#but still very good dubious canon

[just-french-me-up]

Endless Sandman Fanfiction Tropes I Adore (2/?) : ➻ Professor Robert "Hob" Gadling

#the sandman #sandman #the sandman netflix #sandman edits #hob gadling #robert gadling #sandman tropes #i mean is it even a trope at this point and not just plain canon? #but still very good dubious canon #i initially wanted to make a fun professor hob gadling but pinterest only has traditional academia on offer #also this is what you get when you read the unknown and static strange #thank god for the show showing hob grading papers #cause those pics are HARD TO FIND on the internet #when being a teacher is like 50% grading shit #mine

[peachdues]

Phantasmagoria (Part I)

Tell Me to Stop (Sanemi’s Version)

Sanemi x F!Reader, Modern AU

A/N: it's time. This one is very personal to me, and I've drawn a lot upon my own life/experiences to write this. I hope it lives up to expectations, but in case it doesn't, remember there is still a part two and a part three (so more smut/angst/feelings).

Massive TW: grief, loss of parent to cancer, canon character death (in non-canon way), drug and alcohol abuse, anger, unhealthy coping mechanisms galore.

CW: 10.5k words; explicit sexual content. Unprotected sex/oral (F!receiving), mildly dubious consent (Reader doesn't tell Sanemi it's her first time, and there's a question whether he would've done it); both Sanemi and Reader are under the influence. Creampie, lots of cursing, angst.

For the playlist, listen here.

Without further ado!

Speak in tongues / I don't even recognize your face / mirror on the wall / tell me all the ways to stay away

phan·tas·ma·go·ri·a – an exhibition of optical effects and illusions; a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined.

Once upon a time, as a little girl, she’d believed love was pretty; she imagined it would be soft, pink, and shiny and make her feel warm and pretty in return.

As an adult, she’d come to realize that love wasn’t pretty at all; it was cold, lonely, and painful.

Love was dull and harsh and all-consuming.

Love was black.

For Y/N, loving Sanemi Shinazugawa was like falling into one of the black holes she’d learned about in science class as a child. It was infinite and empty and there was no space for anything but the all-consuming void that promised to rip her apart and condemn her to oblivion.

This love had taken her naïve, romantic heart to chew up and spit back out, leaving her only with a misshapen lump held together by the leftover sinew of her hopes and dreams.

Y/N believed her love for Sanemi would be the death of her. It was a poison that had seeped into her veins and was slowly rotting her from the inside out. She knew it was stupid to love someone who would not and could not love her back, but she hadn’t yet figured out a way to stop.

And since she could not stop loving him, she could only resign herself to its toxicity until it killed her for good.

—————————————————————————

Summer had ended, and Y/N was dreading having to return to Ubayashiki University. Dreading it because she’d spent the entirety of the summer back in her – their – hometown, caring for her ailing mother, and that isolation had meant she didn’t have to wake up every day with a pit in her stomach at the thought of running into him. But then her mother had finally succumbed to her illness a week prior, and Y/N was now forced to carry on in the world as though hers had not just been blown apart.

Looking back, Genya’s death had marked the end for a lot of things, including the once-irreverent trio that had been Y/N, Kyojuro, and Sanemi.

They had been friends – the best of friends, really, since pre-school, in large part because of their parents. Kyojuro, as warm and as vibrant as the sun, had been their grounding force, always wise beyond his years but quick to laugh. Then there was Sanemi, and though he could be prone to his episodes of anger, he was a staunch, loyal defender of his friends and would do anything if it meant making them smile. Last, there had been Y/N, and she’d been so happy to just love her boys and be loved by them. She’d always felt invincible with them by her side, ready to take on the world, together.

And for a while, they did.

Their friendship withstood even the toughest of trials. It lasted through the death of Kyojuro’s mother and the subsequent decline of his father, so unable to cope that he could not function without the bitter sting of alcohol to soothe the pain of Rukka’s absence. Their friendship had even endured the deaths of both Sanemi’s and Genya’s parents at the hands of a drunk driver, the shrapnel from the crash permanently scarring both of the boys’ faces, though Sanemi had born the worst of it.

But because they’d had one another, they’d made it through. Y/N’s own mother, though a single parent, took in both Shinazugawa boys until the state placed them in a home, though that rarely stopped Sanemi from frequenting Y/N’s house after school. Even Kyojuro grew to be a constant fixture around her house, drawn to the warmth and love her mother showed both boys as if they were her own.

And then they all grew up, and they were set to begin their first year of university at Ubaya-U come the fall. The three of them had been eager to set out into the world, to grab at any and all opportunities that arose, and for each of them to become great in their own right.

But not two weeks into the fall semester, Sanemi received the phone call that had brought his world crashing down around him. Genya, his beloved, cherished younger brother, had been shot dead outside of their foster home, killed by some kid in retaliation for some fight Genya hadn’t picked.

Y/N hadn’t been with him when he received the news, instead only getting a text from Kyojuro to getthefuckoverhereNOW. She’d bolted from her class and ran to the boys’ dorm across campus. She’d found Sanemi, curled into a ball on the floor beneath a hole he’d punched into the drywall, sobbing, and she hadn’t known what else to do but hold him along with Kyojuro while her own tears threatened to blind her.

Hours later, when Sanemi realized he would have to return to their hometown to make final arrangements, he’d asked Y/N to accompany him to the train station. Kyojuro would have gone as well, but he’d been unable to call off from work, and so the three had planned for Y/N to return with him the next day, as she was the only one between the three of them with a car on campus.

Of course, Y/N agreed to drive Sanemi to the train station, because she couldn’t possibly imagine leaving him alone. He’d looked so lost, so broken, and she would’ve done anything, anything at all, to lessen the weight on his shoulders.

Because she loved him, and she’d loved him for years, and love meant giving everything you had, everything you were to the other, especially in times of need. So she agreed, and though he’d been unable to speak, Sanemi had rested his head on her shoulder in silent gratitude.

She’d not known that, in her efforts to love and support him at his lowest, she would doom their group’s entire dynamic.

In retrospect, she shouldn’t have said anything. It was the wrong time, the wrong way to tell him what was in her heart, and she’d known that; but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She’d been unable to stop the way her heart clenched as she walked him towards the platform at Amane Station, his head hung low and his eyes rimmed red from hours of crying. It hurt her to see him in such pain, hurt so badly that she’d been desperate to alleviate it in any way she could. She’d thought it would have been enough to hug him, to give him a reassuring squeeze and a promise that she and Kyo would be back home the following morning and that he wouldn’t be alone.

But then, before she could stop them, those cursed words had fallen from her lips and ruined her, ruined everything.

I love you, Sanemi. With all my heart.

As soon as she’d heard herself say it, she’d known she’d fucked up. She knew, as Sanemi stiffened in her embrace and pulled away from her, that she’d indelibly altered things between them, and that she could never take those words back. And she’d known, the moment she saw the cold, bewildered look in his eyes, so angry it made her stomach drop, that he neither returned nor wanted her love.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” He snapped, stepping back from her, creating a chasm between them that could not be bridged.

His train had finally arrived, and he’d stormed away from her, turned his back to her, and refused to look back as he boarded the car. She’d stayed behind, standing there amidst a throng of travelers and their families, for a long while, tears slipping hot and fast down her cheeks until the salt burned permanent tracks into her skin.

It hadn’t mattered that Kyojuro had called her later, Sanemi having filled him in on what happened, what she’d done, to tell her not to worry; that Sanemi had just been frustrated and overwhelmed, and that all would be well between them after the funeral.

Kyojuro lied. Sanemi hadn’t so much as looked her way the entire time she and Kyo were with him during his brother’s funeral and had refused to even acknowledge her small greeting. Y/N understood he was going through the worst pain imaginable, and she’d known he was angry because she’d dumped her feelings on him when he’d been in no place to receive them, but his rejection still fucking hurt.

Worse than his rejection had been his total ignorance of her, his obstinate refusal to so much as acknowledge her existence. Y/N hadn’t been able to understand how he could be so angry with her to not even treat her like a person, to pretend as though they hadn’t been friends – best friends – since they were in diapers.

Y/N had wanted to give him space, however, and wanted herself to stop loving him so things could one day go back to how they’d been, so she started to distance herself from Sanemi, believing she would still have Kyojuro, her sun, to lean on if she needed it.

But she’d been wrong, so very wrong. Because Kyojuro had defended Sanemi with a not-so-gentle reminder that ‘he’s dealing with a lot right now,’ which only fractured her heart even more because Kyojuro had taken a side and it hadn’t been hers.

Thus, Y/N was left to love them both at a distance, and she was forced to watch them carry on their friendship without her, even though they’d all come to Ubaya-U together and even though her exile from the group meant that Y/N had no friends at all.

So, her first semester at university, the semester she’d dreamed would be life-changing and exciting, became a cacophony of sobs smothered into her pillow at night so her roommate wouldn’t hear her winking out like a dying star. And she had no friends, because her best friend didn’t think she was his, and she couldn’t stop loving a boy who didn’t want to love her back.

—————————————————————————

Her mom got sick in the spring of her first year. Initially, it had been a good prognosis. Y/N somehow managed to balance her busy, pre-law class load with her mother’s care, fluidly alternating between office hours and hospital appointments. But no friends meant she’d had no one to talk to, no one to lean on in those moments when her legs gave out and sobs wracked her body because she’d been so fucking scared of losing her mom. But she’d been kept busy enough to be able to squash that loneliness down and ignore it like her boys had ignored her, and so, she’d pushed through.

By the time summer had come, however, things had grown exponentially worse. Several nights ended in Y/N having to call an ambulance to rush to her home, because her mom had fallen and Y/N wasn’t strong enough to lift her by herself, and there hadn’t been anyone else she could call.

There had been a few times – maybe two or three – when she’d passed Kyojuro on the street, home briefly to check on his little brother, and the fiery blonde would make a face like he wanted to say something like he wanted to talk to her or care about her, but Y/N would turn and run before he had the chance.

She never saw Sanemi, though that hadn’t surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be able to stomach being back home so soon after Genya.

Her mother’s condition yo-yoed throughout the summer and into the early fall of her second year of university. Just when it finally seemed as though things were looking up for her mother, when she was just days from her last treatment, she died.

No one had been there to hold her – to comfort her – when Y/N began wailing as her mother’s chest rose for the last time and did not go back down.

Her mother had died, and Y/N had been left utterly and completely alone.

Her mother’s funeral had taken place on a sunny October day, the autumn air cool and crisp as an apple. She’d stood beside her mother’s casket as stranger after stranger passed, offering their condolences and personal anecdotes of her mother’s kindness.

Not once had she seen a familiar face. Not once had either of her boys made an appearance, not even for the woman who had loved them as her own.

She’d returned to campus a few days later, and because the universe had decided she’d not suffered nearly enough for some unknown crime, she ran into him. By the cruelest twist of fate, Sanemi decided to cross the street opposite her at the same time, and what was left of her heart skipped several beats.

For all her efforts to put distance between them, she still loved him, and it was a realization so bitter she thought she would start dry heaving right there on the pavement. She tried to duck her head, to avoid catching his attention, but the crosswalk light changed, and he was suddenly walking towards her, and she couldn’t help but chance a glance up.

Lilac eyes collided with her own, and Y/N thought the world was about to open beneath her and swallow her whole.

His gaze lingered for a touch longer than normal for a stranger, and Y/N feared he’d be able to see the scars from her tears on her face or see how her heart still bore the tattoo of his name. But then he blinked, and she took the chance to vanish among the throng of students, dashing back to her dorm before the tears could spill down her cheeks once more.

She barely made it to her room before her legs gave out from under her, her sobs choking from her throat.

She wished her mother had taken her with her.

—————————————————————————

It was fitting that Y/N met the personification of spring at the start of the spring semester.

Her name was Mitsuri, and Y/N sat next to her in her 8:00 AM class. The girl was so bubbly and bright that it was difficult, even for the drab Y/N to resist striking up a conversation with her. Mitsuri was a streak of color that bloomed across Y/N’s eternal gray sky, with her exotic pink and green hair and permanent blush. It took only a few weeks, but Mitsuri and Y/N became the best of friends, and Y/N could not get over how good it felt to have one of those again.

Mitsuri and Y/N began to do everything together, and bit by bit, Y/N felt herself smiling more, laughing as her friend flirted with every him, her, and them who crossed their path. They figured out they shared nearly every class together, and when they weren’t furiously taking notes during their lectures, they were studying together in small corners around campus, dreaming of what was to come after exams and graduation in a year and a half.

Her pink-haired friend helped Y/N feel confident again, like a person. Mitsuri helped bring Y/N back out of the shell she’d so carefully crafted in the wake of her abandonment, and she began to feel a little lighter, a little more buoyant thanks to the happy, beautiful girl at her side.

That wasn’t to say Mitsuri didn’t have her own demons – she very much did. At night, Mitsuri and Y/N push their beds together in the latter’s dorm (Y/N’s first roommate had long since moved out). There, huddled together under the mess of blankets and pillows, they would whisper the names of their heartache with one another – Sanemi and Obanai – and they comforted each other, wiping their tears away with soft promises that as long as they had one another, they would be okay.

By March, Mitsuri convinced Y/N to go clubbing with her. Y/N was hesitant until she looked in the mirror after her friend had spent the evening primping her and turning her into a woman Y/N scarcely recognized in the mirror. Her friend had dressed her in a short, emerald green dress that hugged every curve just right, a teasing slit going high up on her left thigh. Y/N’s hair had been slicked back into a high ponytail that swung tantalizingly between her shoulder blades. Her cleavage was a bit more exposed in the pinkette’s dress than Y/N was accustomed to, but damn if she didn’t look downright sumptuous.

Y/N was determined to let loose, to not think about the black stain on her heart that was him, and so she greedily accepted Mitsuri’s hand as the two braved the chilly, early spring air. Mitsuri pulled her through the doors of the club -- the Kizuki Moon Lounge -- and for the first time in a year and a half, she felt alive.

Beneath the strobe of multi-colored lights, amidst the pulsing bass of the techno-music threatening to rupture her eardrums, Y/N had found herself anew; no longer was she the sad, morose girl who barely existed. Under Mitsuri’s care, Y/N transformed into a raving princess, who owned the sticky floor of the Kizuki’s club each time she and her friend traipsed onto it in their too-high heels, wearing too-short dresses and clutching too-strong drinks in their greedy hands.

In April, Mitsuri introduced her to Shinobu, a wisp of a pharmacology student who was every bit as beautiful as she was terrifying, though Y/N could not exactly place why the petite girl could scare off any ill-intentioned man that tried to swagger over to them, given her ever-present, sugary-sweet smile.

She also met three girls – Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma – who were beautiful and fun-loving and rounded out the newly-formed friend group with their fire-and-ice personalities.

First, there was Hinatsuru – quieter, but still capable of throwing it back and having a grand old time, especially once her drink of choice (rum and Coke) had the opportunity to work its way through her blood. A pretty blush was always the telltale sign that Hina was ready to jump up on a table and captivate anyone who had the pleasure of watching her dance.

Next, there was Makio, brash and bold, but fiercely loyal. Some asshole had made the mistake of snapping the thong-like top of Mitsuri’s skirt once and found his head shoved down on the table, his arm pulled back in a self-defense maneuver as the dark-haired beauty threatened to wrench the man’s offending arm from its socket.

Finally, there was Suma, who often clung to the other two like a lost child, but once she gained her confidence, would flirt with absolutely anything and everything that moved, with a sultry giggle and a bat of her pretty eyes. Within only twenty minutes of knowing her, Suma had convinced Y/N to make out with her, the beautiful girl tasting like cotton candy and summertime as their tongues lazily danced together beneath the throb of the club lights.

With her new group of girlfriends, Y/N began to lose herself to the alluring beck and call of Ubayashiki’s local rave scene, her nights quickly becoming defined by sticky drinks and jeweled makeup, and the skimpy outfits Mitsuri always shoved her into. But she could not find it in her heart to care, because for once, her mind was on something else that didn’t involve the smell of pine, or lavender eyes, or the feeling of a home that no longer existed.

But even though the sour drinks made her feel so warm and vibrant while she danced, there were still moments when clarity hit and she missed them.

She missed the way Kyojuro’s strong arm would drape around her shoulders, heavy and warm, and how his embrace always felt like home, his deep laugh infectious.

She missed the way Sanemi would pretend to hug her unwillingly but would leave his hands lingering on her back or her waist once she moved to pull away, a small smirk tugging on the corners of his tantalizing mouth. She missed the smell of his cologne, woodsy and clean, as he would lean in close to her face to tease her until she blushed.

She missed them so much that the sharp sting of alcohol eventually stopped dulling the pulsing ache in the cavity where her heart once beat. No matter how many shots, no matter how many sticky acid drinks she tossed back, that gnawing in her chest would not cease.

Then, one night, Shinobu pressed a small, lilac pill into her hand, and everything changed.

Initially, Y/N was apprehensive, because the pill perfectly matched the hue of the eyes of the person she wanted to forget most. But Shinobu promised her that this pill she’d created in a lab for school – Wisteria – will have her feeling like a kid on Christmas, and that promise, coupled with a flutter of Shinobu’s pretty eyelashes made Y/N cave.

At first, she felt nothing, no impact beyond the slight buzz provided by the round of shots she’d done upon first arriving at the Kizuki. But then, as Mitsuri twirled her beneath the flashing lights of pink and yellow, Y/N’s world exploded with a vibrance she’d neither seen nor felt in nearly two years. Everything, all at once, became magical; effervescent; infinite.

The Wisteria seeped into her veins and made her feel like Christmas lights had been implanted under her skin. Y/N felt shiny and beautiful and sparkly under the combined effect of Shinobu’s magical concoction and the balancing burn of her tequila, and with her new group of girlfriends flanking her side as they bumped to and ground against one another to the beat of the music, Y/N felt almost like she did when it was just her and her boys. Only now, Y/N felt even better, because, with her girls, she could ignore the way the black in her heart was slowly beginning to fester, even if that meant Y/N was beginning to feel more and more numb with each passing rendezvous at the club.

Because that numbness meant that at least she couldn’t feel the acrid bite of her unrequited love for him, and that was what she wanted all along, right?

—————————————————————————

(May)

Of course, Y/N should’ve known she couldn’t stay light and resplendent and numb in her neon and black light paradise forever. Because unfortunately, despite the large student body at Ubaya-U, her new friend group just has to intermingle with them.

Really, it was all Shinobu’s fault. Towards the end of the semester, Shinobu began dating a quiet, withdrawn boy named Giyuu, who happened to be good friends with the man that Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma all have a thing for – Tengen.

Tengen was a recent graduate of Ubaya-U, and an even more recent hire at the local police department, his imposing size and discerning ears a coveted asset amongst the group of detectives who’d scouted him out. Having someone affiliated with the local police be part of their group ended up being a huge advantage to them, however, given the general inclination for people to look the other way whenever Shinobu began dealing her Wisteria in the secluded corners of the Kizuki’s lounge.

What was not an advantage, however, were Tengen’s friends, because Tengen, apparently, had become best fucking friends with Kyojuro, and by default, him.

Y/N stood awkwardly between Mitsuri and Shinobu as the latter presented her group of girlfriends to the new, rag-tag medley of boys that now included the very two Y/N had gone to great lengths to avoid. She tried to ignore the burning weight of both boys’ stares as Y/N finally introduced herself to Shinobu’s new boy toy. Only when she could not possibly avoid them any longer, not without raising questions, did Y/N finally allow herself to turn to them.

“Y/N!” Kyojuro looked so surprised to see her and yet, so overjoyed that it didn’t feel fair.

Y/N could tell by the jerky way the blonde’s arms twitched towards her that he’d been about to envelop her in one of his signature bear hugs, but he’d hesitated, apparently uncertain whether he was still permitted to do so.

Ultimately, Kyojuro’s elation at seeing her once again won over his doubt, and he pulled her in tightly against his chest, his arms squeezing her with a security she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. For the briefest moment, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as she allowed herself to thaw, ever so slightly, in the fierce warmth of her friend’s embrace.

It was a mistake; the moment she’d allowed herself to relax, she’d felt the damning prickle of tears behind her eyelids, and an uncomfortable lump had begun to take form in her throat. So with more reluctance than Y/N wanted to acknowledge she felt, she stepped away from Kyojuro, hoping that the dim lights of the club concealed the mist clouding her eyes.

Unfortunately, the end of Y/N’s reunion with her former, fiery friend meant there were no more obstacles, no more distractions, between her and the white-haired, scar-speckled man who gazed at her with an intensity that, to her annoyance, still made her want to squirm.

And as his eyes bore into her, she chanted over and over in her mind for him not to say it, to not let her name fall from his lips, because she could not bear to hear it. It would’ve been easier, so much easier, if he simply pretended like she didn’t exist, because then she could go on pretending like she wasn’t walking around without a heart; like he hadn’t been carrying it with him even all these months later.

His eyes did not match the smirk he had as he said her name, but it still took everything Y/N had not to fold right there.

But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t let him know that he still held any power over her, and so she merely raised an eyebrow at him and smirked back, challenging him.

“Sanemi.”

—————————————————————————

“’Sanemi’ is your name when I’m mad at you,” Y/N warned him, tapping his knuckles with the spoon she used to stir the cake batter. “Otherwise, you’re just ‘Nemi.’”

Sanemi smirked at her, sticking his finger back into the bowl to swipe another glob of cake batter as Y/N mixed Kyojuro’s birthday cake together. “And what about when I’m being annoying?”

Y/N flicked a bit of batter at him, nailing him perfectly on his nose with the chocolate mixture. “Asshole seems the most appropriate.” She squatted down to pull a baking pan out from below her mother’s stove. “Did you remember to get the candles?”

The grocery bag crinkled as her white-haired best friend shook it, the box of candles within jostling. “Sixty-one candles for the sixty-one-year-old man,” Sanemi said proudly.

“Haha,” Y/N mocked, though she swiped the bag from his hand to check to ensure he’d actually bought sixteen and not, as he claimed, sixty-one candles. “I’m impressed. It seems you are capable of following directions.”

Sanemi leaned across the counter and peered up into her face, that damn smirk of his widening as he saw the faint blush creep across her cheeks. “I always follow your directions, Y/N.” He said lowly, raising a finger to wipe a speck of cake batter from her cheek.

