#it’s utterly humiliating but like he never stops. bc he just HAS to be right one of these days. it’s both pride and spite. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undermattsun-archive · 3 years

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tell me

(skate rat) miyas x fem!reader | w.c 1.6k

a/n: ok look i’m no brother fucker on main, but the lewding potential post-show me was too delicious, and if i’m not an opportunistic whore... so here it is the pt 2 y’all keep screaming about that i actually started writing no more than two hrs after posting show me bc i have no self control

another big thankies to @sugardaddykenma for giving this a read over big fat wet besitos for u

18+ university | please read ALL warnings

warnings: INCEST full on (i’m sorry god), dubcon/noncon elements, fingering, overstimulation, dumbification (lowkey), degradation, manipulation, a dash of gaslighting, a bit of humiliation, virginity loss (mentioned), crybaby!reader, little bit of mind break, reader is tired + slurs words a bit

just...them taking advantage of dumb reader

read show me first! (not necessary but appreciated + it would make more sense to do so) NOW with the third part make me !!

One hour, twenty-six minutes and who knows how many seconds have gone by since your brothers have decided to go into an entire good cop, bad cop tirade.

Their words barely making a dent in your mind as a soreness settles in your bones, the added discomfort of a mixture of sweat, saliva and cum drying on your skin with the debauched feeling of Kita’s cum dripping from your sore cunt keeping your mind thoroughly distracted.

“You’re never gonna see him again.” Atsumu-nii barks out.

“It’s better that way.” Osamu-nii adds gently.

“In fact he’s dead next time we see him.”

“Yeah, very much dead.”

“We told him to stay away from you, fuck.” Atsumu flops down beside you, Osamu follows sitting on your other side.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” You mumble, regretting your words the second you see the look in your brothers’ eyes.

“Not that big a deal?” Atsumu’s voice is no more than a low growl as he rises, eyes narrowing at the statement. “Kita’s a fucking bastard and you just let him between your legs like it was nothing. Are you stupid?”

Your eyes widen at the accusation as you scoot away from him, drawing your knees to your chest, letting your eyes fall to the rumpled blankets surrounding you.

“You let him cum inside you?” A gasp falls from your lips, embarrassment scorches through you as you realize the way your bare cunt is exposed by the way you’re sitting. You immediately shoot back, slamming into Osamu as you squeeze your legs shut, dread filling your lungs as Atsumu crawls forward.

“Our little sister really is dumb. Is that what you’ve been up to while you’re away?” He’s always been faster than you, proven by how his fingers are already around your wrist, yanking you towards him. You know that struggling is a moot point, he’s bigger and faster and so much stronger. But you can’t help but wiggle around, barely able to make him budge even a centimeter.

“No! That was my first...” you bite your tongue as Atsumu crosses his legs and seats you in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as he snakes an arm around your waist. He rests his chin atop your head, a thoughtful hum vibrating in his chest against you.

“Hear that Samu?” Atsumu squeezes you tightly as your eyes frantically dart around Osamu’s features, silently begging for him to free you from this situation.

“Yeah Tsumu, she really gave up her virginity to Kita.”

“Like an idiot.” They muse in unison.

“I- but-”

“But nothing. Now your nii-chan’s need to clean you up. Stupid little girl.” He mutters against your hair, smoothing his hands over your thighs, spreading them apart more and more. Stretching them until they’re caught by his knees, rendering you helplessly exposed.

“Umm.” Your legs twitch, the position all too embarrassing, the powerlessness of it parallel to when you were being held by Kita. Taboo, the position screams.

“It’s okay, dumb girls like you make mistakes all the time,” Osamu smiles gently, shifting over to lift the hem of your shirt, handing it to Atsumu keeping it pinned just above your belly button, “that’s why you have us.”

Confusion swirls as you watch your older brother's fingers disappear into his mouth, eyes watching as his tongue flicks over the digits, retracting them slowly.

“Ah! Wait!�� You yelp out as he pushes his index and middle fingers past your puffy hole, a stinging pleasure making the taut muscles of your thighs twitch. Atsumu lets out another low laugh, steadying your legs, forcing you to keep still as Osamu continues to prod further. The blunt ends of his fingers pressing and dragging against the sore gummy walls.

“Too much, too much.” You gasp as Osamu’s fingers dig further into your cunt, shaking as you feel the tips of fingers brush against your cervix. Fat tears begin to roll down your face as you press harder back into Atsumu, as if you could find escape in the rigid planes of his body.

His fingers continue to twist and scour, the sensation is all too overwhelming, making your throat tighten as you make futile attempts at clamping your legs shut, only making Atsumu snicker above you. You watch with panting breaths as Osamu finally draws out his fingers, covered in the milky white slick, evidence of the sins you committed just a few hours before.

“What a sloppy cunt, you really let him make a whore of you huh?” Atsumu bites, the words cut into you, the betrayal in his voice making your throat tighten further. You can only manage to choke out a broken sob of a denial as Osamu brings his fingers against your lips.

“Say ‘ah’.” You shake your head frantically, face quickly being caught in Osamu’s other hand.

“Don’t be difficult, we’re helping you.” Disappointment, the disappointment crumbles what little fighting spirit you had in the first place, you can’t stop the tears from falling as you let Osamu slip slicked fingers into your mouth. Lazily you swirl your tongue around them, exhaustion starting to sweep over you.

“All good?” Atsumu asks as Osamu pulls his digits from your mouth, smiling proudly at you.

“Let me make sure.” He lowers himself more onto the bed, bringing him face to face to your dripping cunny, he plants a hand against the taut muscle of your thigh, staring so intently at your twitching hole. “So fuckin messy.” It’s the closest to warning you get as he pushes his fingers back in, the yelp you let out sounding pitiful even to you.

“We shouldn’t, d-do this.” You grip at Osamu’s arm, but it’s as if each tug you make has no effect. There isn’t a purpose to his motions, his fingers pumping in and out of you with reckless abandon, the wet, lewd sounds filling the room.

“‘M just helping you.” Osamu breathes out, hot breath fanning over your sensitive cunt. With each push of his fingers you feel as though your whole body has been thrown under an unwavering waterfall, every stroke of his fingers feeling like the ruthless waters beating down on you.

“Yeah, you’re the idiot who went and fucked Kita Shinsuke of all people.” Atsumu chides, running a hand across your belly, lips tickling the shell of your ear. He pulls one of your hands off of Osamu, intertwining your fingers, securing your hand against your heaving chest.

“M’Not an idiot.” Your panting whines swirling with the soft wet clicking made by his digits in your cunt punctuating your shame, your words weakly slurred together. “Samu-nii n-n’more.”

“Hm? What was that?” He teases his ring finger against your entrance, viciously scissoring his index and middle, making your body stiffen, the pain of overstimulation surging violently chased with flecks of pleasure.

“Pretty sure she said more Samu.” Atsumu goads, slipping his other hand underneath your shirt to massage your tender breasts, the endless waves of exhaustion leaving you unable to deny yourself melting in his hold.

“More it is.” Without the slightest of stutters in his motions he stuffs in his ring finger, forcing your back to arch at the sting, the throbbing of your cunny is gut wrenching but the delicious curl of Osamu’s fingers is undeniable.

“Shlow down.” Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, head lolling back, knocking into Atsumu’s chin as you stare down with blurry vision at Osamu’s fingers disappearing into your wet heat.

“Think our little dummy means speed up, right sis? You wouldn’t want Samu to miss any leftover cum from your little slut stunt.”

“I-I don’t?” You mumble, trying to crane your head to meet Atsumu’s gaze, the disconnect of his words is disorienting as you continue to slip into worn out haze.

“Of course not, that’s what we’ve been telling you.” He releases your hand in favor of sliding his hand up to grip at your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Hey Samu I think you can fit a fourth.”

“Yeah, me too.” Atsumu presses your head against his, leaving the two of you cheek to cheek as your eyes widen at the sight of your brother’s pinky swiping besides your entrance.

“Won’t fit.”

“It will.” Osamu looks up at you, the familiar lazy half smile almost comforting as he begins to work his fourth finger into your thoroughly abused cunt. A jolt of biting pain mottled with bliss erupts through you. The feeling of being utterly stuffed, pushed past whatever limits you had, leaving you unable to even focus your eyes or make sense of whatever Atsumu whispers against you.

The entirety of your body feels like an exposed nerve, as if you’ve been left out in the sun too long, simultaneously hyper aware and numb of all the little touches and strokes across your flesh. You can feel Osamu steadily pick up the pace with each thrust of his fingers, each stroke as if he’s trying to dig deeper, as if he’s trying to make your cunny memorize the shape of each finger.

“Tsu-tsumu-niii, I thiiink…” Whatever comment you had is lost in your throat, the tiniest caress of Osamu’s thumb against your clit has your mind going blank, the entirety of your body coiling tightly, a mangled whine preempting the feeling of yourself gushing around Osamu’s fingers. Your body spasms, held tightly in Atsumu’s arms as you squeal out at Osamu unwilling to relent his movements, continuing to piston his fingers with reckless abandon.

“Enough, Ssamu enough.” Your vision goes spotty, watching with jagged breaths as he gradually withdraws. You spiral into unconsciousness one last shiver wracking through you as you watch him bring his fingers up to his lips, licking a stripe up his coated fingers. A dastardly grin the last thing you see as you black out.

#this work contains INCEST + NONCON elements #DO NOT READ IF U R NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THIS #save us both the time and effort and block me if you hate this content #if u want it to a mutual block lemme know #now that i have posted this i'm actually gonna go pray the rosary #here's ur part 2 whores #miki writes #tw noncon #tw incest #tw dubcon #tw virginity #tw degradation #tw humiliation #tw gaslighting #tw manipulation #tw dumbification #tw mindbreak #tw overstimulation

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brekkerism · 4 years

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BASIC INSTINCT (Part 1 - A Spencer Reid Series)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: (Y/N) has recently joined the bau through non conventional and rather privileged means. Couple that with a dark and troubled past, all she really wants is a fresh start. What she didn’t predict getting in her way of that, was one Special Agent Dr Spencer Reid. She thinks it’s hopeless and he’ll hate her forever. That is, until she sees Dr Reid on a rather...unusual place.

A/n: I kinda can’t believe this is my first Spencer Reid/Criminal minds fic. I’ve been obsessed for so long but I never got the courage to post anything. Well, we’ll see how this one goes. I really do hope all of you enjoy this, since I’m planning to make it multi chapters and I’m too in love to abandon it! Forgive me for not giving y’all the smut right away but good things come to those who are patient! And also huge thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins for being such a wonderful human and helping me beta this first one. Shout out to all the lovely people in the discord for encouraging me enough to write this. And also for my sweet liv, bc if she didn’t like this I would def not have posted.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Word count: 2320

Rating: R-no actual hard smut. For now.

Content warning: 12+ years age gap, description of bdsm scenes and play, swear words, brief fingering

*********

Since the first day I stepped in the bau, I knew Dr.Spencer Reid would not like me one bit.

Call it a gut feeling, a hunch, or maybe my justified pessimism.

