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pumpkinpaix · 4 years

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hello there, hope you're having a nice day <3

so i've been reading a lot of fics lately, uk for sanity's sake, and i've noticed that in most of them, lwj doesn't use contractions (eg., says do not instead of don't)?? and i think he doesn't in the novel either but i don't remember lol so i can't be sure but anyway that made me curious - does chinese have contractions as well? does he not use it bc it's informal?

hello there! I’m doing all right, i started to answer this ask while waiting for a jingyeast loaf to come out of the oven 😊 many thanks to @bookofstars for helping me look over/edit/correct this post!! :D

anyways! the answer to your questions are complicated (of course it is when is anything simple with me), so let’s see if I can break it down--you’re asking a) whether chinese has contractions, b) if it does, how does they change the tone of the sentence--is it similar to english or no?, and c) how does this all end up with lan wangji pretty much never using contractions in english fic/translation?

I’m gonna start by talking about how formality is (generally) expressed in each language, and hopefully, by the end of this post, all the questions will have been answered in one way or another. so: chinese and english express variations in formality/register differently, oftentimes in ways that run contrary to one another. I am, as always, neither a linguist nor an expert in chinese and english uhhh sociological grammar? for lack of a better word. I’m speaking from my own experience and knowledge :D

so with a character like lan wangji, it makes perfect sense in english to write his dialogue without contractions, as contractions are considered informal or colloquial. I don’t know if this has changed in recent years, but I was always taught in school to never use contractions in my academic papers.

However! not using contractions necessarily extends the length of the sentence: “do not” takes longer to say than “don’t”, “cannot” is longer than “can’t” etc. in english, formality is often correlated with sentence length: the longest way you can say something ends up sounding the most formal. for a very simplified example, take this progression from least formal to absurdly formal:

whatcha doin’?

what’re you doing?

what are you doing? [standard colloquial]

may I ask what you are doing?

might I inquire as to what you are doing?

excuse me, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

pardon my intrusion, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

please pardon my intrusion, but might inquire as to the nature of your current actions?

this is obviously a somewhat overwrought example, but you get the point. oftentimes, the longer, more complex, more indirect sentence constructions indicate a greater formality, often because there is a simultaneous decreasing of certainty. downplaying the speaker’s certainty can show deference (or weakness) in english, while certainty tends to show authority/confidence (or aggression/rudeness).

different words also carry different implications of formality—in the example, I switched “excuse me” to “pardon me” during one of the step ups. pardon (to me at least) feels like a more formal word than “excuse”. Similarly, “inquire” is more formal than “ask” etc. I suspect that at least some of what makes one word seem more formal than one of its synonyms has to do with etymology. many of english’s most formal/academic words come from latin (which also tends to have longer words generally!), while our personal/colloquial words tend to have germanic origins (inquire [latin] vs ask [germanic]).

you’ll also notice that changing a more direct sentence structure (“may I ask what”) to a more indirect one (“might I inquire as to”) also jumps a register. a lot of english is like this — you can complicate simple direct sentences by switching the way you use the verbs/how many auxiliaries you use etc.

THE POINT IS: with regards to english, more formal sentence structures are often (not always) longer and more indirect than informal ones. this leads us to a problem with a character like lan wangji.

lan wangji is canonically very taciturn. if he can express his meaning in two words rather than three, then he will. and chinese allows for this—in extreme ways. if you haven’t already read @hunxi-guilai’s post on linguistic register (in CQL only, but it’s applicable across the board), I would start there because haha! I certainly do Not have a degree in Classical Chinese lit and she does a great job. :D

you can see from the examples that hunxi chose that often, longer sentences tend to be more informal in chinese (not always, which I’ll circle back to at the end lol). Colloquial chinese makes use of helping particles to indicate tone and meaning, as is shown in wei wuxian’s dialogue. and, as hunxi explained, those particles are largely absent from lan wangji’s speech pattern. chinese isn’t built of “words” in the way English is—each character is less a word and more a morpheme—and the language allows for a lot of information to be encoded in one character. a single character can often stand for a phrase within a sentence without sacrificing either meaning or formality. lan wangji makes ample use of this in order to express himself in the fewest syllables possible.

so this obviously leads to an incongruity when trying to translate his dialogue or capture his voice in English: shorter sentences are usually more direct by nature, and directness/certainty is often construed as rudeness -- but it might seem strange to see lan wangji’s dialogue full of longer sentences while the narration explicitly says that he uses very short sentences. so what happens is that many english fic writers extrapolated this into creating an english speech pattern for lan wangji that reads oddly. they’ll have lan wangji speak in grammatically incoherent fragments that distill his intended thought because they’re trying to recreate his succinctness. unfortunately, English doesn’t have as much freedom as Chinese does in this way, and it results in lan wangji sounding as if he has some kind of linguistic impediment and/or as if he’s being unspeakably rude in certain situations. In reality, lan wangji’s speech is perfectly polite for a young member of the gentry (though he’s still terribly rude in other ways lol). he speaks in full, and honestly, quite eloquent sentences.

hunxi’s post already has a lot of examples, but I figure I’ll do one as well focused on the specifics of this post.

I’m going to use this exchange from chapter 63 between the twin jades because I think it’s a pretty simple way to illustrate what I’m talking about:

蓝曦臣道：“你亲眼所见？”

蓝忘机道：“他亲眼所见。”

蓝曦臣道：“你相信他？”

蓝忘机道：“信。”

[...] 蓝曦臣道：“那么金光瑶呢？”

蓝忘机道：“不可信。”

my translation:

Lan Xichen said, “You saw it with your own eyes?”

Lan Wangji said, “He saw it with his own eyes.”

Lan Xichen said, “You believe him?”

Lan Wangji said, “I believe him.”

[...] Lan Xichen said, “Then what about Jin Guangyao?”

Lan Wangji said, “He cannot be believed.”

you can see how much longer the (pretty literal) english translations are! every single line of dialogue is expanded because things that can be omitted in chinese cannot be omitted in english without losing grammatical coherency. i‘ll break a few of them down:

Lan Xichen’s first line:

你 (you) 亲眼 (with one’s own eyes) 所 (literary auxiliary) 见 (met/saw)？

idk but i love this line a lot lmao. it just has such an elegant feel to me, probably because I am an uncultured rube. anyways, you see here that he expressed his full thought in five characters.

if I were to rewrite this sentence into something much less formal/much more modern, I might have it become something like this:

你是自己看见的吗？

你 (you) 是 (to be) 自己 (oneself) 看见 (see) 的 (auxiliary) 吗 (interrogative particle)？

i suspect that this construction might even be somewhat childish? I’ve replaced every single formal part of the sentence with a more colloquial one. instead of 亲眼 i’ve used 自己, instead of 所见 i’ve used 看见的 and then also added an interrogative particle at the end for good measure (吗). To translate this, I would probably go with “Did you see it yourself?”

contained in this is also an example of how one character can represent a whole concept that can also be represented with two characters: 见 vs 看见. in this example, both mean “to see”. we’ll see it again in the next example as well:

in response to lan xichen’s, “you believe him?” --> 你 (you) 相信 (believe) 他 (him)? lan wangji answers with, “信” (believe).

chinese does not do yes or no questions in the same way that english does. there is no catch-all for yes or no, though there are general affirmative (是／有) and negative (不／没) characters. there are other affirmative/negative characters, but these are the ones that I believe are the most common and also the ones that you may see in response to yes or no questions on their own. (don’t quote me on that lol)

regardless, the way you respond to a yes or no question is often by repeating the verb phrase either in affirmative or negative. so here, when lan xichen asks if lan wangji believes wei wuxian, lan wangji responds “believe”. once again, you can see that one character can stand in for a concept that may also be expressed in two characters: 信 takes the place of 相信. lan wangji could have responded with “相信” just as well, but, true to his character, he didn’t because he didn’t need to. this is still a complete sentence. lan wangji has discarded the subject (I), the object (him), and also half the verb (相), and lost no meaning whatsoever. you can’t do this in english!

and onto the last exchange:

lan xichen: 那么 (then) 金光瑶 (jin guangyao) 呢 (what about)？

lan wangji: 不可 (cannot) 信 (believe)

you can actually see the contrast between the two brothers’ speech patterns even in this. lan xichen’s question is not quite as pared down as it could be. if it were wangji’s line instead, I would expect it to read simply “金光瑶呢？” which would just be “what about jin guangyao?” 那么 isn’t necessary to convey the core thought -- it’s just as how “then what about” is different than “what about”, but “then” is not necessary to the central question. if we wanted to keep the “then” aspect, you could still cut out 么 and it would be the same meaning as well.

a FINAL example of how something can be cut down just because I think examples are helpful:

“I don’t know” is usually given as 我不知道. (this is what nie huaisang says lol) It contains subject (我) and full verb (知道). you can pare this straight down to just 不知 and it would mean the same thing in the correct context. i think most of the characters do this at least once? it sounds more literary -- i don’t know that i would ever use it in everyday speech, but the fact remains that it’s a possibility. both could be translated as “I do not know” and it would be accurate.

ANYWAYS, getting all the way back to one of your original questions: does chinese have contractions? and the answer is like... kind of...?? but not really. there’s certainly slang/dialect variants that can be used in ways that are reminiscent of english contractions. the example I’m thinking of is the character 啥 (sha2) which can be used as slang in place of 什么 (shen2 me). (which means “what”)

so for a standard sentence of, 你在做什么? (what are you doing), you could shorten down to just 做啥? and the second construction is less formal than the first, but they mean the same thing.

other slang i can think of off the top of my head: 干嘛 (gan4 ma2) is also informal slang for “what are you doing”. and i think this is a regional thing, but you can also use 搞 (gao3) and 整 (zheng3) to mean “do” as well.

so in the same way that you can replace 什么 with 啥, you can replace 做 as well to get constructions like 搞啥 (gao3 sha2) and 整啥 (zheng3 sha2).

these are all different ways to say “what are you doing” lmao, and in this case, shorter is not, in fact, more formal.

woo! we made it to the end! I hope it was informative and helpful to you anon. :D

this is where I would normally throw my ko-fi, but instead, I’m actually going to link you to this fundraising post for an old fandom friend of mine. her house burned down mid-september and they could still use help if anyone can spare it! if this post would have moved you to buy me a ko-fi, please send that money to her family instead. :) rbs are also appreciated on the post itself. (* ´▽` *)

anyways, here’s the loaf jingyeast made :3 it was very tasty.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #the untamed #the untamed meta #lan wangji #lan wangji meta #mine #mymeta #linguistics #chinese #english #cyan chinese school #cyan help desk #languages #contractions #register #look man idk how am i gonna tag this #*yeets into the void*

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eggtoasties · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Eventual Osamu x Reader

Rating: E for fucking Samu in the car :-)

Word Count: 4.4k of Miya twin shenanigans, fluff, then eventual smut

Summary: A hopeful love and a blossomed love; years of wishing on candles and they’re both content.

a/n: @powderblew ur the hopeful love my beloved

Contrary to popular belief, Miya Atsumu does not speed. Yes, he nearly loses his mind on the interstate every other day but his road rage is completely contained to cursing in the confines of his car. Most people think Atsumu’s the reckless driver with his loud personality and penchant for pulling off risky moves on the court, but surprisingly, it’s his counterpart who fully believes that the actual speed limit is at least ten above the posted signage and weaves through lanes with one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh.

Atsumu got Osamu the car as a birthday gift—black, sleek, and quiet. He had been dropping hints for weeks but Osamu had brushed them off, figuring his brother was spewing incoherent nonsense.

It was the weekend before their birthday. They decided to take a trip to the mountains—it was rare at this point in their young adult lives to have the free time to spend with each other. Osamu was busy with the shop: serving customers, preparing food, and trying new dishes. Getting Onigiri Miya off the ground was a seven day work week with early mornings and late nights. Atsumu on the other hand, had regularly scheduled practices and travel matches with the team. Although his schedule was incredibly hectic, there was a sort of rhythmic regularity to it.

So, for the first weekend in a long time where it would be just them, Atsumu wanted it to be special. Afterall, it was their birthday. Atsumu was the one who drove them to the campsite, taking in the scenery with appreciation, going slowly on the winding roads while mindlessly tapping a beat on the steering wheel. As they got closer and closer to their destination, Osamu could tell his brother was antsy.

His eyes would flicker from the road, to Osamu, then back again. His mindless tapping to the music turned into an incessant drilling and he kept readjusting his legs and changing his hand position on the wheel, fidgeting in his seat.

“Wouldya’ quit that, yer gonna crash the fuckin’ car,” Osamu said, exaggeratingly clutching to the grab handle at the top of his window.

“Yer really gonna yell at me on ma’ birthday that’s jus’ like ya’ Samu—”

“It’s ma’ birthday too ya’ idiot!”

The sound of his brother’s bickering quelled Atsumu’s nerves and he settled in the driver’s seat, humming along to the song playing on the speakers. In response, Osamu turned up the volume, but Atsumu just grinned.

“You will arrive at your destination in .2 miles,” the smooth voice of the GPS chimed.

Atsumu began fidgeting again and Osamu swore he was gonna punch him the moment they made it out of the death trap.

They pulled into the winding driveway and Osamu banged his head against the dashboard.

“Please tell me ya’ didn’t screw up the reservation,” he said quietly.

“What kinda idiot, do ya’ take me for, Samu?” Atsumu whined. Although Osamu couldn’t see with his forehead pressed against the polished wood interior, Atsumu was smiling.

“Then why is there another car parked in our spot?” Osamu deadpanned, turning his head to his brother, still pressed into the dash.

“Look again an’ eat yer words ya’ scrub.”

Driving slowly forward towards the car and parking next to it, Osamu realized that a bright red bow was tied to the hood. He stilled in his seat and stared dumbly out his window, slowly turning towards his brother.

“Do ya’ like it, Samu?” Atsumu nearly whispered, leaning in close to his brother, eyes wide, committing every micro reaction to memory.

Osamu blinked once. Twice. Then turned back to the car.

“Yeah, Tsumu,” he said shakily, “I really do.”

Against the burning in his throat and the tightening of his eyes, Osamu willed himself to remain composed when he heard rustling. Atsumu took out a crumpled and worn piece of notebook paper, its edges frayed and torn and began to smooth it out in his palms.

He cleared his throat and stared at the empty space across Osamu’s shoulder.

“So, uh…” he began, uncharacteristically shy and Osamu sent a prayer that this wasn’t a speech about how Tsumu had somehow accidentally razed Onigiri Miya to the ground in the short period that he wasn’t there and this was all an elaborate apology.

“I know that this year’s been tough with Onigiri Miya jus’ startin’ out an’ everythin’ but I jus’ wanted to say,” Atsumu trailed off and scratched his ear before suddenly, startling Osamu, squaring his shoulders and directing a piercing stare into his brother’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you Samu!” he nearly yelled, face flushed with embarrassment.

Osamu felt the heat prickle against his neck and all he could do was blink owlishly at his twin.

“What on Earth are ya’ goin’ on about?” he questioned incredulously.

“Okay, okay, wait I wrote it all down,” Atsumu said quickly, smoothing the worn paper once again. He cleared his throat a few times before reading.

“Osamu—”

“Oh my god is this a proposal, why is this so formal?” Osamu asked out loud.