“Hardly,” Y/N scoffed, using the need to get Kyojuro’s cake in the oven as an excuse to turn away from him and hide her warming face. “I think you prefer malicious compliance.”

“You wound me!” Sanemi protested, splaying across her mother’s counter in mock-injury. “When have I ever not followed your instructions with a smile on my face?”

Y/N turned back to him with a teasing grin. “’Nemi, since when do you ever smile?”

—————————————————————————

Shinobu’s eyes flickered back and forth between them, a smile forming on her face even as Mitsuri tugged pleadingly at her hand. “Do you two know each other?”

Sanemi said “yes” at the same time Y/N said “no,” and the former’s head snapped to Y/N’s face, who fought to keep her features neutral and cool. “Not anymore, anyways.” She clarified though she refused to acknowledge the way Sanemi flinched in response.

Shinobu looked between them again, her smile fading to something more pensive. Kyojuro only continued to watch Y/N, his expression sad and so very out of place in this castle of infinite pleasure and fun, and Y/N found herself desperate to escape it – to escape them.

Suma, the gods’ gift to the universe, interrupted the tense moment with her arrival, and she produced a small baggie of those lilac pills that promised Y/N’s escape. Y/N could feel both Kyojuro and Sanemi gawking at her as Suma pulled her in close, the little lilac pill already dissolving on her tongue, and kissed her, as they’d done so many times before.

When the raven-haired girl pulled away with a giggle on her lips, Y/N looked back to her former friends and held her tongue out, Suma’s pill now almost completely dissolved in her mouth, and she winked at them. Let them realize that their Y/N was long-gone, buried alongside the mother whose death they refused to acknowledge.

Suma offered the newcomers a pill each, and Y/N was surprised that both accepted. Kyojuro hesitated more than the ivory-haired man next to him, who held Y/N’s eyes as he placed the little tablet on his own wicked tongue, an answer to her earlier challenge. Y/N grimaced at the idea that Sanemi was willing to play along in this little game, willing to impose upon her paradise if it meant torturing her a little more.

So Y/N tossed her hair over her shoulders and turned her back to him, letting Suma and then Makio, tug her back into the crush of people on the dance floor to twirl and grind to the music, as both boys stared after her and she let herself be lost to them once more.

—————————————————————————

He found her the following Friday, as she waited against the bar for her drink.

“And where have you been hidin’ all this time?” Y/N fought the shiver that threatened to lick up her spine at the sound of that cursed, gravelly voice that had always made her weak at the knees.

But Y/N hadn’t spent the last twenty months learning how to keep off of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s radar for nothing, hadn’t learned to keep her grief and rage and pain locked deep inside the empty cavern of her chest, just to crumble under the intensity of that lilac stare.

Y/N threw her head back to swallow the shot of tequila the bartender had placed in front of her before turning to face him. Sanemi looked every bit the simpering, cocky asshole she’d always known him to be, leaning up against the sticky wood of the bar, one fist resting idly under his cheek as he watched her.

She met his gaze evenly, shoulders loose with a relaxedness that she didn’t feel. “I’ve been right here,” she replied smoothly.

Sanemi shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at her. “Nah, you haven’t,” he downed his own shot of vodka before returning his eyes to her, looking her over in consideration. “Though, I guess it would’ve been hard to know it was you anyways.”

Y/N bristled at the comment but kept her voice light. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Sanemi watched her carefully for a moment, though his eyebrows furrowed, as though he was struggling to choose his words. “I just wouldn’t have expected to see you in a place like this.” He decided, after a moment, a frown tugging at the corners of his sinful mouth.

It was Y/N’s turn to smirk. “That would assume you knew me at all to begin with,” she challenged, motioning to the bartender for another shot.

Something tightened in Sanemi’s eyes as he held her gaze, and it clenched the knot of unease that had balled in her stomach. “I did, once.”

Y/N kept her face impassive. “Maybe, as a girl.” She accepted her second shot from the bartender and brought it to her lips, biting down on a wince as the sharp burn of the cheap liquid slid down her throat. “But not as a woman.”

Though she did not show it, his words struck a wound deep within her that she’d not realized still festered; because, as hard as she tried to pretend that the man beside her was a mere stranger, his words reminded her of the harsh truth.

She was still in love with him; had been, ever since she’d learned what love meant.

A shadow flashed across his face before disappearing, that insufferable smirk sliding onto his face once more. “I guess you’re right; a girl doesn’t wear a dress like that.” Sanemi purred.

Y/N fluttered her eyelashes at him, a foreign boldness taking over her mind even as the echo of her heart begged her to flee. “Do you like what you see, Sanemi?”

Her former friend’s answering grin was wolfish. “I’ve always liked what I’ve seen of you, Y/N,” he grabbed her last shot from her hand, ignoring the protest in her eyes as he tipped the tequila back easily down his throat. “You just always seem to disappear before I have a chance to properly appreciate you.”

Y/N knew she should run away from him, and fast, but her hand betrayed her as it reached up to brush a bit of confetti from his hair that lingered from earlier. She nearly hummed in satisfaction at the way Sanemi’s breath hitched in his throat as she drew close, her fingers just barely grazing the skin of his forehead.

“Guess you’ll have to catch me.” Was her only response, before Y/N departed for the dance floor and her friends once more.

Sanemi’s eyes remained locked on her the entire night.

————————————————————————

The days blurred into weeks, as Y/N and Sanemi’s new relationship took form.

The convergence of their friend groups was inevitable, though Y/N resented it; but now, they all went out as a unit, rather than as two separate groups which just so happened to run into one another, and it annoyed Y/N to no end.

More annoying was the fact that Sanemi seemed as willing to partake in the sacred ritual of taking Shinobu’s precious Wisteria with them, though he seemed to do it less out of a desire to feel like the flashing strobe lights of the club and more so because he wanted to get on Y/N’s nerves.

“Drugs are bad for your health, y’know,” that damnable gravelly voice snapped her attention away from the Wisteria that sat in Shinobu’s palm.

Sanemi’s shoulder bumped into hers as he came to stand beside her in a darkened corner of the Kizuki’s seating lounge, out of sight from prying eyes as Shinobu dispersed her latest batch of tiny purple pills, a smirk on his lips and a challenge in his eyes.

Y/N scoffed, reaching to take the small offering from her friend’s hand. “And so is that vodka you keep slugging back.” Y/N’s fingers were about to close around the Wisteria when Sanemi plucked it from the dark-haired girl’s hand, a cry of indignation squeaking past Y/N’s lips.

Sanemi held the pill teasingly in front of her mouth as Y/N glowered up at him. “Open up,” he ordered, pinching her key to paradise between his thumb and index finger.

Eyes locked with his, Y/N slowly let her lips part and held out her tongue. Sanemi leaned forward, taking her jaw in his free hand as he placed the small tablet on her tongue with the other.

 “Good girl,” he murmured, eyes lowering to her mouth as he watched her, hungrily.

As she accepted the Wisteria from him, Y/N let her tongue flick out and graze against his skin, dragging it lightly up the calloused edge of his index finger before she closed her mouth, letting the tablet dissolve on her tongue. Sanemi exhaled harshly through his nose, his hand gripping her chin possessively as he stared down at her mouth, and Y/N thought for a moment that he was about to give in right there and kiss her.

At the last moment, Kyojuro clapped him on the shoulder as he returned from the bar, and the spell was broken. Y/N blushed slightly as she turned back to Shinobu who made no secret of her raised eyebrow at the exchange between the two former friends.

Later, as she broke away from her friends dancing on the floor, she’d noticed Sanemi for once, was not looking at her, but at the hand he’d used to slip her the Wisteria, an unreadable heat in his eyes.

————————————————————————-

Sanemi liked to watch her while she danced.

At first, it had been unsettling to feel a pair of eyes boring into her back as she bumped and ground against Mitsuri or Suma, head tossed back as she let Shinobu’s pills work their magic, but she’d grown accustomed to it. Now, she craved the knowledge that he was thoroughly transfixed by her, because that meant at the very least, she was filling his thoughts while they were out almost as much as he filled hers every moment of the day, despite her efforts to numb him out of her life.

She’d confided her secret joy in Mitsuri, who’d conspiratorially promised her they would do anything and everything to drive the lilac-eyed man wild with desperation so that he might feel an ounce of the pining he’d shackled Y/N to feeling every time he so much as looked her way.

One night, a gaggle of them had gathered over in one of the Kizuki’s seated lounge areas as Shinobu pressed her Wisteria into their greedy, waiting palms. Sanemi’s eyes were locked on Y/N, as they usually were, as she’d exchanged a knowing glance with her pink-haired best friend and placed her pill beneath the heavy glass of her discarded drink and ground the violet pill into magic dust.

Eyes on Sanemi, Y/N delicately cupped the powder in one hand and brought her free fingers to the low bodice of her corseted top, tugging lightly on the strings to loosen it, inching it down lower to reveal the tops of the twin swells of her breasts, though stopping before she could be accused of exposing herself in public. She then turned her attention back to Mitsuri, her pink-and-green friend watching her with a sugary deviousness that made her stomach bubble with excitement.

Wordlessly, Y/N leaned back on the table, to the cheers and cat-calls of her friends, and she sprinkled some of the violet dust along the exposed top of her cleavage. Mitsuri leaned over her body, all vanilla perfume and pink hair tickling Y/N’s delicate skin as her friend held one nostril closed and inhaled every speck of the amethyst powder with the other. Y/N’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she let out a wanton moan beneath the black lights of the Kizuki, as her best friend kissed her collarbone in thanks.

Sanemi had gruffly excused himself for the bathroom and did not return for another five minutes. In his absence, Mitsuri had slyly let Y/N know that his eyes hadn’t once left her face throughout the entire vulgar exchange, much to her secret delight.

Y/N knew she was dancing closer and closer to the fire.

She knew that Sanemi wasn’t far from snapping, from losing whatever restraint he thought he had when it came to her, as she deliberately pressed each one of his buttons every time their group ventured out.

The next time he came close to breaking was when he saw another put his hands on her.

A hand gripped her ass, and Y/N turned and saw a man with long white hair and odd-colored eyes give her a wink. He was attractive, that was certain, but there was something predatory in his eyes that made her feel gross, so she moved closer to her circle of friends, keeping an eye over her shoulder.

Eventually, the strange man wandered off, and Y/N felt as though she could relax once more as she swung her hips to the beat thumping over the stereo strongly enough to make the dance floor vibrate. Shinobu held out a hand that Y/N eagerly grabbed, her friend twirling her as she laughed, carefree and alive beneath the resplendent rainbow of lights.

The song slowed to something more sensual, and Y/N was about to take her cue and move toward the bar when a hand grazed her upper arm.

Though it had been nearly two years since she’d last felt his touch, Y/N knew only one person capable of bestowing such a warm and gentle caress, even in spite of his hardened appearance.

Sanemi, to her eternal surprise, had made an appearance on the dance floor – his first if she remembered correctly.

His eyebrow was raised in question at her, and Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate he was asking permission to dance with her, rather than just sidling up and grinding on her like any other man would.

Sanemi looked so god damn handsome in that printed short-sleeve shirt. His sleeves had been cuffed to further show off his considerable biceps, and he’d left the top three buttons open, revealing his scarred but downright divinely toned chest. As he leaned in slightly, waiting for her permission, Y/N caught a whiff of his cologne, and it smelled like home.

Fuck it, she thought, her lips curving up into a siren’s smile as he stepped closer to her, bringing one large hand up to hold her waist as they began rocking to the beat of the music. Their foreheads were nearly touching as their bodies pressed closer and closer together, Y/N’s hips completely flush against his as they danced. Their noses brushed, and Y/N realized how dangerously close their lips had come.

Sanemi brought his other hand up to press against the small of her back, the one on her waist tightening slightly. Y/N looped one arm around his neck, her other hand coming to rest against his chest as they ground, Sanemi setting the pace perfectly in time with the beat.

Through her eyelashes, Y/N could see Sanemi’s amethyst gaze drop to her lips.

She knew she should pull away; she knew if she let him close the distance between their lips, she would also be closing the distance she’d spent so much time carefully crafting between her, and him, and even Kyojuro.

But Y/N also knew she couldn’t pull away, either; she’d waited, for so damn long, to know what his lips would feel like, and she was drunk and a little high, so the inhibitions that would normally have sent her running had long since been overshadowed by her unbounded want for him.

She felt his breath against her lips, and she closed her eyes.

Before she could finally achieve her lifelong dream of kissing Sanemi Shinazugawa, the music changed from the slow, sensual beat that they had been grinding to, to something louder, faster, and more exciting.

A scream grew louder as Mitsuri returned from heaving her guts up in the bathroom, and grabbed Y/N’s wrist, wrenching her from Sanemi’s grip and hauling her deeper into the dance floor to rave alongside her.

By the time Y/N was able to emerge from the surging crush of people dancing and raving, Sanemi was already back at the bar, leaning against it with his beer in hand, watching her.

She’d half expected him to look angry, but he only raised his drink at her, in toast.

The smirk that tugged on the corners of his mouth was full of promise.

—————————————————————————

Y/N supposed it was inevitable that this game of cat-and-mouse they’d been playing would end, and end like this.

She’d known where the night was heading the moment she showed up at the club in Mitsuri’s emerald green dress – the one she’d worn her very first time there in that strobe light palace – and saw his eyes darken from lilac to eggplant. Y/N felt the blazing heat of his stare in her bones even as she danced with her girls, could feel his magnetic pull as he watched her like a predator eyeing its next meal.

The more sober part of her was nervous, knew that she was about to cross a line she couldn’t walk back from. She knew that what was about to happen – giving her first time to Sanemi – would do nothing but exacerbate the poisonous love in her heart, but that part of her was so small, so feeble against the fire she felt in her blood as she approached the bar where he stood.

She pretended not to notice that he watched every move she made as she leaned over the ledge to order another shot. Only after the bartender placed the little glass in front of her, only after she tipped her head back and let the acid liquid slide down her throat, did she turn to meet his punishing gaze.

“You really should try joining in on the fun, Sanemi,” she kept her voice at a normal volume, forcing him to lean in slightly to hear her over the pulsing beat of the club music. She resisted the urge to close her eyes as the familiar whiff of his cologne hit her nose, the smell of a home and of a time before he ripped her heart out and stomped it to dust.

Sanemi smirked, and her stomach dipped at just how beautiful he looked, standing there below the pulsing glow of the lights. “I’m havin’ fun watching from here.” His lips were close enough to her ear that she shivered, gooseflesh erupting over her bare arms.

She wouldn’t let him know how much he still got to her, but she also couldn’t resist teasing him a little further, curious to see how far she could push him until he broke. She lifted her hand to pat the part of his chest he’d left exposed, his skin burning under her touch, as she made to pass him.

Sanemi snapped.

He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away and tugged her closer to him, knocking Y/N’s breath from her as he whirled her around and pressed her up against the dirty club wall to kiss her like she’d never been kissed before. He pinned the hand she’d had on his chest against the wall, over her head, while the other burned its imprint onto her waist. His kiss was demanding and hard, but Y/N was addicted to him. She brought her free hand to his neck, digging her nails in slightly to the sensitive skin to elicit a growl from him as he nipped her bottom lip.

Sanemi released the arm he’d pinned to the greasy club wall to hold the side of her face, tilting her head to he could deepen their kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth to dance with her own. Y/N couldn’t control her body as she pressed into him, desperate to feel him against her, to feel him fill every empty part of her until she felt whole again. She knew she was dooming herself further, knew she was only setting herself up to fall harder than she already had, but she couldn’t stop because it was Sanemi, and she loved him.

She felt his growing hardness against her thigh, and she couldn’t stop her hips from grinding against him, heat pooling in her belly. Sanemi moaned into her mouth as her hips undulated against his, and Y/N felt herself go molten at the sound. She wanted to make him do it again and again, but Sanemi tore his mouth from hers before she could.

His chest was heaving, and his eyes were wild and dark as he looked at her. His eyes fell on her reddened, kiss-swollen mouth, and even in the dim light of the club, Y/N could see his pupils explode. He grabbed her hand, and suddenly he was tugging her through the crowded dance floor, through the groups of people near the exit, until they were outside, the night air cool on their overheated skin.

Together, they stumbled down dark, empty streets, though Y/N could not find it in herself to feel afraid, because Sanemi was there, and while he may not have cared about her enough to love her, he was still a gentleman who wouldn’t let her be hurt by anyone but him. They walked as she laughed because he kept stopping and pulling on her hand to kiss her again and again, as though he too, could not get enough of her.

Y/N didn’t know where they were going, but eventually, they arrived at an apartment complex, and it dawned on her that he’d brought her to his home. His lips were on hers the whole walk to his door, never breaking even as he fumbled for his keys. Sanemi finally unlocked the door and pushed her inside his dark apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

Sanemi’s hands shot for her waist as he crushed her against him, his tongue licking the roof of her mouth. Y/N was sweaty and slightly sticky from the club, but the way Sanemi held her to him made her feel so god damn pretty like he’d been set adrift in a starless sea and she was his only lifeline. Sanemi’s hands moved from her waist to cup her ass, kneading her flesh as he moaned into her mouth again. His hands slid lower, grabbing her thighs to lift her up so her legs could wrap around his waist.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmurs, her head tilted back as Sanemi’s lips laid claim to her neck, his hips pressing her harshly against the entryway wall of his apartment.

The snow-haired man groaned, his hands fondling the soft curve of her ass beneath her dress. “Then tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath hot as his tongue teasingly traced across her collarbone.

Y/N whimpered as she tightened her legs around his hips, locking him closer to her. If he stopped then, she thought she would fall completely apart.

“Tch, just as I thought,” his teeth nipped harshly against her throat as Sanemi pulled back to look into her eyes. “You can’t.”

Sanemi set her down, but he did not pull away, instead kneeling before her to run his large, warm hands up the length of her calves before bringing them around to the back of her knees. He tapped each leg one at a time, signaling her to lift it slightly. With a jolt, Y/N was completely suspended in the air with both legs over his shoulders, as he buried his face into her cunt.

He did not even bother removing the flimsy, lacy thong she’d worn under her dress, choosing instead to bypass it entirely as his tongue dragged right up her slit. Y/N’s head smacked into the wall behind her as she moaned, and she couldn’t tell whether it was the Wisteria or Sanemi that had her seeing fractals of light behind her eyes. She found that she didn’t much care either way, however, because what Sanemi was doing to her felt fucking incredible.

Her fingers fisted in his hair as Sanemi fucked her with his tongue, his teeth grazing across her clit in time with his thrusts into her. He was groaning lewdly as he feasted upon her, eyes lifting every so often to meet hers, to ensure she was enjoying it as much as he was.

“I knew you’d taste fucking sweet,” he muttered as he broke for air, fingers digging firmly into her ass as he hauled her back onto his mouth. His tongue darted in and out of her folds, lapping up every drop of her essence that he coaxed out of her, before he dove right back into her entrance, forcing her to ride his tongue as she writhed above him. Y/N desperately sought to grab onto anything for purchase, so that she could grind harder against his face, but Sanemi had her pinned in the middle of the wall, rendering her helpless to let him tear her first orgasm from her, followed by another, and then another, never once lifting his mouth off her tender core.

Eventually, Sanemi decided he’d had enough, and he moved to carry her to his bedroom. Just after he tossed her onto his plush mattress, there was a moment before he pounced on her when Y/N could really look at him. The only source of light was from the full moon outside, casting everything in Sanemi’s bedroom in its silvery glow. The moonlight illuminated the soft platinum of his hair, made his lavender irises melt into precious gems of amethyst as he raked his eyes over her panting, blushing form. His gaze darkened at the sight of her dress strap, hanging off her shoulder, before dropping to the hem that has ridden up her legs.

Y/N barely had time to take another breath before he was on her again, almost ripping the fabric from her in his haste to get it off, to expose her.

“This fucking dress,” he growled in her ear, finally tugging the zipper all the way down and shoving it down her legs, chucking the flimsy material behind him.

She was almost bare to him, but he was still clothed, far too clothed. Y/N sat up and ripped his shirt, the buttons popping all over the bed while he smirked down at her. She couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed, however, because then his skin was touching hers, and it felt like heaven even if Y/N knew she was only descending deeper into hell.

Sanemi graced her lips with one more bruising kiss before beginning his descent down her body, and Y/N felt electrified under his touch.

His hot mouth first came to her bare breasts. “Fuck,” he whispered as he let his tongue trace the first of her mounds, swirling around her hardened nipple before letting his teeth nip gently at her. Y/N squirmed under his ministrations, the sensation foreign to her and yet somehow, it felt wholly right, that the first person to explore her body this way would be him.

Not that she would tell him, of course; she didn’t want him to hold back, she needed him to fuck her as though there was no tomorrow. If he knew it was her first time, he would slow, or perhaps insist on stopping altogether, given that they were both high, and she couldn’t have that.

Sanemi pressed his hips down against hers, pinning her against the mattress and stilling her movements as he took his time lavishing her breasts, covering her in small marks that he soothes with sweet kisses that were enough to get her utterly drunk on him. Y/N let out a high-pitched whine as she felt Sanemi grind against the mattress as he sucked on her other breast, his abdomen pressing deliciously against her aching cunt still covered by the lace of her thong, as she desperately swiveled her hips, eager for him to relieve her once more.  

Her desperation spurred his movement, as he detached himself from her breast with a low groan, resuming his descent down her body, pausing only to suck and nip at her stomach, before settling between her legs once more. Sanemi’s lips met the band of her thong and he growled, deep and guttural as he pressed his nose against her, inhaling deeply and letting his tongue flick out once more to lap at her wetness over the rough lace obscuring her from view.

Y/N was nearly sobbing from overstimulation, Sanemi having already ensured she’d finished on his tongue three times in the hallway. Now, she needed him to fill her, and quick, or else she thought she would combust.

“Sanemi,” she whined, and his eyes flicked back up to hers, dark with want. “Please, I need you.”

Her words had an instantaneous effect on the heaving man between her legs, because suddenly his body was covering her own, his weight pressing down on her, and his pants were gone, and he was slamming into her with a force that left her screaming and writhing against his soft sheets.

“Shit!” Sanemi snarled in her ear as his cock plunged into her dripping heat, so tight and so unaccustomed to the thick length now bullying in and out of her with abandon. “You’re so – ah – fuckin’ perfect.”

