathing heavily, hand still intertwined in your hair, his other digging his nails into your hip. and then, so softly, he spoke:

”my perfect student...”

you didn’t move. you couldn’t. just stayed there, slumped over his desk, his cum dripping from your aching cunt, reddened cheeks still wet from your tears. your body trembled for so long after he pulled out. 

you didn’t even hear his hand move, the subtle sound of fabric shifting and the unmistakable click. you flinched slightly from the unexpected noise.

”don’t tense baby,” his hand stroked your ass, still on full display for his perfect photo. “just stay like that for me, i want to remember you like this.”

you flinched as his thumb spread your folds, the camera clicking once more.

”god, look at that.” he spoke in a low whisper. “my perfect mess, stretched and leaking.”

his praise made your heart flutter, even now as you are laid spread on his desk, at your most vulnerable, a shy smile on your face.

“you took it so well, baby.” his fingers traced your spine, tingling from where he grazed. “just to keep that scholarship.”

he leaned down, voice brushing your ear. “to keep me happy.”

you whimpered as he spoke, unintelligble words, but he was already reaching down to pull your panties back into place, useless now really. he fixed your skirt, pulling it back down and handling you with such care. there wasn’t much to do about your sweater, covered in sweat and drool. he was now facing you, hands rested on your hips. 

“take this off lovely,” his fingers tugged at the bottom of your sweater, pulling it off of you, leaving you with nothing but a black tank top. “still just as beautiful.” 

you can’t tell if his words were genuine, but you couldn’t care less. his hands cupped your face, your eyes blank and dazed.

”still with me sweetheart?” he was so sweet now, the sudden change in his voice so different from him earlier. you nodded, looking up at him with puppy eyes. he smiled at that, proudly.

”you did so fucking well.” his thumb grazed your cheek, providing an ounce of comfort. “so pretty when you cry.” 

you blinked at him, lips parted and eyes glossed over, like in a trance. his lips touched your forehead, an act of love — but here? it was anything but. 

your legs trembled as you began to move away, smiling at him so sweetly, innocently. 

“next time,” his voice hushed, his body still close to yours. he smirked at you “don’t be late tomorrow, maybe if we have a spare 15 minutes…”

you nod.

maybe you’ll show up an hour early instead.

[agneslovestheinternet-blog]

FUCK YOU, don't leave me

Part Three: Heat (Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five)

Gally x Fem!Reader, NSFW!!

Considering your antics last month, your friends are shocked to see that both you and Gally have been allowed to come to bonfire night tonight. They would have been shocked to see both of you entering the woods only minutes apart, if they had noticed. Although this imminent confrontation is going to end in a very different kind of heat; the type that threatens to change your dynamic forever.

Genre: enemies to lovers, SMUT (starts abt 4.1K words in there’s lots of exposition)

Word Count: 7.3K  Read Time: 25 minutes (it’s a long one, ik, bear with)

Warnings & Info: protected, drunk p-in-v sex, despite the fact that both characters are drunk when they have sex there is very clear implied, physical, and verbal consent!! slight mutual masturbation, missionary, virgin!Gally & virgin!Y/N, underage drinking, strong language, “we shouldn’t be doing this” vibes, Gally's thoughts in green, Y/N's thoughts in blue

Author’s Note: I’ve never written smut before but I have had sex so how hard could it be? I hope you guys love this part; I absolutely loved writing the woods scene and I truly think it is the best writing of this whole fic thus far so tell me what you think! Part 4 will be the final part!

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As you were cleaning the med-hut, Gally was changing out of his work clothes, taking a moment to wipe his face with a clean towel and inspect the muscles in his arms, feeling suddenly self critical. He had never really cared about his appearance before, but something about the content of his dreams lately had him wondering things he’d never wondered before, like if his hair was cut too short or if his muscles didn’t compliment his height. He cursed at himself for acting like a dumb teenager with a crush, but that didn’t stop him from picking out his best shirt, (the one he never wears while working), and running his hands nervously through his hair. He walked out of his hut quickly, trying to shake the thought of what expression might be on your face when you see him tonight. 

Now that you were back in your hut that you shared with all the Glade girls (Elsie, Lireale, Gia, Ariana and now, supposedly, tonight’s greenie who hasn’t remembered her name yet), you peeled your Med-Jack uniform off methodically. You hesitated over your clothing trunk before changing into the closest thing to a nice outfit The Glade affords you; a deep red, v-neck top with a small black bow in the middle of the v (courtesy of Lireale’s sewing skills) and black pants that are tighter fitting than your work pants. You were grateful that all of your roommates were already at the bonfire, as you were sure that at least one of them would’ve asked you snidely who you were trying to impress tonight, if they had watched you pick this outfit.

If everyone’s going to be staring at me tonight, I might as well look good.

You ran your fingers absentmindedly through your hair as you tried to shake the feeling that this idea of Alby’s was going to go terribly wrong. You were pretty sure Gally had moved past his murderous rage from that night, but that still left his regular rage, and that’s not much better. Although he did offer to stay home tonight which suggests a lack of rage entirely and besides that he’s probably been too distracted lately to want to come after you. Feeling you’d procrastinated enough, you walked to your door, prepared to face whatever fresh hell this night had in store for you.

As it turned out, there wasn’t much hell to be had currently. You and Gally had both been greeted by your respective friend groups with shock and delight. They were trying to be non-invasive and avoid pointed questions about how the hell you managed to be here tonight, but you both noticed their eyes darting between you two in the dim light of the bonfire, waiting for the tension to break. After settling into the festivities with a lot less apprehension, you decided to make a pit stop at Frypan’s table, to ask for something you knew you shouldn’t.

“Hey Fry!”

“Hey Firecracker,” you cringed at the nickname. “How’s your night going? Are you thinking of setting the place on fire again?” his eyes flashed mischievously.

“No no, my arson days are behind me, Fry. I could use a drink though,” you slipped in, slyly, hoping Alby hadn’t gotten to him first.

“Shit, you know Alby would kill me if I gave you one,”

Fuck, he had gotten to him first. Either that or he was just demonstrating common sense, you thought to yourself. It was actually the former. The day after the incident last month, Alby had forced Gally to clean out his entire stock of his drink and hand it over to Fry for safekeeping. He had also forbidden Fry from giving Gally any of the ingredients to make more. When Alby had finished with you earlier that night, he had marched straight up to Fry and made him promise under threat of a week spent in The Pit to not give you or Gally even a drop of alcohol tonight. Frypan had tried to tell him that Gally utterly terrified him at the best of times and he was sure he already hated him for taking away all of his drink in the first place. He further explained that you were a friend of his and because of those reasons combined he didn’t think he’d be very good at resisting either of you, but the leader wasn’t having it.

“Pleeassee Fry. You know bonfire nights are the only nights I ever drink. And I’ve been doing really good this month,”

“I don’t know…” Fry was getting nervous. On the one hand you had a fair point, one he’d already considered you’d make. On the other hand, he had just gotten back into Alby’s good graces after an incident of his own two months ago that involved an out-of-control smoke bomb and he didn’t want to jeopardize his leader’s favor.

“Just one glass, I promise I won’t do anything stupid. I just want to hang out with my friends,” Fry looked nervously from left to right, half expecting Alby to appear and scold him on the spot. But against his better judgement and in line with what he told his leader would happen anyways, he reached behind him and filled a mason jar of Gally’s signature elixir.

The night had quickly blurred into an orange colored haze from there. You downed your jar as quickly as you could, feeling the familiar warmth of it spread first to your cheeks then to the rest of your body. You laughed with your friends, played a convoluted drinking game with your fellow Med-Jacks, introduced yourself to The Glade’s newest female greenie (promising her that you weren’t normally this chatty), and got dared to take your top off by an equally drunk Slicer who’d always had a thing for you. You didn’t comply….obviously. And yet, through all the camaraderie and the feeling that things were finally getting back to normal after the horrors of this last month, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. You’d turn your head to try to find the pair of eyes responsible for this feeling, but that only led to more blurry vision, the alcohol in your system disagreeing with the movement. 

“I’m going for a walk,” you blurted out suddenly to Lireale, who’d been singing an abstract melody over a very out of tune guitar Thomas was absentmindedly strumming.

“What! Are you crazy?” she slurred back at you, trying to snap her mind back to reality to keep you from doing something excessively stupid for the second bonfire night in a row.

“I just need some fresh air,” 

“Are you fucking kidding me Y/N? We live in a Glade; this whole place is fresh air!” she hissed. You couldn’t help but giggle at her outburst. But something was nagging at you and you just felt like you had to get away from people for a while.

“I’m just gonna walk to the little river past the deadheads and then I’ll come back. Promise,” Lireale’s expression shifted from shock to exasperation. It was clear she wasn’t winning this fight and there wasn’t much use in arguing with you; you’d always been stubborn to a fault.

“Fine. But if you’re gonna go skinny dipping, make sure you keep your clothes right next to the water so no one can come over and steal them from you,” You smiled at Lireale’s practical advice, rising from your seat in the grass and giving her an unsteady kiss on the forehead before taking off in your desired direction.

Gally watched your slightly stumbling figure disappear into the darkness of the woods, his interest piqued. He’d been stealing glances at you all night, trying to ignore how much he liked the shade of your top and how he never noticed that you got even prettier when you got drunk, with your hair all astray and a giddy look on your face. Every time he’d feel that familiar heat of desire bubble in his chest, he would dig his fingernails into his palm, trying to use the pain to bring him back to reality. Despite his terrible nail-biting habit leaving his fingernails flush to the skin, they still left small crescent shaped markings and he was beginning to believe they’d become permanent with how often he was having to police his own thoughts.

His looks had gone from quick glances to several uninterrupted seconds of staring as more of his drink began to flood his bloodstream. He’d let Alby believe that he’d given his whole stock to Frypan, but he’d swiped a bottle from an undisclosed personal store under his bed before heading out for the night. No fucking way I’m doing tonight sober, he’d thought to himself before taking the first swig.

So now here he was, plenty drunk with his eyes blurry, his cheeks flushed, and his groggy mind just now beginning to realize that maybe adding copious amounts of alcohol to an already stiff inner cocktail of repression, frustration and desire wasn’t exactly the best way to calm his racing thoughts. He tried to snap out of his lustful haze by tuning back into the spirited conversation his friends were having around him as they lounged on the grass.

“...would fucking kill him before he even tried. Right Gally?” Ben asked indignantly, clearly looking for backup.

“What? Kill who?” Gally muttered, trying to focus his eyes on Ben’s face and figure out what side of this undoubtedly pointless debate he should be on.

“Minho wants to fuck Y/N,” Zart stated bluntly, flashing Gally an evil grin as he watched Minho’s eye widen with fear.

“I do not! I just said she was kinda hot!” Minho blurted back, his voice slurring. He did not want to start a fight with Gally over this of all topics and he was regretting ever mentioning this opinion in Zart’s presence, who he should’ve known wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“And I said don’t even think about it because you’ll fucking kill him if he gets within ten feet of her,” Ben finished with an arrogant tone. He was unaware of the sudden tension that fell over the group as they watched Gally think over this information. They were hoping they hadn’t set him off like last month’s incident when one of them, (no one could remember exactly who), revealed that Builder’s crush on you that made him pick a fight with you in the first place.

“Why can’t you shanks ever focus on anything other than girls?” Gally hissed, hoping his blatant hypocrisy wasn’t showing on his face. The group breathed a collective sigh of relief as he seemed no more angry at this prospect than he normally would be.

“Because we’re teenage boys,” Newt piped up from the corner, smiling to himself as he took a deep sip from the mason jar in his hands before passing it to Ben.

“And fantasizing about girls passes the time faster,” Ben continued, taking another sip from the jar and shuddering at its bitter taste. The rest of the circle grunted in agreement as he passed the jar to Zart.

“And we’re all pretty sick of just fucking our hands in the shower every morning!” Zart finished grandly, holding the jar in his hands in front of him like he was making a toast. This sent a chorus of raucous laughter through his friends and Gally went an even further shade of red. He was hit with the flashback of the fantasy of you that had him partaking in that very activity this morning when he suddenly realized he probably shouldn’t be around his friends anymore tonight. Too many eyes are on him and too many potential questions could be formed about just what had gotten him so flustered these past few weeks. 

“Alright guys, I’m turning in for the night,” Gally stated which elicited disappointed groans from all. “Hey somebody has to keep you shanks in line when you’re all hungover tomorrow,” he glared at a small group of the youngest Builders in The Glade, who had been listening in on the conversation without participating. Gally rose to his feet slowly to avoid stumbling like a drunkard and began taking off in the direction of his hut, nodding curtly at the goodbyes his friends called out. Minho scrambled to his feet upon realizing Gally was leaving and rushed to catch up with him, though his head was spinning quite unpleasantly.

“Hey Gally! I’m sorry about that. I’m not gonna do anything with Y/N, I swear. I’m just-I’m really drunk, man, and we were talking about our types and, ya know, which of the girls in The Glade are closest to it and someone brought her up and all I said was-” he rambled nervously as he half jogged next to Gally’s surprisingly swift gait.

“Jesus, Minho, calm down,” he shoved a forceful hand against the Runner’s chest. “I don’t give a shit man, I know it’s all talk,” he dismissed as he took up walking again. 

“Yeah all talk definitely definitely,” Minho repeated breathlessly, relief washing over him as he realized Gally hadn’t noticed how he was spending more and more of his dinners in the Med-hut with you these past few weeks. The increased closeness that was tentatively budding between you two wasn’t anything yet but whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t all talk.

“Get some sleep, man, Ben said you guys are running the outer sections tomorrow,”

“I will, in a bit. ‘Night Gally,” Minho stopped for a moment and willed himself to calm down. It’s nothing, he thought to himself as he meandered his way back over to his friends. I barely know her; we just started talking, he continued in his head. Gally probably won’t murder me if I make a move…probably. He was so preoccupied in his own anxiety that he failed to notice that Gally had veered very distinctively off course.

“Where the fuck is that shank going? I thought he was going to bed,” Zart exclaimed, watching Gally cross from the path he’d been on towards his hut to a path towards the woods.

“I don’t know, it’s Gally mate,” Newt responded, trying to sound nonchalant but secretly logging this in his mind to ask his friend about later when he was sober and during daylight hours. “Hell’ll freeze before we figure him out,”

Nobody from Gally’s circle of friends in the grass had seen you slip into the woods ten minutes earlier. And nobody from your group of friends by the bonfire had seen Gally change course to follow in your footsteps. The Glade remained blissfully unaware of the imminent collision of its two most-at-odds members. 

Gally wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone what made him change course for the woods at that specific moment. He knew he really shouldn’t have, and that the fallout of you two meeting face to face again would most likely end in strict punishments for both of you. But he couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment. He couldn’t deal with the searing heat that was coursing through his body just beneath his tanned skin for even a moment longer. 

Gally was steaming mad. Not at Minho, for thinking you were attractive, not at that Builder from last month for having a crush on you, not at Alby for punishing him, Newt for questioning him, his crew for making fun of him, the entire Glade for whispering about him or even at you for so consistently irritating him. He was enraged with himself for a multitude of reasons; letting his otherwise unperturbed mind be corrupted by mindless teenage sex fantasies, looking at you that night in the Med-hut when he should’ve just kept his eyes to himself, feeling the distinct burning of lust boil in his stomach, for the first time since he had arrived in The Glade. So he was going to do something about it.

He marched through the pitch black of the woods with a renewed vigor that sent a little more coordination through his drunken body. He finally spotted you in the exact spot you had told Lireale you would be in; sitting next to the little pond past the deadheads, your right hand absentmindedly stirring the still water. 

“Y/N!” he barked, making you startle as your ears took in the sudden gruff tone piercing through the silence of the woods.

“Gally?! What the hell are you doing here? Did you fucking follow me??” you yelled, spinning around to face him and jumping to your feet, ever-familiar venom searing through your body that was at peace moments ago.

“No!” Gally snapped back, his voice not reflecting the brief panic now filling his mind. He hadn’t thought about what he’d say to you until right now. “I’m just so fucking tired of this shit!”

“What the hell are you talking about now?”

Gally faltered slightly, trying to find a justifiable reason to be as upset as he was. Without warning, he found an abundance of them that began pouring from his lips like a suddenly opened dam.

“All of this! This whole last month; it’s been fucking ridiculous! You burned both of us for no fucking reason and now we have to tiptoe around everybody here like we’re fucking criminals. We had to apologize to each other like we’re fucking five years old and come to this stupid bonfire night again this month because Alby wants us to put all this shit behind us; but fuck that! I can’t fucking stand you, Greenie!”

Fuck, she looks really…

“Good! Glad we’re on the same fucking page Gally. And it wasn’t for no reason, you dumb shank; you called me a slut in front of the entire Glade! Did you think I’d just lie down and fucking take that?? And you’re not the one Alby threw in the pit every night for a month straight; count your fucking blessings, asshole, at least everyone doesn’t think you’re a deranged fucking arsonist!”

Is he seriously doing this now? I know his timing is always shit but…

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Everybody always thinks you’re just the defensive one but you start fights just as much as…”

“Me?! I would be perfectly happy to never get into another fight again but every time there’s something to complain about, we all have to hear it from….”

“You know that’s not true. Face it Y/N; you fucking love this!”

Silence snapped into place like the final piece of a puzzle as soon as those words left Gally’s mouth. You felt the heat of your anger traveling up to your cheeks but also down to your stomach, creating a dizzying sensation you weren’t familiar with. You barked a forced laugh to try to diffuse this new feeling.

“I love this? What the hell is there to love about this?!”

Is this why I’m always so mad at her? I mean what the fuck kind of coping strategy is…

“This is the reason you and I can get through all the bullshit of living in this prison. Because if we’re fighting with each other, we can’t really think about anything else,”

We’re insane. I think he might actually be…

“Right, so what am I supposed to do, thank you?”