“God, shut yer big ol’ trap wouldya I am tryin’ here,” Atsumu bit back to the amusement of his twin. “Anyways,” he grumbled. “Samu. I’ve been thinkin’ for a while and I jus’ wanted to say thank ya’ for always bein’ there for me.”

Osamu did not often feel stupid. Well, that’s a lie, he thought. It’s been a year since Onigiri Miya’s opening and he was only just beginning to feel as if he was able to call his job stable and that he had a solid understanding of how things should be ran. However, it was not often that his brother made him feel stupid, but here he was, at a loss for words at this uncharacteristic show of appreciation.

Yes, high fives and hugs had always come easily after a particularly clean hit or a perfectly executed pass, but they never sat down like this and talked about how much they appreciated each other. Osamu figured it was unsaid in the little things—how the clothes Atsumu stole in high school always ended back clean in Osamu’s closet, how Osamu usually ended up making two bentos when they still lived together, or how Atsumu had always tried to include Osamu in team bonding even when Osamu was in college.

“I think,” Atsumu said, breaking Osamu out of his thoughts. “That you were what made me work so hard at volleyball. Not because you were the only one that could challenge me,” Osamu scoffed at this. “But because you were the only one I cared to play with for a long time.”

Tears pricked at his eyes and Osamu nodded at his brother to continue.

“An’ thinkin’ back, yer probably the only reason why ma’ teammates didn’t excommunicate me like they did to Tobio-kun,” Atsumu joked and Osamu cracked a smile despite the burning of his throat.

“An’ I know we’ve talked about this before, but I am still really sorry when I went off on ya’ when ya’ told me you were quittin’ volleyball. I don’t mean to beat a dead horse or anything—”

“You sound like Baa-chan,” Samu choked out, still trying to hold back tears, hands balled into fists on his lap.

Undeterred, Atsumu continued to read. “But the fact that fer the first time, ya’ wouldn’t be by my side on the court was jus’ never a possibility I’d considered. So ‘m sorry ‘bout the fuss I made even though I know that’s all old news.” He paused and nodded at Osamu, noting his fists and drew in a shaky breath.

“’Samu, I jus’ want to let ya’ know that I am so endlessly proud to be yer brother and all the work ya’ put in in college and startin’ Miya Onigiri honestly scared me a little,” he said chuckling. “The way you really focus in on somethin’ when yer concentrating was always so intense, but I’d only really seen it with volleyball. But ever since you went to college, and especially with this past year, I can’t believe I fought you to go pro with me because I’d never seen ya’ more fired up or intense than ya’ have been this past year.”

The sides of Atsumu’s paper begin to tear with the force of his grip, and both twins are mirror images of each other. Red in the face, hands in fists, and willing the other to cry first.

“Basically,” Atsumu drawled on, hands slightly shaking, “thank ya’ for bein’ the best brother and teammate I coulda’ ever asked for and I’m so, so, proud to be the brother of the founder of Onigiri Miya.” He lowered the paper from his line of vision and accidentally crumbled it with his hand as he blurt out, “And I love you!” turning even redder in embarrassment. “Even though ya’ never respond to my texts and make fun a’ me when I bring my teammates ‘round,” he quickly added in.

Osamu undid his seatbelt and forcefully opened his door. He heard Atsumu’s confused “huh” and watched as he fumbled with his seatbelt through the windshield as he crossed to the other side. Atsumu stumbled out of the driver’s seat and Osamu captured him in a bone crushing hug. One hand wrapped around his back and the other held Atsumu’s head as he cried into his neck.

He thought back to the first semester of culinary school when he questioned himself every single day if it was the right choice to have made. Learning and practicing different techniques that felt foreign was a hurdle that had seemed impossible at the time. Then, when he graduated and he figured he knew almost everything there was to know about the food industry after hours and hours of lab, internships, and class and began preparations for opening Miya Onigiri, he realized once again that he knew nothing. Even a year after founding Miya Onigiri and he still found himself doubting his success.

But, hearing his idiot brother tell him he was proud—was all he needed. Because Miya Osamu also pushed himself to the upper limits of his physical and mental abilities because his brother was the only one he wanted to compete with. It didn’t matter who else might try and challenge them, at the end of their finish lines, the only person they wanted to see was each other.

The autumnal air was incredibly crisp and although the forest surrounding their luxury cabin was teeming with life, time around them seemed to still as they both cried.

“This is too much, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu sniffled out. “My gift ta’ ya’ was literally like, two hundred dollars.”

“It’s okay,” sniffled Atsumu. He paused. “What’d ya’ get me?”

Osamu pulled away and wiped his face with the bottom hem of his sweater.

“I got ya’ a signed copy of that book you were yappin’ on about with yer favorite author and I got her to make a video for ya’ sayin’ happy birthday and all that—”

“Oh my god,” Atsumu said excitedly, “Yer tellin’ me ya’ got Sonia Barnes to write me a handwritten message and a private video!?”

Osamu grimaced at the snot Atsumu had dripping down his chin. “First of all don’t say it like that, an’ second of all, wipe yer nose or somethin’ ya’ scrub.”

Completley ignoring his brother’s complaints, Atsumu lunged at Osamu, begging him to show him the video. Osamu tapped at his phone, opened up the email attachment, and watched the myriad expressions of surprise, admiration, love, and happiness flicker across Atsumu’s face during a 20 second video while red eyed and swollen. He mused that this was possibly the best birthday they ever had.

“Let’s take this baby on a test drive,” Osamu said, eagerly waiting by the door as Atsumu watched his birthday video for the umpteenth time.

That Sonia Barnes was a very pretty lady, Osamu reasoned, but if he had to hear her chirp, “Happy Birthday Tsumu!” one more time, she was going to be the cause of fratricide.

Settling into the leather seat, Osamu pressed the start button and nearly cooed at the soft rumble of the engine.

Throwing himself into the passenger’s seat Atsumu said, “Let’s figure out how ta’ connect to Bluetooth so I can hear ma’ angel on speaker,” fiddling with the touch screen.

Osamu grabbed Atsumu’s phone and threw it in the backseat and put the car in drive just as Atsumu started to clamber in the back for it. He peeled down the driveway as Atsumu screamed and picked up speed down the secluded road as Atsumu managed to get back in his seat and secure the seat belt.

The pretty autumn foliage was a blur of orange and reds and Osamu breathed in the smell of new leather and wood polish.

“S-slow down!” Atsumu yelled, quickly activating the lock function on the seatbelt and gripping the grab handle with both hands. “I-is this b-because I told the whole team you’d giv’ em’ free food if they said they were my teammate,” he screamed, “I’ll tell ‘em nevermind!”

Osamu rolled down the windows and the sun roof and laughed as the wind ran through his hair while his brother cried for the second time that day.

A year later and Osamu’s still in the driver’s seat of his car, but this time, she’s in the passenger’s seat. They have all the windows down and he’s speeding along the coast of Hyogo, sea breeze whipping through their hair and the sound of waves breaking in the distance.

She had planned a full day for his birthday: brunch at their favorite restaurant, a walk through the shopping district, and a homemade dinner with a fruit tart from his favorite bakery. Now that he had two years of experience running Onigiri Miya, he could afford to step away from the shop every so often. Unfortunately, his counterpart was on the other side of the world for a match, but they managed to squeeze in a short videocall despite the time difference.

“’Samu!” Atsumu screamed from the other line, “Happy Birthday!”

Wincing, Osamu turned the volume of his phone down as she giggled and wished his brother a Happy Birthday.

“What’d ya’ plan for Samu’s birthday,” Atsumu asked her, “good luck beatin’ ma’ gift from last year—”

“Tsumu!” Osamu berated.

“Unfortunately, my research job doesn’t pay as much as being a pro-volleyballer,” she rolled her eyes, “but I do have some fun things lined up,” she said, smiling softly at Osamu to which Atsumu gagged.

“Ya’ scrub, just ‘cause yer jealous—”

“Tsumu!” she interrupted, “did you get our gift? We were a little nervous about the international shipping but your hotel said they got it so—”

“Yes!” Atsumu exclaimed, screen blurry as he shuffled around his hotel room. He set his phone down and propped it up, showing them the neatly packaged box. “I can’t believe ya’ got me another signed copy of Sonia Barnes’s book—I couldn’t even get this one off preorder, it was so popular—”

“Did ya’ open the envelope yet?” Osamu asked impatiently.

“Of course I did! I always open the letter before the present, what do ya’ take me for, Samu?” Atsumu whined, but the duo noticed how Atusmu’s hands were off screen and they could hear quiet tearing noises in between pauses.

Rolling their eyes, they patiently waited for Atsumu to unsubtly open their envelope. They watched as Atsumu quickly scanned the contents of the letter and Osamu hit screen record as his brother’s mouth dropped open.

“T-tickets to a live reading and meet and greet?” Atsumu whispered to himself. He pulled the letter closer to his face and read it over and over again before gingerly setting the cardstock down and gently looking into the envelope to produce two ticket stubs. Carefully placing the tickets back into the envelope, Osamu failed to cover his snickers as Atsumu’s lower lip trembled.

“I know it’s no car,” she said, “but I do happen to know people who know people, so I hope you like your gift, ‘Tsumu” she said kindly.

Atsumu suddenly held the phone close to his face and Osamu could see his brother’s ears turn pink.

“Yer the best sister in law I coulda’ ever asked for, I don’t know why yer with that good fer nothin’ scrub—yer not married yet, so ya’ still have time to run away, but ‘Samu, ya’ better not mess it up,” he rambled, roughly wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

Osamu scoffed and she placed a placating hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I get ta’ meet ma’ angel,” Atsumu mumbled to himself in disbelief, pacing in his hotel room, running his hands through his hair. “Angel, angel, angel—I gotta bring ma’ copy of her books with ma’ notes! I have so many questions for her, like how she came up with the storyline—didya know she went to school in New York City? Isn’t that the coolest? And she made a video for me for ma’ birthday last year,” he broke his monologue to gasp. “Do ya’ think she’ll remember me—”

Osamu put him on mute and groaned.

“Maybe we shoulda jus’ gotten him those fancy mugs,” he complained, leaning heavily into her side.

She rubbed the sides of his neck as she watched with amusement as Atsumu continued his ramblings, completely unaware that she and Osamu were having a side conversation.

“But look how happy he is, Samu,” she crooned, giggling as Osamu pinched his nose bridge. But she knew that Osamu was the one who spent hours scouring the web for those tickets and sent several emails to Sonia Barnes’s manager for a signed copy.

Watching his brother run his mouth with no regard to himself or his girlfriend, Osamu clicked the unmute button and nearly yelled, “We get it ya’ scrub, we get it!”

“Let me be happy why dontcha!” Atsumu retorted.

“Alright well I’m gonna spend ma’ birthday with ma’ real girlfriend,” Osamu taunted, finger hovering over the ‘end call’ button.

“Once Sonia meets me she’s gonna fall in love, just ya’ wait!”

She yelled one last, “Happy Birthday!” before Osamu disconnected the call and tackled her into the bed.

For the end of his birthday, Osamu requested a car ride. It was just past sunset; the sky’s vibrant pinks and oranges faded into a cool indigo and the stars were extra bright in the rural area they were driving through.

They rode in comfortable silence, listening to seagulls call their good nights and the wind beating against the car. The supple leather of the seat underneath her contrasted with the rough pads of Osamu’s fingertips on her thigh and she stared out at the horizon, perpetually in awe of the beauty of the coast line. Here, twinkling city lights were hardly discernible specks in the distance and the only tall structures were the trees dotting the cliffside.

They rose higher in altitude until they were surrounded by lush forest—rustling underbush and singing cicadas took over the sound crashing waves. He pulled into a secluded nook that overlooked a cliff and she couldn’t believe they were only a forty minute drive from the main city.

He killed the engine and unbuckled her seat belt while she was still leaning forward, face close to the windshield, taking in the scenery.

“I’m feelin’ a bit neglected over here,” Osamu said, soft grin taking over his face as he watched her, lips parted and eyes wide.

“Sorry Samu,” she said, still looking out the glass, “it’s just so incredible here.”

“I told ya’ I knew a spot,” he teased and she intertwined her hand with his.

He pulled her arm towards him as leaned over the middle console so his lips caught her neck when she lurched towards him. Her surprised chuckle turned into a content hum, fluttering her eyes closed as he kissed the pulse point of her throat, her exposed shoulder, then where her neck met her clavicle. From there, he dragged his lips slowly to her ear and grinned when he felt her clutch at his sweater.

Nipping her ear and tracing the shell with his tongue, rough palms kneaded her thighs and his fingers played with the hem of her skirt. He let out a heavy breath when she brushed against his tightening pants and he smirked when she involuntarily shivered.

“Do ya’ like this?” he asked, mouth kissing down the expanse of her chest, pulling the hem of her shirt low.

She arched her back into him and guided his hand under her shirt and he grinned when she impatiently unhooked her bra and took it and her shirt off in one swift motion.

“Does that answer your question?”

Eyes half lidded, lips slick with spit and plump from his repeated ministrations, she had one leg folded under her and the other anchored to the floor. Fully facing him, she cocked her head to the side and dragged her eyes down his body, lingering for a moment before directing her heavy gaze at him. She leaned back against the door as he leaned forward on the middle console and she ran a hand slowly from her knee, teasing a peek under her skirt, tracing a finger around her navel, then making her way upwards, rolling a nipple with two fingers while slowly rocking her hips.

Osamu’s lips parted and his eyes flickered from her hands to her face as she brought her other hand to rub at the cotton beneath her legs. Gaze hungry, he licked his lips and rolled his neck, languidly leaning back against his door, mirroring her.

“Gonna give me a birthday show?” He rasped, slowly unbuttoning his pants and palming his length through his boxers.

Skirt bunched at the waist giving him an unhindered view of the growing wet stain between her legs and Osamu felt himself tighten at the sight. He wanted to press his nose against the ruined fabric and lap at her through her pink panties, he wanted to curl a finger in her and listen to her keel for him, he wanted to—

“Take your shirt off,” she demanded.

“I thought it was ma’ birthday,” he chuckled but does as she asks, pulling the fabric from the back of his neck. He tossed the garment to the backseat and lazily looked back at her.

The tops of her cheeks are flushed and her breasts shake with each pant. She’s worked two slender fingers from the side of her underwear and Osamu watches with rapt attention as her pretty folds are presented to him.

“Touch yourself, Samu.”

“Again with the demands,” he complained but freed himself from the confines of his boxers and matches the pace she’s set on herself.

“Fuck,” she whined, moving faster. The hand teasing her nipples moved south to pinch at her clit and Osamu couldn’t wait anymore.

He nearly launched himself to her, abdomen uncomfortably resting on top of the center console and she seemed all too satisfied with the result. He buried his face between her legs and groaned with her as he sucked and lapped at her overstimulated bundle of nerves through soaked cotton.

“Itadakimasu,” he growled and she rolled her eyes at the line.

Long languid licks interspersed with quick flicks of his tongue, he took her right to the edge of her orgasm. Her thighs clenched around his head while her nails dragged through his gray hair and she rocked her hips against his mouth. Toe curling heat had her buck helplessly against his tongue, rough hands gripping her in place as she reached her peak, but at the last second, he pulled away.

Her gasp was lost with the loud bang his head made as it slammed against the car ceiling and he let out a string of curses as he tried to fit in the passenger’s seat with her. She half stands, leaning back on the glove department as he sat down and she couldn’t help but giggle when he cursed at how slowly the seat was reclining back.