I knew the moment my dad told me, fresh out of the academy and not even slightly experienced at 24 years old, that I ‘mysteriously’ got a generous offer for a job with one of the best teams the FBI had to offer, that I wasn’t going to be liked by a lot of people. Because it wasn’t a mystery how I got the position. It was actually really plain and simple, and could be boiled down to one word:

Nepotism

I didn’t ask for it; I didn’t want it (no matter how much I actually wanted the position, but by my earning it on my own merits), but I completely understood something like this was likely to happen. I knew it the moment I moved back home and decided that the only thing worthwhile I really wanted to do was join the FBI. My dad was a good guy who was just trying to help me, his intentions were just a little misguided. It happens.

What doesn’t ‘just’ happen is that my dad is the deputy director of the FBI. His helping me was ‘making calls’ and ‘pulling strings’, which instantly gives my peers every reason to doubt every achievement I have.

But I was completely ready for it.

What I wasn’t ready for is for everyone on the team to be normal and so welcoming to me, like I was any other agent. It was everything I wanted.

Well, everyone did that except him. I couldn’t figure it out why, but from the first minute he turned those eyes towards me, looking me up and down but never quite reaching my eyes, I could feel the scrutiny under the stare. Almost like he was saying “Really? This is it?”.

But with a blink it was gone, and he turned away from me and put his attention to the book in his hand so fast I almost thought I imagined the whole thing.

But I knew, I knew I saw it. And I knew that even if I didn’t want it, my body and brain would spend days trying to make him acknowledge me again, to look me up and down again, to try and prove to him what I’ve been trying to prove to everyone:

I deserved to be there. I could earn it by myself. I just need the chance to do it.

And so, my journey to try to not only be useful but a valuable agent, someone he would have to notice began.

And it was shit.

Everyone was so willing not only to teach me, but to listen to my input.

Luke always had my back, both of us being the newbies in the team. JJ and Tara were always open to listening to theories, doubts and rambling, besides being totally badass inspirations. Penelope always had a eager and friendly attitude that could comfort me immediately, and she welcomed me with open arms. Emily and Rossi were patient, while also pushing me to be so much better, and being the best mentors they could be.

None of them even seemed to have even a passing thought of giving me special treatment or harsher judgment. It was almost perfect.

If it wasn’t for Special Fucking Agent Doctor Reid. He wouldn’t even be an asshole towards me, oh no, It was much, much worse. He ignored me.

He was almost happy to pretend I didn’t even exist. Of course there were situations that he couldn’t avoid socializing, as minimal as it was, but it was like he was talking to a wall. He looked at me like he was surprised that I was even there. He wouldn’t acknowledge me unless he was made to. He wouldn’t even correct me when I was wrong. At this point I was sure that I could be screaming bloody murder at him and he wouldn’t take his eyes off whatever he was doing.

It was the most frustrating and irritating thing that has ever happened to me. It made my blood boil over. It made me cry with sorrow.

And I couldn’t even figure out why. I didn’t know what it was that made me crazy because Spencer Reid wouldn’t look my way.

So I did what every angry and frustrated normal young adult does.

I went to a sex dungeon to drink my mixed feelings away and watch BDSM scenes. Duh.

Even though I wasn’t going there to play, and I thought I would never be able to play again, it was still a safe place for me. A place where I could see people that once knew the real me and provided a place free of any judgement. People who didn’t know who I was outside of those walls, who thought of me as just another person in that safe and different little world.

It also helped that watching, as much as it wasn’t my preference before, was the only thing that could properly get me off these days. And after everything, I thought I still deserved the ability to enjoy some parts of it.

And so, after saying my goodbyes to Pen, JJ amd Emily, and finding flimsy excuses not to join them at the bar for Friday drinks, I hopped the elevator, wondering how long would it take me to get properly dressed and drive across town, and if I was going to be able to call more of my old friends.

But all my happy thoughts of getting to immerse myself on a world I still loved were immediately clouded when a hand stopped the elevator and went in with me. His hand.

Great, just the perfect ending to an shitty day. A awkward elevator ride with Spencer Reid. And as always, he didn’t bother to acknowledge me, even though it was just the two of us riding down.

I was trying so hard to be in a good mood; to ignore the shitty end to a shittier case and go somewhere where I could try to be happy. But I just had to be met with his silence, his awkwardness, his existence in general. I didn’t want to feel like that today. So before I could stop myself, I did something stupid

“So, what are your plans for the weekend, Doctor?”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Like he would voluntarily participate in small talk with me, something he already didn’t like, with someone he didn’t even bother to not like.

“I think I’m going to go to a party with a friend today.”

Now that took me by surprise. No short replies? No one syllable answers? He actually told me something out of his own free will? He engaged in small talk?!

“O-oh? I didn’t know you were one for partying... like, at all. Which friend are you going with? Do I know him?”

Talk to me. Keep engaging in small talk, please.

“You don’t really know me well enough to judge if I am one for partying or not, now, do you? And you definitely wouldn’t know her. I don’t only hang out with people on our team, contrary to popular belief.”

Well that was extremely uncalled for. And rude. I thought that it was the first time he ever referred to me as part of the team, but that was an small detail to analyze later.

“No need to be defensive or rude, I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t.”

He was back to having that stupid blank expression on his face, back to not dignifying me with a proper answer, and that just wouldn’t do, would it?

I had a response. I had an excellent, spectacular comeback to use, but before I could actually defend myself in any way, the elevator dinged open. He couldn’t get out fast enough.

It was infuriating. So I did the only reasonable thing:

I followed him to his car to give him a piece of my mind.

Because of those immensely long legs, he almost got there quick enough to drive away and avoid me, but I would not let my stubby short legs get in the way.

I got my hand in before he could close his door, much like he did with the elevator. He still refused to look up at me but, the cheer disbelief and confusion on his face was enough of a response. Can’t ignore me now, asshole.

“You know, the only reason I don’t know anything about you, is because you pretend like I don’t exist. So don’t be needlessly rude to me. It’s better to keep not saying anything at all.”

And there it was. It was just tip of the iceberg, but at least I acknowledged it. I could actually feel a smirk forming on my face.

“Remove your hand please.”

And he finally looked up at me. All the disbelief and annoyance on his face were gone, replaced by that utterly bored and blank stare.

I actually wanted to scream. How was this the same guy that couldn’t stop talking and rambling enthusiastically about any and everything to anyone, the same person who had a perfect smile and warmth on his eyes for everyone else. How.

It was too frustrating. So I stepped back, removing my hand from his car door and walking towards my own car. It was better to just let it end already so I can wallow in my humiliation over this failed attempt at confrontation.

It almost put me in a bad enough mood that I didn’t want to go to the ‘club,’ but I had already promised Amara, who was not only one of my best friends but also happened to be dating that particular BDSM dungeon’s Mistress. There was no getting out even if I wanted to.

And I didn’t really want to.

****

A hour and dress change later, I was ready to go. This was absolutely nothing like the old outfits I used to wear for this events, but then again, I wasn’t the same girl. Not entirely.

So I opted for a silky black dress with a cowl neck and the best heels I had. It was sexy enough for a night of normal clubbing, but rather tame for a night at a dungeon. It was exactly what I wanted. It was less likely in that type of dungeon for anybody to approach or proposition me if I didn’t look experienced and in my element.

Even if I secretly was.

So I got ready, took my time to properly breathe, and left everything that wasn’t this night or positive thoughts behind the locked door of the apartment. I could come back to them later.

Right now, I was going to be happy and have fun.

*****

I was not having fun anymore. It was unfortunate, and I felt like somehow that this had to be the bad mood I was in from a particular encounter earlier. I just couldn’t find anything that excited me the way I wanted it to. I had made the rounds with Amara, and she had showed me all of the new rooms and new toys before every space got occupied with busy couples and groups.

It was beyond fun exploring before the spaces were being actually used, and imagining what each person would get out of those rooms. It was a pleasant and happy feeling.

But soon enough the dungeon got filled with more and more people, and each room was occupied and used. Most were open for all that wanted to watch, but each scene I passed failed to get my attention. It was especially more daunting and lonely when Amara left to put on a show with her girlfriend in the main room.

And as pretty and wonderful as they looked, I just didn’t feel like watching a couple as in love as Amara and Celeste performing tonight. It was just... a little too much for me. After everything, most loving was.

No, what I was looking for was not that. I was looking for the thing I used to crave. The thing that used to keep me going at all times of the day.

I was looking for fucking. Not couples making love, not couples having sex, not pet play, not elaborate scenes or people using toys so strange and complicated I couldn’t make out what was what.

I was looking for someone completely fucking dominating their partner.

It shouldn’t be impossible to find. Not on a Friday night, and not in a club this good.

And I did. I finally found it.

The dom had his back to the audience and the door with the little window I was watching through. He was turned toward his sub standing on the side while she spread her legs on the bed, her hands tied up to the headboard, showing her pussy to the audience along the wall. It was the perfect scene for me. In fact, too perfect.

She even looked a little like me, in fact. Same build, similar hair. It got me even more excited to watch this through. I took a deep breath and finally opened the door. Stepping in, I leaned against the door, having a direct view to the bed.

And god did I want to watch.

The dom still had his back to us,but I wasn’t watching him. Rather, I watched the girl’s cunt and how he was fingering it, not saying anything for her or us yet.

He has really nice hands.

Really, really nice. In fact I don’t think I’ve seen such nice hands since –

Not the time!

The girls face looked rather blissful, and I imagined three of those pretty and long fingers should be doing just the trick for her.

But then she did something that displeased him.

She moaned. Loudly.

The sound was immediately followed by a sharp slap in her face.

Fuck, that made me wet.

But before I could even entertain the idea of getting my hands inside my panties, the dom spoke.

He spoke in a voice I almost never heard directed towards me, but could pick out in any crowd.

He spoke in the voice of the man that made me so mad I almost didn’t come to the club in the first place.

“Are my fingers inside you too much? Cause I’ll fucking stop if you can’t obey and stay quiet.”

And I froze. I froze and panicked and had to stop myself from screaming by bringing a hand up to my mouth.

Because that was Spencer Reid, in a BDSM dungeon, dominating a girl right in front of me.

Taglist: @imagining-in-the-margins @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @gretaamyk @prettyricky187 @sunlight-moonrise @fanficlibrary82 @blazinvixen @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @httpnxtt @reidetic @hyper-fxation @blushingspencer @reidlusts @wishingwellwriting @redbullchick

I feel like I missed a lot of peeps but please know I’m still thankful ma loves

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

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Lips of an Angel (Modern!AU)

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Ivar/Freydis, Reader/OC

Summary: “Well, I had this idea of Ivar x reader based off the song Lips of an Angel. (If you feel like a Modern AU works best that's fine) Where Ivar is with Freydis, but Ivar never let go of his feelings for the reader and she never let go of hers, and you can decide how you want it to end.”

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, lost love, implied/mentioned sex/cheating, teeny tiny mentions of sub!Ivar (couldn’t help myself, sorry)

A/N: So here’s the modern version of this request, bc I’m a mess and couldn’t decide. I hope I did okay, and that the lovely anon that requested this is happy with how it turned out. Thank you so much!