“Maybe it’d be a nice change of pace,”

You both hadn’t noticed it, but you had been stepping closer to each other this entire exchange. You were no more than six inches apart now, breathing heavily, both sets of eyes roaming the other with greedy contempt, almost hungrily.

“Fuck you, Gally,” you finally managed to spit out, almost breathless, the heat in your stomach coiling into tight knots. “Fuck you, Y/N,” he hissed back, positively burning up now.

And suddenly, as if this had been the plan all along, Gally was grabbing your waist and pulling you into a hot, angry, pent-up kiss. His calloused hands grabbed at your hips as his tongue explored your mouth vigorously, finally connecting the heat that had been building up in both of your bodies. He was kissing you like you were the last woman on earth. And you might as well have been.

Despite any protests you should’ve had, you let yourself enjoy the sensation of being manhandled by Gally. He was feeling you up desperately, his hands now slipping underneath the fabric of that damn red v-neck top, snaking their way up your back and then back to the front, his fingers fiddling with the underwire of your bra. He felt his blood rush downwards to where he really wanted you and he was sure that with you pressed up against him, you could feel it too. He disconnected his lips from your mouth and started trailing hot kisses down your neck, sending stifled moans and gasps tumbling from your lips. You pulled away slightly and he adjusted his head to look you in the eyes.

“Are we really fucking doing this?” you questioned, trying for the same angry tone you had used before but your voice was too breathy now.

“Yeah. Fuck it,” Gally responded hoarsely, surprisingly accepting of this objectively insane situation.

“Then let’s go to your hut,” 

“Are you serious?” Gally questioned, only to be absolutely sure this wasn’t just a convoluted revenge plot.

“Deadly,” you whispered back. The heat in your stomach was now replaced by an intense pulling sensation. You needed him. In ways he couldn’t give you while you were both standing fully clothed in the middle of the forest.

Gally disconnected his arms from your body and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the original path he had told his friends he was taking. That felt like a lifetime ago. Bonfire night was still going strong in the distance, so undercover of the intense darkness of The Glade, you and Gally snuck in the back of his hut and he shut the door as quietly as he could. 

He crossed the room to where you were now sitting on the edge of his bed, (just like you had been in all of his fantasies over the past three weeks), pulled your red top over your head and threw it in a ball on the ground. He admired the expanse of soft skin that was now open to him as he stood above you. He wanted to really take it in now, not like that quick glance in the Med-hut, and several tension-filled seconds passed with his eyes roaming your chest greedily, watching it rise and fall with a quickened pace.

“Are you just gonna stare at me or are you gonna fuck me?” you snapped bravely. You could tell that the alcohol in your system had drafted that response. Gally shook his head slightly to break his gaze and looked apprehensively in your eyes.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” he faltered, hot guilt washing over him as he began to consider the consequences of this action for the first time.

“It’s a terrible idea,” you replied, chuckling slightly. You tried to look him in the eyes but couldn’t tear your blown pupils from his lips, which you wished dearly were planted back on your neck at this moment.

“We’re both really drunk,” Gally continued, tentatively running a calloused hand over your shoulders. You felt yourself ease into the contact, your heart rate rising to match your shallow breathing.

“We’re also not supposed to be anywhere near each other,” You lifted your arm to run a hand over Gally’s forearm. The strong muscles from years of manual labor felt like heaven under your soft touch. The Builder’s breath hitched at the innocent contact, feeling a mixture of comfort and lust spread through his body.

“We hate each other,”

“Well we don’t have to right now,” You let a smile spread slowly across your face.

Consequences be damned.

Gally didn’t respond to this statement, he just pulled his blue shirt off of his body and threw it on top of your red one. This triggered an avalanche of movement from the both of you as two sets of shaking hands flurried to undo belts, boot laces, and waistbands, worried that if they moved any slower, all momentum for this batshit idea would be lost.

When the movement finally slowed, you were both down to your underwear, you laying on Gally’s bed with your head on the pillow, your hair forming a halo around you. Gally was still standing at the side of it, his toned chest heaving, and you beckoned to him with your finger. You had both come to a non-verbal conclusion that the less you talked during this exchange, the better, and so a comfortable silence fell over the hut.

Before he joined you on the bed Gally rummaged in his bedside table for a small object he had long given up on ever using; a condom. These had started coming up in The Box every month as soon as the girls did. Alby had begrudgingly given a few to every guy in The Glade, muttering that he didn’t want anyone having sex in the first place, but if they did, he certainly didn’t want to increase the population.

Gally eased himself onto the bed, straddling your body, setting the small foil packet next to the pillow. He lowered himself down to you agonizingly slow, arms bent on either side of your shoulders. You rose your head to meet him, pink lips and alcohol-laced breath meeting once more. You pulled out of the kiss for a moment to bite down on his lower lip which triggered an uncharacteristic whimper to fall from his lips. He took this as a signal to begin placing needy kisses down your neck again, and though the heat of his lips felt divine on your skin, you wanted to move on to the main event. After all, you didn’t drunkenly strip down to your underwear in the living quarters of your worst enemy just to make out; if you’re going to make a terrible decision, at least see it through.

You started tracing your hands down his abs, hitching your fingers in the waistband of his boxers. Gally started a little at the contact, grateful that his face was pressed against your collarbone so you couldn’t see his blush deepening. He’d never had anyone touch him like this and he was quickly becoming addicted to it. All the fantasies he had conjured up of you in the past three weeks couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. 

He felt his blood throbbing in his cock as he left several purple hickies on your chest, lavishing in the moans you made whenever he’d bite down. He finally pushed himself up on his knees, shifting from side to side as he pulled his boxers off awkwardly, leaving himself now totally exposed. You took his cue, unhooked your bra and shimmied out of your panties, throwing them both off to the side. You both took a moment to admire each other, having to stay very still to avoid the blurred vision that came when you moved too fast.

He raked his eyes over your chest, admiring the curve of your tits that were previously concealed in your bra. Fuck, she’s hot. Without thinking about it, he reached for his cock with his right hand, slowly pumping himself as he trailed his eyes to the wetness pooling between your legs, his eyes widening and the knot beneath his navel begging for release.

You took your time admiring his hulking frame and the muscles flexing in his right arm as he quickened his pace, sliding his hand up and down his surprisingly-massive cock. You liked seeing Gally like this; his jaw slack, eyes glued to you, cock leaking precum that made his calloused hand glisten in the low light and most importantly, his mouth kept firmly shut. It was such a turn on, you reached your own right hand down to your heat and slipped a finger inside, pumping slowly and growing wetter by the second, preparing yourself for him. I can’t believe I want him, but I really fucking do.

As if he had read your thoughts, Gally took his right hand from his cock and his left from his waist to grab your thighs with both and spread them further apart. You removed your right hand from its place between your thighs and gently grabbed his cock, trying to mimic the pumping motion he had been doing moments before. 

Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. Your hand on his cock felt about a hundred times better than his own and it was all he could do to suppress a moan. He let himself throw his head back, his eyes rolling, before the part of his brain that hadn’t gone fuzzy from the friction finally remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He put his large hand over yours and guided it back to its place next to your body. He then reached for the foil packet sitting next to the pillow and ripped it open quickly, sliding the slick latex over himself clumsily, needing to adjust it several times. He felt his cheeks grow hotter, feeling embarrassed at his lack of experience being shown so plainly but he shook it off quickly.

He gripped your waist with his left hand and with his shaking right hand, gently guided his cock to your slick opening. Lining up his tip to your willing hole, he pushed his hips forward slightly when a searing pain suddenly wracked your body.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed suddenly, jolting Gally out of the beautiful relief he had begun to feel. You grabbed his cock instinctively, keeping him frozen in place with just his tip sheathed inside of you.

“What? Are you ok?” he asked worriedly, his heart rate rising with anxiety. He was sure at this moment that you had realized how colossally stupid this was and you were going to shove him off of you, slap him square in the face and then run straight to Alby, who would ensure you’d never get this close to him again.

“I’m fine, it just stung a little bit. I’ve never done this before and…fuck, Gally you’re a lot bigger than I thought you’d be,” your voice was light and as soon as those words left your mouth you began to regret it. You watched a small smile spread quickly across the Builder’s face.

“I’m…big?” he repeated slowly. He’d never tell you, but this appraisal from you about his size had his heart leaping. Like any teenage boy he was naturally insecure in that department and hearing you use that adjective sent his ego inflating to a massive size.

“Fuck off! I’m a virgin, everything’s big to me,” you reasoned hotly, not wanting him to get any cockier than he already is. You were pretty sure that Gally would be considered big to any girl, regardless of their experience, but he didn’t need to know that you thought that. You let your grip around his cock go slack. Your body still wanted more of him even if it was going to prove slightly difficult now.

“So am I. I’ll just, uh, go slower? And you tell me how it feels, ok?” he responded with a softer tone that was laced with uncertainty. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing anyways so he would welcome the feedback regardless. You nodded slowly and he lined himself back up, pushing slightly inward again, watching your face scrunch up with pain again. He stopped, pulling back slightly.

“Hold on, I think I know what might help,” you said, readjusting your body until your hips were angled up instead of parallel to the bed so he’d be thrusting down, not forward. “Try again,”

“You sure?” he raised an eyebrow at you, beginning to worry this wasn’t going to work at all. Despite his long history of negative emotions associated with your presence, he found his mind cut through his lust with concern; he really didn’t want to hurt you.

“Positive,” you nodded, meeting his eyes with a determined gaze. 

Gally lined his cock up to your entrance for the third time, not having to bend over so much due to the new angle. He braced for your pained whimper as he pushed his hips down towards you but he got no such sound in response. Though it still stung slightly as he pushed his tip inside of you, a warm, pleasant pressure spread slowly beneath that feeling, starting to overpower it.

“Are you good?” Gally asked, trying to conceal the shake in his voice from the mind-melting pleasure he was getting from finally being half inside you.

“Yeah, keep going,” you muttered, trying to get used to the warm feeling of your body enveloping him.

He obliged quickly, sinking more of his cock slowly inside of you, gripping your waist tightly now. He was now realizing that it was going to be difficult not to cum after one stroke as the new sensation of your heavenly inner walls already had him teetering on the edge. The experience of his cock filling you up felt more and more natural the deeper he thrusted. He finally bottomed out with a groan, his pelvic bone now pressed against yours.

“Gally,” you moaned softly and he could definitely tell that it wasn’t a moan from pain. His cock twitched inside you at the sound. She’s moaning my name. I can’t believe this is real.

“Feeling good, Y/N?” he stuttered back, the pressure underneath his navel building up massively as he began to slowly thrust his hips back and forth, watching your face intensely for any sign of discomfort. Your face flushed at the sound of your name falling from his lips. He is big.

“Yes, fuck me faster,” 

You had meant for it to be a command but it came out in the form of a whimper. Nonetheless Gally complied quickly, cutting the time between each stroke in half, experimenting with pulling more of his cock out of you just to slam it back harder the next time. Your moans had begun to fill the air around him, just like he imagined they would. The feeling of your pussy wrapped so tightly around his cock, pulling him in, was so otherworldly it blew any sexual release he’d ever given himself with his own hand right out of the water. 

He forced himself to open his eyes and look down at you, your body recoiling from each thrust, sending your tits rippling in a hypnotizing circle. He stared down at where his cock disappeared inside you, practically drooling from the sight. He tightened his grip on your waist, now using his arms to pull your hips back and forth on his cock, instead of him thrusting his.

You started seeing spots in the corner of your vision at this new move. You could feel your wetness leaking down from where his cock was sliding in and out of you and the pressure was building in between your hips. You marveled dumbstruck at what little strength it took for him to move your entire body so easily. 

“Keep…going…like…that,” you managed to sigh between moans, your hands now reaching up to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his tanned skin. This stinging sensation sent shockwaves through Gally’s body, who now locked into his task with laser focus. He listened to the faint squelching noises of your wet core taking his cock so well as he slammed your hips repeatedly against his, even harder now.

“Fuck Y/N. You’re…so…tight,” he was having a harder time pulling you off his cock to thrust harder due to how hard your walls were gripping him.

“Gally…you’re so-….big. Fuck! You feel…sooooo…good,” you moaned back, almost crying from the feeling of how well his massive cock was filling you up. You felt like you were about to be ripped apart from the strength of his thrusts, but you just dug your fingernails into his back deeper and squeezed your eyes shut, letting the pleasure roll over your body.

Gally was trying to hold out for your orgasm but at the sound of his name leaving your lips again in such a sensual tone and the praise you were giving him for his efforts, he just couldn’t hold it in any longer. He felt the heat surge into his pelvis and barely had any time to warn you.

“Y/N…sorry...I’m gonna-” but his sentence was cut off by you pulling him down into another sloppy, wet kiss. As you pulled away from him slightly to bite down on his bottom lip, he felt his pleasure finally curl to a finish. He thrust violently into your pussy and held his position deep inside of you, feeling his warm cum spurt out of his pulsing cock and into the condom. He let out a few very undignified moans into your mouth, and was too high off the feeling of you wrapped around him to feel embarrassed about it.

“I know you didn’t-” he started, slowly opening his eyes to meet your glazed ones underneath him. You were coming down from the high a lot quicker than he was, your lack of climax not really bothering you as you somehow knew this wouldn’t be a one-time thing.

“It’s fine. Next time,” you nodded at him with a wink, watching the shock color his sweaty face.

“Wait,” he paused briefly, pulling his leaking cock out of your pussy, eliciting a groan from both of you, “‘Next time’?”

“Yeah,” you sat up gingerly to meet his eye level. “Isn’t fucking me better than fighting with me?”

“Well, yeah…”

He withdrew his legs from around you gingerly, reaching for the towel he’d used to wipe his face before he left for bonfire night. He removed the condom wrapped around him slowly and tossed it gently into the garbage by his bed. He then focused on wiping both of you down, trying to ignore the slight spin the room had now. He was still reeling but was trying to be functional. It’s certainly a hard line to walk between; hating someone so much yet cumming harder than you ever have while inside them. The mix of annoyance and need he felt while looking at you was curdling in his stomach, making him feel slightly nauseous.

“...but I didn’t think there’d be a next time. I didn’t think there’d be a first time. I mean; what the fuck is this?”

You took the towel from his hands and finished wiping yourself clean, then swung your shaking legs over the edge of the bed, turning your head to face Gally. You felt the absence of him inside you like a chunk had been taken from your flesh. You hadn’t realized how much attraction had been simmering under your hatred for him until the tension finally broke. But despite your confused feelings, you were determined to gain the upper hand on him and win the war of indifference.

“You’re seriously pulling a “what are we”?” you chuckled.

“No, fuck no,” he recoiled with disgust that was slightly forced. “Y/N, we're both drunk. I kinda thought we’d regret this in the morning and never talk to each other again,” He hoped that wasn’t the correct assumption.

“Is that what you wanna do?” you posed innocently, standing finally and turning to face him with your hands on your hips. You tried to keep your desire for him out of your tone and you weren’t sure if you were succeeding.

“Not really, no,” he muttered, dazed at his new view of you, his eyes scanning up and down your body. His cock gave a weak throb, somehow still slightly hard even after its monumental release.

“Ok well then, let’s just do this. But maybe, sober and not like, directly after biting each other's heads off? We don’t have to talk, just meet up and…” you trailed off suggestively, posing this proposal as you searched his floor for all the clothing items you had haphazardly tossed there. Gally reached down for his boxers and pulled them over his half-hard cock.

“You sure? I feel like you’re just gonna get really mad at me and we’ll have another thing like last month and I really don’t wanna-”

“Oh my fucking god Gally do you want to fuck me or not?? What is your fucking deal?” you snapped, pulling your shirt over your head and reaching for your pants, forgetting about underwear entirely. Gally suddenly knelt down in front of you, gripping your wrists in his strong hands.

“Of course I want to fuck you again, shank! You think I can cum like that from my own hand? I just think we hate each other and this is gonna end terribly. I’m trying to avoid getting burned again; literally” he accented the last word with an acidic tone, all the dizziness from his orgasm now completely worn off and irritation at your attitude replacing it. 

“Clearly the only time I don’t hate you Gally, is when you’re inside me so let’s just do that and we’ll be fucking fine!” You shook your wrists from his grip and finished pulling your pants up in a huff.

“Fine,” he turned from you to pick up his shirt.

“Great,” you stood up with your boots in your hands and sat at the edge of his bed to put them on. You both dressed the rest of the way in a stubborn silence, with you realizing you had forgotten your underwear and just opting to shove them into one of your large pockets and Gally trading his tough cargo pants for linen shorts. He usually slept in just his boxers but he didn’t want to be undressed around you any more than he had to be. The argument that sprouted took both of your attention from your confusing feelings of lust and fondness towards one another and back on a much more comfortable plane; arguing came as easily to you two as breathing.

You finally stood fully dressed and made your way to the door. You had your hand on the doorknob, ready to make your escape when Gally broke the silence.

“Wait Y/N. Are you good?” He didn’t clarify what exactly he was trying to check that you were good with but between the concerned look on his face and the earnestness of his tone, you could tell he was strictly referring to your trial and error in the bed earlier. Gally’s stomach was twisting into knots as you thought over your response with your back still turned to him. He was torn between genuine concern for your wellbeing and embarrassment at treating his enemy so gently.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered, turning to face him and nodding with wide, honest eyes. You tried to conceal the ambiguous pang that rattled your chest as you realized his care for you. Sure it was the bare minimum but this was Gally; kindness is not a strong suit of his.

“You’re not hurt?” he clarified, keeping his tone matter-of-fact.

“Um, I’m a little sore. Like I might have trouble walking tomorrow,” you broke out into a playful grin to diffuse the tension, “but that’s a good kind of hurt, you know,”

“Ok,” he nodded to reassure himself, chuckling slightly and relaxing slightly at your appraisal of the situation. “Can’t wait to see you limping around the Med-hut tomorrow,” he cracked sarcastically, returning your grin.