Y/N was sobbing on his mattress, but not from any discomfort. The combination of Sanemi’s body mixing with the Wisteria had utterly blurred out any pain or unease she felt at the intrusion of his rigid length into her core, and instead, Y/N felt herself shatter into a million pieces, only to be fucked back together again by Sanemi, who kept one bruising hand on her hip while the other ensnared itself in her hair as he thrust wildly in and out of her.

But she was not close enough for him. The silver-haired god above her pulled her legs over his forearms and braced his hands on her inner thighs to spread her wide as he pounded into her, leaning down into her face to make her blush, just like he used to do. Only now, instead of teasing her, he was whispering filth that had her turning scarlet and begging for more.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he grunted, his hips snapping in and out of her with a ferocity that left her breathless. "You've no idea –”

The speed with which he drilled into her propelled them up his bed, but Sanemi moved an arm to come between her head and the wrought iron of his bedframe, protecting her.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he snarled, sitting back on his knees as he began to bounce her against his groin, her breasts jolting with every forceful snap of his hips.

“Sanemi,” Y/N moaned, her back arching off his luxurious sheets as her legs tightened around his hips. Under his breath, Sanemi swore.

“Again,” he croaked, the sticky pap pap of his hips slapping against hers filling his room with the sweet music of their dance. “Say it again.”

Y/N could hardly process his demand over the sensual drag of his cock in and out of her needy walls, Sanemi’s movements chasing every breath from her and replacing it with him, as though there were some parts of her that remained untainted by him.

“Again,” Sanemi insisted, his groin pressing against hers as he ground against her, his rough base swirling over her aching clit demandingly, causing her legs to spasm around his hips.

“S-Sanemi!” Y/N howled as he lifted himself from the mattress by his knees, taking her hips with him as he suspended her half in mid-air and pounded relentlessly into her, rendering her incapable of making any other sound that wasn’t a devotional to him.

Through bleary eyes, Y/N looked to see Sanemi’s own gaze fixed on the way her mouth was frozen in a perfect “o” as he pulled moan after sigh from her throat with his hips, his fingers digging into the plush of her ass as he bounced her up and down his aching member again and again. Y/N arched her back even more, allowing him to hit deeper within her and she felt an unfamiliar pressure begin to build in her stomach.

It was similar to what she felt out in Sanemi’s hallway, beneath his tongue, but this time was different. Every push and drag of his cock into her syrupy wetness had her feeling electric like the lights of the Kizuki club were being strung beneath her skin and plugged in, and she was slowly becoming a beacon of light for the man chasing his own release above her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as that coil wound tightly, Sanemi’s name falling from her mouth like a plea as she begged him to let her fall apart in his arms.

Above her, Sanemi fared no better, as his hips began to jerk and press into her without the steady rhythym he’d so carefully built, a cacophony of snarls and moans pouring from his mouth along with the filth he muttered against her skin as he sucked harshly at her neck.

Sanemi readjusted his stance above her, his thighs pressing hers down into the mattress, and Y/N lost control.

“N-Nemi!” Y/N gasped as the unfamiliar coil in her belly suddenly unwound. She was far too overcome by her pleasure to recognize she’d accidentally used her old, affectionate nickname for him as she reached her peak.

But the slip did not go unnoticed by the snow-haired man rutting into her from above, as the moment the nickname fell from her lips in her haze, Sanemi’s own release followed, his seed barreling into her hot and fast as a pleasured cry of her name tore from his throat.

Sanemi’s hips rolled into hers for what felt like hours as he poured every ounce of himself into her greedy, demanding core, Y/N taking every drip of his cum. It felt exquisite, to have the man she’d so desperately loved for so long be reduced to such a mess by her body, and Y/N savored the way his warmth filled her, as though it were possible of bestowing life back upon her even though it was he who’d chased it away to begin with.

He collapsed atop her, finally spent and satisfied, an arm winding around her waist as he sleepily pressed a kiss into the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Sanemi rolled to his back, pulling her with him, and locking her against his chest as though they were lovers. But the combination of the night’s activities with the dwindling effects of the Wisteria had exhausted him, and it was not long before his chest began rising and falling in a steady pattern of sleep.

Y/N giggled quietly to herself, marveling over the fact that her tolerance for Shinobu’s Wisteria was apparently much higher than his. Under the moonlight, she found her dress puddled in a corner of his room and shrugged it back on, gathering her heels in one hand and locating her bag with the other. She turned back and looked at the sleeping face of the man who still held her heart and smiled slightly, before closing his bedroom door gently and taking off into the summer night.

There was a new ache between her legs, no doubt the product of having her virginity taken in such an enthusiastic way by the man she’d left sleeping in his apartment, though he was none the wiser. Y/N felt oddly satisfied, as though she’d achieved some lifelong goal, as the summer air caressed her face. As she stumbled down the night-warmed pavement back to her apartment, Y/N laughed, her chest feeling light and empty for the first time in a long while.

Want more angst? Smut? Pain? Stick around for part two and see shit literally hit the fan.

Likes, reblogs, tags, and comments are always appreciated!!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #demon slayer smut #kny smut #sanemi x reader #sanemi x y/n #shinazugawa sanemi #kny sanemi #kny sanemi smut #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #hashira #hashira smut #demon slayer sanemi #sanemi smut #sanemi x you #demon slayer fic

[deviantdaffodil]

In Heat

Miguel O’hara x Reader smut

IM ALIVE !!!! WAHHH i need miguel o’hara more than ANYTHING !!!!!!!!

!!SMALL SPOILERS MENTIONED EARLY ON!!

contains: biting, breeding, office sex, clawing, a bit of blood, choking, praise, dom miguel, sub reader, fem reader, size difference, heat, in heat, whatever you call it, dubious consent/very very very slight non con if you squint, primal/prey if you close your eyes, slight anal play if you squint

You decided you wanted to go up and visit Miguel. He had been busy since he was struggling so hard to find Miles Morales, so you wanted to go and try to cheer him up. You were a spider-person yourself and though your canon event went nothing like Miguel’s, you still felt so bad for him and took it upon yourself to be a sort of.. support system for him.

You enter the elevator of the HQ and make your way up to the top floor. Felt fitting for Miguel to have his office be the highest up.

Upon reaching the top, you step off the elevator and enter his office. “Miguel?” you call out into the darkness. You thought it was so strange how.. spooky his office felt. You became a little nervous, unable to locate Miguel. A tingle shot throughout your body and you quickly whip your body around. Standing behind you, Miguel towered over you. You jumped slightly, clenching your hand around your heart. You slip your mask off your face and look up at Miguel. “You scared me,” you said nervously with a slight chuckle.

Miguel slid his mask off as well and looked into your eyes. He was panting and sweating and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. “You shouldn’t really be here.”

You pout. He always liked your company. What’s gotten into him? Well.. you two weren’t exactly dating per se, so it’s possible he just didn’t want to be around you at the moment.. This thought hurt your feelings a little. “Is everything alright? Did I do something?” Your voice is so innocent and Miguel shudders; unbeknownst to you, pleasure and lust are clouding his mind and all he can think about is locking the door and taking you right then and there. He’s been anxious and hesitant to start a new relationship, but something about you made him go wild. He needed you, bad.

“You just- you wouldn’t get it,” he said, exasperated. “I just. I can’t be around you, it’s not safe - you’re not safe.”

You tilt your head. Again, your innocence and ignorance about the situation makes his cock throb. “Why not?”

An animalistic growl erupted in his throat. he just could not take it anymore. The shock of the noise made you back up a good bit. This only made him smirk; he enjoyed the hunt. He lunged at you on all fours; you yelp unable to get away fast enough and he quickly rips your suit across the front, nicking your flesh in the process. He latches his teeth onto your throat and bites down with a force that leaves you temporarily breathless. Heat immediately floods into your body and travels between your legs.

“M-Miguel!” Your voice cracked as you shouted, trying to get him off of you by hitting him with your fist. You did not want someone to see the two of you right now. Miguel kissed and licked at the wounds he made on your flesh. It felt like electricity was flowing through you and you moaned slightly. You carefully hold up your arm and fire a web at the door, in hopes it keeps people out. “Miguel!” your voice is now more stern.

He looks up at you, his eyes seem to glow red as your blood drips from his lip. “I need you,” he pleaded. “I need to fill you up, please..” He brushed his fingers against your clothed pussy as he pleaded with you. You instinctively grind your body against his fingers and bite your lip. It was your turn to pounce, capturing his lips in a kiss, tasting your blood on them. This was all he needed for confirmation; his claws came out and he started ripping off your suit and his own. Once he freed his cock, he held his hand up to your face. “Spit. Now,” he growled at you. You did as he asked and spit in his hand. He rubbed some of your saliva onto his cock and then some was used to lube his fingers for your pussy.

“I need you to be good and wet for my cock, okay,” he started to babble, “I don’t want to hurt you,” he cooed as he rubbed his finger around your pussy, careful to avoid your clit or your dripping hole. You were whining and whimpering while he played with your pussy and leaned in for a kiss, gently biting your lip. You were instinctively bucking your hips against his hand, praying you would get the friction you wanted so badly.

“Miguel please,” you pleaded as you run your hand down his chest to his v-line. Another growl rummbled in his throat. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, giving your ass a good smack or two, earning a delicious whimper from you. He took you to his desk and ran his hand across the desk, knocking everything off of it. He laid you down on your stomach on the desk and spread your legs with his knee.

He leaned over you, his toned chest pressed against your back. “I’m going to fill your pussy with my cum and put a baby in you, you slut,” he growled into your ear. Just his voice made your pussy tremple. He slapped his massive cock against your ass and began fucking your plump ass cheeks, using his own spit as lube. He grabbed both ass cheeks and squished them together on his cock as he thrusted. Once he was satisfied, he spit on his cock again and rubbed the tip of his cock around your hole to tease you. You let out a cry when he accidentally brushed it up against your clit and that was what sent him over the edge. Immediately, he stuffed his cock into you. Tears formed in your eyes and you cried out as loud as you could, babbling about how full his big cock made you feel.

He grabbed your hips then dug his claws into them, pounding away at your pussy. He continued squeezing and smacking your ass as he abused your womb. You were crying out for more and more as he bottomed out his cock in you.

“M-Miguel! Oh god don’t stop! I don’t want this to stop! Oh god you fill me up so good! Your cock is so big and so good!” you moaned, completely cock drunk. Miguel leaned forward, still abusing your pussy. He wrapped his hand around your throat and allowed his claws to dig into your flesh.

“You gonna let me cum inside? Gonna let me put a baby in you? Gonna let me knock you up? Huh? Huh?” He pleaded and mumbled into your ear. You nod rapidly in response, mind too numb to find the words. “Such a good girl,” he pulls away from your ear, slowing his pace earing a whine from you, “Such a good slut.” He spreads your ass cheeks again and using the pad of his thumb, starts applying pressure to your asshole. You whimper out of pleasure and can’t help but buck your hips back into him to make him fuck you again. He gently slides his thumb into you with the help of some of his spit and fuck it in and out of your hole. Once he’s satisfied, he picks the pace back up with his hips, wet slapping sounds echoing throughout the room. You’re a moaning mess right now, your legs feel weak and you can feel yourself getting close to an orgasm.

“Cum inside me Miguel,” you cry out, “I want t-to have your babies please!” He’s thrusting at a rate your mind cant keep up with, he’s huffing and grunting and digging his claws into your flesh. every thrust felt like heaven and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. “Oh god! Right there Miguel! Just like that! Don’t stop!” You start to babble about how much you want his cum in you and how much you love him and need him for the rest of your lives which sends the two of you over the edge. Your walls clench with an orgasm and Miguel’s throbbing cock fills you with a huge load of cum.

The two of you sit there, regaining your composure. Miguel doesn’t pull his cock out of you, wanting to keep his cum in you.

“Did you mean that..?” He asks breathlessly.

“H-Huh?” then it hit you - you definitely told him you loved him. Your cheeks began to burn from embarrassment. “Y-Yes,” you admitted, completely ashamed that you lost control of yourself that badly.

Miguel huffed, amused. “Good.” He pulled himself out of you and you sat up and turned to face him. “I love you too.”

#xreader #smut #fanfic #female reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #across the spiderverse #slight spoilers

[sundrop-writes]

Missing You

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary:

Gar misses his two best friends. When he calls the two of you, he certainly doesn’t expect to find you in such a… compromising situation.

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd. Accidental Voyeurism. Smut. Canon Divergent AU of Season 2.

Word Count: 2,800

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: there is a lot of Gar/Jason (emotionally and sexually), dubious consent - Gar listens to the reader and Jason having sex without their consent (but they don’t mind when they do find out), invasion of privacy (but again, they don’t mind it), would this be considered eavesdropping?, accidental voyeurism (and then on purpose voyeurism), Gar masturbates while listening to Jason and the reader have sex over a FaceTime call but Jason and the reader don’t know Gar is listening, Gar feels slightly guilty about being horny in this situation, lots of dirty talk, Jason is more dominant, reader is definitely submissive, Gar is (slightly?) submissive (though he is not ‘involved’ for most of the sex act), the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (though she is not really the ‘center’ of this fic), Jason has a filthy mouth, p in v sex (between Jason and reader) - actually protected sex this time (which is a surprise for my fics) (it’s my headcanon that Jason is a big proponent for condoms/safe sex), degradation kink (towards the reader), terms used to describe the reader: slutty/slut, cocksleeve, hole, fucktoy/toy, cumdump, good girl; slightly possessive Jason (but it’s clear that he doesn’t mind sharing with Gar), spanking (very light, no severe pain kink) - mention of clit spanking, mention of orgasm restriction, mentions of sexting/sending nudes. I believe that’s everything.

A/N: This is a repost. Again, to complete my Titans Masterlist on this blog. I did some tweaking to it, but it is still mostly the same. So if you have read it before, I hope you enjoy it. And if it’s your first time reading it, I hope you like it again.

...

The concept of butt-dailing was something that still mystified Gar. 

He understood why it was a thing in the 2000s, sure. A time when people’s phones still had tactile buttons on them, when you could sit on your phone in your back pocket and start pressing things by accident. But these days? Why was the term even still used? 

How can you call someone by accident? How can you have an entire phone conversation with someone by mistake? 

On that day, it hadn’t been Jason that called him - no, Gar was the one calling Jason. 

Gar hated to admit it, but he was fucking lonely. He had a soft heart and if he went too long without talking to his friends, without hearing their laughter, then he wilted like an unwatered plant. It wasn’t something that he ever said aloud, but it was something that was very easy to tell for the people who were closest to him. 

So Jason had taken to calling him on a regular basis. And ironically, because of it, the two had actually grown a lot closer in the Robin’s absence. 

Their friendship bloomed because of the long, late-night phone calls where Jason’s tired voice mumbled things to Gar as he fell asleep, admitting things about his past and the pain he sometimes felt that he never would have told anyone else. And they often spent hours on Discord calls as they kicked ass together playing COD or some other stupid game like Mount Your Friends. Even though on that day the Tower was practically empty, Gar found himself missing Jason the most. 

Ever since you had gone to Gotham to visit Jason, Gar’s other closest friend abandoning him, Gar had practically gone mad with loneliness. Rachel was off on a ‘girls trip’ with Donna, Dawn, and Kory, and Dick was attending some kind of ‘League’ business. Hank was leading a ‘be a better you’ sobriety seminar in another city, and Gar still found himself feeling like an outsider when hanging out with Rose and Jericho. 

So where did that leave him? 

Alone in his room, sprawled out on his bed. 

He had thumbed over Jason’s contact in his phone several times before he actually decided to put in his earbuds and give the guy a call. Surely his best friend wouldn’t consider him needy after the three hour long timestamps on their other calls. If Jason was busy, Gar could simply find something else to entertain himself. He could probably best his Resident Evil speedruns. Again. 

But selfishly, he was hoping Jason would pick up and talk to him for a while. Maybe you would be lounging around with Jason and he would get to talk to the both of you. That would be really nice. 

When the FaceTime call was answered on the other end, the screen was dark. Gar thought for a moment that Jason was just busy - that he was pressing his phone to his chest until he could get into another room to take the call. But for a few moments, all he heard was deep breathing, some grunting. The sound of Jason training? 

He was definitely inside Jason’s pocket. 

See, Jason hadn’t even noticed the incoming call. He had his phone on silent, and he had answered it completely by mistake. Turns out, the rapid, rhythmic thrusting of his hips had somehow successfully pressed the ‘answer’ button, even with the phone shoved deep in his back pocket. 

And Jason wasn’t really in a position to have a friendly, ‘let’s chat about COD’ video chat with his best friend. 

He was balls-deep inside of you. With his thick, hard cock out through the zipper of his pants with his phone still inside of his back pocket. He was thrusting into you where you were face down on his bed, on your knees exactly how he wanted you. 

It was a huge part of the reason you had come to visit him. The two of you had been fooling around for as long as you had known each other, and you couldn’t seem to go for very long without fucking the other person. It brought you both relief from your stressful vigilante lifestyle, and it was the best sex either of you ever had. Not that any of your friends knew that you had a ‘thing’ going on, of course. 

Gar was about to hang up the call, believing that he had caught Jason at a bad time and realizing that the guy didn’t even know his phone was on. But he froze completely still when he heard it. 

“Fuck, babe, take my cock.” Jason groaned, his voice absolutely thick with sex. “Fucking take it.” 

It was something that instantly made Gar tremble, made blood rush to his cock as he heard his friend’s voice in a way that he never had before. The sound was rough in his headphones, distant and not nearly as pure as it would have been in person. But it made Gar’s blood run hot in seconds, made him so turned on so quickly that he became dizzy. 

Gar’s hand itched to reach down and grip his cock through his pants, but he knew that he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong. He should just hang up the call and hope that Jason never saw it in his call history. The longer he stayed there and listened, the more suspicious the timestamp would look in the call history if Jason ever saw it. 

But Gar was frozen in his tracks when he heard something that absolutely made his head spin. 

“Yes!” It was your voice. “Fuck, I fucking love your cock. I’m just a slutty little cocksleeve for you, Jay!” 

High pitched and needy, moaning out - it was you. You, screaming those entirely pornographic words, followed by a deep grunt from Jason. 

Gar let out a sharp breath. It hadn’t occurred to him who Jason might be fucking. Or that he was fucking someone at all, and that he wasn’t just alone, fucking his own hand. 

Gar almost couldn’t believe that this was happening. The two people that he had been attracted to for so long now, playing out an epic sex fantasy for his own ears. He knew that it was so horribly wrong, but he probably wouldn’t have hung up the call if someone had pointed a gun to his head. 

“Yeah, you are.” Jason replied, his voice slightly obscured from the phone being in his pocket. “You’re my perfect slut. Such a good fucktoy, aren’t you, Y/N?” 

Jason saying your name with such a deep, possessive need, paired with the way he spoke so confidentially - it forced Gar to imagine how long the two of you had been in a relationship like this. How long the two of you had been playing around behind everyone’s backs to know each other’s kinks so well without crossing any boundaries. Even with his brain so lust-clouded, his thoughts flashed through all of the times you and Jason had snuck off together, or made lame excuses to go to bed early when Jason had still been living at the Tower. 

Gar was upset that he hadn’t found out about this sooner. His brain conjured up a fantasy of him sneaking into Jason’s room late at night, and seeing you on your knees for his best friend. He easily imagined Jason inviting him to stay, telling Gar what a slut you were, how much you would love to have two guys at once. Him and Jason passing you around, your wetness making both of their cocks shine. If you were the ‘fucktoy’ that he claimed you to be, it probably wouldn’t be that far from reality. 

There was a wet, slapping sound - Jason fucking into you harder as you moaned and struggled for breath. 

Gar’s cock pulsed with need. 

Something in the back of his brain screamed that it was wrong and that he needed to hang up, but his cock screamed louder. So he untied the string of his pants with haste and racked them down over his aching balls. Just to be safe, he muted his end of the call so that Jason wouldn’t hear any noises he made. 

(If he had been thinking a bit clearer, he would have realized that any noise he made, especially echoing into Jason’s back pocket, would have simply gotten lost in the haze of sweat and sex that the two of you were making in Jason’s bedroom. But - better safe than sorry, right?) 

In his mind, muting the call seemed even more reasonable when he let out a deep moan the second he took his hard dick into his hand. More beautiful sounds from you and Jason came in through his headphones as he began to jerk himself off. 

“Fucking love how you take my cock, fucking love how this slutty pussy gets so wet for me.”

Jason’s dirty mouth continued as Gar’s hand started a steady rhythm. Gar was already leaking precum that easily slicked him up - he was absolutely dizzy at the sound of Jason’s sex-graveled voice. 

“Just a fucking hole for me to cum in.” Jason growled. “You love it, don’t you? You love being my fucking toy. My fucking cumdump.” 

The pure filth coming out of Jason’s mouth surprised Gar, just as much as his own reaction did. The way his dick jumped in his hand and his lungs released a moan, his tip leaking even more precum at the words. He had no fucking idea that you and Jason were so dirty, that you liked being… degraded so much. Because clearly you loved it, with the wailing moan that you echoed back in response. 

“I love it!” You told Jason, your tone desperate and breathy, worn with sex. “I love being your cumdump. I’m just a hole for you to use!” 

Gar tried to imagine what the two of you might look like in that moment. Were you on your back, your legs spread wide for Jason? Were you completely naked with your tits swaying with his every thrust? Were you on your hands and knees, ass out like a bitch in heat for Jason? 

Gar pumped his cock faster at the thought, his precum making it sound absolutely slick, unrestrained grunts coming from his parted lips as he continued to listen you and Jason fuck. He would feel guilty for this later, but right now, he was absolutely dizzy with lust and needed to hear more. 

“You gonna cum on my cock, slut?” Jason’s voice was sharp, demanding. 

It sounded like Jason was holding back the urge to cum himself and he needed you to get there first. There was a sharp sound - skin hitting skin, higher in pitch and less muffled than the constant pounding of Jason into your cunt. Jason had spanked you. Gar’s orgasm swelled in his belly as he imagined Jason’s hand coming down against your skin, making the fat of your ass bounce or - fuck, Jason’s hand blooming against your wet clit. (Gar hated that he would never know which it actually was.) 

“Be a good girl. Cum for me.” Jason demanded, throat strangling his voice as he drowned in his own arousal. 

And just like that, you dissolved into a fury of sounds. Gar caught you chanting ‘I’m a hole! I’m a hole! I’m a hole!’ as though it was the only thing on your mind, increasing in volume as your orgasm overtook you, but it was muffled after a moment and Gar heard Jason grunt the words ‘shut up’ in the most sharp, dangerous voice he had ever heard from his best friend. 