You can find the Viking Era version of this request right here

“He asked me to marry him.”

Your words drop on Ivar’s chest with such weight he almost gasps, and parted lips try bringing air to lungs that cannot function, that remain paralyzed.

You’re marrying someone else.

He tells you to wait, or he thinks he does, hopes he does. All he can think of is getting out of this fucking bed and being able to talk to you, to…to make sense of the world again.

You haven’t called him in…Gods, in so long. All he has had of you for almost two years is the polite smiles and the civil conversations to be held when your family and his get together.

But now, now you call him in the middle of the night, saying his name like you used to, and telling him…telling him…

You’re marrying someone else.

Getting onto his chair has never proven so difficult, with shaking hands and panicked breaths. He moves towards the leaving room, leaving behind a bedroom of two people that have seen someone else when they whisper their I love you’s for months now, that have pretended not to hear names not their own when they lose themselves in each other since the beginning.

“Talk to me, princess.” Ivar asks once he gets to the living room, free hand tapping anxiously at the wheel of his chair as he hears you take a few deep breaths.

“Emil asked me to marry him.”

He grits his teeth, “I got that part.”

“I…I don’t know why I called, I just…” “I should have said yes. He’s…he’s a sweet guy, and my dad loves him, and…”

Ivar refuses to sit there like an idiot and hear you sing praises to the man you’re dating, and it is with a bubble of anger and resentment that he calls out your name, stopping you.

You sigh, and it feels so familiar his chest pulls tight, “It’s been so long since you’ve said my name.”

His eyes fall closed, and he drags a hand over his face, trying to find some sort of stability in this madness. He hates how you still have this hold over him, how with only a few words you turn him inside out, leave him raw and vulnerable.

“Wh-Why do you tell me this?” He asks, tilting his head back and resting his head on the backrest of the chair, looking up at a darkened ceiling. “To torture me? To play some kind of-…”

“Because I couldn’t say yes,” You whisper, and at the way you seem to be so close to crying his own chest hurts. “Ivar, I…I…”

“What, princess?” He presses, because he cannot hold his breath any longer, because you pulled him under with the sweet sound of his name on your lips and he hasn’t been able to breathe properly since you called.

“I shouldn’t have called,” You mutter, almost to yourself, “You’re with someone else, I-…”

“She isn’t you.” Ivar tells you, too-late regretting being so honest, sounding so pathetically desperate.

You remain silent for so long he almost wants to hang up, to end this whirlwind that has made his world be upside down, to save himself the humiliation of a rejection.

“I never moved on, Ivar,” You confess, and in a sigh that he can close his eyes and feel by his ear as if you were there, you seem to find your strength. Because after a moment, you clear your throat and sentence, “But I have to.”

He’s left alone with silence on the other line.

He’s angry and drunk and he feels broken, and you have to answer for what you’ve done to him His fingers are tapping on the call button before he can think twice about it, but all that meets him is silence.

And sitting alone in a darkened living room of a place he doesn’t know, because he had to leave his last apartment haunted by the ghost of you; he finds himself alone and heartbroken.

You’re marrying someone else.

Someone that isn’t him.

You’re loving someone else.

Someone that isn’t him.

He feels the prick of tears in his eyes, the tightening of his throat, the restless energy to do something, stop this…this chaos you put inside of him, this mess you’ve made of his heart or whatever is left of it.

You always did breeze -barrel- into his life and turn everything upside down, made him lose control over his heart, his mind, his everything. Since the beginning.

And now you call him to…to what? To tell him the woman he loves is getting engaged to some fucking guy that doesn’t deserve her, that could never love her the way he could? To let him know you’ve moved on and are going to marry this fucker and have his children and all that while still holding Ivar’s heart with an iron grip?

No, no, he won’t be played with, he won’t be humiliated like this.

Ivar pulls out his phone with shaking hands, jaw set so tight he fears his teeth will break.

Two can play that game. Two can ‘move on’. Two can inflict pain.

He’s searching for an engagement ring before he can think twice about it. Scrolls down countless diamond rings, trying to find the most expensive-looking one.

Freydis will agree, she is as lost as he is, she will agree. He can convince her if she has doubts, he is sure of it.

Imagining putting a ring on her finger feels wrong, so fucking wrong when he still holds on to the one he won for you at that stupid fair you forced him to go to.

You extend your left hand excitedly, almost bouncing on your feet, and for a moment Ivar can pretend it isn’t a plastic ring what he’s putting on your finger. You bring his lips to yours and seal a smile against his lips, “This one will do till you give me the real one, Lothbrok.”

The night everything fell to pieces you gave him back that plastic ring, like it meant something, like he’d meant something. And he still has it, he still keeps it safe next to the arm ring his father gifted him.

That last night -it wasn’t the last time he ever saw you, he has seen you afterwards many times, but it was the last night of the two of you, of what had been and what could be- still replays in his head in his worst times. And his best too. Ivar cannot let go of the could have been’s, cannot move on from you, not when his legs are worse than usual and he feels alone and cursed, not when his father praises his work in the family business and he feels like he’s on top of the world.

And that night that repeats in his head taunts him with the last -not the last, but in a way they were- words you said to him, “I wish we could be strangers again.”

It is with an angry twist of his lips, with a frustrated growl that is kept at bay by gritted teeth that Ivar stops searching for the engagement ring to give Freydis.

What will change, if he makes her his fiancée? You will still be with someone else, marrying someone else, loving someone else.

Before he closes the browser where some expensive and pretentious-looking store offers him rings to cover up regret, his eye catches on one of the diamond pieces. It is strikingly similar to the one he gifted you as a joke that ended up being so much more, and when he taps to see the name, Ivar’s breath catches.

Angel.

Your eyes are adorably focused on the red marks on his chest, a small frown between your brows.

It is almost without thinking, almost startling him, that you lean closer and press the softest of kisses over one of the marks, making Ivar feel so unbearably warm.

He finds himself smiling, like the lovesick idiot he is. And for the brief moment where your lips are pressed against his skin and your warmth is enveloping him and he is still riding that high of feeling utterly yours¸ he finds that he doesn’t care if he is playing the part of the enthralled fool chasing after a girl that is so out of his reach. Because in these small instants where it is just him and just you, he feels loved.

“Are you trying to heal me with kisses, princess?”

“Maybe,” You mumble, before offering him a smile that is almost blinding. “I’m good with kisses.”

“Mhm, you are,” For good measure Ivar puts his hand at the back of your head and brings your lips to his own. After a few breaths, he continues, “You got the lips of an angel.”

He manages to make you snort with a roll of your eyes, clearly flustered even if you try to write it off as cheesiness.

“That’s a song, and you know it.”

He moves closer to you, pressing a kiss right over the dip of your collarbones, “Is it?”

Your answering laugh sounds breathy and soft by his ear.

He doesn’t give himself time to think it through before he’s given his credit card number and made the necessary arrangements.

He is calling you before he can think about it and back out too.

“I b-bought plane tickets, and booked a hotel. Vestfold.”

“Vestfold? The same h-…”

“Yes,” He interrupts, although some of his anxiety recedes at the fact that you don’t immediately laugh and hung up. “A week. Will you be there?”

“Ivar…”

This is madness, he is being crazy and impulsive and desperate, but he finds he doesn’t care.

“You aren’t sure, you wouldn’t have called me if you were sure and happy with him,” He presses, hand tightening over the phone, “One week, princess.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and Ivar feels like he is dangling over the edge of a cliff, needing but one word to either fall or return to safety.

You sigh, and it sounds tremulous, “What time does the plane take off?”

____

He knows it is not rational, he knows it is stupid and crazy. But Ivar finds himself trying to convince you to stay with him with sex.

Whoever this other man is can probably give you more stability than Ivar ever did, with his anger and his pain and his jealousy. He can probably give you a normal life where the name Lothbrok doesn’t hang over your head with the promises of unfaithfulness and broken marriages. He can probably give you much more than he can.

But he can’t make you feel like Ivar can.

He can’t make your lips -hypnotizing, dangerous, lips- part in ecstasy like Ivar can, he can’t make you moan and whimper and say his name in that sweet way of yours, he can’t make you shed that pretend softness and let you draw pleasure and pain and blood and pleas from his lips, he can’t make you come like he can.

And in the week he gets to have you, both of you pretending there’s nothing wrong with this, both of you satiating more than a year’s worth of hunger on each other’s skin; Ivar does try his best to show you this.

To show you that if nothing else, he can make sure your body will never forget him.

That for all the thing a life with him would take from you, it would give you this, whatever it is worth. His body, his heart, him.

He isn’t a sucker for punishment, or…not that kind of punishment, so of course he doesn’t say anything. He pretends, alongside you, that there’s not a world past this, that there isn’t a choice to make at the end of this brief paradise.

And it is easy, to forget, to pretend.

Waking up every day to the sight of the snow covering the small hotel in the middle of nowhere, with you pressed against him in some way or another; getting to wake you up by making you moan his name, getting to play idly with your fingers as you both look out the window and watch the sun rise; it lets him keep this fantasy alive.

Spending the day and night lost in you, in your scent and your touch and your lips, it lets him pretend the last year never happened, it lets him pretend this is his life. What it always has been, what it always should be.

And Ivar dares think it is the same for you, because your left hand holds no ring and your eyes are loving and warm as you look at him, because your smiles are easy and your kisses are as if the time apart never happened.

For the first time in a long time, Ivar feels happy, Ivar feels -naively, wretchedly maybe- loved.

But, all good things end, especially for him.

And soon it has been a week since you agreed to meet him here.

You wake him up with the delicate and warm caress of your fingers up and down his back, and all Ivar can offer in response to your good morning is a hum as he sinks further into the pillows.

After a moment, he lifts a heavy hand and lets it find a home on your thigh, moving up and down and delighting himself in the way you fidget whenever he creeps too high up.

But because one of you has to say it, Ivar turns his head on the pillow so he can see you where you sit cross-legged at his side, and whispers, “Time’s up, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” You tell him with a nod. After a few moments of silence, you sigh, “I should have known…earlier. I should have been strong enough to face the truth.”

He swallows down the apprehension, the knot of tension in his stomach, “Which is?”

“I could have never accepted that ring,” You sentence, and with almost as man words as that night a week ago when you called and dropped the weight of the world on Ivar’s chest, now you free him of it. You shake your head at yourself, “I feel like a monster. He went down on one knee, gave me some speech about how he loved me, and how…how he wanted to deserve me; and I couldn’t answer him.

Ivar sits up when he hears the bitter laugh that leaves your lips.

“My boyfriend proposed to me, and the first thing I did wasn’t call my mom or my sister to tell them the news, or…or take a picture of the ring and post an announcement, or…I don’t know, fucking my fiancé!” Your words end with a shout, and you drop your head to your hands, “No, the first thing I did was call you. Because…Gods, Ivar, despite everything, I don’t see the rest of my life with anyone but you.”

Nothing could stop him then from leaning close to you, from having his hand find yours and your fingers intertwine. He lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your fingers.

“Do you think it is any different for me, hm?”

This time you do smile, and it looks freer than earlier, and you still look at him with the same softness and the same warmth even if the fantasy is over.