But just as quick, he grabbed her by the hands and has her straddle him. The seat is narrow but neither of them mind as he slowly entered her. She gripped at the back of his head as he teased a nipple and sucked constellations across her chest while her other hand gripped the grab handle, giving her more leverage.

Osamu slowly rocked into her and he captured her moans in a kiss. He gave her a second to adjust to his length before slamming into her, head falling back into the headrest as he watched her bounce above him.

Beautiful, was all he could think. Hair wild around her shoulders, a glistening sheen of perspiration across her forehead and chest, and the incredible sound of her slick around him. He was in heaven.

He slid his thumb between her parted lips and she immediately began to suck. She bobbed her head back and forth while giving kitten licks at the tip and nipping the underside of his thumb.

“Good girl,” he cooed as he pressed his finger further back in her throat and watched as her eyes rolled back and she rocked her hips even faster against his.

Removing his thumb and making a show of putting it in his mouth, he pressed the wet digit against her clit and grinned as her moans became louder.

The sweet call of his name as she begged him to make her finish led him to snap his hips up, rubbing against the spongy bit of her inner walls and he held her close to his chest as they came undone together.

Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead on her shoulder and watched as a rivulet of sweat ran down the valley of her breasts and he shifted his hips forward, just now noticing the dull ache in his thighs. She shuddered against him and he kissed her shoulder, her cheek, then her other cheek.

“We really have to thank Tsumu for the car,” she said, chuckling.

“Yeah?” he questioned, running his blunt nails across her back, “should we tell him what we used it for?”

She scrunched her nose and Osamu’s heart clenched too. Wrapping her arms around his neck, soaking in the warmth of his warm body, her lips ghosted the side of his cheek and he shuddered at the tingles running down his back with the contact.

“Happy Birthday, ‘Samu,” she whispered sweetly.

Rocking into her again just to hear her breath tick, he nestled his head into her neck and smiled.

#osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #osamu fluff #osamu smut #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #osamu scenarios #osamu fic #atsumu fanfic #atsumu fluff #miya twins #atsumu x oc #hq smut #haikyuu smut #deviled.egg #miya osamu #hq osamu

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dovechim · 5 years

Text

lost in the funhouse (m)

⇥ 9.7k

⇥ warnings: psychological manipulation, spitting, slight blood play, oral (both receiving) unprotected sex (y’all know to wrap it right), impregnation risk, cream pie, dirty talk, name calling, Daddy kink

tldr; prisoner Namjoon is here

⇥ a/n: if you had any plans for the Valentine’s Day weekend, throw them all out the window. Happy Valentines Day from yours truly 💌

You’re used to the world being in different shades of grey. Both in the literal and figurative sense. Everything around you is doused in that dull colour, from the austere steel gates every 20 metres, to the security guards in their grey uniforms twirling their batons and sporting the big guns. This place is crawling with security cameras, with the state-of-the-art technology designed to keep the madhouse in order.

Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane. A slightly ironic name, seeing as one couldn’t find an inkling of hope in this place no matter how hard they tried.

The prison orderlies bow as you walk past them, and you give them a smile in greeting. The staff here are nice enough. The security guards always treat you with respect, but you’ve seen the way they rough up an inmate who steps out of line. Though you suppose they’re trained to only react that way to the criminally insane. Still, they keep order in the asylum, and with the rowdier inmates that you see, you feel a bit better knowing that they have your back, although you could never believe that any of these people would ever hurt you.

Like you said, your world isn’t black and white, and neither are these people. They come in many shades of grey, and it’s your job to see them for who they really are, not for what the world has labelled them as.

Your heels click along the concrete floor as you walk past the cells of all the inmates, braving the catcalls and hoots along the way. In your white coat that conceals your figure, you feel secure, confident, not in the least bothered by the rowdiness and lewd comments thrown at you. The pristine white of your coat stands out amongst all the grey like a blinding light, painfully out of place, and the prisoners know that. They jeer as you walk past them, but you only give them your angelic smile, greeting them and asking how they’ve been.

You are late to your 2pm slot. A last-minute scheduling, a case that has been dropped by many junior psychiatrists until it was handed to someone more senior, like you. You’d thoroughly familiarized yourself with his case file last night, but when you step inside the cell that you always use for consultations, nothing prepares you to face your newest patient.

He is not bedraggled or covered with the dirt and grime that seems to be everywhere in this place. On the contrary, his blonde hair is slicked back neatly, parted on the side and revealing his forehead. His glasses are perched high up on his nose, even his prison issued jumpsuit seems to fit his lithe frame perfectly. The grey material is pulled tight over his shoulders, rolled up to his elbows in a manner which emphasizes his biceps. The front of it has its buttons undone to reveal a thin, white undershirt that clings to his chest. The rest of his body, however, is concealed behind the desk he is sitting behind.

But what pulls you in is the look on his face. Many of your patients are often broken products of the system, some of them don’t say a single word with you during your session, others ramble on incoherently. One of your patients had a condition where they’d laugh uncontrollably every other sentence. It’s all part and parcel of your job, nothing you haven’t seen before. But this man looks… interested.

He is well put together, intelligent, bright looking eyes tracking your every movement. His hands are laced together on top of the cold metal table that might have been repurposed from an operating table. His unwavering stare unsettles you as you take your seat. For the first time since you started working in this place, you feel uncertain, like you missed that last step coming down the stairs.

For a moment, you wonder if someone looking in on this scene would be able to tell who the psychiatrist is.

“Good afternoon, Mr Kim,” you place your manila folder down on the table.

He smiles serenely at your greeting. If he is surprised at the formal way you refer to him, rather than his prisoner number, he doesn’t show it. “Hello, Doctor. Nice of you to make time for me today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you nod at him, already even more impressed with how well-spoken he is. His voice is smooth, he sounds as if he could be giving a speech at the UN.

“You know, you have quite the reputation here,” Namjoon leans back in his seat, entirely at ease as he takes in your appearance from head to toe. His stare feels intimate, and then it occurs to you that just as you are here to evaluate him, he is appraising you as well.

“Oh really? Do tell,” you are genuinely interested now. “I figure you probably have an in with the rest here. You could really be helping me out.”

“Well.. let’s see. Graduated from college at the top of your class. Could have gone on to become a prestigious surgeon, have your own hospital and all that. But no. You chose to go into psychiatry. Chose to damn yourself, sully your pretty little self working in a place like this, just to figure out madmen like me.” Namjoon says all this in a matter of fact tone, as if he were reading an instruction manual. But the scary thing is, he is spot on. “So now you spend all your time locked up in this madhouse, talking to men who think about doing the most perverse, fucked up things to you while you sit right in front of them.”

“Is that what they say, or is that what you think?” You maintain a smile on your face. You’ve heard far worse before, but you never let any of them faze you.

“You caught me there,” Namjoon’s façade breaks into a sheepish smile. “Most of it, yeah. My assessment of you, doc. The angel in the madhouse.”

“You’re right. Mostly, anyway,” you admit with an easy shrug. “I did choose psychiatry over general surgery. You’re good at reading people.”

“It’s what a psychopath like me specializes in,” he says this easily, as if he is talking about being good at math or how quick he is at learning to ride a bike. “We read people. Just from their mannerisms alone. We observe them, get into their heads, and we get inside of them. In the most intimate way possible.”

“You know, that isn’t too far from what a psychiatrist does either,” you twirl your pen, watching his eyes follow the motion like a lion stalking its prey. “You and me, we aren’t too different.”

Namjoon lets out a loud, full bellied laugh. “Oh, doll. We couldn’t be any more different. You’re so… good. A good girl. And I’m anything but.”

“What are you, then?”

Instead of answering, he fixes you with an amused look.

“People aren’t black and white, Namjoon. Just because you’re not good, doesn’t mean you are evil. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“I beg to differ. You know, here you have the guys who think they’ve done nothing wrong. In their point of view, they are the good guy, right? But then you have guys like me, guys who knowwhat they’ve done.” He leans forward now, sliding his hands along the table until you are painfully aware of how close they are to touching yours. “Who enjoy breaking people.”

You can feel his breath on your skin.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy breaking you, doll.” He finally sits back with a smile that sends the slightest hint of nerves fluttering in your stomach.

The buzzer rings, signaling the end of your session, and he gets up of his own accord, holds his hands out for the handcuffs that are slapped onto him by the prison orderlies. Before he leaves, though, he shoots you a salacious smile over his shoulder.

“See you next time, doll.”

“Tell me, doc. Aren’t you curious at all?”

“About what?”

In this room, there are only two of you. But you know that at any one point in time, there are eyes on you. There are armed guards keeping watch outside this cell, ready to strike should anything go wrong.

“I said last session that I was thinking of doing the most perverse and disgusting things to you while you sit in front of me, all prim and proper. Don’t you want to know what they are?”

He wants to elicit some sort of reaction out of you. Namjoon is watching you closely for any reaction at all, but you know his tactics all too well. He is trying every trick in the book, starting with the one he thinks will work best. Practically dangling bait in front of you, hoping that you will bite.

Today, he is wrapped up in a straitjacket, his arms crossed over his front because of a transgression committed earlier this week that deemed him a threat. Yet, his mannerisms aren’t the slightest bit affected. He speaks with the confidence of a foreign diplomat, his eyes roving about your person as if he owns you.

“I thought you said it was the others who were thinking of me like that. Not you.”

Snagged, Namjoon lets out a small chuckle. “You got me there, doll.”

His admission does not fool you. Someone like Kim Namjoon wouldn’t let themselves get backed into a corner or admit something that they weren’t already willing to give away. It’s all just a game to him.

“You’re so pretty. As always,” Namjoon smiles, a charming grin that makes your heart beat a little faster. “You know, we all love seeing you. It’s the only thing that brightens our days in here.”

Seeing him face to face like this, it’s so hard to differentiate him from the Kim Namjoon that you know from his casefile. Multiple homicides, drug use, violent crime, and worst of all, the torture he subjected his victims to.

Looking at him like this, he could be your English professor in college.

“Do me a favour will you? Just one, tiny little thing,” he implores, an innocent look on his face.

Wariness creeps in at the edges of your consciousness, but you find yourself pushing it away.

“It depends on what you’re asking for.”

“My favourite colour is purple.” His next statement catches you even more off guard, because you expected something outrageous like demanding to shorten his sentence or get him on parole. “But everything is just so fucking grey in here. The only spot of colour we- Iget to see is you.”

He leans forward, with some difficulty now with his straitjacket. Namjoon’s voice has dropped to an intimate whisper, his eyes dipping down to linger on your lips. It prompts you to lean forward as well so that you can catch his next words.

“Wear something purple for me, won’t you, babydoll? I just need some colour in my life,” he begs so prettily, and it’s such an innocent request, you can’t find anything insidious in it. “But for our sessions only. It’ll be our little secret.”

His voice trails off, and you can see the hint of possessiveness in his eyes that sends a thrill down your spine, that holds dark promises of what would happen if you wore that colour for someone else.

The buzzer rings. He doesn’t wait for a confirmation from you, just gets up obediently and turns to the guards. The heavy doors close, and you are left alone in the cold, sterile room.

“Dr _____... I live for these moments with you.” Kim Namjoon isn’t his usual, composed self today. His eyes are alight, dancing with mirth the moment you walk into the cell.

He spots the lavender blouse that you have on today, covered by your doctor’s coat, of course. Namjoon only has a few seconds to take in the lemon-yellow pencil skirt that you have on before you take a seat opposite him. He is smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

“Thank you for honouring my request,” he says with another charming smile, and today because the straitjacket is off, he reaches across the table with his hands, long and slim fingers laced together.

“It was a minor inconvenience, of course,” you sigh dramatically. “Didn’t have anything purple in my wardrobe, I realized. Had to go on a shopping spree and treat myself for the first time in a long while.”

“I’m sorry you enjoyed yourself because of me,” Namjoon banters back, and you giggle with your hand over your mouth.

He watches you laugh with a smile that crinkles the corners of his mouth, emphasizing his dimples.

“What is it like outside, doctor?” He asks with a beguiling smile, tilting his head as he watches you digest the question. “What’s the best thing you love about being outside? Is it the colour of the sky, or the warmth of the sun on your skin?”

Again, his questions are so innocent, that you can’t possibly believe how many people he’s tortured and murdered. How many of his own gang members he killed. Kim Namjoon’s innocent dimples are on full display as he searches your expression.

“I like… I like how the sky is boundless. At any one time, if I look up at it, I feel… free. Like I can go anywhere I want to.” Your thoughts wander, taking you outside of this sterile, heavily guarded prison cell until you can almost feel the breeze on your cheeks. But then, the heavy clank of a prison door somewhere outside brings you back to reality, and you realise what you’ve just said in front of someone who’s been sentenced to this mental asylum for life.

A part of you expects him to lunge across the table for your throat. But Kim Namjoon has not moved a single muscle. Instead, the smile on his face is ever present, dimples and all, and you can’t help but detect something sinister in it. But instead of making you feel uneasy, it thrillsyou.

Is this what it feels like to be dancing with the devil?

He lets out a contented sigh, as if he’s living in the memories you just described. “So innocent, doctor. That’s what I like about you. You remind me of how the world would look like if everything was good.”

Somehow, his approval feels good. It feels right.

“Do me a favour, will you?” Namjoon opens his eyes from his brief escape into fantasy. “Dance for me, little swan.”

“Dance?” You hesitate. “I can’t dance… I don’t know how to…”

“Then twirl,” he says, not giving you time to fumble about in your own lack of self-esteem. “Twirl for me, pretty thing.”

You reluctantly get up, seeing the hope in his eyes as he watches your every move. You are more self-conscious than you’ve ever been in this place, especially so when he bids you to take off your doctor’s coat. Without it, without the sense of validation and authority it affords you, you begin to feel like the tables have turned between you and Kim Namjoon. That really, he’s the one evaluating you.

You leave your coat on the back of the chair. Placing your feet together, you start to spin slowly, feeling the brush of your skirt against your thighs elevate your heart rate. You go faster, feeling the breeze of your own making caress your hair. All this while you are aware of his eyes on you, tracking your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. A laugh escapes your lips as you put your arms out for balance; but all it takes is one misstep, and suddenly you find yourself in the arms of a mass murderer.

Kim Namjoon sets you upright again, his lithe arms feel strong as you clutch his biceps. His frame towers over you, and it is only then that you realise how much power he exudes, just from his aura alone. How did he even move that quickly?

“Careful, Doctor. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, now would we?” The beats of your heart count off the seconds that he holds you in his arms, and it feels like an eternity before he lets you go. “Only I get to do that. Only I can hurt you, babydoll.”

His eyes dip to your lips, and he places his hand on your chin, running a thumb along your bottom lip. You feel the pad of his thumb dampen with your saliva, and you can hardly breathe.

“You would look good with red lipstick,” he comments casually, dropping his hand from your face and taking a step back.

As if on cue, the buzzer rings, and the prison orderlies rush in to corral him into his handcuffs, lead him back to his cage. He keeps his eyes on you as he is dragged out of the room, on the way your chest heaves as you struggle to catch your breath.

A knock sounds at the door of your office. A little hesitant, but more insistent the second time round.

“Doctor? You’re late for your session with Prisoner 120994.” It’s the intern who does the administrative scheduling for the psychiatrists, Jeon Jeongguk. The number catches you off guard for a moment, until you connect the dots. You haven’t thought of Kim Namjoon as Prisoner 120994 for the longest time.