You scrunched your nose up and narrowed your eyes as you put your hand back on the doorknob. “Fuck off Gally,” you muttered without your usual flair as you swung the door closed behind you.

You snuck back to your hut in silence, realizing that was probably the only time you’d ever said that phrase and didn’t really mean it.

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Tags: @katie-tibo @my-little-universes @cthood @decaffeinatedpuppygiver

[starsandsuch]

ATMAKARAKA THROUGH THE HOUSES: how does your soul’s purpose manifest in this lifetime? 💡🦋

Your Atmakaraka is the planet in your Vedic Astrology chart with the highest degree. This planet represents your soul’s purpose in the lifetime.

Your Atmakaraka is called your soul planet or your AK planet. It is the significator of your soul.

The house your Soul Planet is in will paint a picture to how exactly your souls purpose will manifest in this lifetime.

Read my original post on identifying your soul planet: here

Atmakaraka in the 1H:

Your souls purpose is about self development. You’re meant to cultivate your own identity in this lifetime. Your major life lessons relate to being authentic and following your own journey. To develop strong boundaries between who you are vs what your expected to be. You’re meant to do things uniquely in a way that suits you and you only. Disregard the path society sets out for you, and create your own. You’re destined for notoriety and recognition.

Atmakaraka in the 2H:

Your soul’s purpose is about creating stability and security for yourself. Your meant to establish yourself in the material world, and be self-sufficient financially. You’re life’s journey is about sustenance. Sustaining yourself, your name, your possessions, your resources and your money. It’s all about creating and maintaining a proper foundation for yourself. You’re meant to use your voice as a method for fulfilling your purpose. Developing your speech to convey a message is apart of what your soul wants to do.

Atmakaraka in the 3H:

Your soul’s purpose is about communication. How do you express yourself? What mediums help you get your message across most authentically? You are destined to bring a specific message to the world that can only be channeled through you. Your destiny has a lot to do with speech, messages, media and conversation. You are meant to exercise a sense of courage in this life and do things fearlessly. Fearlessly communicating your authentic thoughts to the world. Saying what’s on your heart. Through music, writing, poetry, public speaking and the like.

Atmakaraka in the 4H

Your soul’s journey is about developing your inner happiness. Your meant to do what brings you emotional fulfillment. What makes you feel safe, secure, emotionally aligned? That is what your soul seeks to experience in this lifetime. Alignment with family and ancestors is a key life theme for you. To experience the emotional bond with people you call your family. You’re meant to get in touch with your roots, and align with the foundation of who you are. You’re soul seeks a sense of rootedness to the past in order to cultivate your future. The connection you have with your mother is an important part of your journey.

Atmakaraka in the 5H:

Your destined to express yourself creatively in this lifetime. You’re meant to develop and display your creative talents to the world. Your creative contributions are important, unique, and only can be expressed by you. Your life purpose is connected to performance, arts and entertainment. Through these mediums you are able to express your true soul purpose. Parenthood is a sacred journey for you, where you’re meant to experience preganacy/ raising a child. Your destiny is connected to children in general. Teaching them, guiding them, being involved in their development.

Atmakaraka in the 6H:

Your soul seeks to be of service in this lifetime. You are meant to be a healer. Healing yourself, healing those who need your help. Your power lies in being of service to humanity through your healing abilities. You are destined to overcome adversities and cultivate a sense of resilience. You’ll experience challenges, yet this transforms you into the ultimate problem-solver. You develop impenetrable strength: mentally, spiritually and psychologically. You incarnated because society needs your help, God sending one of his strongest soldiers to help heal the world. You have a special connection with animals in this lifetime. They are your allies in this journey.

Atmakaraka in the 7H

Your soul seeks to connect with others through partnership. Your soul’s purpose involves being in relationships that are fulfilling on a emotional, psychological and physical level. It is in your destiny to cultivate your social presence in the world, being a person of charm, decorum and worldliness. Your major life themes involve how you appeal to people and how you use your social connections to elevate your life. Your soul seeks to be impactful in society, through the social influence you have.

Atmakaraka in the 8H:

Your soul’s purpose is destined towards transformation. You experience blockages, challenges and adversities but come out stronger every time. You’re meant to turn your pain into power, to be an alchemist. Your soul came here to experience transformation. Spiritually, mentally, physically and psychologically. You’ll be faced with many unexpected crises yet your powerful intuition will always guide you. The occult knowledge you have will be key in your journey. You’re destined to experience the power that comes from transforming yourself and your life. You’re destined to leave a powerful legacy.

Atmakaraka in the 9H:

You’re destined to be a guide to others. Your soul came here with the purpose of spiritual evolution. Over the course of your life you’ll have many awakenings, epiphanies and realizations. This leads you to amassing abundant wisdom. You’re destined to teach the wisdom you have to others, guiding them on their paths. Your destiny is a worldly one, where it impacts people on a global scale. Your soul seeks the truth, spiritual knowledge, and the ability to live a life free of falsities and illusions.

Atmakaraka in the 10H:

You are destined to achieve your long term goals and be established in the material world. Your soul seeks achievement in the material world. To be successful , have recognition and status is what you’re here to achieve. Your destined to leave your mark on the world in an authentic way, your here to build and leave your legacy through your career and reputation. You are destined for fame or high status.

Atmakaraka in the 11H:

You are destined to fulfill your wishes and desires. Your life has a lot to do with manifesting. Manifesting your long term goals and unique visions. You are a visionary. You’re meant to focus on your gains in life and how you can achieve success in the material realm. Along the way you are likely to be popular and influential. Your purpose leads you to elevating humanity through your influence, there’s a deeper theme here of you making a difference in the world. Your goals and desires help the collective at large. Through your influence you help shape the trajectory of society.

Atmakaraka in the 12H:

Your destiny is about spiritual liberation. Your soul seeks truth and enlightenment. More importantly it seeks freedom from the cycles of reincarnation. You’re likely here on earth now as one of your final lifetimes. You are an old soul. This means your life is about letting go and not having attachments in the material realm that keep you trapped here. That’s why you’re on a discovery of truth. Dispelling illusions and aligning with your true spiritual journey. Your road is lonely, isolating and harrowing at times, but it’s all for the purpose of aligning you with your spiritual destiny. You are a healer and wise person. Your purpose involves being of service to others. You find it hard to connect to the material world/ mainstream society bc your destined for something greater. You’re meant to fulfill your spiritual goals more than material. 12th house is the “exit”. The spiritual, mystical exit where your soul elevates to the next realm after this incarnation, and you break free from being recycled back to earth.

Related posts:

Your soul planet and your mission in this lifetime

Your 1st house ruler and your unique life path

[circeyoru]

Shadow and Void _ Part 3: Profile of the Monarch Ally

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Enemy Monarch!Reader]

Arc 1: Part 1 ― Part 2 ― Part 3 (here) Arc 2: Part 4 ― Part 5 Arc 3: Part 6 ― Part 7 Arc 4: Part 8 ― Part 9 ― Part 10 ― Part 11 ― Special Arc 5: Part 12 ― Part 13 ― Part 14 ― Part 15

NAME: [REDACTED]

LV. UNMEASURABLE

CLASS: SPACE, MONARCH, HUMAN

TITLE: <MONARCH OF VOID>, <KING OF THE FORGOTTEN>, <THE HIDDEN ONE>, <HERALD OF FAVOUR>, <HARBINGER OF [REDACTED]>, <[REDACTED]>, MORE

HP: UNMEASURABLE

MP: UNMEASURABLE

FATIGUE: UNMEASURABLE

STRENGTH: UNMEASURABLE

AGILITY: UNMEASURABLE

PERCEPTION: UNMEASURABLE

STAMINA: UNMEASURABLE

INTELLIGENCE: UNMEASURABLE

SKILLS: [REDACTED], [REDACTED], DIMENSION VORTEX, SPACE MANIPULATION, POCKET DIMENSION, MIST MANIPULATION, ULTIMATE STEALTH, MANIFESTATION, MORE+

DESCRIPTION: THE MONARCH OF VOID IS A SOUGHT-OUT ALLY WITHIN THE MONARCHS AND A GREATER ENEMY ON THE BATTLEFIELD. WITH THE MERE AID FROM THE MONARCH OF MIST, THE BATTLE COULD BE OVERTURNED EASILY. THE MONARCH IS CAUTIOUS AROUND OTHERS BUT HAS A SOFT SPOT FOR THE MONARCH OF SHADOWS, ASHBORN. THE MONARCH IS LOYAL TO NONE AND HAS NO CARE FOR OTHERS’ WELLBEING, FOR THE MONARCH IS SELF-CENTERED TO THE POINT OF ABANDONING OTHERS FOR SURVIVABILITY.

[REDACTED] INFORMATION CANNOT TO FOUND THROUGH ANY METHODS. IT IS SUGGESTED FOR PLAYER TO BE CLOSER TO THE MONARCH OF VOID TO GAIN MORE RELATED INFORMATION.

“Hey. Hey!” 

Jinwoo’s eyes blinked repeatedly as he turned his chair around to back his desk, away from the floor-to-ceiling glass window of the city buildings around his. Also to stop reading the information window on his newest ally. “Yes?”

“I’ve been calling you for a while, but you keep on staring at the scenery.” You frowned, arms crossed over your chest. “Are you staring at yourself in the glass’s reflection?”

“I zoned out.” Jinwoo partially lied. While reading the window at first, he was quick to zone out after reading your description. Though, your words provided him with the information that you couldn’t see or know about the System like he does. So Ashborn didn’t tell you about anything in technical terms.

You groaned and scratched the back of your head. 

Jinwoo watched with interest. It was a very human thing for you to do. He had expected you to be more indifferent and cold, perhaps even expressionless or doll-like. However, even in the memories of Ashborn, you didn’t even have a form, just a smokey and misty outline or mass. Now, you were solid. Not that he minded, but with you being in a more solid figure, it was advantageous to him.

“Can you tell me why I should be around you?” You glared at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, you quickly pointed a finger at him when he opened his mouth to say something. “And don’t say it’s for supervision. You have your minions in my shadow already, so that’s supervision enough. Besides… You only stay in your office all the time and nothing happens.” You retracted your finger back to your crossed arms. “At least let me enjoy all that your humans have created before it’s all gone.”

“You’re confident the humans would lose?” Jinwoo plopped his cheek in his palm while his elbow was on his desk, his gaze piercing yours. 

You blinked at him, raising a brow, “Isn’t it obvious? Humans don’t stand a chance against the Monarchs, even with the help of the Fragments of Brilliant Light or whatever their names are.” You blinked again, this time your expression turning neutral or mildly surprised, perhaps amused as well. “You don’t think you can fight them all off, right? You can’t manage the Monarch of Frost last time. How can you when they all come at you or Earth?” You took a short few-second pause, before he could even get a word out, you added. “And! They will bring along their armies.”

“I have you with me this time.” Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, his eyes glowed a purple hue that made you flinch involuntarily. “I heard you can turn the tides of war easily like a snap of a finger, in fact, I bet they are wondering where you have gone right now. Maybe they even realized you had stayed by my side. Willingly or forcefully.” He got up from his seat and approached your form, circling you with his hands behind his back. “Either way, they know you’re not on their side now. Won’t they see you as an enemy too? Won’t it be better if we worked together?”

“I am an ally of myself. You’re saying all this, so I’ll be more inclined to be your ally.” You glared up at him, “Well, it’s not working, nor will it. Everyone knows I pick no side and I’ll stay on my own side. You may have me now, but at the slight opportunity I have to escape from you…” Your eyes glowed too, though you had a silver-grey hue. “I’ll take it without a second thought.”

“Go ahead and try. You will have another dagger in your fresh.” Jinwoo warned.

Your eye twitched, “Don’t act all high and mighty. You only have what you have now because of Ashborn. Your skills, your abilities, your army, your allies, your enemies. Even your confidence, pride, and ego. You’re nothing without him. You will never amount to anything.”

Jinwoo grinned, “We’ll see.”

The two of you shared a stare at each other, unmoving as if a competition was declared, though without warning of any kind. 

Knocks on his office door broke the tension in the room and, most importantly, the little competition between you two. You groaned and turned your heel, heading in the direction of the closest seat in the vicinity, which happened to be the very chair he had been sitting in moments ago. As you took a seat, Jinwoo went to the door and opened it, revealing the vice-guildmaster on the other side.

“Hyung! I wasn’t interrupting you, right?” Jinho peeked behind Jinwoo to see you all crossed with a scowl on your face.

Jinwoo looked back at you, making you turn his chair so that the back of it was facing him and blocking his view of you. The man chuckled and turned his attention back to Jinho. “No. Is there something you need help with?”

“Actually, there’s someone for you.” Jinho jabbed a finger at the reception area.

It would have been a point of curiosity for Jinwoo had he not been perceptive or didn’t had his guard up because of you. Still, he easily had his answer as to who it was that visited his guild office and has the guts to request him. Cha Hae-In.

Formerly he would have been interested enough to go to her or indulge her, but now that you were around, he saw no need for another that could cause a misunderstanding. It would be better if she wasn’t here in the first place and he’d have more private time alone with yo—

Wait. What was he thinking just now? No way was he being this tied up when you were around. Just a few days ago, he had you pinned to the wall with his daggers and you two were at odds even just now. There was nothing pleasant between the two of you. No way. Even a blind person can see they were enemies!

Perhaps it was just because he valued your abilities as a Monarch and the memories of Ashborn was having an effect on him. So then, there was no way he’d want to appeal to you in a gentle and kind manner like friends would. Yes, that explains it.

Jinwoo mentally let out a sigh of relief, feeling his head clear up a bit. Now, the correct and ideal course of action was to meet Hunter Cha and see why she was here. But first, he walked over to you and stared down at you, who was already distracted by scrolling through your phone. “Come with me.”

“I’m not staying by your side while you deal with your boring human business. Call me when you’re going to a dungeon or something that requires violence.” You brushed him off and swirled the chair again so that the back faced his face.

Before you could slam the back in his face, his hand gripped onto the arms of the chair and froze you in place. He leaned down, caging you in as he spoke lowly, and his eyes glowed purple. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not. Or do you prefer being pinned to the wall in my daggers?”

You raised a brow at him, your bored and neutral face unchanged, “Maybe that would be better than seeing that woman flirt with you.”

Jinwoo’s threatening and oppressive atmosphere immediately diminished to nothing. “What?” 

“Yup, why not? Just pin me to the wall.” You shrugged. 

“No, go back to what you said about Hunter Cha.”

“Ha?” Your eyebrows furrowed at him with a look of ‘are you serious right now’. Jinwoo controlled himself so as not to pinch your cheek because of cuteness. You sighed, “It’s obvious what’s happening. That woman is crushing on you. Romantically. You must have done something to her before.”

Jinwoo looked up and off to the side as he tried to recall. Some memories came to mind, and he muttered with some sense of understanding. “Oh. I guess I did save her during an S-Rank Raid and helped her guild out in another dungeon…”

You deadpanned at this vessel of Ashborn. No wonder he was picked to be the vessel. Just as clueless as that former Ruler. What are you going to do? “See? But then you only have fights and monsters and dungeons on your mind, huh.” Your form cringed from the memories of your vessel falling in love with someone and you had to watch it happen as well. “So now you get it, leave me out of your romance story.”

Note: Been quite busy cause of work. So posts would be less for these 2 months. Hope you like this one though~

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@o-qi-shisme @2021animeandwebtoons @mochinon-yah @skylar896 @rai-xxx

[elwenyere]

Something that's important to me about the relationship between Melshi and Kino is that they're both exercising the tiny amount of free will left to them to try to help others in a system that maximally constrains their ability to care for each other.

For the Melshi we first see in Narkina, a big part of staying free happens in the mind - in learning and communicating the truth, in refusing to take comfort in illusions and instead naming the dehumanizing operations of the system. By offering to Keef/Cassian the narrative of power he's developed ("never look at the numbers"), he's trying to give Cassian a way to hold onto the relative autonomy of clear, uncompromising thinking: they can keep us here as long as they want, but we don't have to believe their lies. By the time we meet him, Melshi already seems very familiar with Kino's reaction to his brand of shop talk (so familiar that I suspect Kino is not the first authority figure who's found Melshi profoundly irritating), and when Kino throws him against the wall, Melshi doesn't resist or fight back, but he does look Kino in the eye. He knows why Kino needs to do this, and as his little rueful shrug to Cassian suggests later, he's easier on Kino's need for self-delusion and displaced frustration than he is on the guards' willful misrepresentations and casual cruelty.

For Kino, moving people toward freedom is a question of organization, discipline, and management. He runs a tight ship because he's trying to get his guys the best deal he can, and he encourages them all to throw their weight into the work they're assigned because he thinks that's the best chance to get his floor through their sentences as efficiently as possible. That goal makes Melshi into a troublemaker (as his remarks threaten to undercut people's faith that good behavior matters), and Kino seems to be in the habit of throwing Melshi around to manage the expression of discontent and muttering on the floor. But of course the bigger threat Melshi poses is to Kino's faith in the system itself, and thus his belief that by maintaining order he's protecting his men - from more frying or from railing it in despair (thus his much more out-of-control response to Melshi's "they set them all free" after a whole floor's been killed for no discernible reason). Kino wants to get out himself, yes, but he also wants to get his guys out, and that's why it's Ulaf's death and the doctor's confession that provides the final push in his radicalization: he has to admit that he's been enforcing the rules of a bad-faith system, and the way he's been trying to get his men home was never going to work.