Gar’s mind was immediately struck with the picture of Jason’s hand on the back of your head, shoving you into the bed to quiet your whorish moaning, and this was what sent him over the edge. His stomach curled so hard that it practically made him nauseous, his body drawing up off the bed as he pumped his cock hard and fast. He pumped himself dry as cum splashed up over his (thankfully) naked stomach and dirtied him in hot, white waves. 

Gar’s body was still trembling when he heard Jason rattle out a shuddering moan, a sure sign that he was cumming too. 

Gar should have rushed to end the call. 

But it seemed impossible to move at this point - his bones were practically made out of jelly from the intensity of his orgasm. The hand holding the phone had dropped it against his chest, the sound still coming in clear from his earbuds. He was desperate to catch his breath, and his cum still warm against his stomach when he heard it. 

There was a shifting, a rustling sound - fuck, Jason was taking his phone out of his pocket. 

Gar panicked. 

But his orgasm had been so spectacular that it had knocked all the sense out of him, including his usually good reflexes, so he was slow to pick his phone back up. When he did, his heart jumped in his chest when he found Jason staring at him, wearing a wide smirk. 

In the time it had taken Gar to recover, Jason had taken his phone out - with the original purpose to check the time. Alfred always had a very specific time for dinner, and always became cranky if anyone was late. Jason certainly didn’t need anyone to come looking for you and him, seeing the compromising position that you found yourselves in. 

Jason was surprised when he found the call with Gar going. And once he had checked the timestamp on the still ongoing call, he immediately knew what had happened. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jason said, his voice slightly rough from the sex, but entirely confident, unshaken. 

“Uh - I - I -” Gar stuttered. 

When Jason saw his lips moving and didn’t hear any sound, he quickly spoke up. 

“Unmute the call, dickhead.” Jason told him, giving a small chuckle with the offensive, affectionate nickname. 

Right. Gar had muted it to participate in his perverted voyeurism. 

As Gar reached up to find the button, he realized his hand was still covered in cum. 

Jason licked his lips as he saw substance smeared all over Gar’s palm and saw his friend reaching for tissues off to the side. As Gar raced to clean off his hand, you appeared behind Jason’s shoulder in the frame of the call. You were wearing a bra, your skin slightly slicked with sweat and tear tracks coming off the side of your eyes - clearly from pleasure and not from pain. 

“You had Gar on a FaceTime call?” Your tone was a breathy giggle, clearly not at all upset at the idea that your friend had been listening in on you being fucked and called degrading names. “Kinky. Did you call him while you were putting the condom on?” 

Gar unmuted the call with his now clean(er) hand, but waited in silence for you and Jason to finish your conversation. He was surprised that you didn’t seem to care; that you seemed to think it was some kind of pre-planned kink that Jason had executed. Gar’s stomach twisted at the thought of it, that you and Jason had discussed inviting another person into your sex life and you were more than okay with it being Gar. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Jason told you. “Go get cleaned up for dinner.” 

You simply nodded, and leaned in to give Jason a kiss - a soft, gentle sight that was entirely arousing in contrast to the rough, filthy sex that Gar knew the two of you just had. It was even more arousing when you walked out of frame and Gar heard another spank to your bare skin (clearly you weren’t wearing bottoms) - and heard you let out a delighted squeak in response. 

“Look, I can explain-” Gar began his groveling, but Jason quickly cut him off. 

“Quiet.” Jason said, his tone taking on a kind of authority that made Gar’s stomach jump. “Next time this happens, we get to watch you cum, or you don’t get to cum at all. Got it?” 

Gar’s cock was quickly filling with blood again at Jason speaking to him this way, so boldly, making sexual demands over his body. His mouth was dry and lost for words so he simply nodded in response. He opened his mouth to attempt to speak - to apologize, to ask for clarity, to ask Jason when ‘the next time’ would be. 

But now that Jason had Gar’s simple affirmation, he hung up the call. 

Gar - unable to help himself - stretched an arm out and took a picture of his half hard cock and his shirtless body, still covered in his cum. He hesitated to send it, though. After a long mental debate in the shower, it came back to his phone sitting on his nightstand, and sent it to Jason with a caption that read ‘I really did enjoy the show’. 

It pinged Jason’s phone when he was sitting at the dinner table with you and Bruce. And as he looked at it under the table, he choked on his peas.

#sundrop writes #dc titans #titans fanfiction #titans x reader #dc titans fanfiction #gar logan x reader #gar logan #garfield logan #garfield logan x reader #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jaygar x reader

[yanderes-galore]

may i request a yandere concept for leon kennedy but in dbd?

Honestly he probably isn't much different but sure!

Yandere! DBD! Leon Kennedy Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Dubious companionship, Paranoia, Manipulation, Implied stalking, Guilt tripping, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Brief violence mention.

The canon Leon that's sent to the Entity's Realm in DBD is RE2! Leon.

Which means the Leon darling will encounter in their trials would be the much more naive rookie cop Leon.

Think about it, the poor man's all confused.

First he was running from the undead and Mr. X, now he's in a world of fog and darkness with all sorts of threats.

He's nearly defenseless, too.

For the most part Leon is his typical RE2 yandere behavior.

He's an overprotective, clingy, puppy-like yandere towards his darling.

Despite being stripped of his defenses he still feels like he has a duty to defend those he cares about.

Leon could've been dragged into the realm with a darling he already knew or meet his darling later on in the realm.

Either way he never leaves them out of his sight for long.

The moment Leon connects with you as a teammate over that campfire, you probably aren't getting rid of him.

Which starts as a good thing.

Having an ally in this realm is a good thing to have, it creates a certain synergy during trials that makes your fears quiet down.

Leon is a pleasant guy to be around.

He's nervous but he makes an effort to be light-hearted around you while also taking in what's going on.

He quickly adapts to fixing generators in different locations, often helping you out with them too.

He expertly utilizes his flashbang perk to save his teammates and is overall a good teammate to have.

Even more so, Leon is a good friend.

His presence is good to be around and he quickly takes a liking to you when you meet.

Leon is a survivor who can quickly adapt despite how nervous and naive he acts at first.

He's Protective, Manipulative, Clingy, Obsessive, and is still kinda Flirty like his RE4 version but he is more Shy as his RE2 version.

Survivors are limited on how they can defend themselves in the Entity's Realm but Leon would still manage to be protective.

Leon would follow his darling around in trials.

Usually it's good to stay separate in the start to get more generators down, but Leon prefers to follow you like a partner.

Even if you gave Leon an order he prefers to stick around and slowly follow you.

As I said before, Leon is very puppy-like with his obsession in RE2.

He's never far from you and us protective of you like some sort of guard dog.

Killers can barely get their claws on you without Leon chasing after them to divert their attention.

If you ever tried to scold Leon on his behavior, then he guilt trips you.

RE2 is more likely to guilt trip you than his other counterparts, especially in this situation.

If you don't want him helping you... then what if you get hurt?

He'd be devastated if you failed a trial because of him.

Why don't you want him around?

Do you not like him?

Are you no longer close?

Leon just manages to make you regret turning him down which makes it hard for you to say no.

Leon just seems to know how to make you listen to him by pulling at your emotions.

He gets smug about it in private.

Leon is less confident about flirting if he does it to you in the realm, but he tries.

Leon just wants to keep your spirit up and make you happy despite being trapped in the realm.

He always looks out for you even if you hate it.

The issue is Leon doesn't give you a chance to be alone or even allows you to have other company.

You could try to tell him another survivor will look after you in a trial or you're fine alone... but Leon doesn't like that.

If it isn't him looking after you he just loses it.

I don't think RE2 Leon is that violent but he would get into arguments with other survivors.

It's hard to say if Leon is scared of being left alone or is scared of you being alone.

He isn't very clear with that as he acts so upset either way.

Other survivors wonder what's gotten into Leon when he suddenly snaps and yells at them if they are near you or mention you.

Leon is a very obsessive and clingy yandere even in the realm of the Entity.

Although, if we go with the theory that the Entity could influence yandere behavior then he may just be worse.

Maybe if his obsession continues... he will use violence.

Survivors can't truly stay dead in this realm, but Leon's new violent tendencies caused by the Entity would isolate both you and him.

Which may be what Leon wants in the end.

No one wants to be subjected to his bloody violence, be it simply a fist fight or something worse.

As a result... survivors don't help you when Leon gets too clingy.

Leon's your problem when he gets violent due to the realm...

You're stuck with him forever as the Entity sits back and watches your suffering.

#yandere dead by daylight #yandere dbd #yandere leon kennedy #yandere leon s kennedy #yandere resident evil

[originalaccountname]

Sorry to bother you but I’ve been getting into BSD and Chuuya’s my fave, but I’ve been seeing some contradictory things in fanfic so…

Does Chuuya actually have a god sealed inside him? I thought it was just like his power without limitations and was dubious of those takes, but since eldritch beings can apparently be a thing (and not an ability), I think it could be plausible either way.

Though even if it’s not I can see why people would use that route for some good angst.

This is not a bother at all! This is something I very much like to talk about

if you're really new I do recommend you go read both "Dazai, Chuuya, Fifteen Years Old" and "STORM BRINGER" light novels (but SB especially), not only are they great books with Chuuya as the focal point but they will help answer your question in depth (you can buy the English translations but I can help you find the translation online if that's what you need, just message me again)

The short version is that Arahabaki being an actual god, a separate entity from Chuuya that has a personality/a voice/desires, is a common fanon trope, but not a canon fact. The truth is more complex and much more fun, lore-wise, in my opinion

And now the long version, because I'm passionate about this and this is my excuse to deep dive into it (spoilers for Fifteen)

In Fifteen, Chuuya says this:

Chuuya himself presents "Arahabaki" as nothing more than pure power. No thoughts, no personality, but powerful for sure.

That phrasing in Fifteen created a lot of confusion I think, talking about gods as real but also not:

But I think it's more of a symbolic reference, talking about immense power that seem out of this world. Because in practice, as Chuuya said before, "Arahabaki" is simply raw power, not an entity. You can't pray to it, it can't understand you, it can't perform miracles (which is why he knew the Old Boss couldn't have been brought back by Arahabaki and it was all nonsense from the start)

I'm also putting part of the blame on the anime, where they decided (while not being exactly wrong either, out of context it's weird) to illustrate Chuuya "floating in a bluish-black darkness, surrounded by a transparent seal" and being pulled out by a hand:

like this:

When, if you actually reread that part in the novel with knowledge about Storm Bringer, it's actually this moment that was being referred to:

Which brings us to Storm Bringer! (heavy spoilers I'm serious)

"Project Arahabaki" was the Japanese government's attempt to create an ability weapon from an individual. They wanted to craft a singularity that could be used multiple times, thus granting them access to power that should not be accessible normally. They based their research on what France had discovered through Verlaine. The objective is to create a massive energy output through a self-contradicting ability, for which you need a vessel:

Chuuya is the device. "Arahabaki" is the massive energy. That massive energy can control gravity to the point of being able to create localized black holes! N implied that part of the lab's work for the Arahabaki Project was to modify Chuuya's body to be able to withstand the constant gravity effects on it so he doesn't just die. Chuuya's normal use of his ability doesn't seem to have any drastic effects on him, and his physical resilience (to getting hit, stabbed, poisoned, shot, electrocuted, to going through a black hole) does seem to imply they did succeed at least in part.

And this bit here explains why "Arahabaki" was the chosen name for the project; unexplained phenomena across History that can be linked to an ability going haywire, but were attributed to god-like interventions at the time. So you're a funny little mad scientist, you read research papers from another mad scientist that named their own creation after a mythological monster, and you decide to do the same with your own local folklore.

But!

There's still something to be said about how "Arahabaki" is a singularity, and therefore, has its own set of rules. Chuuya does loose control, Chuuya does regress to a sort of destructive instinct while under Corruption. But "Arahabaki" is still no more than an ability singularity. Here's what is said about Guivre and Arahabaki:

They are both singularity life-forms. They exist because they are singularities; outside of it, they are nothing. The inner workings of abilities are still mysterious, but most of them have a link to their wielder's desires. For example, Atsushi's Tiger is there to protect him, a mirror to his will to live no matter what. Verlaine's Guivre is similar:

Guivre was a beast born out of Verlaine's loneliness and resulting hatred. He felt deeply alone in not feeling/being human, and through Pan's (his "creator") special "programming" of Verlaine's ability, N was able to trigger the true form of his singularity with that flare gun and metal powder, which took the form of Guivre. It's what the hat was supposed to prevent, but Verlaine had already lost it by then.

Chuuya's Arahabaki is probably similar. Its first apparition was when Rimbaud tried to absorb him and use his ability for himself, and any subsequent use is linked to grief and survival. Basically, if they're their own entities, they are still born in a specific context and deeply linked to the original ability user's character. And Arahabaki? Only exists if Chuuya uses his activation phrase to get rid of the limitations put into place to prevent him from exploding:

More about about Corruption: SB is kind enough to give us an explanation on how the nullification process works, right here:

Chuuya's self-contradicting ability makes him able to control gravity through the sheer amount of energy it creates by permanently interacting with itself. It is kept under control through the use of an activation phrase, O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again, which, after being either said or thought by Chuuya, will open his "Gate" (which I'm interpreting as a blocker put in place by the lab so the singularity doesn't just kill him, like those poor people they mentioned existed through History), and by opening it, "free Arahabaki's true power" (aka Corruption). When Dazai uses his ability on him, the base self-contradicting ability is nullified, which cancels out the singularity taking place, which stops Corruption and allows that "Gate" to close again. The red markings are there because they're cool and fun.

To conclude, I'll let Dazai do the honors:

bonus: what does that mean for Chuuya's ability?

bons 2: Perceived timeline of Chuuya's past and what happened to to create confusion around his humanity

#this isn't throwing shade at people who want to play with the concept of actual god arahabaki #it has its place and the angst potential is all there #i do wish it was more common to have chuuya NOT refer to arahabaki as a separate entity however. because it isn't. it's him. #it doesn't yearn for destruction and doesn't whisper edgy things in his mind all day every day. it doesn't even exist outside of corruption #thank you for giving me a reason to go off on the subject ksjfhkjdhgkdf #if all that sounded unhinged it's because i am #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd fifteen #bsd stormbringer #bsd storm bringer #stormbringer #storm bringer #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd chuuya #bsd arahabaki #apparently i talk sometimes #ask answered

[hiskillingjar]

sick little games

Relationship(s): Strade/Reader, Ren/Reader, Lawrence/Reader, Strade/Ren, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Coercion, Extremely Dubious Consent, Leather, Sexual Roleplay, Sweat, Armpit Kink, Boot Worship, Blood and Injury, Chastity, Gore, Amputation, Praise, Humiliation, Daddy Kink, Teratophilia, Monster Fucking, Master/Slave, Latex, Costumes, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesome, Oral Sex, Shotgunning, Drug Use, Menophilia, Period Blood, Body Modification, Piercings, Exhibitionism, Watersports, Gags, Lingerie, Panties, Bondage, Emetophilia, Vomiting, Collars, Overstimulation, Vibrators, Breathplay, Asphyxiation Length: Multi-chaptered, 33,000+ words

Summary: [Last update: Breathplay] A collection of one-shots based around Kinktober prompts.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50629204

Leather and Latex (Strade/MC)

"Ah, look at you, little punk rocker."

You instantly stilled as Strade opened the door of your (his) room, your hands freezing at the zip of the leather skirt that was pulled tightly around your hips. In the months of being his captive, wearing and re-wearing your old clothes and borrowing some of his when you had to, you would have never been so bold as to ask Strade for clothes like this, but…you were pleasantly surprised when it had turned up with an order he'd done for you (no doubt with a bit of Ren's assistance, though).

That didn't stop you from being incredibly self-conscious when he walked in and saw you wearing something so daring though.

"Punk rocker?" You said, doing your best not to flinch at the sound of his voice, glancing towards him as he idled in the doorway of your (his) room, his arms crossed, your hands freezing at your sides and unwilling to move. "D-Do I look punk rock to you?" You then asked with an attempt at a smile, despite how nervous you now felt.

"Mm," Strade hummed as his smile grew, stepping forward and placing a hand on your hip, feeling the tight leather against his skin, the teeth of the silver zip. "Very punk rock. I like it." He dug his fingers a little harder against your soft hip, pulling you in a little closer. "What's the occasion? Trying to sneak into Berghain or something?"

You swallowed, a look of quiet confusion on your face (like he was telling a joke you didn't understand) as your hands stayed still.

"Do you always get this nervous around me?" Strade laughed and his golden eyes glittered with unique cruelty, sadistically amused, like a schoolboy pulling at a bug's wings, watching you with thinly veiled excitement as you grew more and more nervous at his presence. "Or are you just being modest, hm?"

"I'm not, mmf-!" You let out a little squeak as he gave the zip of the skirt a good yank, pulling it shut and pulling the leather even tighter around your arse. 

The skirt is maybe a size too small for you, squeezing in all of the right (or wrong, if you were being honest) places, and it's enough to make your legs tremble as he bracketed your hips with his hands, pressing you against the edge of the bed. 

"You know that your modesty is no good here, fraulein," He teased softly with a little chuckle, leaning forward to press his lips to your neck, his teeth smiling into your skin. "Especially when your body looks this good trussed up in leather. Not like I'm surprised, of course," He then pressed you down into the bed, the hem of the skirt shifting upwards and exposing your soft, scarred thighs. "You'd look good trussed up anything~"

You took in a sharp little gasp as he nipped your neck playfully, reaching up to press your hands to his chest, an attempt to push him away when all you wanted to do was pull him forward, let him take you as he wanted.

There was a predatory gleam in Strade's eyes, as there often was with you, with his prey, as he observed how the tight-fitting material hugged your soft curves, the skirt clinging and creaking as it rosee even higher up your hips and thighs.

A slow and salacious smile spread across his lips as he placed a hand on one of your scars and let it drift upwards to the exposed hem of your panties.

"So tight..." He purred softly, dragging the bridge of his nose against your jaw. "That makes one thing of yours tight, huh?"

Your face flushed bright red at how crudely he spoke to you, and your obvious embarrassment made him grin and laugh heartily as he pushed you down to the bed and leered above you, his golden eyes growing ever more excited.

"You really need to stop being so reactive, fraulein." He said, still laughing as he placed a knee on one side of your hips, the mattress dipping beneath the two of you. "It makes you too much fun to play with and tease.

Roleplay (Ren/MC)

"I think when couples talk about roleplaying in the bedroom, they have other ideas in mind."

Your voice was flat and monotone as you crossed your arms and gave Ren a somewhat irritated look, looking down at the ridiculous cosplay outfit he had somehow managed to get you dressed up in. 

It was the typical sort of thing he liked, a short skirt with ruffle after ruffle of tulle bunched up underneath and grazing your thighs, thigh-high socks with lacy bands that bit into your soft flesh, long gloves, and plenty of bows to make you feel that much more ridiculous. You didn't understand what anime he was trying to reference with the outfit, if he was referencing one at all, nor would you care to understand if he tried to explain.

"I don't even know what role I'm supposed to be playing." You continued, idly pulling at the bow at the center of your chest and eyeing him as he beamed across the room, looking pleased as punch. "Am I a schoolgirl or something?"

"I mean, not exactly," He said with a grin, standing forward and pacing to your side, his tail idly swishing behind him. "You're, like, a part-time schoolgirl and a part-time magical girl, defending the world from aliens and overlords, and that kind of thing."

"Right," You replied, looking over at him with a raised brow. You had thought he'd be more creative than just having a schoolgirl fantasy. "And that's sexy to you?"

"It's very sexy to me," He replied with a little chuckle, his cheeks flushing a healthy pink as he continued to pace around you, circling you, a sweet-faced predator assessing their stoic prey. He was deceptive in that way, masking his darker and more violent desires with dweebish sweetness. It was as scary as it was intriguing. "But, ah, this character is even better, because she has a love interest that she's obsessed with, like, scary obsessed. It makes her that much more cuter to me."

"Mm, I can guess why," You mumbled, your own cheeks flushing a little as he continued to pace around you. "You like when someone is scary obsessed?"

"Can you blame me?" He said with a slightly sardonic smile, before stopping in front of you and taking a step closer. He was a lot shorter than you, but that never stopped you from getting a little nervous around him. "The rest of the stuff doesn't matter that much, but...you know. I want you to play that role."

You let out a little huff through your nose and peered down at him through half-lidded eyes. It would be up to him how he interprets that gaze.

"You want me to be the obsessive one for a change, huh?" You asked softly, not minding completely when he reached out and rubbed the tulle of your skirt with his thumb and forefinger.

"Maybe just for tonight," He murmured back, his own eyes softening with poorly concealed lust, his tail idly wagging behind him. Always so obvious with what he wanted, you could only hope that you weren't that obvious yourself. “Maybe I’d like to understand how it feels too. For someone to be obsessed with you,” His words were soft as his touch reached up your skirt and over the bodice of the costume. "Is that a bad thing for me to want?"

"No," You mumbled back, gently taking his wrists in each hand and pushing them down to his front. "That's not a bad thing for you to want. I just need to figure out how to do it, I guess..."

"Don't think about it too hard," He replied softly, leaning in close and dragging his lips over yours, plush and full. "Just do what feels right. Do what feels natural."

You let out a shaky little sigh, still holding on tightly to his wrists, his delicate little wrists, his pale skin, his dark veins that stood out so harshly, as he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, another to your chin, another to your jaw. 

Always so obvious about what he wanted.

"I...I saw you talking to other girls at school today," You stammered slightly, your voice uncharacteristically soft and sweet sounding, enough that it made Ren pause and look at you, his eyes wide and excited, evidently pleased to be getting what he wanted. "I wasn't following you or anything...I just saw-"

"It was-" He cut you off, trying to hide just how excited he still was at this idea, that you were playing along with his fantasy. "I  had a few questions about the homework we have, that's all, I swear."

"You could have asked me," You replied quickly, an exaggerated pout to your lips, trying to get into the headspace of this kind of character...well, kind of person that Ren wanted you to be. You couldn't help but imagine how he would have reacted in a situation like this, and channel it into what you were saying yourself. "You know I'm always looking out for you, more than anyone. You know that I would do anything for you, right?"