You take a moment longer as you stare at your reflection in the small hand mirror, contemplating the red lipstick on your desk. But it clashes with your violet cardigan, and the whole look is just messy.

The knock comes again, and you hastily throw off your cardigan, apply your lipstick, and gather your white coat.

“Dr _____, you’ll be la- oh. Um, Prisoner 120994 is waiting, Dr _____.” Jeongguk awkwardly swings the door open wider so that you can get past him. “You look… you look different today. New lipstick?”

“Just trying something new,” you shrug it off casually as he follows behind you like a puppy.

“Not only today, you’ve been looking different lately!” Jeongguk is quick to add on.

You are almost halfway to your consultation cell, but Jeongguk is still following you. He doesn’t let up until you stand before the armed guards. They open the door, and you see that Namjoon is already seated in his usual seat. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of you, his usual charming smile primed to greet you, but it fades when he sees Jeongguk.

“… the new style looks really good on you!” Jeongguk is bright eyed as he grins at you.

You cast him a cold glare. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work, intern? I don’t need an escort to walk me to my sessions.”

Without waiting for a response, you enter the cell, the door slamming behind you. Shooting Namjoon an apologetic smile, you sit down across him, arranging your files on the cold metal table in front of you.

“Who was that?”

“Oh, it was…” your voice trails off upon seeing the dark look on his face. “It was our admin intern. He’s young, so he’s still pretty immature. But he gets work done, so…”

Namjoon is no longer interested in your answer. Instead, he is appraising your person, from the way you nervously arrange the papers on the desk, to your inability to meet his gaze.

“The lipstick doeslook good on you, Doctor,” he relents finally, and you are able to relax for the first time since you stepped foot in this cell a few moments ago. His gaze feels more intimate than ever as he practically eye-fucks you, lingering on the low neckline of your light blue strappy top. “But it seems like you wanted Jeongguk to see it instead of me.”

“No! Jeongguk is… he’s no one. No one compared to you,” Feeling like a scolded child, your cheeks heat up in shame.

“Aren’t you forgetting something else, too?” Namjoon is relentless, raising a brow at your outfit of choice today.

At once, you jump to your own defense, but your voice trails off in uncertainty. “It clashed with the lipstick! And so I didn’t know…”

“Did it?” He expresses doubt, his eyes still eating up every inch of exposed skin on your chest. It ignites a fire in your lower belly, makes the entire room heat up.

“But I wore something else that’s purple,” you’re quick to continue, eager to earn back his approval.

His eyebrow perks up with a lazy, lethal interest, like a jaguar flicking its tail, contemplating a potential kill. “What is that, babydoll?”

Your heart is in your throat. Knowing exactly where the security cameras are located in this room, you angle your body as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Then, you lean forward ever so deliberately until you’re sure that he can get a good peek of your lilac lace bra down your shirt, and the smirk of approval sends adrenaline singing through your veins.

This is so wrong. You could be fired for this.

But then why does being wrong feel so right?

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he lets out a single, vehement curse, his eyes unable to leave that sweet spot of your cleavage pushed together by your bra. “Today it’s your bra, but next time… next time I’ll be sucking on your pretty pink nipples.”

Hearing him praise you is the best feeling in the world. And even better is how he can’t take his eyes off you.

Taking advantage of the fact that the security cameras in this room are only filming your back, you reach into the sleeve of your coat and lower the straps of your top, so that it falls down your chest, fully exposing your breasts in your lilac lace bra to his view.

“Now I’m not forgetting anything, am I?” You voice is breathless as you watch his eyes travel greedily across your cleavage, licking his lips. “We should continue our session like this.”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle. “Oh, babydoll. You think I can concentrate on what you’re saying if you look like that?”

“Then don’t,” the words come out of your mouth, and you didn’t even realise you were this brave.

“Remember those perverse, disgusting things I mentioned during our first session, Doctor?” He leans forward for a better look at your breasts, watching as they begin to heave up and down because of your heavy breathing.

“Yes. I want to hear them.”

“You’re so… good,” Namjoon whispers, as if to himself. “I want to hurt you so, so bad, babydoll. Fuck every single hole you have until you are brimming with cum. I want to tie you up to the bed, legs spread permanently and make you my little cum slut. Just a receptacle for holding my cum, and if you dare to let any spill out, I’ll choke you with my cock until you pass out. When I finally let your pretty little pussy have my cock, it won’t be vanilla sex like you’re used to with that loser Jeongguk. I’ll brand you with my cum, and you’ll be my breeding slut. Forever reduced to carrying my babies. I will own you. I will break you so good, baby doll, and I will hurt you really, really bad.”

“I can take it,” you answer eagerly. “Anything you want to do to me. I can take it. I want it.”

He laughs again, almost in delight at your compliance. “So obedient. So innocent. You don’t know how badly I can hurt you, babydoll.”

You shake your head vehemently, leaning forward to offer him a view of your cleavage. “I don’t care. I want it.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Namjoon’s face. “If you really want it, babygirl…”

“Yes, I want it,” he has reduced you to incoherency.

“… you’re going to have to help me with it.” Namjoon reaches forward to trace a pattern on the top of your hand, and it feels like your nipples are so hard, they’re aching for his touch. The single point of contact between you and him has your entire body heating up, your thighs rubbing against each other, and your panties drenched.

You nod immediately. “Anything. Whatever you need.”

“If we’re going to fuck, we need a place where we won’t be watched. As much as I want to hurt you, that sight is for my eyes only. I don’t like sharing my toys with others.”

“I understand-“

“Now, there’s going to be a system maintenance next Monday, exactly three days from now,” Namjoon continues calmly, his eyes razor sharp as they lock in on you, no longer clouded with lust. “All the security systems will be offline until the first bedcheck at 6am. At exactly 3.05am, there will be a change in shift, and there won’t be anyone watching my cell. It takes 9 minutes. You need to come and get me out of my cell. And then… then we can talk about how bad you’re willing to get hurt.”

“How will I… how will I get the key?” It doesn’t even occur to you to question how he knows all this information.

“You’re smart, babygirl. You’ll figure it out,” he strokes your chin with his thumb, admiring how your red lipstick smears when he brushes it against your lips. “Already a mess for me. I can’t wait to wreck you, baby girl.”

“I’ll do it,” you reassure him, only to be rewarded with his approving smile.

“Cover yourself, babydoll. The buzzer is about to go off.” Namjoon sits back in his seat as you snap back into reality, following his instructions as you pull the straps of your top back on your shoulders. He looks a little sorry to see you covered back up.

As predicted, the buzzer rings, and the doors fling open.

The guards come in to take him away, and you don’t even question his near supernatural ability to keep track of time so accurately, even though there isn’t a clock in this room. Even you lose track of time during your sessions with him, forgetting to look at your watch that you keep hidden.

All you can see is him.

“Everything okay? You’ve been stirring that coffee for the past five minutes.” A voice jerks you out of your daze.

Min Yoongi, the head prison warden, strolls in lazily, twirling his all-access card in his hand. You almost salivate at the sight of it. It’s all too convenient. His access card is the only way for you to get into the room with all the keys to the prisoners’ cells.

He slips it into his back pocket carelessly.

There’s no one in the common pantry that all the staff in the mental asylum share. It’s the perfect chance.

You turn around, immediately spotting how his eyes are drawn to the low neckline of your top. So the rumours were true. Just a little bit of cleavage and the man will roll over like a puppy begging for a belly rub.

“Just tired, is all,” you smile jovially, dropping the empty coffee sachet on the floor not so accidentally. When you bend over to pick it up, you make sure he gets a good look down your shirt.

As you straighten up, you catch a glimpse of his dazed stare. You take it as an opportunity to step closer so that your bodies are almost pressed up against each other.

“Say… what are you doing this weekend? Are you free, by any chance?” You let your eyes linger on his lips, angling your head so that more of your neck is exposed to him. You can feel his breath, hot and heavy on your skin.

“Th-this weekend? Su..sure, I’m free, yeah,” he stumbles over his words, hands coming up to hover around your ass, still unsure of himself.

You gently coax his hands, his right hand resting on your butt cheek, and the other on your waist. He gropes your ass immediately, unable to control himself. In return, you giggle playfully, sliding your hand down to his ass in a show of flirting as well.

Closing the gap between your bodies, you press your breasts against him, lowering your lips to his ear. “You should come over. My roommate is out and we’ll have the whole place… to- our-selves.”

You emphasize the last three syllables, noticing the way his breathing picks up as a result. You deftly slide your hand out of his pocket, patting his ass as you wink at him. “Call me!”

As he watches you go with lustful eyes, your step has an extra flourish, hips swaying to give him a good show. But what he can’t see is the satisfaction on your face as you kiss the access card, sliding it into your bra for safe keeping.

Having worked in Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane for the past nine years, you know your way around it like the back of your hand. The guard routes, security camera positions, emergency exits. Basically, you have the map of it memorized.

Earlier that week, you signed yourself up for the graveyard shift, which of course no one wanted. No one even asked why you wanted that shift, all too glad to clock off and leave you alone in your office.

The silence is deafening as you watch the minute hand crawl closer and closer to the ‘1’ mark. At 3.04am, you get up silently, having dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans, with sneakers to go along with it. You let yourself out of your office, clutching the access card as you make your way to the control room where all the keys are kept.

From your office to the control room is only 50 steps. Less than a minute later, you are in and out, grabbing the keys from a hook labelled ‘120994’.

From the control room to his cell is another 80 steps. It takes you one minute to get to his cell, and you see him pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. He stops as he spots you, his features lighting up with a dimpled grin.

Another 10 seconds to unlock his cell. And then he is out.

The caged beast is no longer so.

You expected him to sweep you into his embrace at once, kiss you until you can’t remember your name. But all he does is take your hand in his, breaking into a run and forcing you to keep up with him. Your footsteps are silent as he leads you down the rabbit’s hole, twisting and turning until you lose track of where you’re going.

Down flights and flights of stairs, out of a door labelled emergency exit that you never came across before. And then it is down a dark tunnel that never seems to end.

When he finally stops, you are out of breath. “Wh-where are we?”

Namjoon is not winded in the slightest. It’s obvious that he is at peak physical condition, and he turns to you, front buttons of his grey prison issued jumpsuit undone. “We’re underground, babydoll. A place where they’ll never find us.”

A quick look around tells you that this might have been a medical ward a long time ago. Operating tables, not unlike the one you have in your consultation room, are strewn about. Only thing is, these tables have limb restraints attached to them. Broken syringes lie on the floor, electroconvulsive therapy machines are abandoned in the corner. Years of disuse has not done this room any good.

You should feel vulnerable in a place like this that could have come from one of Stephen King’s novels. Trapped in close proximity with a madman who prowls the room’s perimeter.

But all you feel is exhilaration and anticipation for what is to come.

You watch his biceps tense as he runs his fingers through his hair, turning around to face you. “A place where you’re all mine.”

He stalks towards you, eyes glinting in the darkness. “We have all the time in the world, babydoll. And I told you before. I’m going to break you so, so bad.��

“I want it,” your voice comes out in a near whisper as he backs you toward the wall, caging you in with his lithe arms.

His broad shoulders pin you against the wall, and he forces your chin up so that he can finally kiss you. Namjoon’s lips are rough, his teeth not showing mercy as he owns your mouth. His hands roam the expanse of your body, groping first your ass, then palming your breasts in his large hands.

He is like a drug you can’t get enough of. Every lick of his tongue is intoxicating, his lips pull you in deeper into your descent. There’s no going back now. But of course, you knew this all along.

Namjoon pulls away with swollen lips, toned chest panting as he picks you up around the waist. His strength only serves to make you even more beguiled by him, and you have to touch his biceps to feel how they tense and strain under your weight.

He treats you like a ragdoll as he tosses you onto the metal table, climbing onto of you and spreading your thighs with his legs. Namjoon takes a moment to admire how pretty you look with your hair all splayed out across the metal table. In a single motion, he strips your body of your black hoodie with a crazed look in his eyes, annoyed with not being able to see and touch your bare skin. He brings both of your hands up by your head, straps them in with the restraints before you even realise it.

Namjoon has his thumb on your chin. “Open,” he orders, and you obediently part your lips.

He spits right into your mouth, admiring the way his saliva is collected on the back of your tongue.

“Swallow, then show me,” he demands, and you swallow down his spit, opening to show him an empty mouth. “That’s my babydoll.”

He kisses down your body, looking for the first time, unhinged as he feasts on the sweetness of your skin. Namjoon fascinates himself by spitting on your breasts, watching his spittle run down the crevices of your body, into your cleavage, soaked up by your lavender lace bra.

Then, in a sudden movement, he tears your bra to pieces, the underwire ripping your skin and making you gasp in exhilaration. The raw display of strength, the primal desire in his eyes as he sees the crimson stain on your pretty, smooth skin. One finger swipes across the newly made wound, gathering the blood and bringing it to his mouth.

“Sweeter than I imagined,” he says as if in a trance, mesmerized by the way your blood tastes.

Then he dips his finger in the crimson liquid once more, tracing patterns down your belly as he caresses your waist, until he comes to the waistband of your jeans.

“I had hoped you would be in slightly more suitable attire… but I guess this is for practicality’s sake,” he muses, flicking open the button with practiced ease. Namjoon slides your jeans down your legs, hands lingering on every inch of exposed skin as he goes. He tosses your jeans somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your flimsy lace panties that are already soaked to the core.

He brushes two fingers experimentally against the wet patch. “Tell me darling. How would you like to live dangerously?”

When he pulls your panties down, you are so wet that you can smell yourself. Embarrassment heats your cheeks as Namjoon scents your arousal, biting his lower lip in response.

“Look at you. Already so wet, your pussy is begging to be destroyed.” He spreads your pussy lips with two fingers, exposing your delicate insides lewdly as he examines you thoroughly. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Y-yours, it’s yours. Forever. If you want it.” You respond immediately to the warning tap on your inner thigh.

Namjoon chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that you can feel directly in your core. “We’ll see how well it can take cock first. I’m going to tear your pussy apart, then we’ll see if you still want to offer it to me.”

When he reaches your ankles, he imparts a kiss to each one before he straps them in. You can feel the leather restraints tight against your skin, so that you are left spread-eagled on the metal table.

“So perfect,” Namjoon smiles to himself, licking your essence off his fingertips. “Just waiting for me to break you.”

Every second that you don’t feel his touch on your body is a moment of torture. “Namjoon,” you sob, arching your breasts to the ceiling.

“Beg for it,” he whispers, slapping your breasts roughly so that he can watch them bounce under his force. He pinches your nipples hard, reveling in your screams as he tweaks your pleasure. “All you have to do is say the word. ‘Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty…”

“Please,” you gasp, thighs aching with the strain of trying to rub against each other. You can feel yourself dripping onto the table underneath you already. “Pretty please.”

“Good girl,” Namjoon sighs in delight, taking in the trails of dried blood on your tummy. Your hardened nipples are begging to be tasted, but he isn’t done with them yet.

He spots what he’s looking for on the floor a couple of paces away. Leaving your side to pick them up, he attaches the electric clamps onto your nipples, causing you to wail out in pain and pleasure. Of course, there’s no current active between them, since this place has been abandoned for god knows how long, but this will have to do.