“We are hopeless, aren’t we?”

“You told me once that you wished we could be strangers again, start over,” Looking into your eyes he lowers his voice and promises, “We can do that.”

“We’ve spent the last week in a hotel room together. That isn’t something strangers do.”

He shrugs, a downward curve of his mouth, “Could be. When our children ask, we’ll say we met on some bar while on holiday, and spent the best week of our lives so far fucking each other in some hotel in Vestfold.”

His heart beats fast in his chest because Gods, he is getting ahead of himself, he is being reckless and crazy and…

“That’s not something you can tell the children, Ivar.”

He laughs with you, not so much at the levity of the situation, but at the weight you lift from his heart with the curve of your smile.

When the moment passes, the smile you offer him is the same one he remembers, the excited and scared and loving curve of your lips -tempting, perfect, lips- of that day when he offered you a plastic ring and a promise.

“I didn’t call too late, did I?”

And he gets to kiss you again, this time not in borrowed time, not in fantasy, not in fear of what is to come.

____ ____ ____

I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

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strayfreckles · 4 years

Text

all on you.

☕︎︎ hwang hyunjin x reader (ft. ryujin, felix, & yeji); highschool au, friends-to-lovers au, barista au, bulletpoint fic.

maybe you would’ve gotten out of highschool with your emotions (and pride) unscathed if it weren’t for hwang hyunjin and his so-called romantic, obnoxious—and, in your case, unfortunately effective—antics.

includes: fluff, angst (especially in the middle), mutual pining, somewhat slow burn (?), gn!reader, barista!reader, a hefty amount of swearing, the only consistent thing you’ll see here is how utterly terrible this is, fluctuating humor

notes: this was requested by a wonderful anon! before you dive in, i’d like to inform you that this is my first fic of any kind, so please tread gently 😔✋ though constructive criticism is appreciated !! hope you enjoy (and hopefully not cringe too much sdkdnkdks) <33

wordcount: 2.8k

let me be the first to say that you absolutely abhor romance films with every existing fiber and cell in your body.

like, you cannot physically withstand the atrocity that is occurring right before your very eyes and you have to tear your gaze away before you bash your head to the nearest table.

and though you do admit that you’re overreacting sometimes

you also admit that you’re a massive dumbass for falling prey to one of the most common—and one of the most infuriating tropes—that is falling for your best friend.

yeah, hwang hyunjin? that boy holds your heart between his palms and with every smile you fall deeper and deeper

you’ve known that kid since you started eating crayons in elementary, and since then you’d been attached at the hip, clung to each other through all the clownery of middle school

finding each other in places is like a sixth sense; it only takes you both less than a minute to find the other before startling them with a quiet “hey, you”

but time is impatient, and that timid, starry-eyed boy you knew became the dimpled heartthrob come highschool—geared with the smarts and the talents and love-laced words that sent boys and girls running after him

but to you he was always just that kid who nearly consumed clay cakes because “it looked so real!”

until he wasn’t

it just came to you like a blow to the face, in the middle of sophomore year, sitting on hyunjin’s bedroom floor on a weekend trying to cram revise for your upcoming exams

you decided to take a quick break, and made the mistake of looking at hyunjin

and my oh my was he stunning

every laugh that tumbled from his lips sounded like a fucking symphony

and the bastard was just playing with kkami !!

he looked so damn soft as he planted kisses on his coat

every single constellation you knew was embedded in his irises

haha heartbeat go brrrrrrr

and maybe all you wanted was for him to never stop smiling, because he looked the most beautiful when he did, and maybe you wanted to brush his hair away from his face because you couldn’t see his eyes all that well and what the fuck—

you just malfunctioned

because that was your best friend

he noticed you staring, of course, and had the audacity to smirk, and in a second you wanted to set yourself on fire

“y/n, i know i look good, but at least try to be subtle.”

“you look like a low-budget minion, hyunjin.”

“i’d rather be a minion than a shabbier version of gru, thank you.”

(many fists were thrown that day, and hyunjin learned not to pick fun at your clothing lest that he face humiliation)

for the first few months you were in constant denial, even going so far as to blame hyunjin himself for forcing you to watch countless romcoms on your weekly sleepovers

but once you catch hyunjin staring at you with that fond look in his eyes, one he’s carried since childhood, your heart finally has the courage to murmur into the concaves of your chest, i am in love

it gets worse around senior year

the summer after junior year you land yourself a job at miroh café, a coffee shop at the heart of the town bc you’re broke as fuck and you need the cash

and, as expected, hyunjin becomes a frequent patron

he’s armed with a pickup line every single time he orders

and every single time you have to tell your heart to calm the fuck down he’s always been like this c’mon gimme a break

it’s even gone to the point where the regulars mistake him as your boyfriend

and as if your conscience nagging you 24/7 wasn’t enough mental baggage, your coworkers and fellow seniors, felix and ryujin, decided to weigh in

“if that isn’t the look of someone who’s simping over you then i don��t know what is,” ryujin nudges you, and from the repetitive force you’ve sustained from the past week you’re surprised your ribs aren’t bruised yet.

“you act like you’re not in the same dance crew,” you scoff, “ryujin, he flirts with everyone—he even had the balls to hit on chan!”

“let me remind you that denial is always the first stage of falling in love,” felix chirps, cheerful as he replenishes the pain au chocolat in the display.

“and let me remind you that i’m holding a very hot cup of coffee straight out of the machine; ‘accidents’ can happen, felix.”

of course, you weren’t in denial—you’d been past that stage long ago

it’s just that you didn’t wanna give yourself false hope

you didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing with him that’s lasted for nearly a decade because of your stupid emotions

so you’ve trained yourself to remain indifferent to the many compliments and lines he sent your way, hoping that if you could fool the others into thinking he didn’t affect you, maybe you could fool yourself, too

but oh ho ho, do i have some news for you (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

you don’t know how hyunjin’s pulse speeds up whenever he sees a handwritten note on his coffee wishing him good luck

you don’t know how often he forces himself to stop staring at you whenever you’re not looking

you don’t know how stupidly happy it makes him when he sees you smile

especially when he’s the reason why.

maybe everything about you makes hwang hyunjin happy

and maybe if you weren’t so kind and gentle and considerate during the times he lost a competition then maybe he wouldn’t have fallen this hard

but you were (and still are)

during the times you cried from laughter at all his antics

or cracked a smile at one of his pickup lines

he’d think that maybe—just maybe—he could stand a chance

but every time he did, he’d spiral into self-doubt

because there’s no way you would ever fall for him

you’re the kindest, most talented person hyunjin has ever known who deserves the universe

and he’s just… him

even if he did plan to confess, he’d be putting everything at stake; you’re too important to him, losing you would be a loss too heavy for him to bear

so he’s content with playing this role

even if the idea of you being with someone else hurts him so much

he’s content with reminding you everyday—even if it isn’t direct—that your mind is like no other, and that anybody would be blessed to have you

you both think it's always going to be like this

with you struggling to keep your feelings from showing

and hyunjin battling his inner demons

and those left to perceive the “discreet” ogling across the room and the hidden yearning in your voices are none other than (you guessed it!) felix and ryujin 🤩

it was funny the first few months

but now it’s just plain frustrating and they want nothing more than to bash your two oblivious heads together because y’all !! are !! idiots !!

no matter how much they persist, they’re always met with either a sad, gentle smile with a shake of the head or a monotonous “ha. you’re really funny.”

both have considered dropping your asses but they can’t because they love y’all too much

so all they can do is hope for a change

and change does indeed arrive when september rolls around

dance practice has just ended and hyunjin feels hyped because it’s movie night and he can’t wait to cry to kimi no na wa again

and lowkey stare at you for the entirety of the film

he exits his dance crew’s studio and is about to go straight to 7/11 for snacks when he spots the team’s newest recruit by the road, waiting for a ride home

hwang yeji’s only moved here two months ago and in a short span of time she’s already become one of the well-liked kids at school

but she’s a kind & humble sweetheart who deserves all the love & attention !!

so being the good sport he is, hyunjin approaches yeji with the brightest grin, having only talked to her a few times prior

“hey, there! yeji!” when the girl turns to him, her smile looks and feels like liquid sunshine. “waiting for your date?”

yeji turns rosy when he asks, like she does when everyone teases her about her special someone, who she’s been crushing on for weeks and who she finally had the courage to ask out. “c’mon, stop that. i don’t even know if they like me like that—they probably think it’s just another friendly date.”

“they’re a fool if they don’t end up liking you after, then,” hyunjin quips, hoping the bitterness doesn’t seep into his tone and wishing he has half the luck and strength yeji has, and she laughs.

“you know them, actually.”

“oh?”

“yeah! y/n l/n?”

oh.

o h

hyunjin can only blink at her dumbly, feeling like a thousand arrows are digging into his skin

you… with hwang yeji?

is that why you asked about her the other day? because you like her back? and that her feelings are far from being one-sided?

watching a dark cloud loom over his features, yeji thinks about asking if he’s okay when he blurts out an inaudible excuse as he walks away, zooming past the convenience store when he does

when he heads off he doesn’t even look at where he’s going, relying solely on muscle memory

he feels like he wants to grow smaller, biting his lower lip and clenching his hands into fists

he doesn’t even know why he’s upset

you were never his to lose

why would he regret what couldn’t be in the first place?

when his feet instinctively halt in front of miroh café, all he can do is stare blankly at the glass doors, at your figure behind the counter

but he wills himself to move away again, and when he does he clashes with another body

“hey, watch where you’re... hyunjin?”

ryujin stares at him with her mouth half agape, and she flinches when she sees his eyes glistening, his face flushed with the shade of pure heartbreak

“did you know about them?” he’s afraid to raise his voice, because doing so would mean there’s no stopping his emotions, “about… y/n and yeji?”

the lack of response provides the answer, and hyunjin walks away from the block

that afternoon, a cup of coffee with his name scrawled on the front went forgotten on the countertop

that evening, hyunjin doesn’t show for your monthly tradition for the first time in five years

you spend the rest of your evening obsessively checking your phone for text from him, wracking your brain for reasons he couldn’t come

of course, there are multiple reasons: like schoolwork (you are seniors, after all) and the upcoming dance competition

but you know he would text you over the slightest inconvenience, so why isn’t he saying a thing?

you rack your brain for anything you might’ve done, and your chest tightens when you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally caught on to you

you try to distract yourself with other thoughts as you lie wide awake in your bed: like your midterm exams, the nearing debate tournament… your date with yeji

bright, splendid hwang yeji who shares the wittiest jokes in biology and has the most colorful personality around

the first time you spent time with her she made you smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt

her laugh is the loveliest one you’ve ever heard; like dewy lavender fields beneath the spring sunshine

but every time you hear it you’re reminded that it isn’t hyunjin’s laugh, that you aren’t with him and every time you realize it you wanna cry

bc yeji’s been nothing but sweet and considerate this whole time and you’re more than guilty at the fact that all her attentions will be wasted because of you and your stupidity

you barely escape the wrath of crying yourself to sleep when you finally doze off when the clock hit two am

the next day at school, you both barely even make eye-contact

even the underclassmen who’ve heard the frequent calls of your names feel uneasy when they don’t hear hyunjin’s high-pitched voice or your shrill tones

felix especially, who’s experienced the trauma of sitting in between you two at history and feeling the tension that nearly chokes him

you’re more than terrified to look at him at him in the eye, terrified that once you do you’ll realize he doesn’t gaze at you the same way anymore

something inside hyunjin aches every time he spares you a glance, because every time he does it’s painfully obvious that he’s always been hopeless

in all honesty, hyunjin wouldn’t have shown his face at all if it weren’t for the tiny thread of patience inside ryujin snapping

so here he is, inside miroh a quarter before closing time

felix’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees him, so he sends a pointed look to his coworker,

“what did you do?” he murmurs. ryujin’s eyes are sharp when she looks at him, and he feels his blood run cold.