"I know," He mumbled, his cheeks flushing a little darker as you held his wrists even tighter, digging your nails into his skin. "I didn't mean to upset you...I really didn't, I swear."

"But you did," You replied then, your gaze growing a little darker as you leaned in close to him, so close that you could feel his quick little breaths against your skin, the heat from his cheeks against your own. "And if you upset me again, I won't have any choice but to...to hurt any girl you talk to. You'll have forced me into it." 

You spoke so softly that you wondered if he had trouble hearing you, but when his ears twitched forward and his tail started to wag more rapidly, you knew that he had heard you loud and clear.

"You...y-you don't have to do that," He stammered, doing his best to play his own role of a helpless boyfriend, though he couldn't hide his excitement or obvious arousal (since the front of his jeans were already straining), no matter how much he tried to. "I really don't have eyes for anyone but you, don't you believe me?"

"Not at all," You said with a sweet smile, keening in even closer and forcing him to step backward, his butt hitting his desk. "I don't believe you at all, but that's okay...I'll just have to make sure that no girls ever talk to you again...since you only have eyes for me."

"Oh god," He took in a shaky breath, tilting his chin upwards a touch as you dragged your lips down his neck, kissing, nipping, leaving behind little bites. He reached upwards to press his hands to your chest, your own hands still around his wrists, and gripped the bows stitched to the bodice of your outfit, pulling you in even closer, the bulge in his jeans rubbing against your thigh. "Mm...please don't hurt anyone, please..."

"I won't have to if you stay with me, love," You purred then, a hidden smile on your face as you kissed his collarbone, dragging your teeth over his skin and listening to him whine and flinch. "I love you more than anything, Ren...and I'll gladly kill to keep the one I love with me, always..."

Sweat (Lawrence/MC)

Lawrence let out a soft, little sigh as you pressed your chest against their back, your hands reaching around and pressing up the front of their jacket (the branded fleece from the warehouse which matched their sweatpants), under their shirt. 

When you pressed your face into their shoulder, their long hair tickling your cheek as you did, they smelled of musk and soaked in sweat, heady and masculine, with the underlying scent of plant matter and fresh soil clinging onto them, as it always did. It was addictive and you pressed harder against them, their hips pressing into their kitchen counter as their body went rigid and tight.

"Mm," They moaned very softly, very quietly, their head going forward and their hands (big hands, bigger than yours) reaching up to feel where you're pushing up their shirt. "I-I should go shower...I've just come back from work." They shivered a little, a slight hitch to their voice as you ran your fingers over one of their nipples. "I'm all sweaty..."

"That's okay. I like it like that." Your tone was playful, teasing almost, yet your words betrayed an underlying lust and want for Lawrence's body as you leaned in closer again, now breathing into Lawrence's ear. "I like it when you're all sweaty and gross for me. It turns me on."

Lawrence moaned again as your lips trailed down behind their ear, down their neck, your lust and hunger growing too great to even try and suppress. When you ran your tongue down the side of their neck, down to the wide collar of their shirt and their exposed collarbone, you could taste the traces of salt and sweat, and it was enough to make you moan and want even more. 

"Let me worship you," You mumbled, your voice thick with lusting and want as you squeezed the soft flesh of their chest and dragged your hips against their arse. "Be mine, baby..."

"Ahh..." Lawrence groaned softly, low at the back of their throat, as you urged them to face you, your hands on their hips and pressing them back against the kitchen counter. Their sweet face was flushed and their eyes were hazy and lustful, despite how much they were shaking and trembling. "Yeah. I'm yours."

You smiled softly and leaned in to meet Lawrence's lips with your own, your free hand reaching up to cup their stubbly cheek and pulling them down to deepen the kiss, your tongue running over their chapped lips and pressing into their whimpering mouth. 

Your other hand occupied itself with peeling off their jacket, pushing it down their shoulders and their arms, before pushing their shirt up their long, trembling torso, exposing their skinny, pale form, slightly damp with a sheen of sweat.

"Let me taste you," You whispered, pulling back from the kiss (just barely, your lips still dragging over theirs) before you started to kiss along their collar, down their sternum, down towards their chest. "Let me taste your body."

"Ahhn," Lawrence groaned again, their hazy eyes squeezing shut as you dragged your tongue over their chest, barely tracing over a pert nipple before you gently pushed their shirt up even further, exposing their armpits, dusted lightly with blonde hair, and forcing their arms above their head. "Mph..."

"Be good," You mumbled softly, before pressing an experimental kiss to Lawrence's pale clavicle, keeping both hands on their hips, keeping them still. "Stay still and let me enjoy you."

When you were this close, the smell of sweat was even stronger, tangy and a little sour, potent after a long day of hard work, and it made your head spin a little, in the very best way. 

"D-Don't," Lawrence mumbled softly, their soft lips trembling, their eyes squeezing shut as their face flushed even darker in embarrassment. "Please don't..." 

You didn't say anything as you leaned down a little more and pressed a kiss to the deepest groove of their armpit, your nose nestling against the slightly damp hairs, breathing in the thick smell of their sweat. You couldn't resist a deep moan as you buried yourself more against their skin and dragged your tongue over them, tasting them, tasting the thick scent, the sour, salty taste of their sweat. 

"Fuuuck..." Lawrence drawled out with a desperate whimper, their body trembling, and when you peered towards their face, you could see that their face was that much more flushed and they were biting their lip. When you took one hand off their shaking hips and let it run over the bulge in their sweatpants, you felt how hard they were, in spite of their embarrassment (or maybe because of it). 

"God, you make me crazy," You mumbled softly, your voice thick with lust as you delved your tongue back against their armpit, moaning in pleasure as it worked its way against the sweaty and warm flesh hidden from the world, squeezing their hard cock and relishing in the hitched gasps they let out at the pressure and grip of your fist. "You smell so fucking good."

Lawrence bit their lip again, their hips keening forward as you slid a hand into their sweatpants, feeling the aching length of their cock practically tenting the fabric of their boxers. The quiet sounds of pleasure they let out were enough to spur you on to indulge even further, the taste and the smell of their armpit almost intoxicating as you sucked on the skin, the wide span of your tongue taking in every morsel of their sweat-slicked skin.

"I can only dream of how your cock smells right now, baby," You mumbled hotly, breathing heavily against Lawrence's tight bicep, your nose still nestled against their pit. "Want me to find out?"

"Mmhmm," Lawrence mumbled with a shy nod of their head, still squeezing their eyes shut and keening their hips forward, pressing their cock into the tight grip of your fist, biting their lip hard. "Please..."

You smiled and pressed one last kiss against the grove of their armpit, indulgently drinking in the flavor and the smell of their body. You were totally lost in that moment, lost in Lawrence and lost in his own intense pleasure. 

All you could hear was Lawrence's desperate moans and your own ragged breath.

"Good girl.”

Boot Worship (Strade/MC)

"Come on now, you know what the camera wants to see."

Strade's voice was a low purr as he stepped in front of you, taking the recording camera off of its tripod and moving the blinking red light, the uncaring and cold gaze of the lens, in front of your bruised and bloody face.

You swallowed a mixture of blood and mucus, pulling at your bound wrists in a weak attempt to cradle your very recently broken nose and cower away from him and his camera, though to no avail. The tight bondage bit into your skin and burned your wrists the more you pulled, adding more and more to the throbbing pain that was permeating through your body.

"How cute," He chuckled unkindly, reaching forward to grab your jaw and pull it closer to the camera, giving the unseen audience a good look at your mangled face. "Ah, though maybe not so cute now, hm? Now that little nose is all broken and bloody." He idly tapped a gloved finger against the broken bone, making you immediately whine in pain and jerk your chin upwards to get away from his grip. "Aw, don't worry, liebling. The chat still thinks you're as cute as a button."

He set the camera back on its tripod and adjusted the lens of the camera down to the concrete floor, which was now dotted with the dripping blood from your nose. He then stood back in front of you, his golden eyes dangerously amused and his brows quirking slightly, the only visible indication of his pleased expression when the mask was in the way. 

"You've made a mess," He said with a tilt of his head, idly gesturing to where you were still bleeding. "You better clean it up."

"Huh?" You stammered softly, looking up to meet his eyes with your own frightened expression. "C-Clean it up?"

"You heard me," He replied, his tone a little more terse and stern than it was. "Don't pretend to be dumber than you are, fraulein, it doesn't suit you."

Despite how much pain you were in, despite the streaming blood from your nose, the ropes biting into your wrists, and the bruises, cuts, and grazes that made your half-naked body ache and shiver, you couldn't stop a light flush coming to your cheeks when he referred to you with such intimate pet names. 

It wasn't fair that he could get you trembling with fear and trembling with want with one word if he tried to.

None of this was fair.

"Clean. It. Up." He finally said again, his voice low and authoritative, with another gesture towards the spots of blood under his feet. "You know how."

You swallowed down the mixture of blood and mucus again before you nodded hesitantly and lowered your head down to the floor the best you could, your muscles tensing and tight to hold your upper body up while your arms were still bound. 

Slowly, and without another word from him, you began to drag your tongue over the floor, the coppery taste of your own blood and grime from the cement mingling on your taste buds. You could feel yourself trembling from not only the pain and discomfort but also the humiliation of having to clean up the mess that you had made. 

You could only guess how the chat was responding to such an embarrassing act of submission.

"Oh, would you look at that?" He said casually, before teasingly pressing the tip of his shoe against your cheek and jerking your attention back up and towards him and the camera. "You've got your mess all over my boot too. Guess you'll have to clean that as well, while you're down there."

You squeaked quietly when he nudged you again but quickly did as you were told, running your tongue along the dirty rubber sole of his boot as he held it in front of your face. You knew that you must have been tasting wherever he had been that day, dirt and gravel and god knows what else, but you didn't care.

All you cared about was cleaning up your mess and looking good for the camera while you did it. All you cared about was pleasing him.

"There we go," Strade drawled, his eyes softening above his mask as he watched you indulgently. "Such a good little dog under my feet. Make sure you clean the rest too, don't forget."

You didn't forget, and he didn't need to remind you as you obediently raised your chin a little to run your tongue over the tip of his boot, tasting the musky old leather and suppressing a moan as you licked up and down, cleaning and recleaning the dripping blood from your nose, all the while panting and whimpering against the boot as you did so. 

Your spit was thick with blood as it drooled across his boot, making the old leather shine like it was brand new and polished to a luxurious sheen.

"Getting excited, hm?" He then asked, his voice sounding a little ragged as he reached forward to pull at the back of your panties, forcing a little shriek from your lips, muffled by leather, as the gusset was pulled tight against your wet cunt. "It would be nice to have a camera behind you, so I could see that wet spot growing in your panties, fraulein. So I could see how much you wanted me, even while I do things like this to you."

You whimpered again against the leather, but made no movement to stop your worship at his feet as he kept pulling at your panties, listening to each one of your muffled shrieks and watching your bent body tremble and spasm with pleasure. 

"You'll have to make sure that you've cleaned all the blood off, or we'll just have to keep this going on and on," He continued, though, from the way he said it, he didn't see much of a problem in the idea. "So, let's be sure that they're spotless, ja?"

Chastity (Ren/MC)

You couldn't hold back a little squeak as Ren locked the heavy-duty chastity belt around your hips and between your legs, the soft click of the first padlock being threaded through the metal loop that rested atop your belly being enough to make you tremble even more than you already were.

You had behaved badly, or at least, he thought you had behaved badly enough to be kept like this for a while.

The length of time was up to him, naturally, and he hadn't made a decision about it yet. 

He was happy enough just locking up the padlocks and watching you tremble and shiver, it seemed, as he stayed on his knees in front of you, focusing intently on his task.

"How long are you going to keep this on?" You asked softly with a little pout, looking down at the young man, his tail wagging gleefully behind him, as he locked the second padlock between your legs (but not before pressing the cold metal toy attached to it up inside you first, keeping you full).

"Oh, you know. However long I feel like, really." Ren replied with an innocent smile, taking both of the keys to the locks and theading them on a ball chain he fished from his shirt pocket. "It could be days. Or weeks, or months. Who knows!" He let out a laugh then, raising his brows beneath his bangs and standing up to his feet as his ears tilted forward with excited anticipation. "Maybe I'll keep it on forever."

Your eyes went wide and scared at his playful threat, which only encouraged him to step closer towards you, his innocent smile fading into a sharp grin on his face and his tail wagging even more rapidly.

"Wouldn't that be something?" He continued, bracketing his hands on the metal bands at your hips as his tail wound around your bare legs, soft and teasing. “Keeping you full and desperate for release, forever and ever, without any hope of rescue?” He let out a giddy little breath. “Just saying it is getting me hot.” 

"W-Well, why would you do something like that?" You stammered softly, biting your lip as he continued to idly fiddle with the padlock of the belt, his eyes drifting down to the thick metal waistband digging into your soft flesh, marking your skin. You could already feel that it was going to leave a stark imprint behind. "If I'm all...belted up, forever, you wouldn't get to-"

"I wouldn't get to fuck you?" He finished for you with another little chuckle, keening up (on his tiptoes) to press a kiss, a teasing bite to your jaw, digging his fingers around the metal band and pulling your hips close to his. You could already feel how hard he was getting through his jeans. He wasn’t kidding around then. "No, that's true. I wouldn't get to do that...but honestly, I think it'll be worth it to keep you so wound up and desperate all the time." He chuckled again, and ran his nose against your neck, scenting you. " I think it'll be worth it, anyway. And that’s kind of all that matters, hm?"

"But...mph," You let out a soft groan from the back of your throat as he continued to rut his hips against yours, looking for whatever stimulation he could against the hard metal despite how much he was insisting otherwise. "Why?"

"Because I want to," He said, his voice a touch softer, watching with half-lidded eyes as your own flitted to the side, trying to avoid his hungry gaze as he continued to toy with the padlock. "Because I can. Even knowing that you're unable to play with yourself right now and feeling your frustration is enough for me."

Your cheeks flushed a little (a lot) darker as he brought his face close to yours with a salacious smile, licking his fangs indulgently like a fox would as he took in your embarrassed expression.

"And...what if I beg for you to take it off?" You asked, peering back towards him, your face growing more flush as you noticed him string the ball chain around his neck, the keys to your padlocks shining against his chest. 

"Well, it'll be up to me to decide if you deserve it," He replied, the sharpness in his grin settling into a cruel smirk as he keened up again to kiss your neck one last time. "And I'm pretty tough to convince...especially when I want something as badly as this."

Gore (Strade/MC)

When your eyes finally opened, the first thing that hit you was the smell.

The air in the basement was thick with the putrid smell of blood and gore, grime and rust. Enough to make you retch, though all you managed to puke up was a foul splatter of burning stomach bile as your body hunched over the best it could. 

That, of course, only added to the disgusting smells that surrounded you already.

It added to the twisting pain in your body, added to the burning at the back of your throat.

It felt like hell.

Like you had traveled so deep into the inferno, delved into the darkest corners of your own psyche, that you were past the point of any kind of return, too far gone to even try and save.

Your head lolled back against the support beam you were tied to, vomit streaked down your chin and your eyes were hazy and dazed.

"Hmph. You're not gonna last like that," Strade said as he turned off the recording camera, tugging down the scarf that concealed his face when he was streaming before standing above you, his hands on his hips. "You might even need to see a doctor. That looks pretty gruesome, buddy!"

The pain was the second thing that hit you.

Immeasurable pain, pain that you couldn't even hope to fathom before all of this happened, before that first night in this fucking basement and the countless nights that came after it. 

It was like a deep ache, harsh and burning, that shook you to your very core, making you yank at your bondage in an attempt to cover your bile-stained lips, just so you wouldn't hear the wreaked sob you let out when you could finally feel it.

But you couldn't, so you were left to sob openly, hiccuping little breaths and desperate gasps that didn't convey even a fraction of how badly you were hurting, how badly every nerve and synapse in your body was burning and screaming.

Tears streaked down your cheeks, snot and drool were dripping onto your shaking chest, half-naked and bloody in its own right, and you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head as your body spasmed and twitched, desperately trying to will the pain to go away, even just a little.

The jug of hydrofluoric acid loomed dangerously in your vision, placed on the wooden bench like it was there to taunt and tease you.

You spasmed again with a miserable whimper when you felt another drip of the liquid pool down your knee and eat into your already melting skin.

"The camera might have liked it, but I really can't have you staying like this," He continued with a light click of his tongue, wiping his hands off on his trousers and taking another step closer to you, crouching down to one knee to inspect the damage and running the tip of his finger along one of the worst acid burns, watching you flinch and squirm. "You'll go into shock, and, well," He let out a little chuckle. "We can't have that, can we?"

He tilted his head with a mock sympathetic look, though he looked completely unbothered by your pain. 

"Hurt, doesn't it?" He asked, his voice low and lilting as he tilted his head towards you, one of his dark brows raised in an idle question. "I know, I know." He laughed and waved one of his hands, showing off a few acid burns on his fingers, indicating a messy past, maybe a few mistakes he'd made with victims like you. "Trust me, I know."

Though, there weren't victims like you. Not really. Not that he had kept for such a long time.

"Mind if I take a look?" He then asked with a little shrug of his shoulders, though he didn't wait for a reply before he wrapped a hand around your ankle and wrenched your mangled leg out straight, hard and fast. 

You let out a pained shriek as he did so, pressing your other knee up to your vomit-slicked chest as he inspected it critically, his golden eyes scanning over each bloody, burned patch of flesh and melted skin. 

"W-What are you going t-to do?" You stammered, your voice meek and pathetic, each word wavering and your body spasming.

"Relax, fraulein," He replied, his voice surprisingly calm and authoritative, so relaxed himself that it was a tad bit disconcerting. "I'm just gonna have a look, that's all."

Your jaw trembled at the still thrumming pain as he continued to stare down, your eyes flitting shut as you let out a soft moan of subdued agony. You could feel your head getting heavy and fuzzed, and you wondered if you might lose consciousness soon from the pain of the acid burn.

Without even looking at him, you know the sight of your pain is amusing Strade. 

"You're in quite a bit of pain, eh?" He asked, a dark smile evident in his voice while he took a longer moment to observe the extent of your leg's injuries. 

Despite your attempts to fight it, your body is unable to suppress the pain and you moan loudly again.

"I know what to do...don't you fret."

Before you could even notice his hand moving from your ankle, or hear the sound of him crossing the basement floor, you felt the ragged teeth of a bone saw almost immediately cut through the burned skin and into the meat of your lower thigh.

Your eyes shot wide and bloodshot with terror and you screamed, oh, how you screamed, louder than you ever had before, like a dying animal, and tried desperately hard to lurch back, away from him. But your binds around the basement's support beam, and the grip he had on your ankle, pulled out straight once again, was stronger than a vice. 

He barely seemed bothered at all as you thrashed and bucked beneath him. 

He was just humming to himself, like this was an everyday activity for him (and maybe it was). That sadistic smirk on his face remained, despite everything.

Rivulets of blood ran from the jagged gash and down your melted skin and coagulated flesh, leaving a steadily growing puddle on the cement floor.

So much blood.

So much fucking blood.

You couldn't stop screaming, and yet he barely reacted, sparing only a glance towards your face, seemingly reveling in your torture. The sound of your screams and the sight of your visible injuries excited him more than anything, after all, a fact you had come to learn in the time you'd come to know him.

His total disinterest in your pain, your agony, made you sob even harder, tears stinging the various cuts and scrapes on your cheeks, smearing blood, snot, and bile further down your face, your chin, your spasming chest. You could hear yourself begging, pleading, stop, stop, please, I'll do whatever you want, just PLEASE-! but the voice barely sounded human, let alone sounded like your own.

It felt like dying.

In a way, you would have preferred if you had died.

You wouldn't have to live like this, live through whatever was in store for you, live with the knowledge that you had practically handed yourself to him on a silver platter.

You didn't even want to imagine.

Through your sobs, you managed to vomit down your front again from the sheer pain and disgust that was rushing through you, and it hurt even more than last time. It made you cry just a little bit harder as you jerked your head up to the basement ceiling, wide, frightened eyes fixing on the swinging lightbulb above your head, desperate not to look.

Praying to a God who had long abandoned you.

The saw ripped through your bone with a sickening crunch which sent an electric shock of white-hot agony through your spine and up to the base of your skull.

Screaming would surely do nothing to deter him, but you can't help but keep trying.

You couldn't pull away though. 

He was too strong and your body already felt like it was going to give out just from moving for even a second. Any hope that you might have had drained out of you almost as quickly as your blood drained, and you felt your head get heavier and heavier, on the precipice of consciousnesses as he persisted with his gruesome task.

Maybe fainting would have been better. You wouldn't have to see any of this, listen to his idle humming, listen to the sound of the blade through your leg.

But you'd have to wake up. And what to?

You wanted so desperately to die.

He only had to give the dangling limb a good pull before the last shred of skin snapped and your leg fell to the scum-spotted cement floor with a deafening thud.

You couldn't scream, though you desperately wanted to.

You could only lay your head back against the support beam and silently weep, your mind practically dead behind your eyes and your lips parted with spasming little whimpers, as he sat the bone saw down and yanked the belt from the waistband of his trousers to wrap around your now bleeding stump of a leg, a poor man's tourniquet to stop the bleeding for a little while. 

His nostrils flared a little and he scrunched his nose at the smell. You had pissed yourself in the midst of this, which only added to the foray of foul smells in the basement. 

“Scheiße,” He muttered softly to himself as he pulled the belt a notch or two tighter, before murmuring something else in German that you didn’t understand.

Your stomach twisted tight again. 

"Ren!" He shouted over his shoulder as he stood to his feet, his hands on his hips again. "I'm gonna need your help down here, bud, come quick."

Praise (Lawrence/MC)

"Would you...is it okay if I touch you?" Lawrence asked tentatively, looking up to meet your eyes with their own, pale grey and doe-like in their pseudo-innocence. They were very careful to not move toward you at all when they asked the question, giving you the space that you needed to reciprocate.

Granted, you were tied to a chair and they were standing tall over you, but at least they had the decency to look uncomfortable about the situation.

"T-Touch me?" You repeated with a little stammer, your pallid, sweaty face giving away your hesitance.

You swallowed hard as the two of you stared at each other for a moment, but you didn't pull back as they took a cautious step closer to you, entered your space, and idly stroked through the long, sweaty hair trailing down your shoulders, their body close to yours, their smell sickly sweet and musky, like plant matter, like rot.