“Now, let me eat my babydoll’s pussy.” He finally invites himself to feast on the delicacy in between your legs that he’s been dreaming of ever since the first time he set eyes on you.

The first lick has you thrashing on the table, tears leaking and streaking your mascara down your cheeks. His tongue continues to probe your clit, circling it torturously as two fingers plunge themselves into you without warning.

Having this intelligent, well-spoken man who could probably run for president in between your legs makes you heady with desire. The lust filled moans reverberate in the empty, abandoned medical ward, mixing with the filthy sounds of Namjoon as he tongues your cunt. Two lithe fingers are buried deep, thrusting and seeking out that sensitive spot inside you.

The word slips out before you realise it. “Daddy… let me cum. Wanna cum.”

He pauses at this, letting out a harkened laugh with your juices still dripping from his mouth. “A pretty little girl like you, with a Daddy kink? Oh, this is too perfect. I’ll fuck all the daddy issues right out of you, babydoll.”

And then his tongue is back on your clit, he adds another finger to your cunt to stretch you out even more. Your thighs are twitching, heels banging against the metal table as you convulse under his touch.

“Don’t cum.” He commands, slapping your clit sharply. “You’re not allowed to cum until Daddy says.”

“Please, please stop, I can’t hold it back,” you beg and please, thighs straining to close. You are almost at the edge of your orgasm, one more lick of his devious tongue would send you right over.

Namjoon gives a disappointed sigh, eyes flicking to your tear stained face. Like a predator toying with its prey, he decides to let you off just this once.

“Fine. Meanwhile, I’ll use your pretty little mouth.” A series of movements follow, and you strain your neck to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing.

And it is a glorious sight. Namjoon pushes the sleeves of his prison issued jumpsuit down his well-muscled arms, exposing the thin white shirt underneath. It clings to his defined chest, slightly matted with sweat. But the real prize comes when he pushes the jumpsuit below his waist, and you realise that underwear is probably the only thing that is not prison issued.

The sight of his long, hard cock, angry and red greets you. One hand pushes the rest of the jumpsuit down, the other strokes his length and gathers the precum on his palm to provide a better glide. He catches you staring with a smirk, his abs tensing as he puts on a show for you.

Namjoon kicks his jumpsuit off, walking to the head of the table. He strokes your cheek gently, then slaps it hard, leaving a red imprint behind. He digs his fingers into your cheeks, forcing you to tilt your head up uncomfortably to make eye contact with him.

“Open,” he says, as if you were nothing but another orifice to pleasure himself with.

You can only imagine how much he’s been dying to do this. When was the last time he got off? Your lips part obediently, offering your throat as a vessel for his pleasure.

He rests his cock on your bottom lip, smearing his precum all over your chin. Namjoon grasps himself and moves the tip of his cock to your reddened cheek, spreading the precum over the imprint of his hand. Satisfied with his handiwork, he finally slides his cock into your mouth, and then you are filled with the taste of him.

His cock is hot and heavy on your tongue, his pre cum fills your throat with its saltiness as he thrusts hard. The tip of his cock hits your throat, and you can already start to feel how raw it is as he face fucks you. His balls are hitting your face repeatedly with every thrust, so you have to close your eyes and surrender your mouth to him completely.

“Your every breath belongs to me,” Namjoon emphasizes his statement with every thrust of his cock. “If you breathe, it’ll be because I allowed you to. Got that, slut?”

He punctuates this with a slap to your breasts, causing your nipples to twinge from the clamps. Namjoon then releases the clamps and tosses them aside so that he can bend down to take an abused nipple into his mouth while he fucks your face.

Every few thrusts, Namjoon buries his cock all the way in your throat, forcing you to deepthroat him. Your throat convulses around him as spit and precum drip out the sides of your mouth. Then, he decides to push his cock all the way in and keep it there, actively depriving you of your air supply. His balls are heavy on your face, smothering you.

“Shit!” He pulls his cock away from your mouth after what seems like eternity. “You have such a good mouth for cock-sucking, babydoll. Do you ever suck Jeongguk’s cock like that? Hmmm? Tell Daddy what a cock slut you are.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No! I’m just a cockslut for you. Only you.”

Namjoon chuckles darkly, before shutting you up as he places his balls on your chin. “Shut up and suck my balls, slut.”

You lave your tongue around him, taking one of his testicles into your mouth and playing with it, careful to keep your teeth from grazing them accidentally. By now, your makeup is smeared all over your face, sticky precum coating every inch of your skin, and he has rubbed his balls and cock all over your face, treating you like a sex doll.

You can feel how heavy his balls are as you switch to the other one. Namjoon groans, almost in pain as you suck dutifully.

“Fuck, I have so much fucking cum for you, babydoll. I want to fucking drown you in cum. But the only place I’ll be putting it is in your pretty pussy. Good girls like you love having a cum filled pussy, don’t they? You can’t live unless your pussy has been well-fucked and creamed. You’ll let any random man fill your pussy with cum, won’t you?”

You make a muffled sound in your throat, and Namjoon sighs impatiently, as if anything you have to say is an inconvenience to him. He pulls his balls from your mouth. “What is it, slut?”

“I’ve- I’ve never let anyone cum inside me before-“

“Oh? Never let another man cum inside you?” He reacts with genuine surprise, slapping one breast harshly again. By now, your tits are red and swollen with his handprints all over them. “Never felt a man’s cock pulse as he paints your womb with his cum? Never felt the warmth of his semen in your pussy, travelling through your pretty little body in search of your egg?”

“Never,” you say truthfully, entirely enraptured by his dark, gleaming eyes.

For a moment, he is silent, and you almost think that you can see a glimmer of something that you haven’t quite seen before when it comes to Namjoon. It is soft, tender, but gone in a split second before you had a chance to ascertain that you saw it for real.

“Then I’ll be the first, babydoll.” The luscious grin is back as he makes his way in between your legs, cock probing your inner thighs and staining them with pre-cum. “Beg for my cock.”

You perform for him, as if on cue. “Please, please, please, fuck me. Fuck me so hard and break me, Daddy. I can take it, I promise. Be the first man to cum inside me.”

“What would your parents say if they saw you like this, hmmm?” Namjoon runs the tip of his cock against your slit, slapping it a few times. “All bound up, legs spread, mouth used and begging to get fucked by a madman. Begging for a criminal’s cock.”

Your laugh sounds foreign to your ears. It resounds in the dim room, it is unhinged, on the verge of catatonic.

“They would be proud of me,” you say with a wide grin, and it prompts a belly laugh from Namjoon.

“Give it to me, Daddy,” you bite your bottom lip, canting your hips up in invitation. “I want it all.”

Namjoon gazes down at you with a look of deranged pride at your bruised and broken body, finally feeding you his cock one inch at a time. He spreads your pussy with two fingers as he thrusts the rest of the way in, marrying your hips together with a flex of his thick thighs.

“So fucking tight, I’m going to have so much fun ruining this pussy,” Namjoon all but cackles as he begins to fuck you, every stroke deep and purposeful.

You can only giggle, all caution thrown to the wind as you watch the sweat start to collect on his body. “I’m already broken, Daddy. Use me as you please.”

So Namjoon doesn’t stand on courtesy. He pumps in and out of your cunt, watching your breasts bounce violently from the force of his thrusts. Your walls mold around his cock as if you were made for him, made to take his fucking like his very own plaything.

He places his hands on either side of your waist as he ruts into you like a filthy animal, and you can see from the way his muscles strain and flex that he is putting every single ounce of energy he has into fucking your pussy. Namjoon’s eyes glimmer with a primordial urge, and you let yourself fantasise that you are his last meal. That he is an inmate placed on death row, and his last, dying wish is to fuck a baby into you.

Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Namjoon slaps your cheek hard.

“What were you thinking about, slut?” He demands, keeping up the brutal pace as the head of his cock assaults your cervix with every thrust.

“M-making you a baby daddy,” you confess with a sinful leer, mouth open and gasping in pain as he slams into your cervix again.

“Oh? Babydoll read my mind,” Namjoon’s lips curl into a nefarious smile. “Ever since you walked into my cell, all I wanted to do is get you pregnant with my child. Fill you up with so much cum so that there’s no way you won’t get pregnant by the time I’m done with you.”

“Do it, please,” you beg, pussy dripping at the thought of him making you heavy and round with his child. It would be your greatest pleasure to carry his baby, to feel a part of him grow inside you, to walk around in public carrying the baby of an insane criminal.

“I’m gonna make you remember how well I broke you,” Namjoon growls into your skin, his voice is a deep rumble as he brands you with his cock. His girth feels as if it is splitting you apart, you can feel the head of his cock so deep, that if you were to touch your stomach, you might feel his cock there. “For the rest of your life, babydoll. I’m gonna cum so deep in your womb, gonna put a baby right here.”

His hand comes to rest on your lower stomach.

“Then I’m going to let you go with a womb full of my cum, and you’re going to walk out of this place with my baby inside you. You’re going to grow so big and swollen that when people see you, they’ll know you’ve been fucked by a psychopath,” Namjoon licks a stripe up your neck, his teeth sinking into the lobe of your ear. “Inseminated by a madman. Bred by a criminal.”

“I’ll give you all the babies you want,” you are desperate to feel him pulse inside you. “Visit you in prison and let Daddy knock me up over and over. Be your little prison breeding slut.”

A derisive chuckle comes from him as he fondles your clit. At this stage, you are so fucked out, cock drunk and desperate for his cum. You couldn’t possibly have any idea what he’s planning.

“That’s right, babydoll. Now stay still and let Daddy do his job. We only get one chance, so Daddy’s got to make sure he fucks a baby into you now.” The urgency in his voice is lost on you as his hips start to hammer into your cunt, driving his cock so deep until you are crying from the intricate mix of pain and pleasure.

You have no idea how you managed to get this far without cumming, but the tension in your lower belly is right at the brink of snapping. Still, you wait for his permission, and judging from his breathing, he is getting close. His thrusts are getting sloppy, his face buried into your shoulder as he chases after his release.

“Cum for me now. Squeeze my cock like the whore you are,” Namjoon breathes into your shoulder, finally giving you the go ahead.

His resounding groan as he fucks into your tightening pussy encourages you to let him hear how good he’s making you feel. Your screams of his name echo inside the abandoned room as your pussy clamps down around his cock, trying its best to milk him dry of every drop of cum.

“Milk me, you fucking cumslut, squeeze me dry,” he demands, slamming into you one last time before he releases with a loud groan, every pulse of his cock sending spurts of semen deep into your womb where it belongs. His fingers tighten around your thighs, leaving behind blue black bruises. “You better get every drop of cum if you want to get pregnant, whore.”

And you work for his cum, the aftershocks of your orgasm making your walls clench around him rhythmically. He is so deep, you can feel the spurts of his cum directly at your cervix, bathing it generously as your womb swallows it down greedily.

When you feel as if the spurts of cum have stopped, you expect him to pull out. But you realise that his cock still remains hard in your well fucked cunt. Namjoon’s chest is heaving, sweat dripping off every crevice of his muscled torso as he slowly begins to thrust his cock in and out of your creamy pussy.

“Daddy’s got to fuck his cum inside your womb,” he says with his eyes glued to the mess between your legs, watching his semen froth up on his cock. “Be a good doll and don’t let any of it escape.”

His thrusts are slower, but deeper now as he makes sure that his balls hit your ass with every thrust. You can feel how sloppy your pussy is, even if you can’t see the cum on Namjoon’s cock. Your inner thighs are wet and sticky, and you whine like a spoiled toddler.

“Daddy… you’re fucking me so hard.It’s all coming out,” you say with a pout. “How am I gonna give Daddy a baby if he fucks all his cum out of my pussy?”

A definitive throb of his cock inside you tells you that you hit his soft spot. “Daddy’ll have to fill you up again then babydoll.”

This time, a finger circles your clit, pulling the knot in your belly tighter as he fucks into you. You tense up immediately, feeling incredibly sloppy as he fucks the cum deeper into your pussy.

“Can I cum? Daddy, can I cum?” You beg, feeling his cock twitching as he hits you with deep thrusts.

“Cum for me, babydoll. Pull all that sweet cum deep inside your womb where it belongs. Give us a baby,” he cajoles, and the squeezing of your sweet, cum slippery walls in your orgasm rewards him. “Fuck, take my fucking cum. Take all of it!”

For the second time that night, you feel his cum flood your pussy, and he tilts your hips up as he roars his pleasure, fucking your cervix raw and open. His thrusts slow as his spurts of cum weaken, and soon, he is plugging your pussy up with his cum.

“My pretty babydoll,” he runs his tongue up the side of your face, kissing the side of your mouth. “Took my cum so well. It’ll be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant after tonight.”

“Daddy…” you eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

He gives you a final kiss on your forehead, smearing the precum on your face one last time before he pushes himself away from you.

You hear him fiddling with the restraints at your wrists and ankles. A moment later, your limbs are free, and you adjust your position so that your thighs are close together, cradling the precious gift of life that Hehas bestowed you with.

“Rest, babydoll.”

You hear his voice getting more and more distant as he moves about the room. Attempting to open your eyes to follow his movement, you see him rummaging for something in the drawers, and then the sound of paper tearing.

“Wh- what are you…?”

Then, he is back by your side, a large, warm hand on your forehead, forcing you back down again. A pinprick on your arm, and then everything goes black.

When you wake up, it is to darkness and musk.

And god, the ache in your entire body.

You move your legs, grimacing at the stickiness in between them. When you sit up, you can feel globs of cum leak down your inner thigh. You run your fingers through it reverently, bringing it to your lips for a taste and closing your eyes in sheer pleasure as you lick every bit of His cum.

How much time has passed? How long were you out cold for?

Glancing around, you slowly recall the events that transpired. The warmth in your slightly swollen belly that reminds you of the life that you have been tasked to nurture. The used needle on the ground beside you that is probably the reason why you were knocked out.

A giggle passes your lips as you scan the room for any traces of Him, but of course, he isn’t here anymore. But it doesn’t matter. He’s long gone, escaped into the night like thin air.

But he chose you.

You want to jump up and down, hug yourself in delight. But you mustn’t spill any more of His cum. You have to make sure it takes, make sure your belly becomes swollen with his child, just as he intended, so that he can see from wherever he is.

You throw your head back as catatonic laughter takes over you, peals of it resounding in the dark basement of the abandoned medical ward.

EPILOGUE

Your lips curl up in a secret smile when they ask. Words of ‘Congratulations! Who’s the baby daddy?’ only make your heart race.

Your swollen stomach is increasing in size with His gift, slowly, day by day.

Min Yoongi’s curious eyes linger on the swell of your belly. “You know… you never gave me your number that night.”

But you ignore him, stirring your coffee serenely.

“And, next up on the nine pm news. Sightings of mass murderer Kim Namjoon in the vicinity have been reported, but two months after his escape from the Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane, police still haven’t been able to track him down. The state has initiated a full-scale manhunt for the criminal, but all efforts have proved to be futile…”

You stroke your belly with a peaceful smile, looking at his picture on the television screen. Handsome as ever.

They should just give up. No one in this entire world can find Kim Namjoon. Not even you.

But you’re not worried. Because you know he’ll come back for you, and meanwhile, you’ll proudly show the world how swollen you are because of Him. And when he does come back, it’ll be to fuck another baby into you.

Because after all, you are his chosen. His one and only.