“what i needed to.”

no, she didn’t threaten to kill his entire family, if that’s what you’re wondering

she merely gave him… a warning

so one can imagine the surprise you feel when you emerge from the staff room, and felix drags ryujin outside to give you privacy

you both remain silent once they’re gone, neither one of you moving in place

until quiet words escape your mouth, and the familiar greeting makes hyunjin’s heart clench:

“hey, you.”

he doesn’t make a sound, so you continue, the tension heavy

“you owe me three dollars, by the way. i just wasted a perfectly good iced latte with the other day when you didn’t…”

when you trail off, hyunjin opens his mouth to let out an apology, and he realizes with a start that the words tumbling out are completely different:

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“what?”

“why didn’t you tell me about yeji?” hyunjin’s eyes begin to quiver when they meet yours, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

your jaw tightens, i told you. best friends. nothing more. “because you worry too much about everything; if i’d told you about us then you’d—”

“y/n, we’ve been together for a decade!” hyunjin intervenes, “we’re always going to worry about each other, whether you like it or not. and this— this is… i…”

every coherent thought vanishes as hyunjin grapples for more things to say. he knows he’s being selfish, undoubtedly so, but he wants you. he wants you so, so bad. the fight in him leaves until, eventually, all that’s left to say is the truth: “please, don’t go. don’t go… with her.”

your heart is close to breaking your ribcage when you stare at his face, you wait for him to say anything, to justify why he’s said it, but when the quiet settles, all you can see is red

“this is why i don’t tell you about these things,” you grit, trembling violently. “when i do, you say— say stuff that make me believe that you feel the same way i do when you actually don’t.

“and i hate you so much but in the end it’s all my fault because i’m the idiot who caught feelings for their best friend and—”

hyunjin doesn’t let you add anything else, because his lips are on yours and you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of him, him, him

the kiss doesn’t leave any room for doubt; he’s shaking, and his legs might give out, but he wants you to know that everything he feels is real

you’re both gasping for air when you pull away, but his hands still linger on your face and he traces the edge of your mouth, and you can do nothing but pull him closer by the waist

“still hate me now?” he asks, and you chuckle breathlessly, putting your forehead on his.

“yes, very much so,” you look at him tenderly, and he yelps when you pinch him gently, “this is all on you, y’know. if it weren’t for your godforsaken romcoms, we wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have ended up with a boyfriend, amirite? ow, shit— i’m kidding!”

bonus!

“oh, thank fuck,” felix exhales, looking through the windows one more time before ambling beside ryujin, who looks pleased with herself as she places her apron on the crook of her elbow. “so, spill: what did you tell hyunjin?”

she smiles, “i told him not to give up before he’s even tried anything; sometimes, there are people who are worth taking that risk for.”

just as felix is about to commend her for sounding the most wholesome he’s heard her, she adds: “and i threatened to revoke my tutelage—his ass is failing calculus so hard.”

#inkidz #skz #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #hwang hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin scenarios #stray kids oneshot #just when i thought i couldn’t get more inadequate i hit y’all with a bulletpoint fic 🤩#but pls let me know what you think of this! i’d be happy to read your thoughts !!

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icks4van · 3 years

Note

Have you missed me? I dunno but I was missing yous ma huns. It's me your silly question anon. *Bruce Buffer's voice* IIIIIIITS TIIIIIIIIIIME! *unfortunately it won't be playing helter skelter and then the boys gonna enter in and play longshot*.

How are you? Have you been vaccinated already? I am. Yay!

I just wanna say first that you guys interacting with each other and inventing your own questions in the asks of other blogs is what I am enjoying. Keep it up, we all look like friends. We are like 10 very friendly blogs, I am loving it!

So how about, finally, introduce ourselves? Feel free to respond if you want and how you want. If we know each other we can put ourselves in future situations on other questions that I already plan to ask. Come on, answer:

1. What's your name, age and where are you from?

2. What you study?

3. What was the most embarrassing situation you have ever been in?

4. And what is the best thing that has happened to you so far?

5. How did you meet the band?

6. What is your favorite song and why?

7. What is your favorite album and why?

8. What does the band represent to you?

9. Which of the people here would you like to be friend?

of course i’ve missed you!!! i’m doing pretty okay but OMG YAY IM FULLY VACCINATED NOW TOO !!!! this is fun i guess this will be a semi formal introduction to me which i love so here we go:

1. the name i use on here actually isn’t my real name so that’s a fun fact about me. i used ‘laney’ for ages so idk if it would be weird for me say actually my name is *insert completely different name* lol please lmk. i’m 19 years old and live on the east coast in the states.

2. i’m going to college this coming year so hopefully i’ll be studying english

3. i’ve been in many embarrassing situations however my judgement on what is embarrassing for me is so fucked up so basically every time i open my mouth i consider that to be utterly humiliating. you know what was pretty embarrassing though? getting asked out as a joke like that shit is my villain origin story.

4. i could say something serious and heartfelt for this such as meeting my best friend or getting my dog or recovery but i’m going to go with something more exciting lmaoo. so my friends and i went to see taylor swift on her 1989 tour and we had shit seats but that didn’t matter bc hello it’s taylor swift. we got there and we were going to our spot when a security person came up to us and told us that our seats had been moved bc our original spot was blocked by equipment or whatever. we were like uhhh okay?? and followed the guy and he led us to FUCKING FLOOR SEATS LIKE WE WERE SO CLOSE those seats had to be so insanely expensive so i know i’ll never get an opportunity like that again.

5. i’m guessing this question means like when i found their music bc i haven’t met them (i fucking wish like that would be the best thing that ever happened to me so i would have to change my previous answer lol). i found them right when the ride was released so 2016ish i guess. it’s been a ride ever since (ew sorry that was so corny but whatever)

6. this is such a tough question bc oml nearly every song is my favorite song lmaoo okay okay but if i have to chose one it’s probably cocoon! the song is pure euphoria to me in every way. it’s my favorite kind of love song if that makes sense bc i feel as though i’m quite cynical about such arbitrary things like romance but van writes about it in a way that just clicks for me. i could go on for ages about it but obviously my answers are already too long as it is lmaoo sorry

7. favorite album is definitely the ride!!!! she’s my ride or die (can i stop with these puns already jfc), my total no skip album, and just really defines catfish as a band to me idk if that makes any sense.

8. ooooooh this is a fucking good one. i guess to me they represent rock and roll without literally any of the bullshit that normally comes along with it. they’re proper guitar music in its purest form. there’s no theatrics, no conceited rockstar egos, no fluff, just loud guitars and a raw storytelling. again i could go on for ages about what they mean to me personally and what i believe they represent in my eyes but i shouldn’t bc i won’t shut up lol

9. i would love to be friends with literally any of you cool cats on here holy shit for real i’m always like damn its a real shame we can’t all live in the same place and be friends in irl smh but us hanging out online is still a gift on its own (ew that was fucking cheesy but i stand by it)

#fuck me i don’t know how to shut up #like i be over here typing paragraph #so sorry for that #hope my answers were alright i can’t wait to see other people’s bc i love getting to know everyone on here 🥰🥰#laney says things

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." - THOMAS C. FOSTER

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat.

Good news: you accept the gift.

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it. enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start. “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

#thor odinson x reader #thor odinson smut #thor smut #lukis writes stuff #thor x reader #thor odinson imagine #avengers smut #avengers imagine #sub!thor #sub thor #thor x reader lemons

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okietokiee · 5 years

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The Song of Achilles/Metalocalypse AU

ahh !! I commissioned a friend of mine (who is an incredible artist and specializes in custom/DnD art!! If you’re interested in her work her etsy is MadisonNicoleArt) and she helped me finally create an AU I’ve been obsessed with for a while!

Ok this is going to be pretty long, so bear with me !!

If you’re not familiar with The Song of Achilles it’s basically a retelling of The Iliad by Homer, but from the perspective of Patroclus, the right-hand man of Achilles. It’s a beautiful, magical tale and if you’re familiar with The Iliad the ending is (spoiler) gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. You spend the whole story knowing what’s coming, and you almost get lost in the enchanting beauty of Achilles’ and Patroclus’ relationship with each other.

Now when I first got into the Mtl fandom I was surprised there weren’t any Iliad AUs (BUT CORRECT ME IF IM WRONG AND SEND THAT SHIT MY WAY), because Achilles was a beautiful, golden demi-God (sKWIsGAar in a nutshell LOL) and Patroclus his stong, toned, gorgeous (im extrapolating here but...) right-hand-man/partner/lover/soulmate/other half who, though never prophesied by the Gods for greatness, had his own strengths and made his own name for himself following his heart (Achilles ;))

Here are just some ideas I’ve had about this:

Skwisgaar

- Serveta being a promiscuous Queen who has a one night-stand with a lower level God that left immediately. The God’s seed was so strong that after birthing Skwisgaar his mother became incapable of having any more children and she resents him for this.

- However, Skwisgaar was prophesied by the Gods to become the greatest/quickest warrier of his time with potential to become one of the Gods. His step-father (gentle Tyr) married Serveta and he loves her dearly, though she constantly cheats on him and neglects her only son.

- Tyr does his best to make it up to Skwisgaar, but obvious damage has been done.

- Skwisgaar’s real father is never revealed and it’s quite popular in town to make theories about which gorgeous God Skwisgaar is the bastard of. (Adonis is a popular choice)

Toki

- Toki being the only son of the cruel King Aslaug, a malevolent leader of a deteriorating village. Toki is a small/weak boy for his age and is constantly beaten, belittled, and humiliated by his father, and therefore has no respect from the village people despite being the rightful heir.

- He ends up accidentally killing a young bully his age (son of a noble man) in blind rage because he has certain freak episodes (episodes that likely led to his parents fearing/hating him??). (This is almost exactly what happened to Patroclus in TSOA)

- He’ s exiled from his home, loses his family name, and is sent to be a ward of King Tyr and lives with various other abandoned orphans/exiled princes in Skwisgaar’s father’s rich, plentiful kingdom.

NOW the fantastic slow-burn begins. Because Toki can’t seem to fit in with the other boys and there are constant rumors about how he beat a kid to death for such petty reasons and the rest of the kids are scared of him and keep their distance.

aLL BUT SKWISGAAR! (and fuck i keep almost writing Achilles)

Who finds the new foreign boy utterly fascinating and is inexplicably drawn to him.