This is very compelling to me because the progression of the Narkina arc reveals that the structure of antagonism in which we first find Melshi and Kino (with Melshi needing to speak out to feel internally free and Kino needing to keep his men aligned around a shared purpose to feel that he's fulfilling his external responsibilities) is in crucial ways environmental: it's a manifestation of the forced competition and hierarchy imposed by the distribution of power in the prison. Once Kino accepts that he needs a new set of tactics to liberate the floor, and once Melshi steps up to fight for what he likely on some level still thinks is a dream, any lingering animus is quickly set aside for cooperation. Melshi is the one to throw Kino a wrench, and Kino is the one to hand Melshi a blaster. Their different methods and theories of power put them in conflict while they were still operating within a system that tried to foreclose any development of solidarity; but they share an impulse toward freedom and care for others, and Andor suggests that's finally stronger than their personal differences.

I do think if they'd met outside of Narkina, Kino would still find Melshi annoying though.

[onelongsound]

Demon Slayer: an Internal Family Systems perspective

⚠️ Spoilers ahead if you haven’t seen or read the Infinity Castle Arc!

This has been swimming around in my head for a while so I’m just going to get it out here! If you find this interesting or helpful in some way, great! I want to preface that these are emphatically not headcannons... but in a certain sense they kind of are, as all psychological takes are subjective and ultimately biased in some way. If you have some familiarity with IFS and have a different take on the breakdown, by all means I’d love to hear your perspective if you’re drawn to share.

What is IFS?

Internal Family Systems is a model of psychotherapy developed by a man named Richard Schwartz in the US in the 1980s. You can find lot of info about it on Google but here’s the really quick intro:

The model of IFS posits that each individual’s psyche is made up of “parts”, all working in tandem like a family, whether functionally or dysfunctionally. 

It’s similar to parts work in the Hakomi Method (the practice of mindful somatic psychotherapy that I’m trained in) which breaks down the parts a little more simplistically.

So the parts are:

The Protectors (in IFS, further divided into Managers and Firefighters)

Managers work hard to keep the Exiles safe, setting boundaries and rules through control and planning, and making sure things run smoothly.

Manager behaviors can include perfectionism, people-pleasing, caretaking, overthinking, and self-criticism. 

Firefighters are a bit more reflexive. They are quick to respond to real or imagined threats, usually by turning towards addictive behaviors or substances to keep the overwhelming feelings of the Exiles at bay.

Firefighter behavior can include eating or drinking (or Doom / Tumblr scrolling!) too much, or any kind of obviously addictive behavior.

The Protected (in IFS, often called the Exiles, or Vulnerable/Wounded Children)

These are the rawest parts of our psyche which remember and hold our wounds. Exiles are often quite young, and experience behaviors like dissociation, poor self-esteem, self-loathing… or just a lot of terror, grief, confusion and pain! The overwhelming nature of these painful experiences are what conjure the Protectors into existence and action, usually without the individual’s conscious awareness. In extreme situations, the Protectors can even turn against the Exiles, and then you have a bad case of “feeling bad for feeling bad”!

The Self

This is the “true self” which embodies qualities known as the “8 C’s”: 

Compassion Curiosity Clarity Creativity Calm Confidence Courage Connectedness

The Self is not thought of as a “part”, but the truest expression that each individual is capable of. One of the main objectives of IFS / Parts Work is to untangle the Protectors and Exiles from the Self, so that these wonderful qualities can shine again in the individual’s present and future experience, undistorted by the traumas and pressures of the past.

Demon Slayer Characters via IFS

If we were talking about real-life people, we can assume that each individual embodies “moments” of all three parts to some degree. I will do the same with each of these fictional characters!

I’ll include the Hashira, Tanjiro and the Kamaboko squad, and some of the mentors (Kagaya, Urokodaki, Tamayo, Ruka, Yoriichi).

The Hashira

Rengoku

Initially we see Rengoku leaning more into Protector-behavior wanting to execute the Kamados on the spot. (This is when the "protectiveness" is projected outwards, towards others.)

But by Mugen train, many Self qualities shine through, especially as he nears death. He encourages Tanjiro and the others to keep going, and also doesn't make any stringent demands on how his younger brother Senjuro should proceed in his own life.

He’s strong on many of the 8 C’s. If there are any that are low (only by comparison) it might be curiosity, as he’s more inclined to give direction than to do a lot of listening—but that’s me being nitpicky. In a way it would make sense that he's heavy on action-based behavior since he's having to compensate for the emotional and functional absence of his alcoholic father.

Tengen

Manager behaviors: puffing himself up, being ostentatious (flashy!). Being tough or driving towards his subordinates. Firefighter moment: grabbing Aoi completely without consent!

Exile: feeling inadequate or “basic”, as compared to Rengoku, Gyomei or Muichiro. A deep sense of guilt and shame about his family of origin and their savage way of life.

Self: Compassion really shines through in his vision for a life of peace amidst the violence of growing up. Connectedness and clarity is also a strength of his, as he's quick to see the bottom line of most situations and open his heart to folks like the Kamados.

Sanemi

Probably the most obvious example of Protector-behavior!

Couldn’t be more clear the pressures and traumas this person has gone through, to have to rely so heavily on Manager and Firefighter reflexes.

Many of the positive Self qualities are co-opted by his Protectors, like creativity and clarity in his fighting ability.

So you know they are there: IE the compassion he feels for Genya and his mother, but is withdrawn when facing perceived threats like the Kamados, initially.

Courage is obvious in his life as a Hashira, but calm and connectedness is where he struggles in most of the series.

All this suggests the presence of a deeply suffering Exile—probably one that’s made to feel bad for feeling bad, as is the case when the environment growing up is just too hard on a person. Most poignant moment: the double bind of having to kill his mother in order to keep the rest of the family safe (or what’s left) but doing so also condemns him.

He’s such an interesting and enticing character for this reason!

Obanai

Very similar to Sanemi in that he’s mostly bound up in Manager behaviors, most notably his perfectionism and tremendous demands on others.

Though, he shows strong signs of connectedness in his relationship with Mitsuri, who is such a balm for his Exiled parts which have been through so much!

Shinobu

Notably Manager behaviors: trying to be nice and people-please!

Her Exiled part, which feels weak and inept—especially about her size—struggles with confidence and also feels compassion-fatigued towards the demons.

But she remains steadfast in her courage, which is the vehicle for her drive to avenge her sister’s death.

Giyu

Giyu is interesting to me because he’s very well rounded, lol.

Protector/Manager energies: withdrawing from others, being tough on Tanjiro initially, quick to draw (often negative) conclusions about himself and others—the certainty of negativity is safer than the uncertainty of possible goodness.

Exile: his obvious self-loathing and feeling inadequate, imposter syndrome, at the core of which is his deep guilt for existing (because existing = being protected and a burden on others, which also endangers others and then leaves him isolated... a vicious cycle!)

Self: compassion towards the Kamados, calm (or… Dead Calm? sorry lol), connectedness that’s brought forth by his conversations with Tanjiro, and maybe also clarity in his vision of what's possible witnessing Nezuko's atypical behavior as a demon.

Mitsuri

Mitsuri can be interesting in the IFS sense because she’s strong on Self AND Exiled part, which her character gives permission to be and express: her sense of isolation and neediness, and feeling different or “other”.

Compassion, curiosity, creativity and connectedness are strong suits for her, and we see her apply these towards herself through the series, to cultivate the other qualities of the 8 C’s: courage, calm and confidence.

The one bit of Protector behavior I see here is self-doubting and self-criticism, but not much is directed outwards. I guess that explains her openness—which could also be an Exile quality: naïveté and denial to some extent.

Muichiro

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Muichiro is definitely strong on courage, calm and confidence.

Like so many others, his connectedness and compassion is sparked by his encounters with Tanjiro. 

His Exiled part reveals itself through dissociation and memory loss—just completely checking out, which is also a Protector ability. In a way, what he says about taking on his late brother’s personality, is a sort of Firefighter defense that kept his psyche safe and coherent through the tremendously overwhelming loss of his whole family in a short period of time.

Gyomei

Like Rengoku, strong on many of the 8 C’s. 

His suspicion of people could be thought of as a Manager behavior—conversely it can also be seen as clarity, or discernment, if it’s separated from his traumatic experience of being wrongfully incriminated by the children he was protecting.

So the Exiled part here would be one who feels misjudged or misunderstood, as it seems was his experience growing up as a blind, but very capable and gifted person.

The Kamaboko Squad

Tanjiro

Strong on the C’s—confidence being the main one he’s cultivating through the series.

He’s very similar to Mitsuri, seen through the IFS lens. 

And it’s interesting that he’s also kind of the other side of the same coin as Sanemi—both are actively working to protect their family, but one (Sanemi) is covert about it, which to me speaks more to a generational difference.

Inosuke

Lots of Protector energy!

The Exile here may be a child who’s just really confused, from lack of direction and guidance, especially about his own feelings—both positive and negative ones.

I’m not sure by the end of the series if much of Self is online (not that that is necessarily important or an objective, especially for his character), but he does appear to learn the value of connectedness.

Zenitsu

Exiled part is very obvious: feeling alone, unloved, unworthy, and scared!

And then Protector parts come online very quickly: the Firefighter response to cling to other people (usually girls, or his friends), and the Manager response to quickly identify with compliments from Tanjiro.

But he does demonstrate clarity in key moments and the death of his mentor spurs him towards more courage.

Like Inosuke, not sure if much Self by the end, but Zenitsu will be Zenitsu! 

Nezuko

Nezuko is interesting to me because she actually feels more like a Mentor in that she mostly embodies the 8 C’s, but she’s muzzled or sleeping most of the time. I'll talk about this symbolism in the Mentor section next.

Like Tanjiro, she’s developing confidence to demonstrate her other positive abilities through the entirety of the series. For me the most salient moment of this is where Tanjiro sings her the song she grew up hearing their mother sing for her. Many themes of connection and safety here for a character who stays mostly in her child form through the series. Interesting that it's when she turns adult (and maybe not so vaguely sexualized) that she's at her most "Protector"-ish, and projected outwards, too. There's something here about feminine rage, for me, which I also see for Tamayo and Shinobu.

The Mentors

Urokodaki

Mostly strong on Self qualities, with a tiny bit of the see-saw of Manager/Exile:

He’s tough on Tanjiro for being “too kind”, when he masks his own face which seems “too kind”. Can’t be a more concrete representation of the symbiotic relationship between Protector and Exile.

Like in Sanemi’s case, I think this can speak to men (of earlier generations?) who were crucified for showing vulnerability and tenderness.

Tamayo

One of the incredibly strong female characters in the series. I mean she broke the Muzan code!

Strong on the C’s, but to me she represents the burden of the system/history on the female body. When she finally shows her rage and intensity in its truest form, it’s at her (very violent) death where she basically martyrs herself. (Shinobu, too.)

Kagaya

Like Rengoku and Gyomei, strong on many of the 8 C’s. 

I group him with Ruka and Yoriichi—they’re near perfect, but either absent, gone too soon, or soon to be gone. To me, they symbolize how the Self can seem so distant or unattainable so often in daily life. Or, how a healthy and balanced parental figure can seem in such short supply in so many people’s lives.

Ruka

Another strong female character in the series, and pretty wholly embodies the 8 C’s.

Kyojuro is truly lucky to have her as a mom! Gone too soon, but the show must, and does go on.

Yoriichi

To me he’s a very interesting expression of the Self.

We can surmise he embodies much of the C’s, but for a man of his time he is given the space to openly express his vulnerabilities and sense of inadequacy in protecting the ones he cared about. Like Mitsuri and Tanjiro, we get to the witness the active alchemization of his Protector and Exiled parts.

As I’m writing this I’m realizing this also symbolizes the ever-evolving nature of life itself… even for a balanced and gifted individual like Yoriichi, life is still full of challenges and loss. Truly, there is no cosmic finish line!

Concluding thoughts...

What seems recurring through all these characters is the Exiled part's sense of powerlessness and inadequacy. A universal human experience to be sure, but I think it's important to also see it in context.

Demon Slayer's author, Gotouge, is in their mid to late thirties now. They very likely had at least some contact with their grandparents, who we could assume were living in Japan at the time of the Second World War. Many (if not most) manga or anime series are in some way processing these themes of powerlessness amidst great violence, loss and denigration of human life.

We even see the mushroom cloud making an appearance during the explosion of Kagaya's mansion—no doubt an image seared into the collective Japanese memory for generations to come.

I'm offering a bow of respect to the many across the world fallen in times of war, and the many Protectors that have arisen to make life bearable for so many who were truly powerless and vulnerable during these times. May each of them (and us!) continue to find direction, resource, and liberation.

[nadinebrooks-sides]

Here is the link to my masterlist.

Will Graham: The Space Between Us

The first time (y/n) stepped into Will Graham’s lecture, it had been on a whim. The door had been left slightly ajar, and she’d slowed as she passed, her curiosity getting the better of her. (y/n) wasn’t usually one to intrude, but the cadence of his voice, measured and deliberate, pulled her in. 

She lingered near the back, half-hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit room. The class was composed of young recruits and seasoned agents. They sat together in rapt silence as Will dissected the mind of a killer with unnerving precision. His words were clinical, methodical, yet there was something deeply personal in the way he spoke, as though he bore the weight of every case he analyzed.

(y/n) told herself she’d only stay for a few minutes, just long enough to satisfy her curiosity. But minutes turned into the entire class, and before she realized it, she was sitting among the trainees, jotting down notes despite not being enrolled.

The next time, it wasn’t an accident. She returned, slipping into an empty seat before he even arrived, pretending not to notice the side glances from students who recognized she didn’t quite belong. Will never called her out, never questioned her presence. If anything, it seemed as if he ignored her completely. 

Most of the time (y/n) simply listened to the handsome man. She liked to watch him - the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he lost himself  in thought. 

It wasn’t until weeks later, about halfway through December, that he finally acknowledged her.

“Please stay for a moment,” Will said at the end of one of his lectures, his voice low and unreadable. She looked around at the other students hoping someone would let her know what Will was like, but nobody even made eye contact. They all slipped out the back door trying to move on to their next endeavour. 

(y/n)’s stomach twisted in nervous anticipation as she lingered near the desk, watching as the last of the students filed out. Will didn’t look at her right away, instead shuffling his papers, straightening them as though he was still deciding what to say,

Finally, he met her gaze. “You’re not in this class.”

She swallowed. “No, I’m not.” No reason to lie.

He studied her for a beat, his expression unreadable. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I find this interesting.” (y/n) finally responded after a moment of considering her thoughts. 

A flicker of something - amusement, perhaps - flashed in his dark eyes. “Interesting,” he echoed,

“Your lectures make me think about things differently,” she nodded, feeling strangely self-conscious under his scrutiny. 

“And what do you do here …” he trailed off, realizing that the first thing he should have done was ask her name. How rude of him. He noticed that she did have a name badge similar to his, so he knew that she worked somewhere around her.

“I’m (y/n),” she gave Will a small smile. “I do blood spatter analysis. I just started a couple of months ago after graduating with a degree in Criminal Psychology. I find that I have a lot more free time than I was expecting with this job so sometimes I like to walk around the building.” (y/n) realized she was rambling and told herself to stop talking. “It’s nothing as intense as forensic psychology though.” 

Will tilted his head slightly. “Blood spatter isn’t light work. When I worked in the field, I relied on those reports.”

“No, but it’s a different kind of heavy.” 

For the first time this evening, his lips quivered in the ghost of a smile and she felt an odd sense of accomplishment at having drawn it out to him. 

From then on, their quiet, stolen moments became routine. 

Some evenings, they spoke in hushed tones after class, her curiosity getting the better of her as she asked questions about cases she heard in the hallways, theories, and the complexities of human behavior. Other nights, they didn’t talk at all - just sat in silence as Will graded papers and she worked on research, their presence enough to fill the space between them.

Those nights, their presence was enough to fill the space between them. Those nights, the glances they exchanged felt heavier than words.

He never said much about himself, but she picked up pieces here and there - his disdain for large crowds, his affinity for stray dogs, his ability to see inside the minds of men most people would rather pretend don’t exist. And in return, she shared pieces of herself too.

Sometimes when she couldn’t make it to a lecture, she found herself missing it. Missing him. 

Will never mentioned the young analyst to Hannibal. He wasn’t sure why, but he suspended it because talking about her would make whatever this was feel more real.

But Hannibal knew.

He found Will one evening, stepping into the dimly lit lecture hall just as she said something that made Will - Will Graham, the man who rarely smiled - laugh.

She turned at the sound of the door, her breath catching slightly at the sight of the man who had a reputation as a genius psychiatrist. There was something about him that put her on edge, though she couldn’t explain why.

Will straightened, his expression quickly morphing into something more guarded. “Hannibal.”

The doctor’s gaze flickered to her. “Who might you be?”

“I-uh-well-” (y/n) shifted between her feet, suddenly feeling self conscious, 

“She works as a blood spatter analyst - just started a couple of months ago.” Will responded for her.

“I see.” Hannibal smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

(y/n) felt exposed under gaze, as thought he was peeling back layers of her she didn't even realize existed. It was unsettling,

“I should go,” she murmured, grabbing her belongings and showing them into her bag.”It was nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal gave a slight nod as he watched her hurry out of the room. After thinking for a moment, Hannibal realized he had never introduced himself or said his name. Guess he was well known around here.

As soon as she was gone, he slowly turned to Will. “She’s quite young.”

“She’s an adult,” Will’s jaw tightened. 

“Of course,” Hannibal said smoothly. “But I do wonder … are you drawn to her because she offers something new? Something untainted by the darkness that you carry?”

Will didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Hannibal’s words wormed their way into his mind, planting seeds of doubt where there had been none before. What he and (y/n) were doing was harmless so why would he think about it? They were just friends.

The following morning he found himself in Hannibal’s office, needing to talk about a case they were working on, however the conversation drifted away from that.

Seated cross from Will in Hannibal’s meticulously arranged office. He folded his hands atop his knee, his expression unreadable as ever. “You seem … lighter lately, Will.” 