#bts smut #bts rm #namjoon smut #bts namjoon smut #btssmutclub

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erensnubs · 3 years

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

Colt Grice x F! Reader Dystopian AU

Chapter 3

Word Count: 1.3k

"Uh hey? You seem lost in thought. "

You shook your head to focus your gaze to the man in front of you. Sandy blonde hair, tall, strong build, and murky green eyes. Considering his body type you assumed he worked somewhere on the Garrison Regiment or one of those cowards, correction, Military Police.

"Yeah, uh do I know you?"

Strangers always approach you when you go out in public. You like to joke how it's because of your adoring looks and alluring aura, but in truth it's just because,

1. You lived with Levi (the ladies are crazy for him)

2. People gossip about you, Hange, Levi, Erwin and Moblit thinking all of you are in some sort of love pentagon

3. You were in the news when you gave Public Health Service Announcements from the government

4. This usually applied to men, some women but not only did you have a wealthy salary, you had a reputation and apparently people like that

"No, I just wanted to talk to someone. It gets tiring to talk to the rich folks," he said sheepishly.

You looked at him inquisitively. The man didn't know who you were.

"Why does it tire you?"

He sighed and walked over next to you and leaned himself on the wall, "They push the same agendas all the time and they talk about trivial, stupid things. It's the same thing over and over again."

He gestured by raising his pointer finger and circling it around in the area, "It gets tedious and they act like it's so important and hilarious every time."

Then he turned to look at you, "But you out of all the people I've seen. You didn't really talk that much only to yourself. What are you thinking about?"

His questions startled you as your eyes squinted and tried to analyze this man. He saw what you were doing and his green eyes followed yours, like you were playing a game of cat and mouse. If that's how it's going to go, you thought. I guess I'll play.

"Why do you ask? Did my mutterings seem incoherent to you?" You countered.

He smiled, "No, it's just you seemed so at peace by yourself, I had to ask what you were thinking about for a person as busy as yourself to be so calm."

Ah so he did know you. So much for having a normal conversation. Not that it was normal in the beginning.

He looked at your disinterested expression and started to apologize profusely, " Oh shit, I didn't mean to offend you. You were just walking around and talking to lots of people… you looked busy and important that's what I'm attempting to say."

Your mouth parted slightly then you slowly closed it. Who was this man? Why was he so straightforward?

Good job probably fucking up your chances with talking to her.

Colt POV Fuck.

She didn't answer and I could feel blood pumping through my head and my face heating up.

Was she disinterested in me? Tired or bothered? Even worse did I come off to her as a "nice" guy that was just trying to get into her pants?

The silence between us was tangible, I felt like I could grab it and wring it out to try and continue this conversation.

I didn't even know this woman's name and yet she still captivated me.

Maybe it was the way she walked up the stairs of the Opera House, her head up high and unfazed. Maybe it was when I locked eyes with her for a split second, before her attention was turned to someone else. Maybe it was the way she smiled so fakely at these people that I wanted to laugh out loud, at her and the fact they couldn't tell it was fake.

Maybe it was the contagious laugh she had, the way her passive personality changed when surrounded by friends. Or the way she flirted with people.

I could tell I sounded like a creep but I've seen her before moving to "Paradis". She was on the news, vigorously explaining concepts, ideas things I never would've thought of in million years. The way she spoke with such passion and feeling about these people's lives, which up until a year ago, I couldn't care less about.

This woman standing next to me, who was probably bored out of her fucking mind, inspired me to find a job in the government, specifically the research and weapons development department. I was still interning at various places before I actually started, but I'm making progress… I'm getting there.

It wasn't her intelligence, or her passion that captivated me. It was her passiveness… her "wallflower" persona if you will, that she puts on to mask, to observe. Why would someone as powerful in wealth and government act that way? How did her personality change from laid-back to bright? Her flexibility confused me and I wanted to find out more. She had the ability to make me be passionate about something other than pleasing my parents…. Why was she so reserved?

Maybe I thought,I shouldn't make assumptions. Yes she was my inspiration, but I didn't even know who she was, what her name was. Living in Marley, we didn't have information on the government officials like the people here so their names were always:

Commander of the Survey Corps

Military Commandant of the Military Police

Or hers:

Head of Research and Data Department

I only knew a title, and a face to match but now I'm looking at her in the flesh. Her presence was underwhelming, but there was a weight to it that I couldn't understand. Was it melancholy? Or was she just a complete mystery to me?

And voila, here I was invited by my manager at the research center for the Science Museum taking me as his plus one, to this formal event.

And here she was, my BIGGEST inspiration, my literal REASON why I wanted to work for the government and I can't even say shit to her?

"I was thinking about possibilities and outcomes for a certain person if I told them to do something," she says finally.

The silence broke, and she looked at me, leaning her head against the wall tilting her face in an alluring expression. Her eyes looked glazed, from the glowing light and I couldn't help but stare at that calm expression. The golden lights of the chandelier reflected on her eyes and they seemed to dance, so softly.

Her lips were slightly parted, chapped on the top, smooth on the bottom as expected of a busy woman, but I have never in my life wanted to touch something more in my life.

I snapped out of my trance and looked at her wide-eyed. So she was thinking about certain possibilities of a hypothetical situation? How far does this woman prepare?

But this was the hard part, I think. How to tell her that "Oh by the way I basically switched careers because I saw you give a speech a year and a half ago and I was inspired" without making it feel weird.

Don't think Colt, just do.

I quickly shook my head and without even thinking I reached out to grab her skirt.

My thumb grazed her fingers slightly, but I still held onto the hem of her dress. She still didn't pull away.

Her eyes locked onto mine in a "what the" expression but I steadied myself, even when the blood rushing through my head was pounding, the sound so loud the only thing I could hook onto was her eyes.

And her dress of course. What the fuck Colt, are you falling in love or something?

I remained calm as I looked at her very, VERY surprised expression. Her body was pulling away from mine, I could feel it but her dress stayed between my fingers.

"Can you tell me about it? While we dance together?"

Prev/next

#colt grice x reader #colt x reader #colt grice #aot fic #colt grice fic #attack on titan fic #aot ff #levi ackerman #hange zoe #erwin smith

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modestlyabsurd · 4 years

Text

Just a Dance (Loki x Reader)

"Let's hear it for the gride and broom!"

The formal crowd of green and red erupts into applause, and your glass of green punch fogs up from a sudden laugh after seeing a tipsy Tony Stark on the stagefront - using the microphone stand as a cane.

Having never been fond of line dancing but finding it very entertaining to watch, you nestled yourself away from the commotion by the food bar, lined with tables under black cloths and stacked high with elegant dishes, to observe the dance floor. The cha-cha slide never disappoints; the look of concentration on Peter's face as he tried (and failed) to hit the poses was enough, but add that to the honest yet terrible attempts from the "gride and broom" and you've got a beautifully orchestrated shit show.

Tony's drunken voice continues to blubber incoherent sounds of happiness over the crowd. "Where are you guys anyway? Get up here - blurgh - it's sappy mushy speech time, come on!" With that, everyone encourages the newlyweds up to the stage.

Even from your nook, the brightness of the couple's smiles are blinding, nevermind the spotlights following them along. You feel your cheeks getting tighter as an unconscious smile spreads across them, marvelling at how Bruce lovingly carries Natasha's long, white train up the steps. Her red lips and braided hair contrast gorgeously against her dreamy wedding gown, and Bruce can't take his eyes away - nor can either of them help the huge, toothy grins on their faces.

A hopeful phenomenon. Two tortured souls who found peace and love in one another. You knew no one deserved it more.

Natasha urges Bruce to speak first. He makes a face, but happily obliges nonetheless. "I guess this thing's on then?" he says, eliciting modest laughs from the people. "Ah, thank you all again for being here, hope you're having as good a time as we are. Thanks again to Tony for providing us with pretty much everything, from the venue, to the decorations, to the food, to the music, to gifts, to our honeymoon - this could go on for another forty-five minutes,"

"Hey," says a deep voice; you turn to find a sharp-dressed man-bunned Thor standing next to you. "Missed you on the dance floor."

You offer a smile. "Not exactly my cup of tea. Neither is this, though," you swirl your punch around.

"The red one is far superior," says Thor, stepping around you to ladle himself another glass. "Have you tried it?"

"Yeah, that's the spiked one. No wonder you like it more." You hear Bruce speaking of how trapped he felt for so long, until Natasha swindled her way into his life and somehow made him feel worthy of living.

"Really? Hm, I couldn't tell. But you have a point, it's at least a bit better than that," says Thor, though you barely hear him - and when he meets your eyes, you don't really see him either. "Everything alright?"

"Hm?" you chirp. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Why you ask?"

"You just seem ... elsewhere, I suppose. But perhaps it's my own longing disguising itself as someone else's." he says nonchalantly, looking to the floor and downing his glass of red punch in one go.

You open your mouth for a humorous response before you see a wave of sadness wash over Thor. Instead, you nudge his tree trunk of an arm, "C'mon. I give it two weeks before Jane comes back."

He scoffs dismissively and draws a pattern on the floor with his shoe. "Sure. She, erm ... has she, mentioned anything about it, to you?"

"Actually, make it one week."

It was indicated that Bruce's speech had ended when the crowd started cheering and the lights dimmed. With the spotlights still on Natasha and Bruce, they hold each other intimately close and dance to another slow song below the stage. The band's soft guitar and bass vibrates from the soles of your feet up through your bones, all the way to the condensating glass in your hand. It was both a riveting and soothing sensation all at once.

A few feet away, you spot a familiar dark figure weaving through the dancing couples toward you and Thor. As his confident strides bring him into clearer view, your mouth suddenly feels like it's full of cotton and the room gets warmer. Wishing to just become invisible, you attempt to busy yourself with one of the vast cheese platters nearby - haphazardly, having no idea which cracker goes with goat's milk brie or which fruit goes with English Stilton.

He emerges and taps the shoulder of his oblivious brother's maroon blazer. "Don't blame the messenger, but a drunken game of truth or dare has resulted in your friends attempting to lift Mjolnir."

"Gah, not again!" Thor slams his glass on the table, causing some of the cake and hors d'oeuvres to rattle, before running away and disappearing in the sea of people. You're left alone with Loki, and your invisibility attempt has resulted in a not so nice bite of smoked gouda and white grapes.

Next thing you know, your punch glass is empty and your mouth is still dry.

Loki makes a point to look into your eyes rather than gawk at your formal wear as others have already done. It's a breath of fresh air, yet at the same time, his small, polite smile makes you forget how to breathe altogether. You force a smile of your own despite your growing nerves.

"How can you be enjoying yourself tucked away from the fun like this?" says Loki. His voice reminds you of melted chocolate, which draws your attention to the gloriously flowing chocolate fountain across the room. Enticing as it was, looking at the confection was a futile effort to avoid staring at Loki's dark green suit and black bowtie, or his new short curly hair that worked so well.

"You're one to talk. Haven't seen you having much fun either," the words flow smoothly. A nice surprise.

"I never said I was enjoying myself."

You laugh and shrug in concurrence. "I dunno, it's better than it seems. I'm here with all the food and drinks, everyone else is busy, and I have a bird's eye view of the dance floor."

Loki reaches an arm around you and grabs a finger sandwich; the brief closeness sends pleasant goosebumps over your neck. "I suppose. But wouldn't it be nice to see it up close?" he asks. The way he deftly held and nibbled the tiny food ... Jeez. How in the world can someone make eating a sandwich attractive?

In desperate need of a distraction, you turn to the three tier display of sandwiches and take one at random. From your side vision you see Loki anticipating your answer, so you reply with a mouthful of cucumber and cream cheese, "I don't dance."

"Oh, come on. Will you dance for me?"

You stop chewing to stare at him wordlessly.

"Ahem, bad choice of words," he clears his throat and says with a grimace. "I do beg your pardon. Rather," he extends a chivalrous hand toward you, "will you dance with me?"

The disbelief that Loki wants to dance with you, out of all the single people around - most of whom aren't chipmunking all the snacks - it almost leaves you dumbfounded. Almost being the keyword, being as how you took his hand so quickly. The coldness of it shocked you a bit, but the lightness and warmth of his hold made you feel safe. As if you could hold on, or even let go if you wanted, and he wouldn't mind.

He lead you to the center of the floor. The two of you were engulfed by the sea of people dressed in dark shades of red and green, dancing closely to the music. Just as the anxiety began to set in, Loki lifted your interlocked hands up to shoulder level and held you just beneath your ribcage with his other hand. Your mind is whirring, you can't decide if your shivers stem from anxiety, the temperature of Loki's skin, or the mere fact that you can smell him and it's driving you a little crazy.

He squeezed your hand, and patiently placed your free arm around his shoulder. Breathe, you remind yourself. Relax. It's just a dance. It's nothing. The vibrations from the music soothed you, slowly swept you away from your worries. When you dared to reopen your eyes, you found that it was not only the band, but Loki's gentle swaying that carried away your fears.

"See? It's not so bad."

You shake your head. "Just wait until I step on your feet."

He looked at you and you looked at him. You, a clumsy bag of bones, and he, a skillful puppeteer, gracefully carrying your bodies' movements. You both smiled. Like pots of water, overflowing with nervousness and happiness alike.

As he found you relaxing and absorbing the moment, Loki finds himself gazing at the way your hair is framing your face. It hangs and accentuates the softness of your features, but somehow reflects a distinct royalty in you, despite there being none. He can't bring himself to look away. You hadn't seemed to notice that the song had ended and a new slow song had begun to play, and Loki didn't bring it to your attention.

Rather, he brought your warm hand in his grasp up around his shoulder, matching the other, and placed his own hand to match the one at your side. He was testing the waters, really, and was relieved that you offered no protests to his actions. In fact, you seemed to meld into him further by laying your head on his chest, making his heart jump miles into the air.

He was good at concealing his emotions. Or he thought he was. Before you.

The light vibration of your voice against his sternum pulls him from his thoughts. "Pardon?" he asks.

"What are you wearing?"

He glances at himself. "A suit."

"I can see that, dipshit," you chide. "I meant what Asgardian fragrance are you wearing?"

"Oh," Loki croaks, biting away a sting of embarrassment. "I dunno. Must be my natural scent. Pheromones, as your human science says."

"Liar," you playfully squint your eyes at him.

He raises a hand with three fingers, "Scout's honor."

If you could facepalm without breaking away from Loki, you'd punch yourself in the face. "That's, that's not how it works - "

"Shhhhh ... we don't speak of the Scout's rules," he presses your head back into his chest with an open hand, subsequently silencing your laughs and concealing his own blushed cheeks from your view.

"I just realized something."

"What?" he says cheerfully.

You pull your head up to look at Loki. "Everyone in this room is staring at us."

Discreetly, Loki looks around and sure enough is met with many prying eyes. It made you want to crouch behind his legs to hide, but since that's not socially acceptable, you study Loki's dark green Victorian jacket. Is there food on you or something?

But he, on the other hand, lapped up every bit of the attention of the wedding guests. He flexes his fingers a bit, pinching your hips; a gentle reminder of his closeness to you. "Mm, perhaps they're jealous."

"Jealous of what?" you wonder. People are whispering under their breath in a way that instantly made your palms sweat. You try to decipher what they're saying, but all that's clear is that you're the topic.

"Of me."

"Psh. Yeah, you're probably right." You allow your eyes to drift over to his slightly crooked bowtie. It accentuates his boyishness; it sends butterflies through your chest and down to your belly.