Skwisgaar is obviously popular with the fellow boys for he is a tall, strong child destined for greatness, and he basks in this fact.

Now I see Skwisgaar skipping training/class to wander off and play with a golden lyre in some hidden spot in the nearby woods.

The same spot Toki escapes to to avoid the blatant stares and loneliness. He’s shocked for a moment to see the golden prince lounging serenely on his favorite spot surrounded by flowers. But he’s stopped in his tracks after hearing Skwisgaar’s masterful Lyre playing and is absorbed in the music. He remember how, during his cold lonely years back home, an old wooden lyre was his favorite escape.

Skwisgaar spots him and is not surprised to see how this young boy is amazed by his playing because everyone is. He’s a Lyre God. But he is surprised when the young boy timidly asks,

“Cans I tries it?”

No one has ever had the audacity to interrupt him mid-play or the confidence to play anything that could match him. However, he’s amused and has been watching this new kid for a while, so he beckons him over and lets him play a song.

NOW THIS IS THE MOMENT! The moment Skwisgaar is sHOOK by how Toki’s fingers glide across the instrument and the gorgeous sounds he makes. It’s not exactly like Skwisgaar’s, but it’s something entirely his own. Something gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. And Skwisgaar feels something he has never felt before for any music other than his own.

And they end up sneaking off often and spending their free time like this, playing Lyre together and barely speaking. Eventually Skwisgaar tells his step-father he has chosen Toki to be his partner/right-hand-man (bc they did that in Greece, forgot what it was called??) and Toki is shocked and happy and can’t believe for once in his life he can be near the first person that’s ever made him so happy in his life.

Then obviously the growing up together thing !!!

- Toki becomes stronger and truly grows into himself. He’ll never have Skwisgaar’s natural swiftness of foot or affinity for combat, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

- Skwisgaar is originally jealous of/shocked/impressed/aroused by how muscular/toned Toki grows up to become, but he constantly lords his impressive height over Toki

There’s so much more I feel is too much to add!!!

But the other mtl ppl too:

- NATHAN AS ODYSSEUS!! PLS AND THANK

- Murderface or Pickles would actually be a really cool Chiron (a satyr who has trained many Greek heroes)

- Abigail as Briseis !!! (wont talk too much about her role bc TSOA spoilers)

- I’m not sure yet who Charles would be but he definitely has a place in this AU!!!

- mAgNuS iS hECToR !!!ii!!Ii!!

And the boys have so many obstacles in the way of their relationship, society/expectations/responsibilities/themselves. And it’s hard and painful but so worth it as long as they have each other.

And stuff happens and the Trojan war breaks out...

I have so many thoughts for what happens to them, but ugh it’s too much to put in words almost. Just, I can’t help but think of these quotes from the book?!?! They scream Skwistok to me

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.” ― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“He smiled, and his face was like the sun.” ― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

and another quote that i can’t put up bc if i do ever get around to writing this i want it to be a heartbreaking shock bc just thinking about it makes me tear up LOL

Even re-imagining versions of these quotes in their broken english makes my heart hurt !!!

Just asadasfsd

end rant, I hope to add more to this AU in the future

ANd pls if any of you writers are inspired by these ramblings at ALL pls feel free to write something with this AU. Because i crave Ancient Greek Skwistok fics so much

#mtl #metalocalypse #fan art #skwistok #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #nathan explosion #william murderface #pickles the drummer #au

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dukeofriven · 5 years

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‘The AfD declares autistic climate activist to be “mentally challenged” and firms-up its campaign platform around the idea of publicly ridiculing a teenager.’ Throw their pathetic fear of a teen back in their faces. Mock them at every opportunity. Smear their faces in their own shit until they can’t breathe without opening their mouths to swallow it. Remind them always that they are small and weak and frightened by a 15 year old - jeer them, giggle in their presence them, howl with laughter every time they try and pass their crayon scrawl as policy. Make their every waking second a taunting Mean Girls hell in which they can never be free of the knowledge that everyone knows they’re nothing but a pathetic joke. And every time they try and draw strength from that, to try and don the mantle of the oppressed underdog, punch them in the nose and remind them that their bodies are as fragile as their egos and their ideas. Push them down again and again and again. Whisper in their ear that their Nazis forebears used to get treated like this - until one day they found the courage to stand up for themselves and their beliefs and fight. And then they lost. And then we killed them. And then we displayed their bloated corpses for all the world to jeer. And then we destroyed everything they had built and they were powerless to stop us because these failed, pathetic losers put their faith in beliefs that were wrong. Demonstrably false. Literally untrue. The Reich to last a thousand years never grew old enough to get a driver’s license. The Nazis who were humiliated in the Beer Hall Putsch vowed that from that day forward no one would ever treat them like that again. But we did. Because they’re losers who fail. These are people whose ideology gives them cover for advocating some of the most heinous acts this earth has ever seen. The alt-right, whether they openly identify as Nazis or not, are Nazis, and are in accord with the exact same belief system that advocated for genocide, racial supremacy, patriarchy, antiquated conservatism, and other such debunked delusions even if they distance themselves from the Nazi label. When someone’s ideology gives them cover for being a piece of shit like that then you should oblige and treat them as such. Drag them into the nearest restroom and give them a couple swirlies -shit belongs in the toilet, after all. Alright. Despite my bellicose rhetoric above I am a pacifist at heart - violence ultimately begets more violence. So don’t let them drown. Don’t break any bones. Don’t go pulling off fingers the way you might the wings of a tiny, helpless, pathetic, utterly incapable-of-fighting-back mosquito before carelessly squashing it with the tip of the nail on your pinkie finger. Even though you could. Easily. It would not be hard.

But there’s a difference between perpetuating a cycle of violence by starting a blood feud or spending decades abusing someone emotionally and physically and dragging someone who said “you’re a weak effeminate pansy degenerate who wouldn't exist in our pure society and its not hate speech to want a country for white straight men and women with shared moral values” into a park bathroom and demonstrating certain inaccuracies of that argument by clamming their heads into the urinal and forcing them to eat a urinal cake. It’s not the most intellectually robust rebuttal, but you could rephrase “you’re a weak effeminate pansy degenerate who wouldn't exist in our pure society” as “you’re a stinky doo doo head who sucks and when I grow up I’m gonna be strong enough to throw you into space.” They’re functionally identical in terms of tone, content, self-aggrandizement, and mental acuity. There is no intellectually appropriate response to that kind of infantile argument - these are not intelligent people. I don’t mean ‘lacking in formal education.’ I mean they’re stupid. ‘Burn the blankets to warm the bed’ stupid. Leibowitzian ‘Proud To Be A Cretin’ stupid. ‘Smart Men Stay Ignorant; Leaning’s For Libs’ stupid. Their positions should not be treated as intellectually valid out of a misguided belief that a good intellectual should be open-minded to every idea every time it’s proposed. Sure, absolute-free-speech defenders always willing to normalize Nazi “discourse”, I’ll concede that the world-is-flat guy might have had a right to explain what his beliefs were. In 5000 BC, When nobody had heard them before and we didn’t know what he was going to say. Eight thousand years later, though, indulging his ancestor who’s just going to repeat the same points that were wrong eight millennia ago is lunacy.

A good intellectual knowns when something isn’t worth their time and acts accordingly. Sometimes this means not letting someone fill the air with hate speech out of slavish obligation to letter of freedom of expression instead of its spirit (when someone is granted the freedom to debate the idea that everyone who disagrees with them should be purged, you only harm freedom, not celebrate it.) Sometimes this means force-feeding an advocate of genocide a tasty lunchtime treat of urine and quaternary ammonium compounds while cheerfully wondering aloud what might happen if there’s still unswallowed cake in their mouth and you need to resolve certain biological necessities.

The first mistake we ever made with the alt-right was to leave the whoopee cushion at home, when we should have attended their every rally with an armful and play them constantly every time they tried to speak. “There’s nothing wrong with saying I’m pr-THPPTPHTPHPHHPH proud to be THPPTPHTPHPHHPH be white and to stand up for THPPTPHTPHPHHPH the achieveTHPPTPHTPHPHHPHments of the whitTHPPTPHTPHPHHPH of the whTHPPTPHTPHPHHPH white THPPTPHTPHPHHPH white raTPHRRURURURPHH-P-P-P- whiP-P-P-P whP-P-P whiteP-P-P-P WHITE RACTRRHPRPRP-P-P ... ... ... *cough* ... ... WHITE POWFFFFWWWPWPPRPRPRPRPRPRSQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAKTRRRHHPPPP-PPP-RPPP-PPP-P-P-P-PLIPPPP-THRP plip! We should attend their rallies and events with boxes of red noses, rainbow wigs, and buckets of greasepaint and throw ourselves upon them until we’ve forced them into wearing their true colours. Remember: every SS officer who looked so forbidding in their tailored uniform stank of their own disgusting sweat because all that blackened leather couldn’t breathe and every SS trooper standing in that imposing formation was broiling in their own filth. Nothing but bozos in fetish gear. The vaunted Wehrmacht had their uniforms rot off their bodies in the snows of Stalingrad as they had to strip the dead for scraps and rags, freezing to death, starving to death, because Hitler - the great genius who personally involved himself with the running of his forces almost to a tactical level - he didn’t think they needed to be resupplied. The Nazis lost. The Nazis lost so badly their monuments were ground into dust, their leaders bodies destroyed or abandoned in the mud, the dreams of Germania proven nothing but a dusty model in a museum devoted to cursing the Nazi’s memory. Nothing but a shrine to hubris and grossly over-estimating your own abilities. The legacy of the Nazis is humiliation, shame, and utter fucking failure. Neo-Nazis, this ‘new’ alt-right whose philosophies are all old, have as their heroes men who did nothing but fail, who achieved nothing but to have their life’s work expunged, debased, destroyed, and condemned by the world not just in their time but for generations after. Not misunderstood geniuses but understood buffoons. Never, ever, let them forget this - and never, ever let them try to turn it into a virtue. No ‘we shall rise again’ narratives. No abyss-to-transformation in some bullshit Cambellian hero’s journey. Their past was not a defeat to inspire them to future victory. They are not the underprivileged hurdle jumper who against all odds and obstacles wins gold at the Olympics, they’re the guy on your track team who once pushed so hard on a door marked pull that he fell through the glass and had to get ten stitches, the guy who got so drunk at an out-of-town meet that he shat his bed at the hotel and tried to hide the dirty sheets in his bags and stunk-up the bus ride home until Coach found out and chewed him out in front of the entire team for being the biggest fucking tool in the whole wide world. Not the guy who was a loner in high school but who found like-minded friends in college, started a cool band where they sang about their sucky pasts, and wound-up a rich and famous with legions of adoring fans. Nah, they’re the guy who was a loner in high school, and in college, and in the job at the napkin distribution company, the guy who retired without a party, spent weeks at a time with no one to talk to, and ultimately died alone - not because he was socially awkward or shy or struggled to communicate, but because he was really unpleasant to be around and even those virtuous folk who try and make sure that nobody is lonely gave up on him because he was such a nasty, loathsome, turd of a human being whose only impact on the world was that he improved it by leaving it. That’s the past of the Nazis. That, too, is their future. Never let them forget this. Their past should embarrass them. Mortify them. There’s is the ideology of pathetic losers. When you march against them, raise high above your heads images of Nazi Germany - not rigid columns of well-armed soldiers or shining tanks rolling off the lines, but the images of their ineptitude. The shuffling columns of defeated, broken men. Their burnt tanks, their downed planes, their sunken ships, their pulverized cities, and all the equipment abandoned in panicked withdrawals or through sheer bureaucratic incompetence. Show images of Jews defiant, the simple act of their still drawing breath spit in the eye of those who thought to see them erased. Humiliate the Nazis again and again and again. They. Failed. The Jews endured, survived, flourished - won. The conquered nations of Europe rebuilt their cultural wonders and their ruined homes and brought back their stolen treasures. They won. The disposed Roma preserved their ways of life despite the will of an entire conquering empire set against them. They won too. The queer communities persecuted for their ‘deviancy’ not only survived they reshaped the post-war world into a place that could no longer sideline them in history. Another victory. The Nazis lost. The Nazi’s failed so completely that they lost not only the territory they had tried to gain but their own nation lay shattered at their feet - politically, socially, economically, spiritually. The Great and Powerful Nazi Party so failed its own people that Germany was sundered into West Germany, East Germany, and Eastern Prussia, promptly swallowed whole by the Societs - the trauma from that lingers generations on. The Nazis not only failed to achieve any of their goals - they failed in the promise made by any such ideology: in joining us we will protect you. They did not just fail to make Germany greater, they literally destroyed it, and left it in pieces. So when you march against the alt-right, these neo-Nazis, Hoist photos of the bloated corpses of the hanged at Nuremberg - their swollen faces distorted in death. Chant the cry “Morons, Not Martyrs!” Remind every alt-right shit-eating soul that they were nothing, are nothing, will always be nothing but failures, losers, and followers of stupid, incompetent, incapable fools. They were, are, shall always, can only ever be wrong. “These are your role models? This is your dream? Failures! Failures! Failures!” “Be A Nazi To Lose It All” Do not, for a single solitary second, treat their ideas as grown-up. Do not, for a moment, give them the cover of adulthood, maturity, or sober discourse. Do not, for one second of time, treat them with respect so long as they seek to hold power over you, to be feared by you, to be thought of as an enemy and not something foul but forgettable to be scrapped off your shoe. Never give them an inch of fear to feed their starving egos. The man who said that rocks were soft as butter and as edible as custard would be given no weight as a person of substantive ideas - Nazis deserve the same derision. And do not allow them a moment of privacy to brood on the indignities you heap upon them, to be like a teen sulking in their bedroom crafting fantasies about how one day they’ll be proven right and everyone will be sorry. Drag them out into the light again and again and again, give them no moment of peace, allow no instant of time to pass when you are not holding images of their ideology’s worthlessness and failure above their heads. No hiding. No sulking. No second to plot or brood or dream. Stake them to the earth, keep them forever in the light, and pummel them with pie until even they can not deny that they are nothing but clowns worthy only of mockery, ridicule, and endless savage laughter.