Will had always prided himself on his ability to analyze the smallest shifts in behavior, yet when it came to his own, he was utterly blind. 

Hannibal saw it immediately. 

Will’s brow furrowed slightly. “Lighter?”

“Yes,” Hannibal continued smoothly. “I have observed a change in your demeanor. Less burdened. More engaged. A certain energy that was absent when I first met you.”

Will shifted on the coach, his fingers tapping lightly against the arm of the chair. “I wouldn’t call it energy. Just …” He wasn’t sure if he was ready to share how he felt about (y/n) just yet.

Hannibal titled his head, an amused glint flickering his eyes. “A pleasant distraction, I assume?”

Will hesitated, glancing away, suddenly aware of the trap being laid before him. If he denied it too much, it would only fuel Hannibal’s curiosity. If he acknowledged it, he would be inviting scrutiny into something he wasn’t even sure how to define himself.

“The young woman that you met a couple of weeks ago, the one that works in blood spatter. She stops by my classroom sometimes.” Will admitted, finally keeping his voice deliberately neutral. “I don’t know when it happened, but I felt myself pulling away from her and I don’t know why. She didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, it’s the complete opposite.” 

“Ah.” Hannibal nodded as if he had just been handed the missing piece of a puzzle he had already half-assembled. “And does her company provide you solace?”

Will exhaled through his nose trying to gather his thoughts. “She’s … easy to talk to. She listens and I’ve been feeling a little off not speaking to her.”

“Have you thought maybe that’s for the best Will?” Hannibal question. “Maybe subconsciously you knew that the two of you were not made for each other’s worlds and you pulled away.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean Hannibal?”

“Just an observation,” Hannibal smoothly replied. “And she is young, is she not?” 

Will’s stomach twisted at the remark, his shoulder tensing. He forced himself to meet Hannibal’s gaze. “She’s in her twenties.” 

“A student, essentially,” Hannibal mused, his tone carrying the slight inflection of condescension.  “Still shaping her worldview. Impressionable.”

“She’s not a child Hannibal,” Will’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly what Hannibal was trying to get at. “She’s not naïve either.”

“I didn’t say she was a child nor naïve,” the doctor countered smoothly. “Those were your words, but you and I both know there is a vast chasm between your world and hers.” 

Will said nothing, but Hannibal could see the seed had planted. The careful arrangement of doubt, slipping through the cracks of Will’s already conflicted mind. He let the silence settle before delivering the final push.

“You must ask yourself, Will … is it fair to invite her into your world? The darkness you navigate daily, the weight of the horrors you shoulder - do you truly believe she belongs there?” 

Will clenched his hands together, his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to dismiss Hannibal’s words, but they rooted deep. He saw her smile in his mind’s eye, heard the way she laughed at his dry humor, felt the warmth in her presence - 

And then he saw what Hannibal wanted him to see. The blood. The nightmares that would come if she stayed too close. Will felt like he had no choice but to push her away. 

That night, when she walked past his classroom, she found the door closed. Locked.

He was pulling away, 

And she had no idea why. 

Over the next month, Will tried to reason with himself, convincing himself it was for the best. His psychiatrist’s words echoed in his mind like a cautionary tale - words laced with concern, with subtle warnings about the fragility of youth, the disparity in their worlds. But the more he tried to push her from his thoughts, the more the absence of her dug into him like a blade, sharp and unyielding. 

So when he found himself standing in the unfamiliar hallway where she worked, his hand hovering over the door frame, he knew he had already lost the battle. 

He stepped inside the small, brightly lit office space. The environment was a stark contrast to his dimly lit classroom. There were movie posters on the walls, bookshelves filled with textbooks and books for leisure readings, a couch on the back wall with patterned pillows and stuffed animals. There was soft classical music playing from an old speaker.

(y/n) was seated at her desk, eyebrows furrowed in focus, the tip of her pen against her perfect lips.

Will cleared his throat.

She looked up, startled at first. And then - 

The emotions that flashed across her face were unreadable. Surprise. Hesitation. Hurt. 

“Will?” Her voice was careful, guarded. 

He felt the weight of her gaze on him, dissecting him in the same way he had done to others so many times before. Only, with her, it was different. He was never the subject of scrutiny when she looked at him. He was just Will.

“I was in the area,” he lied. 

“Bullshit,” she countered. “You’ve been avoiding me. If you don’t want me around, just say it Will. I can handle rejection. I’m not a child.” 

“It’s not that simple (y/n). But I did notice that you stopped coming by.” 

Her lips parted slightly, as if caught off guard by his honesty. Then just as quickly, she composed herself. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Of course I’d notice (y/n).” He stepped closer, shutting the door behind him as he did.

She studied him carefully, as if searching for the reason he was really here. “You pulled away first.” There was no accusation in her tone - just fact. “So, I figured I should stop being a distraction.”

Will felt himself flinch. “You were never a distraction, In fact, you were the complete opposite.” 

“Then what was I?”

The question hung between them, heavy and fragile. 

“You were, I mean you are someone I look forward to seeing every day.”

Something flickered in her eyes, something that made his pulse quicken. “I thought you didn’t see me that way. Maybe I was too young to be part of your world.”

“Is that what you think?” His jaw tensed. 

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s what Hannibal thinks.” 

Well cursed under his breath. Of course, she had figured it out. She was too intelligent for her own good.

“He made you doubt this,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

Will closed the distance between them, leaning against her desk. “It’s not about doubt. It’s about…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Not wanting to taint something good.”

She let out a small breath of laughter, though there was no humor in it. “You think you’ll ruin me?”

He didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

She shook her head, reaching out before she could stop herself, fingers lightly grazing his wrist. “Will,” she murmured. “I know what I want.”

His skin burned under her touch, his heart hammering in his chest.

She continued, voice steady. “I don’t care how complicated you think this is. I don’t care about the things you think you have to protect me from. I know you.” She squeezed his wrist gently. “And I know that I want you.”

Will exhaled sharply, tilting his head down as if gathering the strength to respond. When he looked up, something had shifted. Something raw, something real.

“And what if I say I want you too?”

Her lips parted, her breath hitching slightly.

Before she could respond, Will reached out, his fingers curling under her chin, lifting her face towards his. He searched her eyes for any hesitation, any flicker of doubt. There was none.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, careful—like a confession in itself. And when she melted into him, responding with equal fervor, he knew that this—whatever this was—was no longer something he could deny.

When they finally pulled away, her forehead rested against his, a small smile playing at her lips. “You think Hannibal knows?” she whispered.

Will let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, he definitely knows.”

She laughed, and the sound settled something deep in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Will Graham didn’t feel like a man standing on the edge of destruction. He felt something else entirely.

Hope.

[fattummyt]

Broly/Gender Neutral Reader - Scent

Summary: There were few things Broly was unable to part with-- Bah's ear, being one of them. Most things he took his time easing himself into like citrus fruits and showers, but others were much more difficult to bear-- one of those being the removal of his shock collar.

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, implied relationships, gender-neutral pronouns, sleep, domestic, not canon compliant

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Past Torture/Violence, Minor Injuries, Injury Recovery, Anxiety, Phantom Pains, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Author's Notes: Y/N - Your name

Read it on AO3 here!

"Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime." Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

The red rash stretching around the base of Broly's neck was growing worse every night. When Bulma's father arrived to inspect it, after one look he gave you a diagnosis.

"This is no rash. These are self inflicted scratches."

"Scratches?" You asked. "How?"

Dr. Briefs inspected the massive hand resting in Broly's lap, standing intrusively close to the now uncomfortable Broly before waving you over to join him. You also looked, only to find his nails bitten down on each finger.

Broly, speaking for the first time since Dr. Briefs arrived, interrupted.

"What does… self inflicted mean?"

Dr. Brief paused, straightening his posture, as if just now recognizing Broly's presence. "That means you've got a nasty little habit there, son."

Broly didn't react, just blinking at the smaller man unamused and admittedly, even more confused than he was before.

Dr. Briefs turned to you, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. "He's been scratching himself in his sleep. It's really not all that uncommon, although, the location is fairly odd. Wait right here, I'll return with my tried and true method for curing this little problem."

The older man quietly exited the room and when he was far enough away you glanced over to find Broly, quietly biting at his thumb. You smoothed your fingers over the tender flesh of his neck, making him flinch at the sudden contact.

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?"

"No." He didn't look at you when he spoke.

You brushed his hair from his neck, revealing the full collar-like length of his scratches. His voice interrupted your worried thoughts, "I can still feel the shocks, sometimes. When I sleep. Sometimes when I wake up, I can still feel it tingling in my skin."

Guilt sat heavy in your belly as you recalled pushing him to remove the collar, before you could voice your concerns, in walked Dr. Briefs.

"I have some good news, son. For being such a good patient you get two prizes." He pulled two objects from behind his back. "A scarf and a pair of mittens."

You both looked equally as puzzled, before you interjected. "Did you take that from my hallway closet?"

He approached Broly, taking the fuzzy infinity scarf and wrapping it around Broly's broad neck and chin.

Upon inhaling, Broly was quickly overcome by your familiar scent.

Dr. Briefs tossed you the pair of familiar knit mittens.

"There. Now that scarf should distract you from the itching and the mittens will keep you from biting and scratching while you snooze."

"Wait, that's all?" You insisted.

Dr. Briefs chuckled. "Well, no sense in buying new fancy stuff when the old stuff works just as well."

As he turned toward Broly he took on a tense expression.

"Listen here, son. You kick that habit or else. Ladies don't like men with bad fingernails, or at least that's what Mrs. Briefs tells me--" "--Goodbye Dr. Briefs." You replied with urged movements.

He clasped his hands behind his back, turning to offer you a kind smile before heading to the door.

"Let me know how that works for him, Y/N. I am one Capsule Corp call away!"

As he left, you couldn't help but feel concerned for your other private belongings, but pushed that idea out your head as you soon noticed Broly seemingly deep in thought, completely oblivious. He wasn't biting his nails or fidgeting with his hands as he so often did when his mind was unoccupied. Instead the hyperaware man sat silent, eyelids heavy, seemingly lost in thought.

"Looks like it's already working. For being a bit peculiar, Dr. Briefs does know a thing or two after all." You didn't appreciate him volunteering your stuff, but far be it from you to take away something that makes Broly happy.

"I'm gonna go make myself some lunch, do you want anything?"

Broly didn't respond, instead letting his eyes fall shut, and his back hit the bed. You took that as your cue to leave, tossing the mittens on his bare chest. You smiled to yourself as you shut the door behind you, your departing footsteps barely audible over the thump of Broly's heart.

He wasn't sure how long he'd laid there like that, but it wasn't long before he had drifted off to sleep.

You were almost overjoyed when you saw Broly the following week after. The flushed red scratch marks across his skin were now just a memory. No surprise, considering he's a Saiyan. 

"I haven't woken up at night at all." Utter amazement in his voice as he spoke. Before this he hadn't had a full night's rest since the collar was gone.

"I'm so happy for you, Broly!" A warmth tingled in his cheeks which he quickly tucked away behind your scarf after hearing that. You broke into a huge smile, a smile you only reserved for when you had a great idea. "Let's celebrate! I'll make some snow cones!"

"Snow? Cones?" Broly didn't follow.

"You've never eaten snow cones before?" "Why would I eat snow?" A pain welled deep within your stomach as you recalled the delicious frozen desserts of futures passed. "I'm gonna make you the BEST snow cone-- you'll love them! Vampa is perfect for it. I'll get some snow from outside."

In a sudden haste, you rose from the kitchen table and quickly got dressed, pulling on your coat and boots as Broly watched in confused silence.

"It could be dangerous outside, I should go with you." "I'll be fine. I won't be going too far anyway." It wasn't until now that you noticed your scarf still tied around his neck. "Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime."

Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

You pulled the now significantly warmer scarf around your neck as you turned out the door. "I'll be right back."

Broly didn't answer as you left, too overwhelmed-- too hyper aware of everything, every tick of the heater, every gust of wind that would rattle the front door. He didn't have it in him to deny you your scarf but he was quickly realizing he wasn't going to be able to adjust so quickly.

"Broly." Your voice echoed in the hallway leading up to his room but there was no answer. You sniffled as you approached his bedroom door. "Broly?" You knocked gently, earning no response.

Sure, Broly was no stranger to your struggle meals, but you worked so hard on those snow cones, you just had to see his reaction to it.

Being a worrywart that you are, you let your anxiety get the best of you, cracking open his door to find his room inexplicably empty. Just as fear trickled up your spine, you heard what sounded like a thud from your room, down the hall. 

Quietly you opened the door, peering around to find Broly splayed across your bed, what looked to be child sized mittens tugged over his fingers as he laid face deep in your pillows, fast asleep. As far as you know Broly had never even seen the inside of your room, let alone laid in your bed. You wanted to be mad and annoyed, but the sight of his body causing your bed frame to creak with such agony almost made you want to laugh. You breathed a sigh of relief, tip toeing, albeit pointlessly, across the room to toss your blanket over him.

I guess I could sleep in his bed for tonight.

Read the fic on AO3! | Read more of my fics on Tumblr | Patreon | Website

[bxwitched]

To Be With You

Warnings: Mature, 18+ only. Fluff, workplace flirting, verbal sparring, angst, vulnerability, self-doubt, anxiety, swearing, pining, old school romance, sexual tension if you squint.

Character Pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Reader

Word Count: 4.7K

Summary: Hangman takes a shine to the Admiral's new aide.

A/N: This is my first attempt at fluff in a while so please be gentle, I also know absolutely nothing about the US Navy and how it operates. As always, comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

You haven't been at North Island for long, having transferred when your previous admiral retired but you've come to love the sea views and the sandy beaches. Waking up to the soft crash of the waves and the fresh ocean breeze is certainly a welcome change from the hot, dry suburbs of Lemoore.

You've found that Admiral Simpson is an intelligent, respectful man, firm but fair and most importantly, he treats you well. Like all military men he's disciplined, but he's also in high demand and with such a hectic schedule and high level of responsibility he can often become stressed and lose track of things.

That's where you come in. You manage his ever-growing email inbox, file all of his reports, arrange all of his meetings and supply him with a steady flow of strong, dark coffee to keep him functioning. You've established a routine with him and with that, his days run smoothly.

Your mornings are methodical; you shower, dress, have breakfast and then make the drive over to base. You shrug off your jacket as you reach the office and flip the switch on the coffee machine as you pass it, before settling down at your desk to make a start on your emails.

Beau enters ten minutes later and mumbles out a good morning as he passes, ambling towards the door of his office. He looks tired, you think as you pour him his usual black coffee.

"Good morning, Sir." You follow him as he moves into his office and hand him the steaming mug. He thanks you as he accepts it gratefully, taking a long sip and making a sound of relief as he sinks into his chair and swallows the rich liquid.

"Ok. What's the damage today?"

It's just after midday when a knock sounds on the door and breaks the silence, startling you. You frown as you glance at the clock on the far wall, Beau is scheduled in and out of meetings for the whole day and he hadn't mentioned expecting any visitors to you this morning. You straighten in your chair, slipping your phone away into your desk drawer before calling out.

The door opens promptly and in strolls a man you haven't met before. He's handsome; all perfectly styled blonde hair and sunkissed skin and you find yourself shifting in your seat nervously as he saunters towards you with an air of confidence and a dazzling smile.

"Afternoon, miss."

"Good afternoon-"

"Lieutenant Jake Seresin." He leans in closer to your desk, holding out a hand for you to shake and you oblige, offering him your name in return before taking his larger hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze. The name does sound familiar but you can't quite place it.

"It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" His eyes narrow then and his lips quirk up at the corners, putting the dimples in is cheeks on full display. You don't miss the way that he eyes you, his pretty greens flickering down to your left hand before locking with yours once more.

"Pleasures all mine. I have some mission reports for the Admiral." It's then that you notice the collection of the manilla folders tucked against his side and you take them from him carefully, setting them down in a neat pile on the corner of your desk.

"And-" He drawls, his Southern accent as smooth as honey. "Maybe I wanted to see for myself if the rumours were true."

You falter, your brows lifting in confusion. His expression is teasing and his lips are curved into a grin, exposing his pearly whites. Anxiety swirls in the depths of your stomach and you eye him wearily, feeling defensive.

"What rumours?" He leans down even closer, into your space and you catch a whiff of his cologne; a heady mix of cedar and amber that makes you feel dizzy.

"About how gorgeous the Admiral's new aide is. Have to say sweetheart, they don't do you justice."

He winks at you and you scoff, heat filling your cheeks as you look away in embarrassment. You've never been good with men and now that this very attractive man is in front of you, flirting with you, you feel completely out of your depth. You clear your throat awkwardly, opting to try and remain professional rather than make an idiot of yourself.

"Careful Lieutenant, you could be written up for that." His grin only widens and your eyes narrow suspiciously. That horrible voice of doubt in the back of your head is screaming that this man couldn't possibly be attracted to little old you, that he must just be messing with you for the rise.

"Please, call me Hangman."

"Hangman?" You frown and he lets out a laugh at your bemused expression, it's deep and warm and you fidget in your seat as your stomach knots at the sound.

"My callsign, I'm a pilot." His finally straightens up and his chest practically puffs with pride, his mossy eyes gleaming down at you.

It's then that the light bulb flickers in your head, you've heard the moniker several times, whispered amongst the administrative staff, accompanied by knowing smiles and girlish giggles. You've also heard it from the support crews on one of your recent trips to the hangers along with some pretty choice vocabulary.

You think back on the meeting you had attended with Admirals Simpson and Bates a few weeks ago with Captain Mitchell, discussing his newly formed-now permanent Dagger Squad and it's members. Including the one stood before you now.

"I've heard plenty of rumours about you too, Lieutenant." You don't miss the way that his cheek flexes when you ignore his request and instead address him by rank. You feel a rush of satisfaction at having put a dent in his ego but it doesn't last and his smile turns impish as he calls your bluff with a raised brow.