"Do you know why they're jealous of me?"

"I mean, I can think of a few reasons."

His cheekbones round out as he smiles. "Well there's one reason in particular that is driving them all mad at the moment. Aside from my mere existence, of course."

A laugh puffs from your throat. "What is it?"

"It's the fact that I'm dancing with the one person that everyone in this room wishes to dance with."

You blink, as his bowtie seems to become a blobby rectangle shape. Me? you think. The room was already too warm, and now your face is uncontrollably heating up. You notice the scuffs on his shiny black dress shoes.

"You're crazy."

Loki looks up momentarily, feeling warmed from the inside out by you. The damp hands placed around his neck are all that's holding him on the ground. "Call me what you will - I know envy when I see it."

You miss a beat and step on his toes, but he doesn't react; in the same moment, the lights brighten, as the crowd began to applaud and mindlessly you did too. The dance was over.

When you turn back, you find that the lights have enhanced Loki's vivid green eyes. They were happy. They captivated you entirely, drew you in to him. You felt drunk; Loki was your liquor and you'd drank more than you ever had before. Someone's speaking on stage but you don't hear them. It's just you and Loki.

Cold, fingers sweep behind your neck and effortlessly bring your mouth to his. Drunk, without inhibitions, you allow for the kiss to deepen and Loki obliges, but only modestly, mindful of the ever prying eyes. You couldn't have been further from them. His hands held you in place, kept you tamed. He pulled away ever so slightly to let you breathe - and indeed you needed to, for you were breathless completely.

It took all you had not to kiss him again and never stop.

"YAAAAAS!" someone shouted.

You and Loki both turn and find Peter cheering like an idiot. And if for some reason you were imagining everyone staring earlier, though somewhat preoccupied, they're definitely staring now. Mentally you were screaming at Loki to poof you two away from it all as you hid your face in his lapels. The scent of him encased you in a fleeting blanket of safety.

"Please," Loki assures - still holding your hand, "there's nothing to see here. Do return to the party."

And they did. They listened to Loki without another glance. As they dispersed to mingle, you caught sight of Natasha and Bruce across the room; you mouth an apology to Natasha, but she shrugs it off with a smile and a knowing wink. Which didn't help the the fact that your face might as well be melting from embarrassment.

An icy breath in your ear takes the wind out of you.

"What did I tell you? They're all envious of me. Because of you."

🎶they come runnin bustin down all the doors

cuz EVERY girl's crazy bout a sharp-dressed Thor 🎶

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai @sadwaywardkid

#loki x reader #loki imagine #loki series #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston #thor #thor odinson #the avengers #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #avengers endgame #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #mcu #modestlyabsurd

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ichihime · 4 years

Text

ANONYMOUS ASKED: I was following along a thread on twitter and an anti said when Ichigo laid dead on the ground with a hole in his chest in the Lust arc, that he didn’t say “I can hear her..stand up..I will protect her” before hollowfying. They claim he instead said “I can hear..stand up..I have to protect” using no pronounce directed at Orihime, hence NOT coming back from the dead because he wants to protect her specifically but because of his instincts to protect and he would’ve done it for any of his friends. They also said that Orihime didn’t scream “help me” but instead said “help” which triggered Ichigo’s instincts to protect, making him rise from the dead, hence once again making it clear this was never about Orihime specifically but about Ichigo’s instincts responding when hearing a voice in need (and this voice could’ve been from anyone amongst his friends) and how the hollow would not allow him to die regardless. Basically the English translations are incorrect and the raw version in kanji never used pronounces during these scenes. Is this correct and how would you respond to this?

There are a couple really important factors to address in this translation and why its English counterpart would supplement with pronouns specifically referring to Orihime; first, that Ichigo’s speech is meant to be broken and fairly incoherent because it’s conveying the idea that he as a human is focused on this sole objective as he’s dying. Second, that in Japanese, there isn’t necessarily a requirement for subject pronouns to form a sentence talking about a subject (the subject in question being Orihime) —this is a particular grammar rule that has no translatable equivalent in the English language, because they’re ultimately different structures entirely. I drop this phrase a LOT on here, but again, cultural context is important. Since you also sent this ask to my friend @ichinoue, there’s been some really excellent fan feedback about the structure of Japanese language and how it differs from English —this post in particular.

Now — onto the actual question:

I think there’s definitely a possibility that Ichigo would have done this for his other friends, but only if this moment had also been preceded by Ichigo vowing to “definitely protect” or “protect without fail” those other friends. Kubo did write a scene like this, and made a pretty big deal about it, but that scene involves one specific character —not all of his friends.

This hollow transformation was written as a climax in Ichigo’s narrative arc for the Hueco Mundo saga —as the ongoing theme during this arc was about his struggle with his identity against his inner hollow as an ever-present threat. This could not be a more clear theme throughout this specific arc. There’s a lot of specific focus placed upon this struggle, his cooperation and subsequent training with the Visoreds, his lack of control despite his best efforts, and his juxtaposition of this struggle for control in his actual fights against the Arrancar and Espada. This is important to note, because in response to this, there is only one scene with one character that both:

Involves him promising to “definitely protect” or “protect without fail” a friend he cares deeply for (using the same character for “protect” that’s his namesake, no less —I’ll get into this tidbit more further down).

Functions as a foreshadowing tool, and is later double-downed upon as a foreshadowing tool by the same character as mentioned above.

When it comes down to it, the grammatical inconsistencies that come from translating between languages don’t have any particular bearing on this specific scene, because the intent was already made clear as early as Chapter 196. That’s how foreshadowing works —even if we as the reader don’t realize it’s happening until after the fact. What’s more, this is how Japanese functions as a language; it’s constructed around making sense of the context, which is why it doesn’t necessarily need subject pronouns to function or convey meaning. (Though I can understand why this goes over most Anti-IHs heads... their arguments depend almost entirely on pulling things out of context, which obviously doesn’t work.)

That said —

This scene says a lot. And even though Ichigo is speaking directly to Orihime so we understand she is the subject of what he’s saying, there’s a lot of additional meaning we can derive from this scene by reading (you guessed it) the context.

Ichigo is characterized early on by somewhat brash, irritable (though this is conditional), impolite, “punk”-like mannerisms. His speech tends to be informal (cultural context) as does his body language. However, we also know that he doesn’t say things lightly when it comes to promises and protecting others. These words carry weight, but there’s an additional sense of conviction conveyed through his respectful and formal gesture of bowing, his unwavering eye contact, and we as the readers can understand this without needing an explanation.

This is especially interesting because if IRs want to get smart about raws, then they should also already understand the additional importance placed on this scene when it comes to Ichigo’s word choice. Ichigo uses the character “護” (mamoru / ”to protect”) to convey his intentions. There are a lot of different ways to write “protect” in Japanese, many of which Ichigo uses when he makes these promises or talks about protecting others throughout the series. What makes his choice of “護” especially significant and piles on more and more contextual importance is that this is the same character for “protect” that is his namesake and the basis for his core character motivations. This is also only time throughout the entire series Ichigo specifically uses “護” to refer to protecting someone.

If the intention of this to act as a foreshadowing tool wasn’t clear enough, it is again referenced by Orihime later —just at the beginning of the fight between Ichigo and Grimmjow.

Already, we have a precedent set by Orihime’s direct involvement. This is the second scene in a pattern of foreshadowing the events of the Lust Arc.

The intent is clear; this is a theme in Ichigo’s narrative arc that involves Orihime, because it also involves the development of their relationship. Her fear of hollows, her fear of Ichigo losing himself to his hollow side, Ichigo’s struggle to expose himself to this power he relies on to win in battle while also trying not to lose himself. There’s an underlying theme of Ichigo and Orihime struggling to communicate with each other, desperately wishing to protect each other and going to whatever ends to do it, but ultimately thinking its a burden they must shoulder alone. They are both concurrently struggling with feelings of uselessness (Ichigo isn’t strong enough, Orihime can’t do anything) throughout this arc, acting as foils even if their individual journeys take different shapes. Even so, these conflicts are juxtaposed by the theme of “The Heart” (the bonds between people) that also keep appearing. They’re both frightened, they’re both feeling weak, feeling desperate, and yet still — they can understand one another.

So we have this pattern now:

Ichigo vows “Next time... I will protect you... without fail!” to Orihime with a sense of personal importance conveyed through the use of his name that is unmatched throughout the rest of the series.

Later, Orihime notes very plainly that “Whenever he uses strong words, it’s like he’s making a promise. I believe that he makes a promise to himself. I think that he expresses his words in feelings so that he will follow through.” The important takeaway being of course the forthright meaning, but also “When Ichigo says he’s going to [do something], he will [do that something] for sure.”

We all know what happens next —the character conflicts, the miscommunications, the belief that these are fights that need to be handled alone, the struggle against the powers of a hollow, the fear of exposure to that power... all culminate into The Lust Arc.

— CONTENT WARNING for canon-typical gore, blood, impalement, and body horror.

With the above established foreshadowing, we can see how it leads to this; When Ichigo says that “he will protect you without fail”, he will protect you for sure.

“To be clear, a total transformation to a hollow, is neither evil or good; it’s more like pure power .. so I made a voice of pure-hearted power that is unrelated, beyond the concept of good and evil so I screamed from a clear pure heart yet, at the same time there is some sadness and thought of Orihime in my head.”

— Masakazu Morita (Ichigo Kurosaki’s Japanese VA), on how he voiced Hollowfied!Ichigo during the Lust Arc.

“The perfectly hollowfied Ichigo ruminated over Orihime’s screams and was bound only by that objective.”

— Bleach UNMASKED

If what I outlined above wasn’t clear enough, Ichigo goes as far as to stab Ishida, his friend. It couldn’t be about anyone else. This specific theme has always very clearly been about Ichigo, Orihime, their relationship to each other, and their relationship to hollowfication as a concept.

I want to also be very clear here as well; with the established theme of Ichigo always fighting against his hollowfication, and Ichigo’s Hollow being motivated solely by self interest — it isn’t Ichigo’s Hollow responding to Orihime’s plea, it’s Ichigo’s humanity. Ichigo’s Hollow finally getting an opening to take over his host (to become The King and Ichigo, The Horse) is what revives Ichigo. But his vow to Orihime and his desire to fulfill that promise is what allowed him to cling to his humanity. The Hollow is motivated by survival instinct, not any desire to protect —that’s all Ichigo, just as it’s always been.

I think anyone who is still willfully misinterpreting this and holding Japanese language structure to English rules and conventions is seriously pathetic. Even in English, the pronouns have zero bearing on what’s being conveyed here. They can try and disprove IchiHime as much as they want as far as I’m concerned. The fact remains that at the end of the day, giving the Ichigo/Orihime relationship as much attention and dissection as they do goes to show that (a) they still perceive it as a threat and (b) there’s such a large volume of Ichigo/Orihime content to comb through to begin with —a fact they’ve vehemently denied for years.

Also like, IchiHime is canon. They’re happily married. They have a family together. Just tell them to take the fucking L. I get secondhand embarrassment from watching them rehash the same old bullshit time and again.

#!meta #ichihime #ichiori

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cuddlepilefics · 4 years

Text

5. Spiked eggnog

Fandom: GOT7

Sickie: Jaebeom

Caregiver: Jackson + Jinyoung

Jaebeom’s POV.:

The festive season was just starting up and so did the dinner parties with sponsors and potential investors who could possibly help in promoting GOT7 as well as my own music under the artist name Defsoul. For the sake of the bands popularity it was important to leave a lasting positive and professional impression. Over the next few weeks there were many formal dinners scheduled that GOT7 are going to attend, sometimes even a few per week. I had never really liked formal dinners, everyone was acting so uptight and the mood was often tense. As an artist looking for investors you were always walking on eggshells, afraid something you’d say would be taken the wrong way. My members often complimented me on how I charmed new investors during formal dinners, that’s why I was the leader, to speak for my group. They have no idea how nervous I always am until the business deal is settled and I’m not planning on letting the know either. The key was to drink with them but to only take tiny sips, so while they were tipsy enough to relax into the situation you’d keep your own head clear.

Right now, we were getting ready for another formal dinner. I could feel the tension settle over the maknaes of the group first. They were jokesters and I loved them for their childish teasing, however they were well aware of the importance of this dinner and were worrying to misstep despite trying hard to act professional. It’s not like I couldn’t relate to them, I was worried about misstepping too and I don’t think that will ever change no matter how often I practiced. The suits we wore looked good and most importantly professional, however they were nothing like the suits we wore during dance performances. They were thick and stiff, making moving uncomfortable. With our hair and make-up done I gathered my members for a moment, mostly to calm them down, not to threaten them into behaving, they knew to do that already. When I was done with my short speech, I took a deep breath to calm and mentally prepare myself.

At the restaurant we started making polite small talk, the first round of drinks already being served. Another thing I dislike about the holiday season, they always serve eggnog. Given I was not really into sweet stuff, you can guess how much I liked eggnog…. Correct, not at all. Masking my distaste towards the served beverage, I mirrored my table partner, raising the glass to my lips but only pretending to drink from it. Our conversation continued and as his glass slowly emptied, I had still not taken a single sip. For fear of causing suspicion, I started to take small sips to ensure my glass would be empty at some point too. When the appetizer was served, I made eye-contact with Bambam, giving him an encouraging smile, rightful so, as the woman opposite of him seemed to be taken in by his charm already. The tension was loosening, no wonder, while I was on my second drink, my conversation partner was on his fourth. We enjoyed our meal, paying extra attention to table manners, when at some point about half through my dish, my vision swam for a moment. I didn’t think much of it because after blinking my eyes a few times, everything went back to normal.

It happened again during the break between the main course and dessert, this time however, it didn’t just go away. When my head started spinning too, I excused myself politely and walked towards the restroom. As soon as I was out of sight from the table, I extended on arm to the wall for balance. I made it to the restroom, feeling unsteady on my feet. Having broken into a sweat, I unbuttoned the top buttons of my shirt, fanning my flushed face with my hands. In an attempt to stop the dizzying spinning going on inside my head, I breathed deeply, holding onto the sink to not fall over. Apparently, I had lost track of time as I just stood there unable to move, not being in command over my own body anymore because Jackson walked in to check on me. He looked at me with his brows furrowed: “Everything alright, hyung? You look off.” Still panting, I just managed to shake my head slightly before my vision dipped sideways.

Jackson’s POV.:

Our leader had been gone for a while, so I decided to see what was taking him so long. I spotted him right when I opened the door, clutching the sink while swaying slightly. He looked rough, sweaty with a few buttons of his shirt open. His face was pale and clammy, eyes glassy and disoriented. I approached him asking if he was ok, though it was obvious he wasn’t. He shook his head before his knees gave out. Barely managing to grab him in time to keep him from hitting the tile, I gently lowered him to the ground. He wasn’t unconscious though, his eyes darting through the room, lips mumbling something incoherent. To say I was terrified would have been an understatement. I was unsure whether I was supposed to call an ambulance so I settled for calling our manager instead in hopes he’d know what to do. Though it felt like an eternity to me, I knew our manager actually arrived very soon while our leader lay spaced out across my legs. I described the situation I had walked in on when Jaebeom suddenly pushed off of the ground, dragging himself into an unoccupied stall, slouching over the toilet bowl. Being confused at first, I sprang into action hearing a harsh retch. I crouched behind my hyung, quickly gathering his long hair and keeping it out of his face. Cringing in sympathy, I placed my free arm across his chest to steady his dinner made a reappearance. Despite still sweating buckets, he had started to shiver while gagging helplessly.