#climate change #germany #afd #alternative für deutschland (afd)#greenpeace #environment #nazis #alt-right #greta thunberg #neo-nazis #Hitler #Mean Girls #fart sounds #eat shit and die #long post #autism #tw anti-autism

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tueeeeeee · 4 years

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i saw a writing meme abt a ship in various prompts and immediately applied it to shenzed lol some of the scenarios are in the past and entertain a lot of my personal headcanons. like this is basically just a masterpost of my headcanons

wordcount: 4k, not explicit but pretty nsfw

topics: fake dating, bodyswap, sexpollen, secret kinks, first kiss, au, dark fic, and a sick ass crossover with mkx

cw age gap, noncon, yandere zed

Fake dating: as students, shen would try so hard to prioritize the mission, which is good because zed has it running secondary to making sure their relationship is believable as possible. of course that involves throwing himself all over shen and demanding shen make ridiculous sounds in private because they're listening in, shen, give them a show, make it convincing, and shen even knows zed is just taking advantage of the situation but he's too committed to the job to turn him down in public and risk the facade, so he just rolls along with it and smiles lovingly at zed and that's actually worse because zed starts getting the mad dokis

if it's after the fall and they have to work together again, it'd probably be while they're hunting jhin and they actually have to fake that they're NOT dating. they're in disguises but shen the bara giant is pretty hard to not notice, so he's just sitting there trying to be all you know. ah it's just me, a farmer, completely single and alone, my boyfriend is totally not hiding in the shadows ready to fuck u up. or zed gets caught out alone and shen comes to the rescue a la mimi's beautiful amazing comic and "my boyfriend's back and ur gonna get in trouble" is just blasting in the bg

Bodyswap: if this is during their student days, they'd actually probably have a lot of fun with it. zed likes being able to look at himself from different angles and shen secretly likes it too until zed goes in front of a mirror and starts making expressions just to see what shen's face looks like when he's really surprised! or what he looks like when he's picking his nose, or sticking out his tongue, and shen is just desperately covering zed's face and begging him to stop making those faces while he’s in shen’s body and please don't do that in front of other people

zed doesn't do it front of other people because he wants to be the only one who knows what it looks like, of course, and when he's alone, he tries on other expressions. he wants to see what shen looks like when he's happy, and smiling, and laughing, and it feels forced in front of the mirror but seeing it makes his heart flutter anyways. wanting to see what shen looks like when he's happy quickly turns into wanting to see what shen looks like when he's horny and then zed just straight up masturbates in front of the mirror. thanks zed.

anyway shen plays with himself too but he tries not to at first, he's better than that, this is so wrong and zed is going to kill him – until he remembers zed would definitely and has probably already taken advantage of this and then he just touches himself everywhere to see if this area is something he likes or if it's just a particularly sensitive area on zed's body (which is knowledge he's gleaning just for the sake of knowledge, of course, n-not like he's planning on utilizing it or anything...)

while they were students shen almost exclusively topped since "the son of the headmaster shouldn't be on his knees" so later when zed convinces shen into playing around it's an absolute delight for zed to get to be the pitcher for once, even if he's basically fucking his own body. shen agrees just because he doesn't want to have to look at himself, and besides zed's body is already used to it so shen willingly bottoms and being the repressed little sub he is he just fucking loses it and breathlessly asks zed afterwards with tears in his eyes, "are you always that sensitive?" and zed is like ??? not enough to fuckin cry about it and thats how shen discovers he likes taking it up the bum

if it's after the fall of the kinkou they'd probably just try to experiment with each other's abilities, then realize that even though they have access to them they can't really harness the power the same way. like zed's clones are sentient, and when shen finally manages to make one it just stares back at him for a while and then starts laughing uncontrollably, "i thought something was odd. now how did this happen?" and shen is unamused and more than a little flustered at being made to feel incompetent when he can't control the shadow and it just keeps laughing at him in zed's voice.

meanwhile zed is excited to finally be able to see the spirits the way shen does, and he tries to walk the spirit realm and teleport and kind of just ends up concentrating himself into an aneurysm because he can't fucking figure it out and does the Old Man Yells At Cloud thing when he tries to talk to the spirits to get them to help him understand. they don't give a fuck about shen half the time so unsurprisingly, they don't pay any attention to zed either. also, zed would still masturbate in front of a mirror, except he does it furiously in this case

god im sorry that was so long but i just. i love the bodyswap trope so much o(-<

Sexpollen/fuck or die/aliens made them do it: as students, pretty much everything between them has to be a competition so it's a battle of wills to not jump each other and zed tries to goad shen on by playing up but being that close to each other just makes it worse. zed devolves into pretty much just clinging onto shen and begging him to please give in

shen doesn't want any of it, not when they're being made to feel that way, but zed insists that it isn't making him feel anything, not anything different from usual anyway. so shen brings him off with sympathetic intentions at first, and gently pushes zed's hands away whenever he tries to reciprocate, but watching zed come undone affects him more than he expected it to. zed said it isn't any different from usual but it is, zed isn't normally this pliant and desperate, and he doesn't usually call shen's name so sweetly and sometimes zed will outright make shen fight to get zed beneath him, but now, zed yields to him so easily and that should be evidence of how wrong this is but shen is so utterly captivated with this eager zed that he gives in and gives him the good dickin. he's super disappointed with himself later while zed is just smiling dopily, completely satisfied

fuck or die after the fallout would be rough hate-filled sex, zed pushing shen's face into the dirt and forcing him because it's easier that way. shen bitterly spits out that he'd rather die than touch zed, and zed only laughs because they both know that's a lie. if it were anyone else shen would 100% approach this with his usual pragmatism but it's zed and he hates being made to lose control like this, and of course zed won't just get it over with. he takes his pleasure and then leaves shen tied down and makes sure to work shen slowly and coax him with disgusting gentleness into climax, making it good for him and shen hates every second. he doesn't do anything like try to make shen beg because that shit would go nowhere fast, and afterwards zed is just completely smug with himself and shen hates him more than ever

Secret kinks: zed loves body odor which is really fucking unfortunate because shen reeks of it after the hours he spends training, and he probably knows it bc why else would he have his dirty clothes so conveniently left out like that for zed to furiously wank into while grumbling stupid sexy stinky shen

he has a bored and ignored kink too, but he's too fucking needy for it to ever take place out of his control so he has to specifically negotiate with shen to not pay attention to him during a scene, like zed showing off his bod or blowing shen while shen's just trying to read as long as they're 100% clear that shen has to make up for it later

he probably tries to convince shen to pee himself at least once but gets kinkshamed to death and never tries again. he also loves shen's hands/wrists and being praised. like ok, shen likes being praised too right? he'll glow and be intensely pleased and would fit that indulgent kind of "good boy!! you like pleasing me don't you" praise kink but zed's is like a fucking id-tagged collar in which only shen can hold the leash. shen gives him a passing glance and a murmured, "well done" while zed's just like sweeping and zed will somehow always be sweeping somewhere shen can see for the next five days, with a boner. you know what i mean??

anyway shen is the most repressed fucker out there so he THINKS he's vanilla but shen's definition of vanilla is very. i mean. he regularly undergoes resistance training and mindfuckery so you could tie him up and CBT him and he'd still just be like ah good ol vanilla sex. a lot of the kinks he has he isn't really even aware of having. shen doesn't know what he likes a lot of the time, in and out of bed. he spent his entire life being dictated, and it isn't until after zed gets rid of all the people who did that to him that he's forced to consider more deeply about himself

and of course he immediately finds that he likes being dominated and having someone else take control, even if they completely fuck him up in the process. he likes being collared and humiliated but he doesn't like his position as the eye of twilight being brought into it so shit like "look how far the eye has fallen" isn't gonna fly.