Watching intently, noticing that you weren't moving back or trying to pull away, Lawrence continued to gently brush the hair back from your face, a small smile coming across their pretty features as they admired you, their head tilting to the side, just a touch. You noticed that they were still being very careful not to move too near to you, though now that you thought about it...

You couldn't help but notice just how close together you were sitting together, their knee gently rubbing against yours as their touch drifted upwards, their bony knuckle grazing your flushed cheek.

"Is this okay?" Lawrence asked, still keeping their voice as steady and gentle as they could, despite how much they were shaking, like they were scared of scaring you, scared of breaking you.

"Yeah," You murmured softly as their fingers grazed your neck and pressed into your hair, cupping against your scalp, making you gulp and your wrists flex and tremble where they were bound to the chair. "It's okay."

They let out a soft hum of pleasure as you raised your chin, just a little, letting them continue the gentle petting through your hair. 

"Your hair is so soft," Lawrence mumbled softly, their doe eyes softening just a touch as they watched the way you keened into their touch, your fingers relaxing at the arms of the chair, despite how tight the tape was still binding you. "And...so pretty. Just like you are."

You blinked curiously up at them as they placed their other hand on your knee, leaning into your space even more, their cold, stubble-dotted cheek inches from yours. Yet, they were leaning into you in such a way that suggested that they were rubbing against you, scenting you like an animal.

"You're beautiful," They murmured even quieter, their fingers drifting higher up your knee, running over the ladders in your tights and to the warmth of your inner thigh. "And...so good for me. So good, letting me touch you, not being scared of me, not making any noise..."

You couldn't hold back a tiny whimper as their knuckle grazed the hem of your skirt, still stroking your hair. 

You weren't sure what Lawrence's intentions were just yet, but even though you had a sense that they weren't dangerous intentions, you still had a feeling that they might have been a little...unstable.

You thought it best to play along, while you still had the option to.

"Thank you for being so good," They continued, their voice still hushed as they pressed a little closer, running the bridge of their nose over your jaw, chapped lips running along your neck. "You've made this so, so much easier for me..."

You nodded a little hesitantly, biting your lip and keeping quiet while your eyes flitted down to their hand drifting further and further up your thigh, the duct tape wrapped tightly around your wrists.

You were still their prisoner, however well you were behaving.

Humiliation (Strade/MC)

“Come on now, moan for me. Moan for Daddy~”

With just one word, you were yanked forcefully out of your haze of masochistic submission, your eyes wide and your expression as close to disgust as you could manage.

"Did you just-" You muttered, your brows furrowing as you stared up at him. "Oh my god, you cannot be serious," You said with a grimace, cringing more from his words than what he was actually doing to your body. 

"Ahh, I can't resist," He said with a bright laugh, a shrug of his shoulders as he raised the knife from your thigh for just a moment, a faint cut left behind on your skin, barely even bleeding yet. Almost nothing compared to what you were usually used to. "You just look so uncomfortable when I say it. It's adorable, really!" He grinned again. "You really shouldn't be so reactive, fräulein , it makes you soooo easy to tease and wind up."

You said nothing, but continued to frown as he teased you.

“Hey, here’s an idea,” He then said, pulling the knife entirely from your leg and idly tapping it against his stubbly chin. “How about…you call me ‘daddy’, like I asked you to…and I’ll let you out of the basement for the night? How does that sound to you?”

"That's...that's not fair," You mumbled softly, pulling tightly at your ropes and ducking your head down in mortified embarrassment, your face blazing bright red at the prospect of even saying the word, let alone- “You know I don’t like saying…saying that.”

"Come ooon, you have to play along!" He purred with a lecherous grin, running his tongue over his teeth as he leaned in close again, his crouching knee between your legs, dragging the blade of the knife over your scarred thigh, threatening, not cutting, not yet. "You know you want to. And I know I want to hear it."

"I'm not doing that!" You then said, loud enough that it made him flinch backward with surprise, your face bright red and angry despite how hazy your head was feeling from the humiliation at...such a demeaning demand from him. "That...has to be the worst thing you've asked me to do!"

"Oh, is it the worst? Are you sure?" He asked with a huffed-out little chuckle, still dragging the blade of the knife along your thigh, still threatening to cut. "I had no idea you were such a, ah," He paused for a moment, his eyes flitting upwards before a grin came to his face. "A prude! You certainly don't act one."

He let out another light chuckle from his nose as he angled the blade downwards and cut a shallow slice into your thigh, enough to bleed, enough to sting and scar. His golden eyes watched intently as you took in a hiss through your gritted teeth, your bare toes curling against the cold cement floor and trying to pull back to your chest.

"No, I know that you're no prude," He continued, pressing closer, his forehead against yours as he dragged another cut into your skin, relishing in the way your body spasmed at the slight pain. "I know from the way you squeal, the way you bite your lip when I hurt you, like you're not gagging for it." 

He laughed again, as his free hand reached up to cup your cheek, force your eyes together. You blushed even more, your lip trembling with a quiet whimper of shame as he leaned in closer to you, the knife at your thigh digging in even more, edging dangerously close to the hem of your panties.

"The way you want to scream and cry for more, but can't quite manage because of a ball gag or my cock in your mouth. It's all so adorable, liebling ." His voice dipped just a touch, deeper, authoritative, and tinged with lust. "But I think it's time we stop playing pretend, ja ?"

He slid the blade under the lace panel side of your panties, cutting through it easily (making you squeak even more when the blade nicked your skin) and revealing your cunt to the cool air of the basement.

"I know this is turning you on, as much as you hate to admit it." He leaned in even closer, until his warm breath was almost kissing your skin as he whispered in your ear, the tip of the blade folding aside the scraps of fabric and getting closer and closer to your core. "It's pretty cute to see you get so worked up about a word, liebling , but you know what I want to hear. So, spit it out."

The touch of the blade shifted again, its presence ever-threatening as you trembled helplessly beneath it, watching as it pressed against the ripening bud of your clit, sharp and dangerous.

"Don't make me ask you twice," He then said, after a long moment of heavy silence from you, pressing the tip of the blade down with a little more weight. "You know I'll do it."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a drawn-out and exaggerated moan, almost pornographic, tipping your head back and pressing your thighs together (though you weren't stupid enough to buck up against the knife, like you tended to).

"Ahhhnn..." You continued to moan, biting your lip for just a moment before you peered back up at him. "D-Daddy..."

"Hm?~" Strade hummed with a playful smirk, placing his blood-stained fingers under your chin to tilt your head towards him and force your eyes together again. "What was that?"

"Daddy..." You said again.

A satisfied smile came to his face as he pressed in even more against you, his nose against your temple, as your legs parted again and he moved the blade down from your clit and over the dripping parting of your cunt. 

"Good girl," He murmured against your cheek, his smile splitting into a sharp grin. "Suuuch a good girl, liebling . There now, was that so hard?"

You felt your entire body tremble and your insides plunge at the sensation of shame, though you could tell that Strade didn't mind that so much as he reached back and cut through your bondage.

"I could get used to hearing that, I think. How about we head upstairs?"

Teratophilia (Strade/Ren)

The machete slid through the amputated limb with ease, flesh, muscle, and bone unable to withstand the sharpened blade. Dark, aged blood spilled out on either side of the greying flesh of the arm, covering the bench on which he worked with a viscous spray. 

Ren instantly jumped back from the bench, looking down at his (now blood-covered) sweatpants with a wounded look. 

"Jeez, that better not stain," He grumbled softly with a frown, reaching down to rub at the new splash of blood adorning the fabric, knowing that he shouldn't. "I just got these..."

He continued to pout about his stained sweatpants, letting out a deep huff from his nose as he hacked the limb into several neat pieces, tossing each one into a metal bucket at his side with a bloody splat, like it was second nature to him. 

Ren's ears twitched at the sound of a growl behind him, the shift of chains against the cement floor, responding to each bloody splat of flesh.

"I know, I know, it's not the best we can get," Ren said softly, the pout fading just a touch as he smiled to himself, hacking through the wrist of the limb with a heavy *thwack* of the machete. "I'll get something fresher for you soon, but we need to make do with what we have for now."

He glanced over his shoulder with another bright smile, his tail wagging.

"Come on, don't be grumpy with me," He said with another playful pout, leaning down to take the bucket in hand and pacing across the basement, his bare feet cool and claws clicking against the floor. "You always love feeding time! It might not be gourmet or anything, but it's still food, right?"

He reached in to take a slice of the cut meat and squatted down, holding it out like a peace offering.

"You know you want it. Come on~" He cooed softly, with a little tilt of his head, a teasing smile, his fangs pressed into his bottom lip. "Take it."

His ears twitched again at the sound of another low growl as the chain dragged across the floor a little louder, his smile growing wider and wider as a hulking monster inched itself out of the darkness and towards Ren.

Strade sniffed cautiously as he brought his grey body closer, as sluggish and as slow as an animal. When he caught a good whiff of the meat, he licked his yellow teeth with a pleased-sounding grunt and brought his drooling mouth, his spit thick and viscous due in part to his still rotting skull, down to eat from Ren's hand.

"There we go," Ren praised with a smile, reaching up with his other hand to pet through Strade's matted hair, barely even grimacing when he caught a snag between his claws and had to pull at it. "I knew you couldn't be grumpy for long. It tastes good, huh?"

Strade let out a soft murr as he took another hungry bite of the meat, either not noticing Ren's petting or not caring about it as he shifted closer, the heavy chain hanging from his shock collar and bolted to the wall of the basement, still dragging against the cement. 

"You know, I dreamed about this before. Me doing this to you." Ren mused softly to himself. "I started to pray for it." He smiled serenely as Strade finished the last bite of meat and tongued Ren's palm messily, lapping up blood and viscera from his fingers. He was instantly reminded of feeding time at a petting zoo when he was a kid. "I fantasised about it for years, having you like this. It's kind of silly that I managed it so easily." He let out a little yip of a laugh, his tail wagging behind him as he reached for another chunk of meat to feed the lumbering beast. 

"Now you're all mine, forever and ever. My own pet monster~"

Strade raised his head from Ren's palm with another cautious sniff, temporarily distracted as the younger man reached for another chunk of the bloody flesh, before his dead eyes darted down again to the blood covering Ren's sweatpants, recognizing it as the thing he had tasted before with just a whiff.

Ren couldn't even try to stop him before he was thrown to the floor of the basement, Strade's hulking body straining against the taut chain still bolted to the wall as he caged Ren down with his heavier body, his eyes suddenly alive and stomach-churningly familiar.

Ren let out a shrill scream as Strade brought his head down to tongue at the soaking blood on his sweatpants, his hands gripping the young man's calves with a crushing amount of pressure, pinning him down to the ground (as he had so many other time before) and stopping him from struggling. Although he had no voice to gloat about how easy Ren was to overpower, Ren still felt the same surge of shame and humiliation twist in his gut and make him sick.

He frantically reached for his jacket pocket where he kept the remote to Strade's collar and pressed his thumb down on the button, emitting a sharp electric shock that burned into his skin, though that did very little to stop the lumbering monster as he forcefully yanked the sweatpants down to expose Ren's living flesh.

"No, no, no, no, nononononono," Ren shrieked, his eyes wide and frightened as he kept pressing the button of the collar, taking in desperate breathes through his teeth as his sweatpants were thrown aside and Strade started to tongue and nip his scarred thighs, hoping to pierce the skin with his flat teeth and taste the gush of fresh, hot blood. "Stop it, stop it now!"

If Strade couldn't be reasoned with when he was alive, trying to reason with him when he was dead would have been impossible.

Though he made a face of discomfort at the consistently shocking collar, that didn't stop Strade as he sat up on his knees with another rough grunt, taking one of Ren's kicking legs in hand, and forcing his body to bend in two, exposing his ass and pressing his soft cock up against his belly. 

Ren whimpered again, biting his lip hard and trying not to cry out as the monster stared down at him, tilting his head as his free hand reached down and palmed the plush flesh of his ass roughly, trying to feel the difference between living and dead flesh, and see which he preferred. 

Which one he liked the taste of more.

The shock collar was doing absolutely nothing to stop Strade, but he kept pressing the button, just to do something, to make sure that he wasn't taking this helplessly and passively as he used to, when Strade was still alive.

"Nghhh..." Ren gritted his teeth as he then felt the monster's thumb linger over the blooming, pink bud of his asshole, seemingly gauging his flustered reaction with a curious look. 

Even in death, Strade's curious nature persisted, it seemed.

To his surprise, though, Strade didn't sink his teeth into his flesh, nor did he tear him open, from groin to sternum, in a knash of bone and a rip of torn flesh. 

Instead, he felt the slimy wetness of the monster's tongue streak over his pale perineum, luxuriously and indulgently slow, before it focused intently on the hot, tight ring of muscle that twitched and convulsed so deliciously before his dead eyes, underneath his drooling, slack tongue, practically begging to be penetrated and devoured. 

Ren had never felt this sensation before, in all of his years of being with Strade, and it made his entire body go tight and his kicking legs relent as he focused in on the wet drag of Strade's tongue over his asshole. 

"AH!" Ren moaned loudly, tipping his head back, his little body arching underneath Strade's as his legs trembled and tightened around the bigger body, a surge of pleasure shooting through him, making his very core throb and burn with desperate wanting. "Hah...nghhh..."

Strade growled lowly with pleasure against Ren's hole, before his rasping tongue pressed deeper and deeper into his core and he started to thoroughly devour the younger man with fast and furious pleasure, relishing in his taste, relishing in the thrashing, living body underneath him.

It was so much better than dead meat. At least, that was what Ren assumed.

"Ahhhnn..." Ren let out a pornographic moan as he squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his free leg around Strade's broad shoulders, pulling him into his body and feeling the contradictory warmth of his mouth and the cold of his body. His tone had become restlessly needy, and the volume behind each of his moans and whimpers had picked up steadily as he got more and more wound up, his cock twitching excitedly and leaking against his belly from the maddeningly slow stimulation. "S-Strade...nghh, please..."

He pressed his thumb down on the button of the remote again, feeling the rumbling from the collar against his ankle as Strade continued on through the shock, letting out another deep growl at the sensations that were gradually growing more pleasurable than not. 

As Strade kept going, his teeth grazed against the rim of Ren's sensitive ass in a way that should have been painful, might have been painful at some point, but it just made the younger man desperately excited for even more stimulation from his monstrous lover.

"So good~" Ren drawled with a giddy smile, biting his lip hard as his vision started to blur and haze, his head lost in his own delirious pleasure. "God, I should have been doing this from the start..."

Strade let out his own grunt of agreement as a viscous string of drool ran down Ren's perineum and sloped up his arched back, cold in the cool air of the basement and enough to make him shiver all the more. He took in another sharp gasp, his eyes shooting open again as the monster somehow pushed his tongue even deeper, tasting the young man like a meal about to be devoured, an autopsy specimen about to be examined. 

Each comparison, each erotic and gory depersonalization that rendered his body as nothing more than an object for the monster's desire and hunger, made Ren's cock throb painfully, exquisitely, thrumming with pleasure as his slit oozed streams of precum against his trembling belly

He was unable to stop himself from shaking, trembling, and spasming even more as electric jolts of tortuous bliss shot through his body and melted his brain into a mush of pleasure and desperate wanting.

"God, I'm gonna cuuuum," He whined desperately, his voice high-pitched and drawling, squeezing his eyes shut and letting himself fall. "Please, please, please, please, please-!"

Perhaps knowing that Ren was seconds from orgasm, Strade managed to shove his tongue inside what little space was available, gripping the young man's ankle tightly, almost painfully, and wrenching his little body upwards even more, forcing him practically vertical and pressed tightly against his devouring mouth.

Ren let out another shriek as he was pulled upwards, though that didn't stop him from spilling over, a splatter of cum coating his belly, his chest, and reaching as far as his chin. 

After a few short moments of hungry slurping from Strade, keeping the young body totally boneless and pliable in his grip, he eventually relented and let Ren's body drop back down to the ground, lowering his head as he did so to lap up the mess of cum from the young man's belly hungrily.

Ren let out an unsteady sigh, barely cognisant as he reached down to pet Strade's hair again, simply enjoying the soft warmth of his tongue on his body and relishing in the attention and aftercare that he would have never received from the man in life. 

A slight smile came to his trembling lips as he let his eyes flit shut.

Master and Slave (Fox/MC)

"NGH!"

You let out a shriek as you fell to the marble floor and dropped the tray you were holding with a loud clatter, spilling the contents of the water jug atop it and shattering the glasses that had been stacked alongside it. 

You couldn't hold back a small whimper as you climbed up onto your aching knees, looking down at the mess you had made with a whispered curse as you tried to get your bearings and clean yourself up before anyone had the chance to notice what you had done.

You were rarely given those kinds of chances though. 

"Oh dear," Your body went rigid when you heard Fox's voice behind you, an obvious degree of humour to his tone as you heard the soft *tap-tap* of his shoes against the marble floor. "Someone's a bit clumsy today, aren't they?" He teased with a cruel chuckle. "I do hope I haven't overworked you too much, darling, you did have an awful lot of tasks to do this morning, after all."

"N-No, Master," You stammered quietly, keeping your eyes locked down as you sat up on your knees and reached for the (now) empty jug, placing it back on the tray before picking up some of the bigger chunks of glass. "I'm sorry, I'll clean it all up right away."

"Mm, I should think so," He hummed, stepping closer to you and standing behind your bent body with a soft click of his tongue. "But that's no way to clean up glass, slave. You'll cut yourself if you're not careful."

"Right," You replied quickly with a little nod of your head (your cheeks totally flushed at the demeaning title), placing down the chunks of glass and moving to stand to your feet. "I'll go get...um, I'll go get a broom to sweep it up."

"No, no."

You suddenly felt the sole of his shoe press firmly against the small of your back, keeping your body pinned down and still against the ground. You immediately froze like a rabbit in the headlights as he did so, keeping still on your hands and knees, as he pressed a touch more weight into your body, enough to make your limbs shake.

"I didn't say stop." He continued, his amused tone turning authoritative and stern, albeit as light-hearted as he always was when he was in this kind of mood. "You've made your bed, so lie in it, slave. Clean up your mess."

You gulped nervously as you did your best to look back at him over your shoulder, gauging his seriousness. 

Seeing his narrowed, golden eyes was more than enough to tell you that he wasn't joking.

You quickly looked back at the mess you had made and took in an unsteady breath, before slowly sweeping the shards of broken glass up with your hands, angling them in such a way as to avoid being cut up.

Eventually, after a few passes with your palms and the pile on the tray growing bigger and bigger, Fox took his foot off your back and continued to watch as you worked. 

"There we go. Clean it up, like the good, little slave I know you are."

And though you didn't bother to look behind you and see those eyes again, you knew that he was certainly staring down at you like a lecher, especially when you were bent over like this, your (uniform) skirt hiked up around your ass and... revealing the demeaning underwear he made you wear around the apartment, pink and frilly and barely enough fabric to keep you covered up. 

You gnawed at your lip and pressed your thighs together as you cupped your palm again, sweeping it over a heap of the smaller glass shards. You barely even registered when a shard of glass predictably lodged itself in your finger, so lost in your own thoughts that you couldn't feel the pain, though when you felt it, you immediately dropped the handful you had with a squeak and a shiver.

"Ah, fuck..." You took a slow hiss through your teeth, bringing your hand up to your face to inspect the wound a little more closely. You reached up with your other hand to pluck the glass from your skin quickly, so you could get back to work. 

"Keep going," Fox then said firmly, standing forward again. "You're not stopping just because you got hurt."

"Fox-Master, I just-"

"Don't you dare argue back," He interrupted you, his voice a harsh snap, so uncharacteristic that it made you immediately shut up. "Keep going. Now."

You bit your lip even harder, enough that you wondered if you'd made yourself bleed, before you did as you were told, placing both hands back on the ground and sweeping up more of the smaller shards with your bare palms, without another word of argument. You did your best not to whimper as your skin was cut multiple times, shallow slices dragged along the lines of your palms, tiny glass crystals lodged in your fingers, minute flecks of dust settling in the wounds, dotting blood down your skin, your wrists, on the fine marble floor. 

Once he felt that you had done an adequate job at cleaning up (and saw that your hands were beginning to shake and twitch from the blood) Fox squatted down in front of you and grabbed your wrist hard. 

Before you could even whimper or register what he was doing, he brought his mouth down to where the glass was lodged into your skin and ran his tongue along the worst wound on your palm, coating it and tasting your blood with a hungry expression on his face. 

He did this a few times, listening to you whimper and watching you squirm at the sensation, before letting your hand drop as he licked his lips, running his tongue over his fangs indulgently.

"Don't ever forget your place, slave," He said finally, before standing to his feet and leaving you to it. 

"Finish cleaning."

Costume (Ren/MC)

The zip of the latex catsuit slid easily up the small of your back, the thin metal cool against your burning skin, sealing inch after inch of your skin as it climbed up the gentle slope of your spine and to the middle of your neck, where your head was tilted forward obediently.

Your breath was already short, but it grew more and more shallow as the plastic was pulled tighter and tighter around your trembling body. 

The suit was probably a size too small for you, so it hugged every one of your curves as tightly as it possibly could, your body straining beneath the tight, breathless fabric.

"There," Ren said triumphantly behind you with an unseen smile, as he did up the little clasp at the middle of your neck and slid a small padlock through it (making you flinch again), locking you up tight, before smoothing a reassuring hand down your back. You barely suppressed a shudder as he touched you. "I knew it would fit you if we tried hard enough."

"Hmph," You grunted softly in acknowledgment, resting your gloved hands in your lap, where you were obediently kneeling down for him. 

"Don't pout," He said with a chuckle, idly running his fingers through your hair and pushing it over your shoulders so he could press a kiss to the sliver of skin that the latex wasn't covering. "You look beautiful. Like you walked right out of one of my fantasies."

"The less said about your fantasies, the better." You murmured softly, but that didn't stop your cheeks from flushing even darker at the compliments, genuine and sweet, like Ren often was when he was trying to get something he wanted.

He didn't take offense to your vaguely insulting words, it seemed, by the way he laughed again and crawled around your body to face you, his tail wagging as he admired you even further, his golden eyes gleaming with excitement.

"God, just look at you," He said, his voice a low purr as he placed his hands on your thighs, taking yours gently in his and rubbing his fingers over your latex-clad palms, careful not to drag his claws over the delicate plastic material. "All wrapped up tight in plastic." His voice dipped down into an indulgent growl as he brought his face close to your neck and ran the bridge of his nose against your jaw. "Like a doll. So perfect for me."