"Do tell." His self-assurance starts to grate on you and you shrug absently as you lean back in your chair, your eyes falling to the multitude of ribbons pinned to the left of his chest.

"They say that you're good." He makes no effort to hide his delight as he stoops down and places his palms flat on your desk, invading your space once more. He surveys you with mischievous eyes, they fall to your lips and you fidget in your seat as heat begins to creep up your neck.

"I am good darlin'. I'm very good." You inhale sharply and his grin widens further, thinking that he's won this verbal sparring match of yours. You fold your arms across your chest defiantly, levelling him with your best glare as you recall some of his notorious exploits.

"They also say that you're an arrogant narccisist with no care for anyone but himself."

His pleased expression drops in an instant, his confidence slipping before you. He opens his mouth to retort but abruptly stops when the door to your office opens and his attention is taken away from you.

You exhale as the heavy air around you dissipates and silently thank whichever higher power has sent Sarah from finance early with her weekly budget report.

"Thank you for the reports, Lieutenant."

Sarah looks on, curious at the situation she's walked in on and Hangman nods to himself, his expression unreadable before he snaps right back into that infuriatingly cocksure demeanour. He throws you a wink as he backs away from your desk and makes his way to the door, ignoring the appreciative look that Sarah gives him as he passes her and leaves.

You're three quarters of the way finished with one of your reports when there's a rap at the door and you groan under your breath, knowing that you're not going to be finished with your task as quickly as you had planned.

"Come in."

You frown as Lieutenant Seresin slips into the office, wearing a broad smile whilst carrying a stack of paperwork in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. You nod curtly as he approaches and he tilts his politely in return.

It's been a few days since he visited your office last and whether you like to admit it or not, a part of you was terrified that you had gone too far and successfully managed to scare off one of the single most attractive men you've ever met. You clear your throat awkwardly.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I have some more reports for the Admiral." You nod in understanding and take the bundle of papers from his outstretched hand, careful not to brush his fingers with your own.

You turn your back on him as you move to the filing cabinet in the corner, sorting through the top drawer until you find the correct section and deposit the files. You return to your desk then, the comfortable barrier that separates you both.

"Thank you Lieutenant. Will that be all?" He tilts his head and flashes you a coy smile as he extends the takeaway coffee out to you. You eye it warily, confused by the unexpected gesture and he watches, studying your reaction.

"Call it an apology." Your eyes narrow as you accept it hesitantly, your eyes flickering between his face and the white cardboard cup as you cradle the warmth of it between your palms. You choose to remain quiet, giving him room to expand on his words.

"The other day? I was out of line and I wanted to apologise. I meant no offence." You study him carefully, looking for any sign of ulterior motive but he seems genuine and the longer that you stare at him, the more his warm smile makes your insides twist.

"Well, thank you Hangman. I appreciate that." His green eyes light up as you finally concede and address him by the moniker, his lips pulling up into a broad smile.

"Of course." You raise the drink to your lips, taking a long sip in an effort to hide your smile. Your eyes widen as the liquid warmth hits your tongue; it's from your favourite cafe and it's a million times better than any of the standard issue you have on base, but what shocks you is that it's your exact order.

"How did you?-" You throw him a questioning look but he already knows what you're going to ask him. His expression is roguish and his lower lip catches between his teeth as he grins at you, before he turns towards the door and walks out.

Can you believe that he's interested in her?

I don't get it either!

Who?

You hear your name once, then twice, before you step into the room and the chorus of chatter dies. You stop in your tracks, feeling as if you're intruding and the collective of women all turn to look at you; some of them have the decency to look guilty at having been caught while one or two simply walk away, unbothered.

You feel mortified and you grit your jaw as you carry on to your office, ignoring the feeling of eyes boring into your back as you go.

Brenda from HR catches you as you pass by and you soften slightly when the older woman flashes you a kind smile. It's almost reassuring, but then she says 'Don't worry sweetie, they're just jealous.' and your confusion deepens.

Your brows furrow as you turn away and wrap your hand around the brass knob. The gears of your mind turning as you close the door behind you with a click.

You still as soon as your eyes land on the beautiful bouquet and you can't stop the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. It's not the first unexpected gift that you've discovered on your desk in the last week but it's by far the most extravagant.

At first it was little just things, more cups of your favourite takeaway coffee, then a pastry or two from that charming new bakery in town. Then as a few weeks passed it became a box of fine chocolates, followed by the bottle of wine that definitely cost more than ten dollars and now, a gorgeous mix of flowers and foliage all tied up in pretty ribbon.

You feel conflicted as your eyes scan over the accompanying card, on the front of it is your name, on the back, the gentle cursive that spells out his callsign. It's the kind of romantic gesture that you read about in your crappy romance novels, the type of affection that you've always wished for, and yet at the same time it all feels too good to be true.

You think about the tales you've heard; details of the drunken escapades and the one night stands, the lengthy trail of bitter women and broken hearts that he's left in his wake. The thought of becoming just another notch in the aviator's bedpost makes your stomach churn and amongst it all, the same question remains.

Why me?

Your heart wrenches as you wonder whether he may have been put up to it, whether it's some kind of bet. These men were competitive at the best of times, but he wouldn't go to all this trouble to win some twenty dollar wager, would he?

That negative voice niggles at the back of your mind then. He would if it meant getting underneath your clothes.

You startle as the door opens behind you and Beau ambles in, uttering his usual greeting as he passes. He stops when he notices the flowers, a stark pop of colour amongst all of the beige.

"It's not your birthday, is it?" His expression seems slightly panicked as his eyes flicker back and forth between you and the bouquet. You smile softly and shaking your head.

"No Sir."

"Anniversary?" His frown deepens then.

Unlike some of your previous employers, Beau didn't like to pry into his staff's private lives more than was absolutely necessary. He didn't ask you about your relationship status or what your vacation plans were, only that you were ok and you strongly appreciated that.

"No Sir." Beau's expression hardens then.

"Did someone die?" Your eyes widen and you stumble over your words in your haste to cover

"Oh! No, no! They are uh- from a friend, Sir."

"A friend?"

He eyes you suspiciously but he doesn't press the subject any further as you shift on your feet and wring your hands, uncomfortable at having to provide an explanation.

"You are to report to me if you have any concerns. Is that understood?" His voice bleeds authority as he looks at you sternly. If you were unfamiliar with the man you might've been scared but you've come to know his ways and you feel a sense of gratitude as you process the hidden meaning in his words.

Are you ok?

"Yes Sir, understood." He nods once, acknowledging your confirmation.

"Good. The last thing I need right now is another HR nightmare." He disappears through to his office, he mutters away to himself and you just about manage to suppress a snort as you catch him grumble 'horny bastards' before the door clicks shut.

It's later in the afternoon and Beau has been summoned to a high priority meeting at short notice, one that you don't have the clearance to attend.

You've finished all of your reports, filed away your paperwork and refreshed your emails three times. The boredom creeps up on you as the clock ticks obnoxiously in the background, marking each passing second, taunting you.

It's then that you find your eyes drifting back to the pretty blooms, perched atop the mahogany in an old vase you'd managed to dig out of a cabinet.

Whilst you appreciate the Lieutenant's interest in you, the awkward encounter with your superior is enough for you to realise that you need to talk have a talk about the propriety of it all.

You've worked hard to get where you are and you don't want this man's attentions, honest or not, to give anyone the opportunity to question your professionalism.

You haven't seen him around, but you know that he's going to be flying today, you'd seen his name on the approved roster. You take a deep breath as you shrug on your jacket, knowing that you just need to grab the bull by the horns and get it over with, no matter how uncomfortable.

You take the long way around base; around the administrative buildings, then the barracks, past the mess until the hangers finally come into your view.

You can hear the rush of linemen on the tarmac, the heavy thud of of their boots and their shouts as they prepare for the landing of the four F-18's you can see on the horizon. A part of you wonders how otherworldly it must feel to be up there in the skies whilst the other, more rational part is absolutely terrified by the thought.

By the time you reach the tarmac they've already landed and the pilots have exited their aircraft; the group stands off to the side, making conversation amongst themselves as the linemen carry out their post-flight checks.

You notice a shorter brunette, the only woman in the group, she looks mildly irritated as she converses with a tall head of blonde hair and you feel a pang of empathy as she rolls her eyes at him. You can tell it's him from a mile off, even with his back to you.

As if on cue, she catches your stare and a curious look laces her features, she mutters something and points a nod in your direction, urging him to turn around.

Hangman's green irises lock with yours and his lips curve up in a pleased grin. He watches as you take him in; all sun kissed and sweaty from a hard day's flying, wrapped up in that obscenely well-fitting flight suit with the sleeves turned up to expose his strong forearms.

He makes his way over with confident strides, ignoring the questioning looks from the unnamed female pilot, as well as the three males who have taken notice of his departure and are watching the scene with interest.

You shift on your feet, feeling uncomfortable under their scrutiny of their stares.

"And to what do I owe this nice surprise?" His tone is warm, teasing, as he sidles up to you and your stomach knots as he looks at you fondly. You shrug, trying to play it cool as you lean back against the hanger door.

"The Admirals' been called away and I'm at a loose end, I uh-I wanted to talk to you." His mossy eyes narrow then, something unknown dancing in his irises.

"Is that right?" He plants a hand against the hanger door, close to your head and leans into your space. Whilst you're thankful that he's somewhat shielded you from the prying eyes of him team, you falter under the weight of his heavy gaze.

"Why don't you come on and take a closer look?" He jerks his head in suggestion and your mouth falls open slightly, although you see the F-18's from a distance all the time you've never had the opportunity to get up close and personal with one.

"You're not serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"But- won't we get into trouble?" On instinct, you glance around nervously and he chuckles. You can't help but appreciate the deep timbre of it as it rumbles in his chest.

"The engines' not on and the wheels aren't gonna leave the ground, we'll be fine. Besides-" He leans in closer, looking conspiratorial as he whispers close to your ear. "What Cyclone doesn't know can't hurt him."

He gestures an arm out in the direction of the flight line and you quickly oblige as your excitement gets the better of you, falling into step with him.

"Hey Hangman! Who's your friend?" Jake ignores the moustached man's taunt as you pass the group, his focus solely on you as he asks you about your morning. You catch the moment the brunette aviator jabs her elbow into his ribs and he groans out a complaint, rubbing at his side.

She offers you an apologetic smile and you return it before you refocus and realise that Hangman has come to a stop.

His face beams as he presents his aircraft to you proudly, like it's his firstborn child. You hesitate as you reach out to touch it, feeling the smooth metal underneath your palm, running it along the panel until you get to the part with his name on it.

"Is it weird that I think it's pretty?" He laughs, moving in closer to you.

"She's very pretty, but not nearly as pretty as you." The way that he's looking at you makes feel warm all over, heat creeping up the column of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh and look away.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Actually, no." You sigh, turning to face him head on.

"Listen, Hangman-"

"Jake." He insists.

"Jake-" You stumble as he interrupts you, moving in closer.

"Did you like them? The flowers?" You notice that his expression is serious now, almost apprehensive. You bite your lip as a smile threatens to split your face and everything you had planned to say goes out of the window.

"I did, very much. Thank you." He smiles broadly then, putting the dimples in his cheeks on full display. Your gut twists as you speak your next words. "But why?"

His brow furrows deeply and he looks at you like you've just told him that the sky is green. You elaborate for him.

"Why all of the wine and chocolates and flowers when we've barely spoken to each other? I don't understand?" His face is perplexed as he stares at you with those mossy eyes.

"Because, I think you're beautiful and I'd really like to take you out."

You frown, feeling taken off guard by his answer.

"Look, Jake. I know about your reputation and I'm not going to get involved with someone who's just going to break my heart and move on."

He breathes out a sigh, scratching a hand through his short hair nervously.

"I'm not gonna deny the past happened because it did, but believe me when I tell you I'm different now. I'm older and wiser and when I look at you? You make me want things I never thought I'd want. After I messed up with you the first time, I knew that I needed to do things right, the old fashioned way."

You open your mouth to speak but he doesn't give you any time to interject as he rambles.

"You're beautiful and kind and smart, you don't fawn over me just because I'm a pilot and you sure as hell don't put up with any of my shit. You're different and I like that, a lot."

"But you don't know me, Jake. I don't know anything about you."

"I'll tell you anything you wanna know, sweetheart."

You shake your head as he takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, even through his flight suit.

"Look, I know that you work hard and you're damn good at what you do. I know how you like your coffee, that you like to sit on your porch in the evenings and watch the ocean and that at the weekends you spend time tending to your garden and taking long walks on the beach. Maybe I don't know what your favourite meal is yet, or colour or song, but I'd love to find out. If you'll let me."

You're left dumbstruck by his admission, devoid of all thought except one.

"You know where I live?" He blinks slowly then and exhales a laugh.

"Sweetheart, we live on the same street. I noticed you as soon as you moved in and I see you all the time." Your mouth falls open a little, your expression one of confusion as you try to figure out how you've never noticed him before, especially as handsome as he is.

Jake just grins, completely enamoured with you.

"And my coffee order?" He gives a shrug, his face coy as he admires the flush that's bloomed across your cheeks.

"I may have had to charm it out of a barista named Jenna." You dip your head as you laugh in an effort to hide your face, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.

He stoops slightly, his pretty green eyes searching your face until you concede and finally look at him once more.

"So will you let me in, sweetheart? Let me get to know you?"

That little voice in the back of your mind rears it's head and screams no! That it's a horrible, terrible idea. But what if it's not?

You swallow, summoning all of your courage as you nod slowly. Jake's face lights up, his expression is almost euphoric and you can't help but match it, your lips splitting into a grin.

You feel hot all over, your chest tight as your heart threatens to burst out. The level of emotion that you feel is both frightening and exhilarating but as you gaze into those his bright eyes of his, looking at you with so much adoration, you know that it's right.

"Alright. We can start with dinner."

[arisuworld]

LAW OF ASSUMPTION: AN EPIPHANY-ⅠⅠⅠ

⋆ ☾ : How to manifest?

In the most simplest way, i am going to tell you how to exactly manifest. This time with no methods and with not even lifting a finger.

ASSUME WHAT YOU WANT TO BE

want that car? assume it. want to be a celebrity? assume it. want to date a celebrity? assume it. want to have your dream desired appearance? assume it, IT'S DONE. That's it, that's actually it.

If you assume your desire and live there as though it were true, no power on earth can stop it from becoming a fact — Neville GODDARD.

Change your conception of yourself and you will automatically change the world in which you live — Neville GODDARD

Your opinion on yourself is your most important viewpoint, you are infinitely greater than you think you are — Neville GODDARD

SO WHAT IS THE LAW?

The law is basically: law of assumption in simple definition is: WHATEVER YOU ASSUME, YOU WILL HAVE IT IN YOUR REALITY. For example if you were assuming into your reality that you own a million dollar house, then BY LAW that million dollar house is yours! you will have it in your reality in no-time.

HOW DO I MANIFEST?

I get this question a lot surprisingly, and its pretty self explanatory by the name. You ASSUME that you have what you want.

ᥫ᭡ :: if you assume your desire and live there as though it were true, no power on earth can stop it from becoming a fact — Neville goddard

(which leads me to my next point)

LIVING IN THE END—

To successfully manifest you must live in the end. You can do many techniques as you please but if you do not maintain living in the end, then....you’re gonna struggle. Living in the end is— going on your day knowing your desire is here. Neville going to barbados is the classic example of living in the end. He mentally operated as though he was in barbados even though he was living in new york, here’s another example.

Let's say, I'm manifesting a romantic partner in my life and i'm no longer in the “WANTING” state and I'm now in the “FULFILLED” state. So, i would think FROM my desire. “everyday ___ texts me” “me and ____” have such a good relationship”

embody

/ɪmˈbɒdi,ɛmˈbɒdi/

be an expression of or give a tangible or visible form to (an idea, quality, or feeling).

WHAT IS PERSISTENCE?

People often confuse persistence with consistently. Affirming 24/7 till they pass out or their head hurts which is so wrong. Persisting isn’t affirming, it's knowing that your desire is inevitable. You feel safe and secure knowing THAT CREATION IS FINISHED. The moment you’ve finished your visualisation, affirmations, SATs or whatever or have just simply stated that your desire is yours then your desire has already been completed. Your “job” is to just continue KNOWING that it’s yours!

WHAT IS THE STATE OF WISH FULFILLNESS?

The state of wish fulfilled is pretty similar to living in the end, and they do go hand in hand. To be in the state of wish of fulfilment, you must ASSUME YOUR DESIRE IS DONE. How would you feel? happy, comfortable, relaxed, satisfied. That's literally it. You’re no longer desiring to manifest because you have finally manifested it.

People confuse the state of wish fulfilment with being happy all the time and that's what they're doing wrong. You do not need to be happy. That phone that’s in your hand you’ve manifested it, were you happy the first time you got it? yeah ofc you did, it's a new phone but soon after a while it felt natural. You were like “yeah thats my phone��� you wasn’t like “OMGGG THATS MY PHONE!!!” you knew it was yours and went off.

[dumbgoondog]

For Nanami! Choco on strawberry and caramel in a red bowl!!!🫰-sassy Femme reader

⌞KENTO NANAMI⌝ (5)

Cw/Tw—Dub-Con, prisoner, Mahito… degrading, slight blood, slight asphyxiation, rough BJ, dacryphillia

Tags— fem reader, Sorcerer X Vengeful Spirit, Non-human D, 1.8k WC

Sundae Order—🍫,🍓🍯,🔴 Curse!Nanami is in charge of Reader—a sorcerer who is a threat to the web and he’s fed up with her sass so he decides to put her in her place!

“Little Soldier boyyyyy!” Mahito calls with a cheery smile that could almost make Nanami forget that his boss here was truly a monster.