even so he's a bit of an exhibitionist. it's probably a carry-over from his student days when being caught was a definite possibility in a household full of ninja, so he likes the rush of doing it outside, especially since it also has the benefits of being rougher and quicker and there being no time for nonsense or softness

the concept of aftercare is a foreign one. the first time zed tries to administer it shen is repulsed and probably tries to escape but he can't get away from zeds sweet sweet embrace. he doesn't ever get used to it, not from zed the two-faced snake, and for good reason honestly. zed's brand of tenderness is kind of saccharine and condescending, and all too often he whispers secrets as if shen cares at all that zed used to love him, or that zed is glad he's here now, or that zed doesn't want to hurt him. really, he doesn't care. at all. not a bit.

also he tries to keep it secret that he loves getting dicked by zed's clones but it's pretty obvious. zed hates it because he gets jealous of himself but he absolutely loves all of shen's other kinks since he thinks shen would never trust someone other than zed to do those things to him

Their first kiss: shen was definitely the one who had to initiate it!! zed would have been fine with just pining after shen his entire life (not really), because he sure as hell wasn't going to give shen another point in his favor by letting him know that zed had F-FEELINGS FOR HIM... regardless it's still obvious as fuck to everybody, including shen, who kind of takes it in stride because let's be real shen was probably the target of numerous an unrequited crush in his life.

shen thinks he's doing a good job handling zeds emotions, letting him down gently without making it obvious he knows zed likes him, and it comes so naturally to him because hes so used to doing it that he doesn't even stop to think that maybe he actually kind of looks forward to zed's not-so-subtle attempts to spend more time together?? maybe he actually kind of wants to hold his hand?? maybe he's actually a raging homosexual?????

so the kiss would happen after a really tough mission that they just barely scraped through together, and shen's just so happy that they're both alive and safe that he gives zed a big ol smooch. obviously zed's not-so-subtle attempts become outright overt now that he knows it's mutual (even if shen keeps embarrassedly trying to convince him it's not)

likewise, their first kiss after they start working together to hunt jhin would also be shen calling it. zed's older now and not as angry and petulant. their history and ties are so intensely and irrevocably woven together that he just kind of dully accepts that a little part of him will always love shen, right next to the part that will always resent him. because of that he doesn't want to ruin this tentative (and probably temporary) truce they've got going on, even though he's unexpectedly thrilled to have shen by his side again and he's dying to ask whether stick-up-his-ass prudish shen has bedded anyone else in the past five years

shen's kind of not really in the same boat bc the power dynamic is mostly in his favor and it's zed who has to watch his footing, but shen has never had an equal like zed before or since. he can see that zed's changed, but he's also remained the same in the ways that matter and not all of them matter in a good way. for one, he still doesn't see reason in balance, and shen argues that zed himself is contributing to the power balance by foiling shen and zed absolutely hates that because he doesn't want to sustain a war between their clans just for the sake of shen's notion of equilibrium.

shen feels duty-bound and obligated to his clan to you know, not consort with the enemy, but he's also aware of the intrinsic connection he has with zed and how they're naturally drawn together. and it could be something as tiny as a bad dream or getting caught in the rain or meeting eyes when they've both just awoken, and shen acknowledges the inevitability of it and just kisses him

anyways when!! will riot give me my jhin lore follow-up!!

A crossover of my choice: the events of ninja gaiden could fit seamlessly right into ionia but there's pretty much no way im picking it over a mortal kombat crossover.... yall know how much my ass loves mkx

anyway quan chi has manipulated pretty much every one and thing in existence so it's not at all surprising that he was the one who brought into existence the scroll of shadows that corrupts zed and instills in him a thirst for power so great it drives him to destroy the kinkou. zed's death animation where he opens a portal? actually just to get back to netherrealm. quan chi sees him and just sighs again, really? and restores him and sends him back up

also ok. i know thematically shen has a lot in common with subzero but think of raiden and shen..... raiden was probably bosom buddies with master kusho, they regularly convened to discuss the state of earthrealm and shen got to inherit that friendship and trust!! raiden guides him and tells him how to purify zed, which leads him into scorpion and subzeros path since at this point they're revenants too. afterwards shen holds the recovery club for "I Was Under Quan Chi's Control" but only hanzo and kuai liang are invited

after all zed still has his entire fucking order of shadows which were forged under quan chi's ideals, and just like how hanzo still resents the massacre of his clan zed still resents the kinkou--that wasn't something that was instilled into him through quan chi's control. so basically everyone hates zed still. bye zed

i had fatalities for shen and zed written out too but....... i dont want to talk abt it here since it's obviously gorey and honestly embarrassing to talk about lmao!!! NEXT

An AU of my choice: i love my bloodborne AU so much but it's too detailed and involves more than just sz so i'll settle for another one about time shenanigans

shen tries to bypass zed's whole crawling into a shadow portal and escaping death thing by sealing him away in a time loop, but when the dust settles something's obviously gone wrong. there's a body laying there and shen picks him up and carries him inside and no one can really believe it, but the old kinkou veterans were raised next to that face and they know what zed looked like in his youth.

he's ten years younger, before the order of shadows and before the golden demon, and he hasn't just been aged down but swapped places entirely because he knows fuck all about what's going on. akali wants to kill him before he can fuck everything up but agrees that'd mess with too much other shit, kennen is so so sad and tries the hardest to make zed feel at home even though he and zed were never particularly close, and shen keeps his distance as best he can manage. he doesn't want to look at this zed when all it makes him think about is how things should have been

young zed feels confused and alone as fuck in this future timeline. so many members of the kinkou are foreign to him and the familiar ones are made of bitter implications and no one tells him outright why he's being ostracized, shen is never at the temple and when he is he's holed away. zed has to practically ambush him just to find out shen's already gone to pay zilean a visit to work out what's gone wrong, and all zilean told him was that he needed to find where the feedback came from that switched the zeds

eventually someone tries to assassinate zed as a preventative measure and shen realizes it's not safe for him at the kinkou monastery, so he takes zed with him on his journey to find the zero point and angst happens as they measure each other up to the versions of themselves they're familiar with--present shen is discomfited by how naive past zed is, past zed can't believe how much bigger the stick up shen's ass got, but after he learns what his future self did he can't imagine ever hating shen enough to do that to him. queue lots of bonding, slow burn, shen waffling and acting under a LOT of pretenses because he doesnt want to take advantage of this younger zed, who sees him as a mentor

meanwhile present zed wakes up in his old room and thinks he's trapped in a memory, and confirms it the only way he knows how. he sneaks into shen's room and is completely delighted upon finding a young shen who's much too interactive to be just a memory, and quickly works out what's happened. the thought of killing shen doesn't even cross his mind, not when shen barely presents a challenge like this. rather, he finds himself appreciating the change in their dynamics now that the power balance is tipped in zed's favor.

he goes on his own trip to find zilean and tells shen to stay here and give master kusho an excuse as to why zed is gone. instead, zed vanishes off away from the monastery and, twenty minutes later, has to make himself detectable just so shen can find him properly from where he's followed zed to.

zed secretly wanted this to happen and gladly takes the young shen under his wing. obviously he doesn't tell him why zed's eyes are red or his hair is white or why sometimes he'll completely disappear in the shadows. eventually he coaxes shen into bed and fucks him, which is something shen never allowed him in his time, and the sensations of it are transmitted to future shen through his dreams and he wakes up feeling phantom sensations of zed holding him and eventually the present sz discover they have a very rudimentary means of communicating through their past selves via sex dreams/strong emotions lol

the juxtaposition between present shen and zed would have been explored, because even though at a glance, shen sticks to his lawfulness and zed immorally takes advantage of the power imbalance, when they each discover that they receive the feelings of their past selves, zed treats past shen tenderly and tries to make him softer.... whispers the things he needs to remember, in the hopes that present shen will hear them and meet him halfway so that they can fix the timeline (and also meet him halfway feelings-wise 83c) whereas shen fights the young past zed and humiliates him, trains him even though logic tells him he shouldn't, treats zed the way the kinkou treated him, and all the feelings conveyed to present zed are ones of bitterness until it reaches a head and past zed snaps at him and almost dies. after that shen realizes that in lieu of master kusho distancing zed from the clan, shen is now the one doing that, when he should be taking this as an opportunity to fix the future and set things right between them.

just like present shen is forced to confront things about himself though, so is present zed. his feelings of "haha past shen was such a puppy" turn into slow realizations of why he loved shen in the first place. he thought, all this time, it was just because he was attracted to power and back then, shen had had it in abundance. but now, he can destroy shen any time he wishes and yet... it just makes him regret even more how things ended up the way they did, and he tries to give vague hints to past shen about things to avoid, and to remember to take care of himself and master kusho.

anyways it turns out the whole thing was engineered by zilean because he sees all timelines and he wants one where there isn't a fucking war between the shadows and the kinkou

ok i put this one at the bottom just bc it's yandere zed and it's pretty fucked and does get pretty graphic

tw mind control, brief ableism, amputation, lobotomy

Dark!fic: all of zed's students knows of his fixation on shen. by now everyone's used to those brief intense moments where he'll waft smog from his body just thinking about shen nd cursing his existence but none of them really know the full extent of it. it's not just zed, but the shadows as well, and they've wanted shen for such a long time, especially after kusho sealed them away. to take control of shen would be the first step to controlling two worlds after all, but instead, after all their pining, it's zed who comes along and they don't care about him but its their first opportunity in years, and they can sense the frustration and mutability in him so with no other option they decide he'll do

but when they take him over, zed's present fixation on shen, a very different sort, warps the shadows' and it becomes this twisted love where zed wants shen solely for himself, shen's mind and body and ambition must all belong to him, and he needs to kill everyone who gets in the way of that. of course, shen's father is first. then, the rest of the kinkou. when he finally has shen, he really doesn't want his hard work to go to waste! shen fights back of course but that's what makes him so cute--no, no, it's why he's a worthy host body, take him now--but all of zed's hard work!--and shen, where do you think you're going?

oh geez. zed REALLY doesn't want to do this but shen's always been so strong and zed can't guarantee he'll always be able to overpower shen or outrun him. well, he will be able to guarantee it if shen has no legs! you complete utter fool you've rendered him useless! he loves shen's hands though so he gets to keep those.

zed was really hoping that would be all it took, he was even being extra nice to shen by not force-feeding him those chi suppressants. but no. a week later shen tries to escape again, by warping out this time, and zed desperately and frantically tears the place apart looking for him. he sends his order out but shen could be anywhere at all, though shen's mind apparently couldn't take him very far because they find him rather quickly. he's lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood. it looks like he was dragging himself towards the edge of that cliff, but the ones who found him don't tell zed that.

zed is heartbroken. he's not even angry, maybe a little, but he's just so sad that shen still wants to leave him after all they've been through. he holds shen and apologizes over and over for taking his legs, he knows shen was--attached to them. zed will definitely make it up to him. he loves shen so much. the shadows agree with that much at least. as gently as he can he straps shen to a chair and takes out an ice pick, positioning it very carefully over shen's prefrontal cortex. shen, please stop squirming and shouting, please, he doesn't want to hurt you. he's going to make it better. he's going to make it so that you never want to leave.

on a lighter note thnks for checkin in!! i dont realistically expect anyone to read the entire thing because the way i type is actually horrendous but thanks for reading even a lil bit. i wrote this like 5 months ago which is thankfully enough time to not care as much about how embarrassing this is :)

i lied im still embarrassed

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