You took in a sharp little gasp at that particular name, your face almost beet red as you jerked your chin upwards before he had the chance to see how flustered he was getting you. 

Your breath grew even more shallow and you squirmed uncomfortably in your costume, the latex shifting and creaking with every tremble.

"Your nipples are getting hard," He mused with a hot breath against your already heated skin, his tail still wagging as he took one hand from yours and brought it up to the soft heft of your compressed chest under the tight plastic. "It looks pretty slutty, actually." He laughed again, running the pad of his thumb over the little bump, smiling at the way you twitched. "Pressing right up against the latex. Like you really are a fetish doll or something. A pretty little object made just for me."

"Mm...Ren," You whined softly, pressing your hands against his chest, your jaw trembling as he scented you, his sharp little fangs nipping at your neck and claiming what little skin he could with bruises. You knew that he was saying this for the sole purpose of teasing you even more, getting you wound up and hot, and...well, desperate for him. 

"Aw, but you're all sealed away," He giggled softly, raising his head to nip at your earlobe, nestling into your hair as he groped you a little harder, still teasing your nipples. "I can't fuck you like this, can I? And I guess I never will if I lose the key to this." 

He poked at the padlock behind your neck, making you flinch again.

"Don't tease me," You said with another little pout, biting your lip as his touch returned to your thigh and drifted up a little higher, against the plastic 'sealing' your cunt, for lack of a better word. 

"Mm, I think I will tease you, actually." He replied, pulling back and giving you a mocking smile. "It's too fun, not to. You're just so reactive~" 

It was a little unfair that he could play with you this easily.

Though you guessed that he was doing that on purpose. Just so you would begin to believe that you really were his toy.

His doll.

Orgasm Denial (Strade/MC)

"AH-AH-AH!"

You shrieked in time with each of Strade's hard thrusts, as he dragged your limp body down onto his cock, his full hips slamming against your backside rhythmically like a machine. 

He had been teasing and taunting you for what felt like hours, keeping two thick fingers inside of you, while he had you pinned in his lap and watched through one of the streams that you had edited for him ('earning your keep', he had called it when he first set you to the task), until you were so wound up and desperate that you were grinding against his thigh with whimpering little pleas, your wet cunt leaving a streak of damp in its wake. 

Eventually, after he was satisfied with your work, he took his hard cock from his slacks and pressed deep inside of you, first forcing your body to bend over his desk, your loose shorts long pushed aside, before pulling your hips back against his lap, stretching you out and filling you even deeper.

You breathed hard, your teeth grit and your eyes squeezed shut as he did so, your knees and hips already aching from the difficult, strenuous positions he was forcing you into, but you were so desperate to feel something, so desperate to cum that you didn't even care about your discomfort, as long as you got something, anything.

"I can feel your pussy clinging to me," He murmured through a hungry growl, his half-lidded eyes boring a hole into the back of your skull as he pushed you back against the desk and raised his hips, running the weeping head of his cock against your hole, listening to your pants and whimpers. "Like a fucking vice. You're close, aren't you, fraulein ?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded with a little squeak, suppressing a whimper as he kept dragging the tip of his cock over your clit and along the slit of your dripping cunt.

You didn't even think to lie to him. You couldn't think of those things anymore, you were that loyal to him now. 

"Mmm?" He hummed softly, letting his cock rest at the opening of your gasping hole as he reached up and wound your long hair around his palm. "You're gonna cum on my cock like the little slut you are, huh? You're just that fucking easy, aren't you, baby?"

"Yessss, I'm easy," You whined loudly, letting your head droop down for just a moment before you let out a yelp as he yanked your head back, digging his grubby nails into your scalp as he held your body upright. "AH! Yes, yes, I'm gonna-!"

"No, you're not," He then said, his voice quiet as he pressed his lips to your burning cheek, sliding his cock back inside you (with a disgustingly wet schlick ) and slowing down his thrusts to an even pace of shallow hip juts that barely kept you satisfied but left you hungry, starving, for even more. "You're not going to cum at all, actually."

"H-Huh?" You squeaked as he reached down in front of you with his free hand and started to rub your clit a little erratically. 

And he *never* did that.

"You heard me, dummkopf ," He replied, his voice an eager growl as he pressed deeper and deeper inside of you, entirely penetrating you like you were nothing more than a sex toy, a fuck doll in his lap, making you shriek and gasp. He hooked his stubbly chin over your shoulder and growled his next words into your neck in between bites and teasing kisses. "You're not going to cum. And if you do cum, we might have to recreate one of those scenes you edited for me."

He idly nodded toward the video that was still playing on his computer screen, and you were smart enough to know exactly what he was threatening you with. 

"Is that clear?" He purred, giving you a moment before he slapped your cunt with another rough yank of your hair. "I said, is that clear?"

"AH-! Y-Yes, it's clear!" You yelped, gritting your teeth as a tear ran down your cheek.

All the while he kept fucking you, occasionally slipping his cock out from inside you and thrusting the tip against your engorged clit (that he was still fucking rubbing) to make you squeak and shudder, your body spasming from the sudden stimulation.

It was heavenly, in the very worst possible way. As he pushed deeper inside of you and rubbed your clit, stimulating every one of your vulnerable spots, what felt like little jolts of electricity shot through your body and kept you constantly on edge, making every single nerve spark up with radiating white heat, just from the attention he was paying to you.

It felt good, so fucking good, that it was painful. 

You couldn’t and didn't try to stop the spasms or the shakes wracking your body, nor did you stop your soft whimpering from the white-hot pain that you didn’t want to ever, ever stop. 

You sort of hoped that he was misinterpreting this whole situation, hoped that he thought you hated this particular brand of torture when really, you fucking adored it, just so that he would use it against you a little more often.

You didn't have much of an opportunity to keep that secret to yourself though, before he suddenly pulled you back, forced your body into his lap again, pressing deep, *deep* inside of you and making you spill over involuntarily, covering his lap with your cum and shrieking out loud as you did so.

"Hah," He let out a short sigh of exertion as your body went slack against his desk again before he let out a bark of a laugh, flicking his hair from his face. "Ha! You really are dumb, aren't you? I thought we were clear , fraulein ."

You trembled just a touch as you tried to squirm away from him but he kept two strong hands bracketed to your hips quickly, keeping you pinned still.

"Well, well...looks like we're due for another show of our own, aren't we?~"

Threesome (Strade/MC/Ren)

"You know...I don't normally like sharing."

"Hm?"

You looked up towards your companion as the two of you worked through a pile of his laundry together, unpacking the heaving basket (he really did go through all of his clothes so quickly) and sorting through and folding up t-shirts, shorts and underwear for him to put away.

In the months of knowing Ren, you had grown fond of him. 

Maybe it was because he was a total nerd like you were, who liked the same things you did and was always happy to talk about movies or music with you while you did your daily chores, or it might have been the necessary comradery you both needed to survive, well...a place like this. 

There was something about Ren that was different from other nerdy boys you once knew, something that set him apart from a stereotypical captive of a sociopathic sadist, and you knew that from the first moment you met him.

You knew he was fucked up, in the same ways you were. 

You knew there were parts of Ren that had struggled in the same ways that you had, had struggled with darkness and being too difficult to love. Maybe he'd even had his own slew of college girlfriends (or maybe boyfriends) that had been unable to fix him, despite how much he had tried to be fixed. 

And even though the first few months had been difficult, clouded with his obvious jealousy and fear of being replaced in the eyes of his master, and your own sheer desperation to just survive until the next day, you had grown closer.

You had a routine of sorts now. You did his laundry, he cooked meatless meals for you. You showed him a game you liked and he looked up good horror anime to watch together.

It felt good to have a friend in here, someone to share all of this with, and someone who didn't think you were a freak for the slowly developing feelings you were having for the man responsible for all of this loneliness. 

"Yeah. I'm kind of the jealous type." Ren admits with a shy smile, folding one of his shirts into a neat little square, his hands trembling just a touch as your own idled over the task at hand. "I mean, I'm sure you probably could have guessed that..."

"Right," You replied with a guilty smile, glancing down. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

"But um...I do think I could get used to it...w-with you, I mean." His smile broke into a little, if slightly unsure, grin, a soft chuckle falling from his lips as his golden eyes met yours, sparkling with something you hadn't felt in months; hope. "It might actually be kinda nice to share all of this with someone else. Someone who understands."

You gulped, almost a little nervous as you felt a bit of a flush come to your cheeks, your lip trembling as you looked him up and down, as he occupied himself again with folding his laundry.

Not wanting Ren to see your watering eyes or your trembling jaw, you quickly crossed to his side of the desk, wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, as tight as you could manage without hurting him. You buried your face against his shoulder with an unsteady breath and enveloped yourself in his soft, comforting warmth, his scent of fur and clean hair and vanilla, and allowed your silent tears of sympathy and understanding to fall down your cheeks and hopefully soak into his shit. 

And though he was shocked into stillness for a few moments (perhaps due to the sudden act of affection without any bad intentions or malice behind it, something he was not at all used to), he eventually wound his arms around your middle and squeezed you back tightly, his twitching tail curling around your bodies and tangling the two of you together even further. 

You thought, for just a moment, that he might have started crying with you, when you felt him bury his face against your shoulder and his body start to tremble and shake in your tight embrace, but neither of you wanted to pull away and let this perfect, peaceful moment be ruined.

But, when Ren eventually did pull away with a subtle sniff, his ears twitching forward, he surprised you by pressing a firm kiss against your mouth, quickly and sweetly, like he was a little kid giving his crush their very first kiss.

You too pulled back, your eyes wide open and your lips parted with surprise. 

"A-Ah," Ren let out a little breath, his own eyes wide and his ears perched up high. ""I'm sorry! I-I thought that I could..." He gulped nervously before he bashfully looked down at the carpeted floor, his ears flattening down on the top of his head (meaning he was embarrassed or ashamed). "I thought that maybe you'd want to as well, cus, we were hugging, but, ah-" His tail straightened out nervously and moved stiffly behind him. "I'm sorry..."

"No," You murmured softly, letting your arms drop down from around his shoulders as you took his hands in yours, holding them tight, squeezing them reassuringly. "No, it's okay, Ren. It's okay."

He shivered a little, looking back at you as his ears tilted back up.

"You mean it?" He asked, digging one of his fangs into his bottom lip, gnawing on it as his worried expression faded, little by little. "It's okay?"

"It's okay," You smiled encouragingly, rubbing your thumbs over his palms, letting out a little sigh as the flush on your cheeks burned a little darker. "It's really okay, I promise."

"So," He continued as he held your hands back, his golden eyes shining that much brighter as a slight smile came to his sweet face. "Can I...can I kiss you again?"

You swallowed nervously, your eyes flitting downwards and your hands shaking a little as he ran his claws over your knuckles, grazing them like needle points very gently before you nodded your head.

You didn't know if Strade would take issue with the two of you doing, well, any of this, but you couldn't care less about what he would take issue with at that moment.

"Yeah...yeah, you can kiss me again." You replied with another nod. "You can kiss me."

The second kiss came much more easily than the first, as did the third, as did the fourth, as did the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh. His mouth was warm and wet against yours, tasting as sweet and as familiar as his scent, as he tore his fingers away from your hands and reached up to press them in your hair, and when you parted your lips against his, pressing closer to him, he pressed his tongue into your mouth, as slow and as smooth as lava.

Between each kiss and as he pressed closer to you, his tail wagging frantically behind him, you managed to pull away for enough time to yank off your shirt and sports bra and fling them both to the other side of the room, exposing your bare chest for him to see. Even in the comforting warmth of Ren's bedroom, the safe haven from the rest of the house, your newly pierced nipples were perky and pink with arousal. 

Ren stared at you like a man starved, his eyes wide and his face flushed. 

It made you feel desired. You didn't realise how much you had missed that feeling, without it being associated with a particularly violent subtextual meaning. 

You felt oddly demure as you led him to the other side of his desk and fell back into the pile of clothes, cushions, and fabric scraps that made up his nest of a bed, an eager smile spreading on your lips as Ren quickly pulled off his own shirt too and threw it aside with yours, kneeling over you as he did so.

His chest was covered in scars, much like the rest of him, and though the majority of his body appeared slight, lean, and slender, there was a softness to his stomach that you couldn't help but find utterly adorable.

"You're so beautiful..." He said, his voice soft and his tone oozing with sincerity, as he loomed over you, his small body caging your own with ease as his hungry eyes continued to stare. "C-Can I...please, can I-"

"You can do whatever you want." 

With your permission granted, he immediately dipped his head to kiss your neck, paying close attention to the bruises and mocking love bites that peppered the more sensitive areas, the hollow of your throat, the skin beneath your jaw, your collarbones, mean little reminders of ownership left by his…your master. 

Your back arched with each kiss and wet streak of spit from his tongue, pressing your chest against his, and you couldn't help the long, keening moan of pleasure that spilled from your lips as he grazed his sharp, needle-point teeth against the sensitive juncture between your neck and your shoulder. 

If he wanted to bite you, really bite you and dig his teeth in and make you bleed, you'd let him, you think. 

Strade had made his mark on you a number of times already, so it was probably fair that Ren got his chance as well.

You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, curling them into a weak fist, and tugged his head downwards in a silent instruction for him to pay some attention to your chest. The whimper he let out, the keening mewl that lurched its way out of the very back of his throat, sparked a fire deep inside of your core, and you threw an arm over your face to hide just how much you were blushing, as he pressed an insistent kiss to each shuddering breast.

"You're...you're so good for me..." Ren whispered against your skin, his voice low and husky, and when he caught your barely masked gaze with his own, his eyes were half-lidded and filled with desperate, urgent need, a dreamy smile on his face. "So loud and receptive and...god, I want you so bad."

He dragged his tongue up your breast and latched his sharp teeth onto your nipple, his ears tilting back at the sound of your high moans as he sucked the swollen little nub gently and dragged the bulge of his erect cock against the growing wet patch of your shorts.

“Ahhn…” You groaned, your head swimming from the pleasure, as he dug one of his fangs into your nipple teasingly, reaching up to unbutton and unzip his jeans and shift them down his hips, taking away another barrier between the two of you and letting you feel the heat and warmth of his cock through the thin layer of his cotton boxers. “R-Ren…nghh, please…”

"Well, well, well, now isn't this a surprise?"

When the two of you heard Strade's voice, your instant reaction was to get away from each other, both of your bodies shooting backward like magnets repelling. Your face burned red with embarrassment at being so exposed as you wiped a thin stream of drool from your lips and covered your breasts with your arm, all while Ren attempted to readjust himself, pulling up his jeans to make his obvious erection a little less obvious.

Strade didn’t appear too bothered by the state of you though, as he loomed in the bedroom door casually, idly tossing and catching a ruby red apple up and down, up and down, rhythmically. 

If anything, he appeared to be somewhat pleased to find the both of you in such a compromising position, a slow grin coming to his face and his eyebrows raised, like he had found something particularly interesting.

"Strade!" Ren managed to squeak, his shaking hands still trembling and struggling to button up his jeans. "I-It isn't what it looks like, I swear, we weren't doing anything-"

"Now, now, little fox." Strade interrupted, his voice low but undeniably teasing and amused. "I'm not mad. I'm actually kind of impressed." He stopped catching the apple and raised it to his lips, taking a swift bite and smiling as he chewed, his teeth wet. "I didn't think you had it in you! Masel tov!"

A furious blush came to Ren's face as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable and maybe even a little bit frightened by Strade's sudden presence in his room, the deliberate invasion of his safe haven away from the older man. Strade appeared to be ignorant of this, that or he didn’t care enough to notice, as he continued to chew open-mouthed on his apple, still staring the two of you down.

"Well, come on now. By all means, don't stop on my account." He said, making both of you look up at him with wide, frightened eyes, as his own softened with poorly concealed lust. "I wanna see where this goes."

"You...you can't be serious," Ren mumbled softly, his quiet tone taking on a grave quality, his thin brows furrowed in concern under his bangs and his tail standing stiff with fear, his eyes meeting your own with an expression of concern and undeniable care.

"Ah, you’re misunderstanding me. I see." Strade replied with a short laugh as he casually sauntered into Ren’s bedroom, placing the half-eaten apple core on his desk before leaning against it, his hands behind his back, his feet crossed over the top of each other. 

Ever casual, never one to reveal anything. 

“That wasn’t a question. I’m telling you. Keep going. ”

"S-Strade..." Ren mumbled softly, tearing his eyes away from yours and looking back towards your captor. "Come on, we weren't...doing anything."

"Mm, of course, of course." Strade hummed, running his tongue over his teeth as he casually reached down to the pocket of his slacks. "So, our dear, sweet fraulein here just...sits around with their top off all the time, hm? How unlucky of me to have never caught that!" He laughed as he pulled out a leather holster, revealing it to you from his pocket, and yanked his well-used bowie knife from it, sharp silver shining in the low light of Ren's bedroom. "Don't make me ask twice, Ren. You of all people know what happens when I do that."

You could feel your heart beating at the very back of your throat as you heard Strade's words, a reaction that you knew Ren must have been feeling too, by the way his body stiffened, his Adam's apple bobbing against his frail throat.

"W-What do you want me to do?" Ren stammered softly, his eyes flitting down bashfully, his expression that of fear and unspoken obedience .

"Touch them like you were," Strade said curtly, though with a look of eminent satisfaction on his face, pointing the knife towards you, threatening you. "Take them. Fuck them, and fuck them hard . That’s what I want you to do, fuchs. "

Ren's eyes widened again at the sudden direction of the knife, his ears flattening again at the mean petname, and his eyes went back to you, just as frightened as you were. 

He gulped hard again and took a few steps closer to you, looking down at you with an expression of guilt and concern, because at least he had the decency to feel that, if anything, gnawing his lip as he knelt down over you again and took your chin in hand, his delicate little claws digging into your cheek and jaw. 

You knew that Ren wouldn't have had a chance in Hell at standing up to Strade if he tried, you knew that and you didn’t want him to get hurt defending you, but you couldn't help but feel a twist of betrayal in your gut at his complete lack of opposition to him, that he was doing as he was told without even the slightest argument. 

"Just...pretend it's us, okay?" Ren said quietly, his tone earnest and protective, obviously trying to make the most of the situation as a nervous smile came to his face. "Like we were before, yeah? When it felt good."

"Mm," You let out a muffled grunt as he shifted back on top of you, his hand back on your breast, his cock (slightly soft but not nearly as much as it should have been) pressing back against the warm spot in your shorts.

Ren kept looking at you intently, gauging your reaction as he tried to resume the pace that you had been going at before, teasing a nipple as he rubbed his cock up against your clothed cunt, and though it felt good, because of course it felt good, you couldn't stop your stomach from churning tight little knots at the reminder of who was watching, who was judging the two of you and seeing how well you could perform for him. 

"Ah," Ren let out a little groan, reaching back down to unbutton his jeans and shift them down his thighs with his underwear before he pressed his cock against the gusset of your shorts, rubbing the weeping head against the sodden fabric. 

Any hesitance he might have had wasn't stopping him, it seemed.

Maybe he had felt conflicted about it, conflicted in the ethics of enjoying a largely unresponsive body underneath his, but his enjoyment and evident arousal seemed to have been winning against his quickly depleting morals. 

"You're taking your sweet time, fuchs ," Strade commented dryly behind the two of you, picking dirt from his nails with the tip of his knife, his voice loud enough to make Ren flinch and his rutting hips stutter. "Show me something I want to see or I'm going to get impatient." 

“R-Right, yes, I’ll try.” Ren stammered, his sweet face blushing bright red as he brought both hands to your hips and pulled at the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down quickly, forcefully, his claws grazing the soft skin of your thighs and leaving behind shallow marks in your skin. He took a deep breath and then nodded a bit, like he was trying to amp himself up, more than anything else, before speaking quietly yet again with a soft and concerned gaze toward you. “S-Sorry if this is…ya know, uncomfortable…”

You barely managed a flat glare in his direction before he was pushing himself inside of you roughly, your cunt nowhere near wet enough to support an easy entry as he pressed up, right to the very base of his cock, where his knot was beginning to swell. You shrieked shrilly and clung tight to his smaller body, digging your nails into his back and making him bite back a whimper, as his cock slid out of you and his hips jerked backward at the pain.

Funny. You would have imagined he'd have a greater pain tolerance by now.

He bit his lip with an annoyed (almost panicked) little grunt, reaching down to the base of his cock and jerking his fist up and down it a few times, to get himself hard and ready to push back inside of you. 

"Can't keep it up, Ren?" Strade then asked with a mean chuckle, slamming the knife down into the wood of the desk and standing behind him, looming and lecherous as Ren kept trying to keep himself hard, muttering out little excuses, protests, ‘please, just give me a second’s. "Well, you know what they say...don't send a boy to do a man's job, eh, fraulein ?"

He pet the space between Ren's ears condescendingly before he made eye contact with you, raising an eyebrow as his honey-deep eyes narrowed a touch. 

"Come here, baby."

Biting your lip and shooting an apologetic look toward Ren as you do so, you obediently crawl out from underneath him and over to Strade's side, humiliation and shame making you shiver as the two men watch every move ardently. 

A slow, satisfied smile came to Strade's face when you knelt at his side, and when he stroked your hair, sweet and cloying and nothing he’d really do to you in a thousand years, you instantly keened into his touch with a pleased sigh, kneeling up even further to chase the touch when he pulled back for a moment.  

He let out a soft laugh from the back of his throat as he kept stroking through your hair, like you were a pet in his lap. 

The comparison, you thought, was quite apt at that moment.

He knew he had you in the palm of his hand, and what was worse, he knew that he could do anything to you just as long as he followed it with these moments of quiet kindness. 

All the while, Ren was watching intently, his gaze growing heated and..even a little jealous. 

It was an expression that you were familiar with.

"Hm…I’m really sorry to break this to you, buddy" Strade started, his gaze going back towards Ren, his voice domineering and demanding of all attention in the quiet room, as he pushed a hand through your hair and pulled your head forward to press against the quickly stiffening bulge in his trousers. "But your little playmate here is already a nasty little whore. Isn't that right, liebling ?"

Unable to truly answer with words, you pressed your face against his crotch, gripping his trouser leg in a desperate attempt to ground yourself when you were feeling so dazed, and took a long breath of him, enveloping yourself in his warmth, his scent.