Nanami rotated his head to look, seeing the curse happily skipping dragging a sorcerer in tow, “My tin soldier I have a special job for you!”

Nanami stares. His green eyes watching Mahito, not responding. He does glance down to the other however—you.

“King Sukuna needs this one alive for interrogation and cause she learned stuff she shouldn’t! You are now in ownership of your very own human! Yay!” Mahito claps dancing on his heels, side to side.

Nanami nods a hand reaching out and taking the ropes from Mahito. Mahito then turns to you with a pleased almost perverted expression, “Tin Soldier here is really good at breaking little sorcerers in, so get comfy!”

You stare him down. He stares right back—blank, still, eerie. Those glassy green eyes don’t blink. You can’t even tell which of the four to focus on.

“You gonna stand there and watch me all day?” you snap, “Or does the mute routine make you feel taller?”

He says nothing. You think you’ve won.

Until his hand tightens on the rope.

…

You have been nothing but sass, witty comments, rude, and stubborn. Nanami has HAD it with your attitude—he’s been relatively kind and easy going too! He’s only hit you a few times!

However.

You just won’t shut up. It’s like you need something stuck in your mouth to shut you up! Not even Mahito works him up this much, you’ve even gotten him flustered and cracked his calm!

He’s grown quiet-er. Still watching. Still eerily polite when caring for you—but there’s something sharpening under the calm. You talk and talk—until finally, you say:

“What, got nothin’ to say? Wooden boy doesn’t have a voice box?”

Nanami sets the mug of water down.

“I do,” he says, voice low and slow like grinding stone. “I simply preferred the silence.”

You blink.

Then smile. “Aw, there he is.”

He stares at you.

“You are the most frustrating person I have ever encountered,” he says. “Including Mahito.”

You blink. “Wow. High praise.”

His jaw clenches. “Your mouth is a weapon. You should have it registered.”

“Oh? Want to take it away?” you coo, leaning forward with a raised brow. “Would that make your life easier, Tin Soldier?”

He doesn’t move.

“…You would like that, wouldn’t you.”

You’re not sure if it’s a threat—or flirting. Weird.

…

He’s cleaning blood off your cheek.

Again.

You don’t even remember how it got there this time—some training curse Mahito let loose in the basement halls, maybe. You’ve been here long enough that wounds blur together like dreams. And still, he is always there.

Quiet. Methodical. Kind in a way that makes you sick.

“You don’t have to pretend to care, you know,” you mutter. “You’re just a puppet. You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a self.”

He says nothing, pressing the cloth gently to your temple.

You sneer. “Or do you like playing nurse to someone helpless? Does it make you feel less empty? Like you’re still human or something?”

Still nothing. So you twist the knife.

“What do you even remember, huh? Your name? Your death? Did someone cry for you? Did anyone even notice when you went missing?” You laugh. “You’re just a cog. A tin soldier. Marching for someone else. You don’t even get to die right, do you?”

The silence stretches. You look up, smug—And you freeze.

Because Nanami isn’t still anymore.

He is trembling.

The rag slips from his hand. His jaw creaks open—and then slams shut with a sickening snap. His four green eyes gleam like lantern glass, and something flashes in them that looks like pain—Then rage.

“Enough.”His voice is rough. Shaky. He grabs you—not hard, but firm—hands on your shoulders, pinning you to the wall with a thunk.

“I have tried,” he growls, “to be patient. To be… gentle. Even when I do not know why. I tolerated your mouth. Your taunts. Your games.”

You blink, breath caught.

“But you—” his jaw cracks again as he speaks, his control slipping—“you want to be broken. You want me to snap. You want to be proven right. That I’m just another curse. Just another monster.”

You meet his gaze. “…Aren’t you?”

The silence between you stretches like a bowstring.

Then—

He laughs. Quiet, bitter. A sound that’s more human than you expect. “I don’t know what I am.”

He leans in—too close. His four eyes lock on yours. “But I know you want something you can’t name. You push and push and push—and when no one pushes back, you get louder.”

His hands tighten just slightly. “You want someone to shut you up?”

Your breath hitches.

His voice drops, low and dangerous. “I will.”

You find yourself pinned against the wall, Nanami's grip firm on your shoulders, his four green eyes boring into yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His breath is hot on your face, and you can feel the tension radiating from his body. You're startled, but there's a thrill building inside you, a dark excitement that you can't ignore.

"You want someone to shut you up?" he repeats, his voice a low growl that vibrates through you. "I will."

Before you can respond, his hands move from your shoulders to your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he holds you steady. You feel a surge of anticipation and a bit of fear as he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. His mouth is hot and insistent, and you can't help but respond, your lips parting slightly as a soft moan escapes you.

Nanami takes advantage of your slight opening, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. He holds your head steady, his grip tight but not painful, as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. You can feel his restraint slipping, his desperation growing, and it only serves to fuel your own desire.

Your hands come up to his chest, not to push him away, but to grip his shirt, holding on as your body responds to his. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your tongue meeting his in a dance that is both aggressive and intimate. The room spins around you, your senses heightening as Nanami's kiss consumes you.

He pulls back slightly, his breath ragged, and you can see the raw need in his eyes. "Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his voice hoarse. "For me to lose control?"

You smile, a slow, seductive curve of your lips that seems to spark something primal in him. "Maybe," you murmur, your voice breathless and inviting. "Maybe I just wanted you to show me what you're made of."

A low growl escapes his throat, and he captures your lips again, his kiss even more intense than before. You can feel his body pressing against yours, the hard planes of his chest and the evidence of his arousal leaving no doubt as to his desire. You melt into him, your body arching against his as you lose yourself in the kiss, in the moment, in the raw, unfiltered passion that Nanami is pouring into you.

His hands leave your hair, trailing down your body, leaving a path of fire in their wake. You shiver, your body aching for more as he explores every curve, every line, committing you to memory. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting more, needing more.

Nanami obliges, his hands gripping your hips, lifting you effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist. He presses you against the wall, his body pinning you in place as he continues to devour your mouth, his kisses leaving you breathless and wanting.

You can feel the evidence of his desire pressing against you, and you rock your hips, a soft moan escaping your lips as you grind against him. Nanami groans, his head dropping to your shoulder as he nips and sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, marking you as his.

"Nanami," you mewl, your voice a plea, a question, a demand. "Please-“

“Please what? Tell me what you want, I take orders, I don’t guess.” He rumbles against your neck grinding up against you more. He’s teasing you, taunting you—he’s winning.

You whimper, whine—grinding down against him. He watches you with satisfaction, pride, and revels in how undone you’re becoming for him, it’s cute.

“H-hah, all you’re good for it seems! Taking orders-!” You spit face flush but trying to take the reigns ba-

Thunk.

He’s dropped you to the floor, ass smacking to the cold concrete and you hear the annoyed clack of his jaws. As you look up he’s undoing his belt, the front of his coat, his pants—oh fuck.

It’s sectioned, like armor plating almost, alternating in color, from his pale wood color to black to white again. There no defined head it’s all smooth together but oh is his tip leaking a purplish-black translucent fluid. You’d have to gauge him to be around 6 inches?

“Let’s get you quiet then, shall we?” He huffs a handful of your hair tangling in his leather gloved hand. Your eyes widen about to protest but the moment your mouth opens he’s pushing past your pretty lips. His taste is… not too pleasant—it’s kinda sour not in a lemony way but like a bitter sour Candy.

His tip slides along your tongue pushing in till he’s hitting the back of your throat. You choke hands reaching to his hips to smack against him as he holds you there and you swear he’s smirking down at you. Tears start peeking from the corners of your eyes as you whine and gag around him—finally he’s pulling your hair back sliding you off.

You’re coughing and he’s watching thick salty wet drops drip down your face… something glinting behind those unblinking eyes. He’s quick pushing back into your mouth a groan leaving his mouth as you gasp and gag again. Drool coming from your pretty mouth as he’s pumping in and out a bit roughly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Hnng, so that mouth does have a use other than running,” he chuckles, voice gravely and predatory, “who knew you- hah- looked good crying?”

You whimper squeezing your eyes shut to match your thighs. God he tastes awful—god he feels so good! Your face burns with embarrassment, hands holdin his hips as his hand in your hair drags you along his length using you like a toy. Ironic since he’s the tin soldier between the two of you.

That’s when you feel it, the start of his hips bucking against your face. He’s getting messier and messier more uneven with moans and thrusts— until he’s pushing as deep as he can. You choke and whine smacking but gargle on the thick loads shooting into your mouth, to the back of your throat.

He pulls back and you cough hands coming to catch what spills out his tip twitching on your bottom lip. Tears and cum drips to your open palms and he watches quite satisfied, “Much huff, better.”

[beingpeople]

Anyway, I finally made clear that the cover was directly inspired by my work, The Nain Logs, in which my inspirations inspired me to produce a work of “literary fiction”, which in turn inspired me to produce a capstone piece, which you can still read, listen to, and view here:

To quote (spaces added to aid in comprehension):

“In the space delineated by these coordinates, the specific lines of interrogation that this book pursues are as follows. First, it eschews an empiricist and/or positivist method, even as it tries to hold the empirical and theoretical registers together. It is interpretative, building on the literary-aesthetic, especially poetry and film, as intuitive ways to access experience without relying on presuppositions that privilege either intentionality or consequentialism.

Second, it beings together different strands of political and social theorization in their anti-colonial, phenomenological, Marxist, post-structuralist, and feminist currents to elucidate those intuitions. It is ecumenical in relation to different strands; or said differently, it avoids a zealous fidelity to any one particular strand in a way that might foreclose engagement with and borrowings from others.

Furthermore, it also lacks fidelity to any single discipline but is instead transdisciplinary, learning from scholarship in political science, sociology, anthropology, political economy, and performance studies, among others.

Next, it is necessarily selective, with no pretensions to be exhaustive in the great variation in form, socioeconomic conditions of possibility, culture, and geographical location of actions under consideration, nor of the variety of theoretical paths of investigation.

Last, but not least, it is asymptotic, aiming to push past existing categories, concepts, methods, and approaches toward new theoretical questions without being able to settle them definitively. Indeed, it follows that insight that Louis Althusser once very perceptively expressed; namely, that ‘nothing in philosophy is radically new,’ ‘nor is anything ever settle definitively’”

- Dr. Banu Bargu, in the introduction to her book Disembodiment: Corporeal Politics of Radical Refusal, discussing the nature of the her study on the subject of self-directed violence and its place within a historicity of political agency, and which is completely unrelated to The Nain Logs, but is what I am currently reading and, thus, found to be an interesting and important passage for those looking to read her book.

[rubywonu]

𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗮𝗲

“horanghae.” “what the hell is that?”

summary: in which you fall in love with a tiger wannabe.

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, meet-cute

warnings: the word ‘psychopath’, a swear word.

w/c: 0.6k

nia’s notes: @etherealyoungk this one is for you.

it was a typical tuesday at the cafe you work at. you started your shift an hour back and things were going slow since it was pretty early in the morning. 

you were setting up for the rest of the day, placing syrups and toppings while listening to your music in your world. you flinched when the door opened, a bunch of guys storming in, all engaged in their own conversations.

you looked at the clock on the wall. 7:46 am. that was pretty early for a group of what you counted to be thirteen men. did that concern you? no. not at all, when you saw their attire. you squinted your eyes, not believing your sight. 

is that a tiger onesie? you stared in shock at the man walking towards you. it was weird enough for a group of men to walk into a cafe at almost eight in the morning, but a grown ass man in a tiger onesie was a rare sight. 

"uh. is everything alright?" the tiger man in front of you asked, concern on his face. you snapped out of your gaze and tried to look presentable but the curiosity didn't leave your face. 

"ah. yes. what can i get you?" you plastered your work smile on your face and walked to the counter, ready to take their order. 

"can i get six americanos, four warm coffees, and two toasted bagels please?" the man in front of you spoke in a cool and sophisticated manner, completely contrasting his outfit choice. "please take your time, no rush at all," he assured you with a small smile of y our face. 

"sure. is that all?" you asked as you typed into the computer. he nodded his head, and you set out to make the order. it took quite a while as you moved from one end of the counter to the other, acquiring different ingredients. 

after 15 minutes, everything was done and you placed it on the main counter, your eyes meeting the man. 

"here's your order. six americanos, four warm coffees, and two toasted bagels." you pointed to each of the mentioned dishes in front of you. "what's your method of payment?" 

"card." the man took out his card and gave it to you and you proceeded with the payment, the sharp orange colors distracting your mind every few seconds. 

you swiped the card, and returned it. "your name, please?"

"kwon soonyoung." 

an interesting name for an interesting man. the ends of your mouth lifted as you slowly said the name, testing each syllable while you typed it out. 

"thank you for visiting, do come here again," you said. you smiled brightly at the man, who you know the name off. he too reciprocated your facial expression. 

and then he did something that rendered you speechless.

"horanghae." soonyoung held up his hand and imitated a tiger's claw, and he sent a goofy smile to you. 

you scrunched up your face in confusion. "what the hell is that?" your curiosity must have come off in a baffled way as soonyoung was laughing, the other men in the cafe staring at the scene in bewilderment. 

"how about i explain it to you over dinner?" soonyoung asked you smoothly, laughing harder at your shocked face.

you scoffed, trying to hide the huge smile coming on your face. you failed miserably. "are you sure you're not a psychopath."

"i'm wearing a tiger onesie at 8:04 am on a tuesday morning. i think that question is self-explanatory." soonyoung gestured his outfit, the tip of his ears turning red in the process. 

"sure," you answered, soonyoung had his mouth open after hearing what you said. 

"really?" you nodded at soonyoung, you wrote your number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. 

it was overall a weird day for you, but the weirdest act out of them all was the fact that a tiger wannabe just asked you on a date. and little did you know, that would be the first encounter with the love of your life. 

tagging: @kflixnet . @caratsland . @pixieskie . @xomingyu . @fairyhaos . @kyeomyun . @wheeboo . @ylliris-hanniehae . @bangchansbae . @slytherinshua . @blue-jisungs .

[anarchblr]

What's your opinion of Taoism?

The philosophical underbrush of Taoism lends itself to my anarchism to the point that, should I want to, I'd consider it the one and the same: Tao is then a method, and as one once said, Anarchy's aim is solidarity, and its method liberty. It is not perfection, nor is it the absolute ideal, which, like the horizon, always recedes aswe advance towards it. But it is the open road to all progress and to all improvement, made in the interest of all. This, of course, is further made possible by the concept of wu-wei, which I've chosen to interpret as lack of unnecessary action or economy of force, and thus, associate it with Anarchy, lack of unnecessary positions of force.

The formlessness of the Tao reminds me of Jeet Kun Do, especially as described here by Bruce Lee:

I have not invented a "new style," composite, modified or otherwise that is set within distinct form as apart from "this" method or "that" method. On the contrary, I hope to free my followers from clinging to styles, patterns, or molds. Remember that Jeet Kune Do is merely a name used, a mirror in which to see "ourselves". . . Jeet Kune Do is not an organized institution that one can be a member of. Either you understand or you don't, and that is that. There is no mystery about my style. My movements are simple, direct, and non-classical. The extraordinary part of it lies in its simplicity. Every movement in Jeet Kune Do is being so of itself. There is nothing artificial about it. I always believe that the easy way is the right way. Jeet Kune Do is simply the direct expression of one's feelings with the minimum of movements and energy. The closer to the true way of Kung Fu, the less wastage of expression there is. Finally, a Jeet Kune Do man who says Jeet Kune Do is exclusively Jeet Kune Do is simply not with it. He is still hung up on his self-closing resistance, in this case, anchored down to a reactionary pattern, and naturally is still bound by another modified pattern and can move within its limits. He has not digested the simple fact that truth exists outside all molds; pattern and awareness is never exclusive. Again let me remind you Jeet Kune Do is just a name used, a boat to get one across, and once across it is to be discarded and not to be carried on one's back.

This then also lends itself to my egoism. So, if

The Way that can be walked is not the eternal Way. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. The named is the mother of all things.

And if

Stirner names the unique and says at the same time that “Names don’t name it.” He utters a name when he names the unique, and adds that the unique is only a name. So he thinks something other than what he says, just as, for example, when someone calls you Ludwig, he isn’t thinking of a generic Ludwig, but of you, for whom he has no word. What Stirner says is a word, a thought, a concept; what he means is neither a word, nor a thought, nor a concept. What he says is not the meaning, and what he means cannot be said.

Then,

אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה

[zacki0gaming]

Season 2, Episode 4 Part 4 Rant (Final)

The Episode (Part 4)

On to the second half of the episode, we suddenly get a “boss fight” of Cyanide.

Pauses the episode

Me: Ok, I got some things to say about this. Firstly, throughout the boss fight, I notice actual coding that can be probably ciphered, which I’m not even gonna try. But thankfully, someone named @mzoyagon already posted the translation of it.

It reads:

"my name is cyanide" "who am i?" "what am i?" "am i good?" "am i bad?" "my name is cyanide" "my name is teal" "my name is cyanide" "my name is teal"

This cipher probably represents the themes of identity, duality, and moral ambiguity.

I’m finally gonna go ultra analysis on this.

"My name is Cyanide" / "My name is Teal": The alternating names symbolizes the coexistence of the duality or conflicting aspects. Cyanide (or as Teal now)as a corrupt may represent as harmful or destructive. This could be further summarized by her name and definition she initially analyzed in Season 1, Episode 9, saying it as a deadly chemical.

Alternatively, she can be viewed as a "deadly force" - a project created by her caretaker and boss, Dub. She was intended to be a weapon, as demonstrated in this episode when she prematurely matured into her mature form before going to start attacking Cyan and the other Heroes in “ATTACK MODE”. Or, this one sounds kind of dumb but, you might see Cyanide as “the devil herself” along with this because… She has the devil horns on her head, heheh…

As for Teal, (which is still Cyanide herself, but has a pure being now and with a different name) her pure self simply represent a more balanced and calmer side, such as not being dangerous to those around her anymore as a sign of peace for finally being a pure shape like the main Heroes (Cyan, Orange, Gold, and Tsavorite).