“Jackson, I appreciate your concern for your leader but to me it looks like he just didn’t watch how much he was drinking. I’ll call a driver and guide you to the back door. If people hear about GOT7’s leader drinking way past his limits, that will leave a terrible impression, so I’ll make up an excuse like him being unwell and you take him home. Not sure he’ll need a scolding for his actions, the hangover tomorrow might already be enough”, the manager spoke up, disappointment evident in his voice before leaving the restroom. I was stunned because Jaebeom knew his limits and would never even go close to reaching them during formal events. Unsure if I had seen correctly, I took a closer look at his face watching a tear roll down his cheek before he tensed in my grip, heaving up another wave of his undigested meal. “Be honest with me hyung, you didn’t really drink anything, did you?”, I asked sternly, the tear having caught me off guard. He weakly shook his head, throwing up again as I watched on helplessly. He wasn’t drunk, so what was going on?

After spitting into the bowl one last time, Jaebeom attempted to rest his head on the toilet seat but I quickly pulled him back to lay against my chest. “What’s going on, hyung?”, I whispered. “I-I don’t know. I only had about one and a half glasses of eggnog. My vision got funny, everything was too hot and spinning. So I came here to pull myself together.”, he relied with his eyes closed, voice weak and raspy from throwing up. I frowned, moving my hand to his forehead, feeling the sweaty burning hot skin under my palm. We sat in silences till our manager came in again ushering us to a side exit. It took both of us to keep a dizzy Jaebeom on his feet and I could tell our manager was pissed, thinking the leader had just drank his head off. I was upset myself, being worried for my friend and seeing him judged for something he didn’t do. Luckily, the ride was short and though he was ghostly pale, Jaebeom managed to keep his stomach in place. Back at the dorm it was completely on me to drag him from the car to the correct floor. Passing by the bathroom on the way to his own room, he insisted to stay there instead and surely, he got sick again not soon after. I hung up our jackets and helped my hyung remove his sweaty and sticky shirt, handing him a soft cotton t-shirt in exchange, so he wouldn’t get too cold. When he just sat there not making a move to put it on, I took it again and carefully slipped it over his head, guiding his hands through the correct openings. He went back to dozing off with his head against the bathtub afterwards and I quickly changed into more comfortable myself, not wanting to let our sick leader alone for too long. I just settled for keeping a close eye on him, holding his hair back every time he jerked up and threw himself over the toilet again, throwing up.

A few hours later, the rest of our group returned and after changing into less stiff clothes, Jinyoung took over from me listening to my explanation of what had been going on from the moment I had found Jaebeom plus the few things he had told me about back at the restaurant.

~ the next morning~

Jinyoung’s POV.:

We had gotten home late last and I had taken the place of an exhausted looking Jackson to watch over our sick leader. At that point, none of us had had an idea of what was wrong. Now however, sitting in a chair close to Jaebeom’s bed, I read over a very apologetic message from our manager. Yes, at some point during the night I had managed to drag him to bed. Looking up from my phone, I found my hyung watching me. “Good morning, how do you feel”, I asked, relieved that he was awake and his eyes looked less glassy though he flinched as I spoke. “Headache?”, I whispered. “Yeah, what happened? I can’t remember anything from last night. Please, don’t tell my I got so drunk that I can’t remember. Did I mess things up? Did I….”, he started to panic and I was quick to sit down next to him, putting a hand on his chest. “Ssh, you didn’t mess anything up and you didn’t get drunk either, although that’s what our manager thought at first. He just texted me that he’s sorry for judging you like that and that they found out that your drink was spiked. That’s probably why you don’t remember. And before you asked, no you didn’t do anything scandalous. Jackson found you in the bathroom before it fully took effect, took you home and kept an eye on you till the rest of us came back and I switched with him. You don’t have to try to hard to remember, you were basically just switching between zoning out and throwing up, so no memories that’d be necessary to have”, I calmed him. “Hmm, explains stuff. Like, why I feel as if I got hit by a train”, he mumbled into his pillow. Scooting to one side of his bed, I lifted the blanket a bit, an invitation. “You look tired, the way I know you, you didn’t sleep”, he closed his eyes again and I slipped under the blanket. Cuddled up against my leader’s warm body, I quickly drifted off to sleep and we both napped till the late afternoon.

#sick fic #sickfic #fanfic #got7 #christmas #jb #im jaebeom #jackson wang #park jinyoung #whump #emeto

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alivehahahafuck · 4 years

Text

Things We Become In The Dark

Chapter 2 The Doctor

They arrived at the Capitol Event Center slightly on the early side, which suited both August and Elliot, because this kind of thing gets on their nerves. As they approached the seemingly abandoned building they saw that there was an open set of double doors off to the side a little ways away, but still adjacent to the entrance. There was an attendant in a grey pantsuit next to the doorway carrying a clipboard. Her grey pantsuit was the same color as August’s dress. It’s the grey that they make all of the Assignees wear to the Assignment, it’s supposed to symbolize how everybody is equal and undesignated, until they get their job and their colors. August was pretty sure it was a way to repress people and make them love their jobs too much, so they are content and don’t rebel. But, honestly, if it works, August was happy and decided to go along with it.

The unnamed attendant waved the Braxton’s over, and they obediently followed, more than happy to have somewhere to go and something to do, as opposed to just milling around in such open spaces. Sontharian’s naturally don’t like open spaces. Gives them a weird feeling on their back. That’s just what happens when your entire life is underwater. The lady got August signed in on her LightPad. Now all she had to do was head inside and wait.

Inside, it was essentially empty, with the exception of random workers hustling about making last minute adjustments to things, trying to get the place ready. There were a few other Assignees floating around, mostly standing by themselves awkwardly. There were two people who had drifted a little too close together and were forced to make polite, but very awkward and forced, conversation. There was one girl who stood out from the rest.

She was this blonde girl, who looked a little nervous. Not nervous in the same way that everybody else was nervous, it was more like her resting facial expression and general temperament was ‘drowning in anxiety’. August couldn’t blame her, seeing as how she herself has a resting face that scared people away. But it wasn’t just that she seemed scared. She appeared to be at least two years younger than everybody else, which indicated to August that she shouldn’t be here. But at the same time, all the workers who were scurrying by nodded at her and smiled, seeming to not have any sort of problem with her presence.

Subconsciously, August started slowly migrating towards the scared girl, trying to observe her more carefully and figure out what she was doing here. The more she stared at her, the more she realized that the girl was not at all nervous about being here. She acted like she was supposed to be here, among the hustle and bustle. Her nervous expression seemed to be the overflow of the constant thoughts that were running behind her eyes, as if she was thinking about every possible scenario of what could go wrong, and what could succeed.

It didn’t take long until August’s wanderings brought her face to face with the girl, who has acknowledged her presence but didn’t say anything, or diert any attention from her mental simulations to her. Feeling very awkward about the fact that she was standing three feet away from a girl she walked up to, and still hadn't said anything, August opened her mouth hoping her brain would spit out the appropriate words.

Unfortunately, August was still focusing too much on what the actual hell the girl could be thinking of, and why didn’t she say anything first, that August’s brain more vomited the words out in an incoherent mess. “Hi, umm, I was just wondering, not to sound rude, sorry if I’m coming across rude, some people think I’m an anti-social bitch, well, not that they’re totally wrong. Ha! Actually, they’re kind of right, I really don’t enjoy social functions. Anyways, I’m sorry, I was wondering, again, not to sound rude, exactly what you’re doing here? I couldn’t help but notice that you seem significantly younger than everybody else, also, the workers seem to know who you are and you don’t seem to be nervous about everything like the rest of us…”. August didn’t end up finishing her ramblings with a complete thought, she just left her confusion out in the air.

Thankfully, the girl didn’t seem to mind, and her lips broke into a timid but amused smile. “My presence here is just a formality. I already know my assignment, I’ve already been working for a year. I’m a rising surgeon in the public hospital system, I mostly do sutures and stupid stuff like that because for legal reasons I cant perform actual surgeries yet. But I’m consulted on a lot, if not all, difficult and bizarre cases,” she replied.

“Oh.” August let the noise out softly, with her lips still pursed into a little “o” shape, hanging on the edge of the next few words. “So you’re a child genius?” she asked, great that’s not intimidating. The girl chuckled softly, looking down momentarily and blushing a bit, a little bit more on her left cheek than on her right.

“That’s a generous way of looking at it,” she replied, “I have an aptitude for medical sciences…”, she trailed off wondering if she should continue, but the girl felt oddly and comfortable around August despite this being the first time they've met. However, despite the sudden trust, the girl got softer and sounded a bit more unsteady, “I can see the entire human body in my mind… every muscle, every nerve, where every last vein and artery should be.” That explained what she was distracted by, probably running through problems and solutions for the human body, all in her brain, “That, and I’m a natural problem solver. Between the two of those I’ve gotten pretty good at fixing all bodily problems: surgery, physical therapy, treating diseases.” Seeing August's look of surprise and inferiority the girl added, “Of course all blessings come with a curse… That’s about all I’m good at. I can’t fathom the mental aspect of humans,” She was still looking into August’s eyes, and August could see the sudden shift from poise and professionalism into unsurety and desperation, “emotions are so hard to predict and control. You never know what a human can do next. I can fix any external pain a human can feel. I can fix any problem. But I can’t fix what’s going on inside their brain, I can’t know what anybody is going to do next, and I don’t know how to fix it..” she trailed off, and August felt bad to see such a young girl have such a dark look in her eyes.

Trying to lighten the mood, August tried to keep the discussion moving in a more positive direction. “Well that’s fine. Nobody’s perfect at everything. And I’m more than positive you have other skills to make up for it. I mean, apart from the fact that you’re a medical prodigy, I’m sure you have an affinity for other academic subjects too. History doesn’t change, I’m sure you have no problem memorizing dates and events!” she said, realizing she was slipping into the same tone of voice she used around Elliot.

“Actually,” she said, raising her eyes to look up at August, “I’ve never taken any other subjects. I’ve been taught math, biology, chemistry, biochemistry, human physiology, the list goes on. But the Counsel realized very early on in my life that I had the strongest aptitude for medicine that they have ever seen. They paid for me to be sent to the best medical institutions from a very young age, and they never taught me anything else other than what would apply to my job,” Upon seeing August’s confusion and disbelief that the Counsel could be so stupid and restricting on such a young girl, “It’s like how after Assignment, you only get training for the field you’ve been assigned to. The difference being They gave me my Assignment when I was 10. So I’ve taken ‘all of the subjects’, but only to the leel a ten year old would know.”

“Wait. Pardon my speech, but what the actual flying fuck? For the love of Quarre, who does that to a kid! Ten years old?!? And they constricted you to learning what 18 year olds would learn?!?

Wait. If you were 10 when you started.. That’ll mean you’ll be a full fledged doctor when you turn 18, the same time that kids your age will be starting their medical education…” August trailed off and now it was her turn to have her eyes zone out as she got lost in her own alarming thoughts, only to be interrupted by the young girl.

“Yes, it’s unfortunate, but ultimately beneficial. Younger children have an amazing capacity to pick up information at a faster rate and deeper understanding than we give them credit for.

They have such an educational advantage, in fact, that I will complete my learning two years earlier, when I turn 16. Meaning that if things continue the same way that they have, I’ll be a head surgeon by the time I turn 20, and I will be the most accomplished young doctor on the whole planet. My advisor likes to build me up and say that I’ll be the best in the entire Jurian System; but I doubt I’ll even be the best on Sonthar by the time I’m 20. But I will be the best at some point,” she said confidently, “....once everyone who is more experienced than me dies of old age” se clarified under her breath.

“Wow.” August just stared at the young blonde girl who talked more professionally and matter of fact-ly than most adults she knew. “So… child prodigy, huh? Does “child prodigy” have a name, so I can start placing bets on you well in advance, and make a shit ton of money?” August didn’t feel bad about swearing in front of her anymore, seeing as how her age was clearly only an indication of her body's physical boundaries.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.” She blushed a bit, almost being embarrassed she didn’t introduce herself earlier on in the conversation, “I’m Katarina. Katarina Fox.” she said whilst holding her pale hand out.

“August Braxton,” she introduced herself, extending her hand back at Katarina for a friendly shake. Although at this point, August wanted to pull her into a tight hug and stroke her hair like she would for Elliot, because this poor girl seemed to have even more worries, pressures, and anxieties than Elliot. Nevertheless, she shook her hand, “Nice to meet you, Dr. Fox” she said with a bit of a coy smile.

As August was shaking Katarina’s hand, she realized that Katarina’s pale pure white skin was different from her own. August’s skin looked as if the blood underneath was metallic and grey. Katarina’s on the other hand (ehh, get it), looked as though her blood was a silver iridescent lava that shone through the paleness of her skin.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” August inquired, “but what race are you? Your skin seems to glow and have a hidden color and life to it. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Even though she was addressing Katarina, she might as well have been addressing the hand itself because her eyes were still entranced in her iridescent shimmer. She realized her impoliteness and forced herself to look at Katarina’s face, and noticed that now she was aware of the iridescence, she couldn’t unsee it. Her face was dewy with a slight internal shimmer, and her blushing cheeks were a collection of the pink and purple iridescent bits that were typically more dispersed with the rest of the silver. Her eyes were a pale icy blue, but something also shifted behind her eyes, like translucent pools of a dark blue swirling around in her eyes.

August’s trance was broken when the Doctor interrupted her with her answer once again. “Oh yes, right,” she blushed a little bit again, still getting embarrassed by forgetting little formalities. “I’m from pod Sol-.”

“Holy shit, you’ve seen the sun?” Everything was clicking into place for August, of course, she has the Sonthar tan, duhhhh, of course she’s from Sol “Wait.” She came upon another realization, “If you’re from Sol, what the hell are you doing in Dal?” The confusion of August’s face was soon replaced with stunned horror, “...how long have you been in Dal?...” with every passing word her blood began to boil and her words were spit with her disgust. “Did they take you away from your family when you were TEN!?!”

August understood the pain of being young and having an older sibling taken away from you, that might happen to Elliot at the end of today. But to have a child taken away from their family and brought to a completely unfamiliar place.... “My parents separated when I was nine,” Katarina explained, “When I was put into the family relocation facility, they had to run a bunch of testing to fill out the adoption forms. Families want to know a child’s abilities and qualifications before they take them in.” August hadn't known that about the system. That’s sick! Why is it once I have to start working for these people I realize exactly how immoral and cruel they are? Katarina continued despite August’s horror, “That’s when they realized my gift. They ran more intense testing to see my limits, and sent me to live with a family who had been trying for a child for years. I stayed with them for a few months while the Science Executives filled out forms and convinced the Counsel that they should be allowed to take a ten year old away from their family.

“Obviously, they won their argument and I was taken away from my adoptive family two days after my tenth birthday.” Before August could interject with her disgust and fury, the workers called over the loudspeaker that all of the Assignees need to line up in two lines, male and female, by last name. When August turned around to line up, she realized that she was so invested in what the Doctor was saying that she didn’t realize that the room had become filled with seventeen and eighteen year olds. August and Katarina said their farewells and went to line up.

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