"Who am I?" / "What am I?": These simple, seemingly simplistic questions convey a sense of existential uncertainty. Cyanide appears to be grappling with an internal struggle, questioning not only her identity but also her essence and purpose.

This image goes with “Who Am I?” from the translation here above Cyan. It also further proves my point when Cyanide expresses a “question mark” on her face.

"Am I good?" / "Am I bad?": The two lines imply a moral conflict. Cyanide may be questioning her actions, intentions, or inherent nature, perhaps influenced by her duality ("Cyanide" and "Teal").

This image goes along with “Am I Good?”.

This cipher emphasizes the tension between these two identities. For instance, Cyanide's boss fight could mainly reflect her wrestling with the understanding of finding her true morality and identity.

Her path to her redemption keeps on getting cut out because of her corruption & appearance as a corrupt, naiveness, and the large amount of mistrust, mistreatment, or misjudgment from most of the good guys. All she wanted was to find her true self as it eventually leads to her being a purely cured hero.

But, here’s the main problem with this, which I will get into a bit.

Continues the episode

After Cyanide gets purified back into her supposed pure counterpart, which she starts system rebooting herself. Cyan, in shock, says if he actually did do it, which Tsavorite expresses so much excitement by throwing Cyan up into the air before catching him.

Pauses the episode

Me: OH WOW! The entire boss level method works SO. DAMN. WELL. That entire dumb Tree of Life purification method that Gold previously did for his caretaker, Pyrare was for nothing here to just cause... AN ERROR and have Tsavorite literally waste a part of his tree’s power while trying to cure Cyanide!

And you know what, chat? Wanna know the whole subplot for Cyanide's overall character arc here, everyone in my opinion….? Let's contextually ham-fist "The Woobie Trope" into a corrupted hero, who hates being a corrupt and trying to make every effort not to act malevolently or harm others as possible, while getting constant mistrust, mistreatment, or misjudgment from most of the other characters, and almost being painfully naïve for like S1 EP 9-10 to S2 E1 & 4.

I’M NOT JOKING! The resolution of this arc, felt unearned or overly convenient. Her internal struggle gets abruptly solved in an astonishingly simplistic manner, thanks to Cyan's intervention. The entire establishment for it just feels like such a damn cop out to make look way too fucking easy. For some reason, I fought at first that Cyanide was gonna be unusually unable to be uncorrupted. BUT NO! It gets so suddenly solved by having that entire Tree of Life method become instantly pointless here just for it to be so easily fixed by Cyan's heroic non-newbie skills through the "boss level method"!

Continues the episode

Gold says that he guesses Cyanide doesn’t need the Green’s tree, which Orange also replied about it too. After Cyanide “Power On” herself, she gasped while saying if she was actually uncorrupted, while looking at her new appearance.

Pauses the episode

Me: I’m just realizing something. The main reason why it didn’t work was because she was born from the Cyan Tree instead of the Green one. Maybe if they would’ve done it with the Cyan tree instead of Tsavorite’s, than it would have probably worked.

Continues the episode

Cyan zooms over to Cyanide and asks her how she’s feeling, to which Cyanide says she’s feeling euphoric. Tsavorite, while still excited about her finally being a part of the family, he and Cyan asked Cyanide what they and the others would call her. After Cyanide starts thinking about what new name she should be called, she then tells the others that her name is now “Teal”.

Tsavorite says the name, Teal fits perfect for her and is officially now part of the family. Teal than thanks Circubit again for his help before the screen goes to black. The scene starts to move the camera to the Royal Graveyard, which we see the Reaper (La Danse Macabre) themselves. Circubit finally shows up and was happy to see the Reaper (La Danse Macabre) still here at the graveyard and wants to ask them for a favor.

Pauses the episode

Me: OK, I wanna tell you something that I found out from the Reaper (La Danse Macabre)’s official appearance here. I recently remember a user named, @pavtriobnal that sums up it’s entire appearance in this image perfectly. It legitimately looks like a fucking SPUNKI OC. I’m not kidding, like am I wrong on this? 🤣🤣

Continues the episode

The Reaper (La Danse Macabre) asks about the favor, saying that it better be something than resurrection. Circubit replies to the Reaper about having the resurrection part only be preferable to only himself and then says it’s something else that he wants.

Circubit asks the Reaper for a request to corrupt a caretaker, in which the Reaper questions him about which caretaker he’s referring to. Circubit answers that it’s Iris himself, while unbeknownst to the duo, they are being spied on by the Bossfight Group, Cintagon and Circumsphere.

Cintagon says, “Oh my god” before asking Circumsphere about the reason for revisiting his homeland. Circumsphere tells him that he had a hunch that the reaper would be a problem due to the Pink Corruption Virus, and saying he didn’t expect Circusic would be revived of all shapes, implying to the dead spheres in the graveyard.

Circumsphere tells Cintagon that they need to return to the Spheral Village to warn the others as possible before the credits shown.

The Episode finally concludes here

Final Verdict

Ok, now for the final verdict for Season 2, Episode 4 as a whole. I’m gonna unfortunately gonna give this a 4/10. Season 2 is… Really starting off to a pretty bad start for me in my opinion in the first 4 episodes…

Cons

Most of the episode was like a poorly constructed Cyanide-focused installment. Nothing else... Circubit’s return was handled clumsily, seemingly shoehorned out of no where without proper buildup or context. His sudden reappearance, coupled with the introduction of his new ability to allow himself to control between as a pure or corrupted shape, felt contrived and poorly integrated. His return is basically wanting us too see how the fucking catalyst for Cyanide's prematurity will go. But, this transformation left it's execution left so much to be desired just for it to immediately go away in this episode.

Additionally, the lack of explanation regarding Circusic’s abrupt reversion from Season 2, Episode 2, which inexplicably led to his sudden change back into his corrupted counterpart in the opening scene was just a bizarre oversight to watch. Unless, you guys provide possible theories like me on WHY it happened in the first place. But, there was no clarity or context provided for this shift.

Heroes are about to start swearing, which is just generally uncomfortable. Circubit unintentionally teaching Cyanide the swear word, "Asshole", even though the duo doesn't care, which is just totally unnecessary for cheap, lazy humor for the series (although some of you people will probably find it funny or not).

Cyanide’s (now Teal) character arc has been profoundly underwhelming. The progression from a kind yet overly naïve corrupt, mistreated and dismissed by those around her for three consecutive episodes, to a sudden desire for change, feels poorly executed. This shift, culminating in that subplot being resolved abruptly within this episode, comes across as a rushed and lazy decision.

Pros

Now onto pros, which they are at least a few.

Cyanide’s boss level was actually interesting, especially going along with the cipher analysis for her character. Even though like I said, the execution isn’t good enough for me.

It is somewhat intriguing to observe Circubit creating a specific task by the Reaper creature, aiming to corrupt Iris for reasons that remain unclear—possibly as an act of revenge or for some other purpose. It could be potentially good for this development to open a door for an actual plotline to explore the dynamic between Iris and his corrupted counterpart. Such as, diving into what he's soul realm will look like, revealing his counterpart's motivations. Or, maybe perhaps even exposing hidden insecurities that Iris harbors but conceals from those around him like how Cubic expose Cube's insecurity on his caretaking skills to his hero, Cyan since Season 1, Episode 3. (But, I don't know, considering his unlikability).

The Bossfight Group is set to return in the next episode, most likely airing somewhere next year for Season 2, Episode 5. We get a bit of additional depth of Circumsphere's character, as he reveals to Cintagon his awareness of Circusic and the Reaper Creature, even though I expecting more here. It is also possible that Circumsphere and Circusic may have once been acquaintances or even former friends.

So yeah, this episode is way worse than simply receiving a present filled with black coal on a warm, Christmas morning.

Anyway, HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 12

David 8 x Reader Words: 2108 Crossposted on Ao3 Part 11 is here

Even as you fled the danger in the room, racing toward the exit to escape the brewing storm, your thoughts were with him.

You called out his name, realizing he wasn’t beside you, worrying about his safety - him, who neither sickens nor dies as you would.

Your concern followed him, even as he, immune to the perils around him, paused to collect one of the vases.

Now, with methodical precision, he opened it, carefully extracting slimy vials from their case, separating them with a metal spatula, his expression focused, almost surgical.

Holding one vial up to the light, he turned it upside down.

The black, viscous liquid clung stubbornly to the bottom, only faint tendrils seeping into the transparent fluid above, swirling like ink in water, but never blending.

With care, David snapped the neck of the vial, pouring it downwards, a small drop formed on the tip of his finger. It was mesmerizing, this one drop teemed with life, microscopic organisms moving in synchronized chaos, glimmering as though a thousand sparks had ignited within.

What might happen if someone ingested it? The thought lingered, but one thing was certain: he would not risk you.

He would cleanse his hands before touching you, coming close, before letting this contagion come near you. Infecting you was not an option, not a risk he would take.

But there was another - an ideal candidate to fulfill Mr. Weyland’s command to try harder, to find the answer to his torment: immortality.

Doctor Charlie Holloway.

David would like to say that this wasn’t personal, but that would not be the truth.

The man was arrogant, impulsive, and heedless. Passionate and self-assured. Just like his Father.

And just like him, he wielded his superiority like a weapon, showing dominance over David, kicking down at him simply because he was no human, not biological.

"David, why are you wearing a suit, man? You don’t breathe.""Pour me that tea, David."

David already felt a twinge of regret for what would come - but not for Dr. Holloway himself. No, that regret was reserved for you. And perhaps, in some way, for Dr. Shaw.

He may not have watched your dreams as frequently as hers, but he had seen enough.

Glimpses of your subconscious haunting you: your grandmother’s illness, the scream you couldn’t suppress as she took her last breath.

He remembered the quiet horror of your mother’s voice in the car, the weight of her words when she told you she had cancer.

You had only just begun grieving your grandmother, and now the cycle repeated. You didn’t know how to respond then, how to process the blow.

He regretted that this, too, would trigger those memories, that it would inadvertently add to your pain.

But it had to be done. It was not really his choice, only who the victim will be.

And when the time came, he would make it up to you. He would lie with you between soft pillows and fight those demons at your side.

He would soothe your fevered brow with his cool hands, brush away your tears with tender care. He would worship you like a believer at their shrine, treat your body like a holy temple.

He would take you as you are. And he hoped you would take him as well, even if you thought him a monster. Better a monster than an arrogant god.

"Am I interrupting? I think you might be running low."

A single drop of black liquid sat on his fingertip, precisely where the Weyland Corp logo was stanced into his synthetic skin.

With practiced ease, he plucked a glass from the dispenser, using thumb and middle finger, while the other held a bottle of sparkling wine - naturally, also a Weyland product.

Dr. Holloway slouched over the billiard table, his hood drawn up, absentmindedly knocking billiard balls against one another. He had already been drinking.

The slight haze in his eyes, the sluggishness of his movements -  it would make this all the easier.

"Pour yourself a glass, pal."

David had no desire to do so. He liked the sparkling sensation of the bubbles on his tongue, but beyond that, alcohol was bitter, ineffective, and ultimately meaningless to him.

Just another human indulgence he could only imitate, never truly experience.

But for once, he did not mind, he liked to have a clear mind.

"Thank you, but I’m afraid it would be wasted on me."

The explanation was convincing enough, playing neatly into the narrative Holloway had already constructed - David, the lesser being, the obedient machine.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot you’re not a real boy," Holloway replied with a smirk, shoving the billiard ball he’d been toying with in David’s direction.

It rolled lazily across the table, clinking against the already emptied bottle stuck in one of the billiard holes.

Just as expected. His arrogance was blinding.

"I’m sorry that your Engineers are all gone, Doctor," David said, lacing his voice with a tone of empathy he did not feel.

Holloway huffed out a bitter laugh, shoving his hood back.

"You think we wasted our time coming here, don’t you?"

David stepped around the table with calculated precision, keeping the drop on his fingertip concealed behind the bottle.

"Your question depends on me understanding what you hoped to achieve by coming here."

He let the drop slide into the glass, smooth and discreet.

"What we hoped to achieve," Holloway said, voice tinged with a tad of frustration and desperation, "was to meet our makers. To get answers. Why they even made us in the first place."

Ah, yes. That, David could understand. He had asked himself the same question countless times: why had Mr. Weyland created him? What purpose did he serve, being made like this?

He was unique, unparalleled in design. Components illegal in other models were integrated into him. He was the most advanced being of his kind. He even felt.

And yet, it had never been enough for them.

"Why do you think your people made me?"

The question escaped him before he could stop it, an echo of his own internal turmoil.

"We made you because we could."

The ball rolled lazily across the table again, a mocking mirror to Holloway’s words. It clinked against the bottle once more.

Ah. Of course. Just because they could. Just like the Engineers did with them, probably.

Yes, this drop was personal.

"Can you imagine," David said, his tone measured, "how disappointing it would be to hear the same thing from your creator?"

Holloway let out a patronizing laugh, shoving the ball again, but this time, David caught it mid-roll.

His fingers curled around it, plucking it neatly from the table before it could strike the bottle a third time.

"I guess it’s a good thing you can’t be disappointed, huh?"

Holloway’s grin was sharp, his words cutting, but David had already made his decision.

He started to pour the drink into the glass, watching as the drop merged with it. Dr. Holloway crossed his hands, staring off into the distance for a few seconds.

"She’s smart, you know? And yet, somehow, she still thinks you’re more than wires and programming. Strange, isn’t it? Makes no sense.”

David's head snapped toward Holloway, who was looking at him as if he could answer why you chose to dote on him, to care for him.

He neither knew nor understood it himself - he only knew that he could never let it go, that he had to keep it that way.

Staring ahead for a brief moment, thinking over those words, he settled on the truth.

"She sees beyond the surface. That is what makes her exceptional. That is all that matters, I think.”

He placed the fizzing, filled glass in front of Dr. Holloway, offering an honest smile - honest in the sense that he was thinking of you, and that soon, he would no longer have to deal with this man.

Holloway raised an eyebrow but picked up the drink.

“I think? They really make you guys pretty close, huh? You get quite convincing at times.”

He raised the glass to his lips, threw his head back, and downed it in one go.

David gave him a polite smile.

"Not too close, I hope." He repeated the same statement he gave a few hours ago.

"Good health."

It seemed as if Dr. Holloway wanted to say something to that, but your loud, shrill scream, filled with anguish, rang out from the cockpit you must not have left yet, cutting through the halls like a blade.

It stopped everything.

David turned on his heels instantly, sprinting down the corridor. He had to reach you. Had to see what happened. What hurt you. What scared you.

What made you scream with such raw grief and pain - the kind he had only witnessed in your worst nightmares.

He noticed Dr. Holloway jumping up as well, stumbling slightly from intoxication. But your scream must have awakened something in him, making him follow close behind.

As they entered the cockpit, his gaze swept the room in search of you - until he found you, curled up on your knees in front of the console, rocking back and forth, your sobs raw and unrestrained.

Stepping closer, he saw that you were hurting yourself. Small trickles of blood welled where your nails had dug into your arms.

He hated seeing you in pain. Hated seeing you weep. Without hesitation, he grasped your wrists, prying your hands away and holding them firmly, securely, so they could do no more harm.

When you looked up at him and Holloway, your cheeks were flushed, your eyes swollen and red, fresh tears streaming down in silent agony. You tried to speak, but your voice was hoarse, breaking into sobs every time you attempted to form words.

He didn’t like how forcefully you tugged your hands free, but he let go, unwilling to cause you more distress. Instead, he followed your trembling gesture toward the blackened screens.

Oh, you sweet, brave girl.

You inhaled shakily, forcing out the words that shattered you.

"They’re dead."

Hot tears spilled over your cheeks, and for the briefest moment, he found himself wondering - if he kissed them away, how would they taste? How salty would they be?

Another time, perhaps. When he had the privacy to comfort you properly.

Slipping his arms beneath yours, he pulled you up, but you immediately thrashed against him, clinging to the console as if letting go meant losing them all over again. He may not have liked Dr. Holloway, but for once, he was grateful when the man intervened, shaking you back to reality, telling you that you were going to stay, that they were just going to move you.

David would have preferred to take you to your quarters, away from all this, but Holloway was right. It was best to act in your interests.

He met the man’s gaze, brown eyes locking onto his before Holloway jerked his head toward two seats pushed together.

David nodded in silent agreement before lifting you into his arms with ease.

For a fleeting moment, as he carried you those few short steps, he let himself imagine what it would be like to perform such a human ceremony with you.

A wedding.

A bride he would never have.

When he laid you down, more people stormed into the room, drawn by your screams.

He instinctively turned, shielding the sight of your puffy face, wanting to protect your dignity. Strangely enough, Dr. Holloway did the same, standing beside him in an unspoken agreement.

“What happened to her? What’s going on?”

Dr. Shaw's voice was urgent, but she hesitated when David raised a hand, wordlessly signaling her, not yet. Not until you were ready.

“She said Millburn and Fifield are dead.”

The words had barely left his lips when another broken sob escaped you, raw and shaking, and something within him, something he could not name, tightened.

He had miscalculated. He should have phrased it differently, should have softened the blow.

As he turned back to you, his gaze met Dr. Holloway’s, and for the briefest moment, he faltered.

A subtle, unknown process had begun to run in the background of his mind, something he could not immediately identify. A quiet disruption.

An error? No.

But why did he feel this, looking at Holloway, hearing you cry?

His internal systems sifted through data, previous logs, cross-referencing past experiences, until-

Ah.

You had just lost two people you cared for. And the probability was high that you would see Charlie Holloway die as well.

And it would be his doing, by his hand.

He would be the cause of your pain.