Much like Ren’s attempt to ignore his animal impulses, the urge to fight back was weaning, quickly, as you let yourself be used by him. 

"Is someone getting jealous?" Strade asked with a teasing lilt to his voice, his smirk broadening as his eyes went up to meet Ren's heated gaze, as he twisted his fingers in your hair and kept you pinned against his broad thigh, unzipping his slacks with his other hand and palming himself, despite keeping you so still. “You can tell me, Ren…”

Ren's eyes stayed locked on Strade’s, his cheeks flushing a little as his eyes flitted down to the ground. The younger man was silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond before he said something.

"M-Maybe..." Ren stammered in a quiet voice, a slight pout to his full lips.

"Aw, how sweet~" The older man crooned as his smirk shifted into a grin. "Jealous of who, I wonder?"

Ren gulped tightly, looking more and more embarrassed as he averted his eyes, his tail swishing behind him.

“You know who,” He replied, his voice almost curt, despite how much he was blushing. 

"Ah, do I?" Strade hummed thoughftully as he tilted his head, letting out a little sigh through his teeth as he tugged his cock from his underwear and slowly jerked it, in front of your waiting eyes. "How about you tell me, fuchs ? How about you tell me with your words? It’s unlike you to be so quiet, so shy…"

Ren barely resisted a little whimper at the back of his throat, his hands balling into fists at his sides, watching the two of you intently as Strade jerked himself off, as you pressed yourself even closer to his cock, inhaling his scent.

He looked almost angry, angry about how jealous he was.

Perhaps angry that Strade always managed to wind him up like this. Always managed to get what he wanted, no matter what that might have been. 

"I- I'm jealous of you touching her..." Ren replied quietly and with a bit more embarrassment clear to his tone, his little body practically shaking with shame. “I’m jealous that you can take her so easily…and I’m jealous that you’re taking her and not me.”

Strade let out a condescending 'tut' with his tongue, before he leaned back against the desk, keeping your head pinned to his thigh as the grip around his cock tightened, just a touch, enough to make the vein next to his knuckles stand up, his eyes ever indulgent as they glanced from you and back towards Ren.

"Nothing's stopping you from joining your little friend on your knees, sweetheart," He crooned, obviously appealing to a softer part of Ren, a needier part of him that yearned for Strade, as much as you did. "Go ahead, if you're so jealous."

Your eyes shot back to see how the younger man would respond to such an invitation. Predictably, Ren blushed heavily, his ears upright and erect, his tail still, his cock hard, evidently not realizing how badly he had wanted to do exactly what Strade was telling him to do. 

"Can I...?  I really want to..." Ren mumbled quietly and in a pleading tone, feeling like he wanted nothing more than to be in the same position as you, serving his master, worsipping him.

“Get down,” Strade growled softly, his eyes dark and starving when you looked up at him and his whole expression victorious, like he had won the best possible prize at the fair. “On your knees.”

Ren sank down to his knees obediently, without even a word  and crawled over to the both of you, perching himself next to you, his naked thigh pressing to yours, his frantically wagging tail carressing your back.

In the end, the two of you did grow closer…just like you had wanted to.

Shotgunning (Lawrence/MC)

"Can I try some?"

Your voice was quiet in the heavy, moisture-dense air of the apartment, in the quiet of the city waiting outside the wide windows, as you sat up on the bed and moved a little closer to Lawrence, who had just lit up a joint.

They had taken some time to prep it after settling cross-legged on the ground, grinding up a little nugget of weed and tobacco as you idly scrolled through your phone, your eyes occasionally shooting up to watch them as they rolled the rolling paper tightly and reached for the lighter from their bedside.

"Huh?"

They looked up towards you, lowering the joint after taking their first drag and exhaling the mouthful of smoke steadily. They blinked curious grey eyes and ran their tongue over their chapped bottom lip, taking a moment to compose themselves.

"Can you try some...what? The joint?” They blinked again, before they nodded their head, shaking a heavy chunk of blonde hair across their shoulder. “Um…y-yeah, sure you can..."

They held the joint up towards you, sitting up on the knees to be closer.

You set your phone down and scooted up on their bed, throwing your legs over the side before taking the joint in hand and inspecting it closely. 

"I've, er…I’ve never tried it before, actually." You said softly, looking from the joint and towards them again. "Can you show me how?"

A light smile came to their pretty face as they let out a low chuckle, pushing their hair back behind their ear in a practiced, delicate gesture.

"Sure..." They said with a nod before they took the joint back from you. "So you gotta take a drag on it...like this,"

You watched intently as they raised it back to their lips and took a long drag on it, an indulgent look of thoughtless sleepiness on their face, which you enjoyed…maybe a little more than you should. They held the smoke on their tongue for a moment, before taking a long inhale through their nose and then exhaling, breathing out the smoke slowly.

When they breathed out, the smoke streaming from their lips and nostrils looked like worms, like tendrils, like vines, thin and white. You didn't even try shaking off that intrusive though

"Then you exhale like that. Don't try to hold it in for too long or you'll cough like crazy." They then said with another little smile, holding the joint back out to you. “Try it.”

You huffed through your nose and rolled your eyes at their instructions, feeling condescended to despite Lawrence’s sincerity, and took the joint again, raising it to your lips and taking in a slow drag. 

Lawrence watched as intently as you had as you took a second drag on the joint and held your breath, holding the smoke on your tongue, thick and smokey.

"Yeah...that's it.” They praised, tilting their head slightly. “Just take it in slowly, don't let it catch you off-guard." Their smile broke into a slight grin. "You're doing it right though. So, so far so good..."

Your brain felt like it was slowing down, bit by bit, as you held the smoke on your tongue for a moment longer, before you took in a breath, a quick inhale, too quick to let the smoke permeate your thoughts properly, and when you tried to exhale outwards steadily, as they had, your breath caught roughly in your throat and made you cough. 

Lawrence started laughing, something you had never seen them really do, but tried to suppress it with a fist raised to their lips. It was nice, even kind of sweet, but you couldn’t really pay attention to the gesture when you were still coughing.

"Aah, ah, you're getting it…” They said through quiet chuckles, sitting up from the floor to rub your back. “Well, you were getting it...it’s okay, you’re okay…"

"I don’t like weed," You groaned as you held the joint out back to them. “Or smoking, or anything. I don’t want anything in my lungs but air now, actually.”

Lawrence laughed again, taking back the joint as they kept rubbing your back, as your coughing settled down into slow breaths.  

"Mm…ah, there is a technique that you might enjoy a little more." They murmured softly, as the hand on your back slid upwards, up towards the very top of your spine, gently stroking the sharp notch of the bone. “Do you wanna try it with me?”

“Alright,” You replied, keening up a little into the touch, as Lawrence got closer to you on the bed, their bare thigh pressing against yours, knees knocking together. “Why not?” 

Their hand trembled a little, long fingers twitching, as they held the burning joint back up to their own lips, taking in a longer exhale than they had before, their grey eyes flitting shut with the pleasurable sensation of numbness that followed with it. 

They let their hand relax against your thigh then, the glowing ember of the joint warm against your skin, as they inhaled sharply and peered back towards you, and brought their face closer to yours, close enough to kiss, close enough that you could smell the heavy scent of weed on their breath, on top of the plant matter and soil that clung to them. 

"Now...inhale as I exhale...slow...steady."

When they exhaled the mouthful of smoke against your lips, you took in a shaking little inhale, feeling both the smoke and the warmth of Lawrence’s breath on your skin and tasting the haze of the weed on your tongue.  

“That's good...that's very good," Lawrence praised very softly, watching as you took in more of the smoke, rubbing your thigh encouragingly. “Taste it. Taste the smoke on your tongue.”

It was difficult to focus on what they were saying, exactly, as you felt their warm breath against your lips, their big hand on your thigh rubbing against your skin. 

This felt better than taking the joint normally, that was all you knew.

They moved forward slightly, their body leaning toward yours, sitting thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder. 

"That...feels nice," You mumbled softly as you exhaled finally, your head swimming nicely through the haze of weed, the haze of suddenly burgeoning arousal. “Mm…yeah. Maybe I get it now.” You then said with a little chuckle, peering towards Lawrence when you felt the muscles in their thigh tense up a little, felt them shiver.

Without a word, Lawrence leaned in further, their mouth hovering over yours again, but the hand on your thigh didn’t move. You felt their breath on your lips again. Their fingers were trembling ever so slightly as they keened parted lips against yours, inhaling your own scent as they did so.

"Law..." You mumbled softly, your cheeks flushing a little darker as the hand rubbing your spine spanned forward against your cheek, cupping it so gently.

"Kiss me." They then whispered against your lips, their breath warm and hot and alive in a way they so often weren't . 

You couldn't think of any reason not to.

You leaned in and kissed them softly, tasting the smokey sweetness on their lips as your tongue pressed forward and parted them, letting you deepen the kiss and properly enjoy the comforting warmth of their mouth.

The two of you tumbled back against the bed, making out hungrily like a pair of doped-up teenagers.

You didn't even notice when the ember of the joint burnt the sensitive skin of your thigh.

Menophilia (Fox/MC)

You were in trouble .

Fox had caught you trying to signal the attention of a member of staff that had flitted to and from the apartment while he was working, and naturally assumed the worst of you. Not like you could really blame him. 

You were a hostage, for God's sake, who knew what you could have gotten up to when you were out of his sight?

That's why you were sitting in the living room, your (metaphorical) tail between your legs, waiting for the scolding of a lifetime.

"So...would you like to explain to me what you were doing trying to contact my staff?" Fox said, his tone almost grave as he closed the door of his office behind him and leaned against it. "I do hope you weren't planning an escape...after all I've done to train you so well, after everything that we’ve done? I should really be more insulted than I am, you know."

"I wasn't," You murmured softly, looking down at your lap with a shake of your head as he paced to your front, kneading your fingers against your thigh. "I wasn't planning to escape, that's...not what I was doing, I promise."

"Oh? What was it, then?" He asked with a raised brow, taking a step closer to you, taking your chin in his hand and raising it up to meet his eyes, his own cold. You made a little noise of discomfort when he took your face in hand, looking down at your flushed expression with a vague look of condescending sympathy. 

Better that than anger, you guessed.

"What were you planning, if not an...elaborate escape? A surprise party, maybe? Should I have my secretary write up an RSVP?" He finished with a forced chuckle, a little shrug of his shoulders.

"I just...I needed something that I didn't have," You replied, your words a little slurred as he squished your cheeks. 

"What could you possibly need that you don't already have?" He then asked, narrowing his eyes a touch, like he couldn't believe what you were saying. "You're provided everything in the world, the best possible luxuries, and yet, you still demand more? How insatiable of you, pet. You'll be wanting to go to the opera next!" 

Your cheeks flushed again as you tried to pull back from his firm grip, but it only encouraged him to pull you in even closer, digging his claws into the soft skin.

He took a moment to brush a thick lock of hair behind your ear to reveal your flushed face to his view, smirking lightly before it twitched for just a moment, as his nostrils flared and he finally took a good long whiff of you, and...worked out the reason you were trying to ask for things from his staff in almost an instant. 

Your face flushed bright red immediately when the expression of recognition slowly came to his face, trying to avert your gaze and hide just how embarrassed you were, as a slow and hungry smirk spread on his face.

"Sooo, that's what it is," The older man chuckled darkly, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement and mischief. "Someone forgot to take their birth control, didn't they? Haha, how cute! Now you're streaming like a fountain, aren't you?"

"Oh my god," You murmured, practically trembling from how mortified you were feeling, trying desperately to pull back from him.

"Aww..." He grinned a little wider, clicking his tongue in mock sympathy. "Did you think that I wouldn't work out your little secret?" He laughed again at your blushing and trembling. "Or were you hoping I wouldn't notice? I'm a fox, if you forgot, sweetheart," He leaned a little closer, his ears twitching and his tail wagging, seemingly emphasising his point even further. "I can smell it now, actually, now that it’s just the two of us..."

"Can you please just ask someone to get me some tampons or something...?" You mumbled, keeping your eyes locked down and waiting desperately to just be dismissed.

"And why would I do that, darling?" He laughed again and rubbed your chin as he watched your embarrassed and trembling reactions indulgently. "I mean I'm enjoying this very much, personally.”

"Fox..." You whimpered softly, biting your lip as your cheeks flushed even more. "Please...I don't ask you for anything."

"I'm not giving you anything either." He replied easily, finally letting go of your face to join you on the couch, slinging an arm around your trembling shoulders and watching you with a sharp grin. "Maybe if you let me enjoy what I want first, I'll think about providing you with what you need , hm?"

You didn't move your head, not wanting to look up and be an accomplice to your own degradation, but your eyes flitted upwards to see as he placed his free hand on your thigh, digging his claws in and gently, barely jerking it to the side to meet his own thigh, wordlessly telling you what he wanted, what he expected.

You didn't say a thing as you let your legs part, showing a soaking, red stain on your white underwear and the smear of blood covering your inner thighs.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the small stain, but the older man didn't resist an even wider grin as he grabbed your thigh even harder and yanked your body down against the couch, offering him the perfect opportunity to cage you down and stare at the mess between your legs. 

"Well, would you look at that?" He said, with a voice as close to awe as a bastard like Fox could manage. "And they have no one to blame but themselves for not asking me just a little bit sooner~ You really could have avoided all of this mess, sweetheart."

"You would have said no..." You murmured softly as he got closer to you, his nostrils flared and dragging your scent in, keeping your legs parted with a firm grip on your thigh.

"Of course, I would have said no, are you kidding?" He replied with a scoff. "I would have done it just to watch you squirm like this and see the look on your face. Priceless! It would have been just too cute for me to resist."

You let out an unsteady breath, almost a whimper, through your gritted teeth as he continued to stare down at you, taking in long breaths of your heavy scent like he was indulging in a delicious meal or a fine wine. After a few moments, he finally looked you in the eye, his own blown wide with hunger, running his tongue over his jaws.

"Do you want me to clean you up?" He asked, his voice almost a whisper, and leaned closer, his clawed finger running up the middle of the soaking gusset of your panties, where the blood was still soaking through.

"H-Huh?"

"I said..." The older man repeated himself, his voice taking a teasing undertone, as his expression got hungrier. "Do you want me to clean up your little mess, pet~?"

You didn't answer properly, not with your words, not trusting them enough not to give away how nervous and frightened you were. You took in another breath, still wet blood seepeing down your thigh and soaking into your panties. Despite everything telling you to do otherwise, though, you parted your legs further, showing him the mess of blood between your legs.

"Hah..." 

With a slow, drawn-out motion, his fingers shifted from your thighs and the soft folds of your pelvis, to the soaking creases of your underwear, gently pulling the wet fabric away from your sticky labia as he stared intently at the mess. A hungry grin painted his darkened features as he looked at it, his eyes hungry and inquisitive as he smeared the blood even further down your trembling thigh.

"It looks like you leaked quite a bit." He said softly, placing himself between your legs. "It must have been all day, right? All day...you leaked all day long and didn't even try to ask me for help..." He ran his tongue over his teeth again as he leaned in a little closer, his face inches from yours. "Now...how about we get you out of those dirty panties once and for all, and I can have a proper taste, hm?"

"T-Taste?" You said quickly, sitting up.

"Well, if you've been leaking all day, I do think it is only fair to taste what you've offered up." He replied with an easy smirk. 

You didn't have the chance to react before he was dipping his head and running his tongue over your hole, delving and devouring almost immediately as soon as he got the taste of your blood.

"Oh...ohhhh," You gasped, your once wide eyes sliding shut as you felt his lips trail against your labia, your clit, completely undeterred by the blood that was still oozing from inside of you as he kept your legs parted forcibly. "Oh god, Fox..." Your gasps faded into moans as you pressed your head back against the couch and raised your hips against his tongue.

He was tasting you, well and truly, and what's more, he was enjoying it.

Almost as much as you were.

He pulled back just a touch to breathe hotly against your cunt, his tongue lightly dancing over your clit as you heard him chuckle and moan quietly, raggedly, too overwhelmed by his own pleasure to try and intimidate you. 

"You taste perfect," He mumbled softly, pressing another deep kiss to your hole, his sharp teeth grazing your skin as he tasted you. "Oh, if you only knew how much your master has been wanting this~"

You moaned softly, letting your hips tilt upwards a touch as he dragged your body down against his, letting him devour you just the way he wanted, his fingers kneading your hips as he did so, digging into the soft folds of your tummy, your thighs. 

You couldn't resist reaching down and pushing a hand through his hair, rubbing against the base of his fox ears as they twitched at the motion. You were relieved that he let you do something that invasive, and even surprised when he moaned a little and pressed against you even more, pushing his tongue deeper and tasting every drop of new blood oozing from you. 

"Fox...ahhn..." You groaned, wrapping a leg around his slim shoulders, letting you rock up against his devouring mouth a little more. You probably looked a mess but like you cared. He looked at you like a piece of art, a fine meal, so that's how you felt.

"Please keep going..." You begged, squeezing your eyes shut. "Never stop, never stop..." 

"Ah," He gasped raggedly, glaring up at you with eyes blown wide with hunger and desperation, his face smeared with blood and his sharp teeth stained with the same. "You have NO idea what you're asking of me, pet…”

Body Modification (Strade/MC)

"You know that you can just buy these online?" 

Strade's voice was casual, almost playful, as if he was talking about what he had for lunch and not vaguely threatening you (as he often did), as he used his knife to slice open a package he was holding, sifting through it with a raised brow. 

"They don't even ask for a license or anything. Wild!" He continued with a laugh, fishing out what looked like...a set of needles. 

He held it up to the flickering light of the basement, his gaze scrutinous before he looked towards you again with a smirk. 

"I can only imagine the amount of adrenaline-hopped kids shoving these things into themselves. That's what we used to do, anyway."

You swallowed hard, looking from his eyes and to the pack of needles, sparkling and silver in the light, your brows knitting together in concern.

"What are you doing?" You asked, your voice unnervingly soft.

"Hmph," He let out another laugh, an (unfortunately) attractive huff through his nose before going back to his drawer of tools to look for something, a clatter of metal and tools loud in the small room as he sifted through it. "You don't have enough holes yet~"

Your face flushed bright red and you felt your brain start to short-circuit just thinking about what he could be planning, shivering and trembling in the cool air of the basement.

"S-Strade..." You muttered, trying so hard to stay calm but barely able to stop your teeth from chattering. "What are you doing?"

"Shaking already, eh?" He said with a little click of his tongue, fishing out a sharp pair of pliers and facing you again. "Don't be such a baby. You've gone through way worse than this."

You were silent as he paced across the basement and to the support beam that you were tied to (as you often were), staring down at you hungrily.

"You know, I like it when you're less docile..." He continued, his voice a little softer as he lowered himself down to one knee and yanked your shirt up your chest in a clenched fist, dragging you closer to his own body and exposing your breasts all in one go. "You're a lot more fun. I like when you're fun."

"Mmf..." You shivered a little more, yanking at your bondage, as he set down his tools and reached forward to run his thumb over one of your nipples, watching indulgently as the little nub hardened and swelled. 

You took in a sharp inhale and bit your lip hard to keep from making any more sounds, trembling as your chest felt all the more sensitive.

It felt so... forbidden. And so good.

If Strade's intent was to torture you, he was failing spectacularly.

"Feel good?" Strade asked after a moment, leaning in to bring his face closer to yours. "You can admit it, you know. I like making you feel good, too." 

"Nnnh..." You gasped again when Strade started to circle his thumb around your nipple, stimulating the sensitive spot and clearly relishing in just how much you were reacting to it, your breathing growing heavier and your mouth open with each desperate gasp. "P-Please..."

"Please?" Strade raised a brow with a slight smirk, gently pinching the swelling nub, between his thumb and pointer finger. “Please what, fraulein? Please keep going, please stop?” 

You barely even registered what he was saying, hissing through your teeth as your eyes squeezed shut and you pressed yourself closer to Strade’s larger body. You were so lost to sensation now, so caught up in the burning pleasures, your body trembling as Strade's fingers worked on your chest.

"Mm, I think that's pretty good..." Strade mumbled to himself quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, before taking the pair of pliers in hand and closing the metal teeth on your sensitive nipple.

The second you felt the tight squeeze of the pliers, your eyes shot open and a harsh cry was forced from your lips, the pain causing your body to instinctively try to pull away from Strade's, though the support beam prevented you from going anywhere.

Strade didn't stop himself from giving the pliers a teasing little tug, a mean smile on his face as you screamed, a tear rolling down your cheek at the pain. It certainly wasn't the worst thing you had felt, not by a long shot, but even so, it was hideously painful.

"Very nice. Very nice, indeed." Strade hummed with an indulgent smile. "Now..." After swapping the pliers to the hand still clutching your shirt (yanking your sore breast up a little higher), he reached over to the set of needles and fished one out of the little baggie, the point sharp and dangerous as he lined it up with the swollen flesh of your nipple. 

Your body immediately went still at the sharp point, your wide eyes unblinking as you stared at him, waiting for the pain.

"I always liked piercings," He said casually, like he was just having a regular conversation. "I dated a guy in my twenties who was covered with them, you know, he was this alternative queer in Berlin with piercings and tattoos all over, and they'd always make me crazy. Of course, that was before I killed him." He laughed again, pressing a little more against the needle, a bead of blood welling to the surface as he did so. “He was the perfect guy, then.”

You grit your teeth together, still pulling at your bondage and waiting for the pain, but still, there was nothing...nothing.

"You're already pretty close to perfect in my eyes," Strade continued, with just a touch of affection in his hungry eyes, affection that might have been genuine had he not been threatening you with a needle. "Let's get you even closer, hm?"

He didn't bother counting you in, nor waiting for your guard to drop fully before he pushed the needle into the reddened flesh.

You yelped loudly in pain as blood instantly welled up to the wound and trailed down your breast. Your body was shaking and fighting against the ropes, though to no avail. 

He knew better now not to tie you down so loosely.

After fishing for what looked like a slim metal hoop from his bag of tools, he then pulled the needle from your flesh and slid the open hoop through the freshly bleeding hole with a surprising amount of care, his fingers twisting on the delicate metal ball at the end of the hoop like he'd done it before.

And maybe he had.

"There!" Strade pulled his hands back with a triumphant grin, admiring the new piercing that adorned your shuddering chest. "It's pretty cute...and your little tits are all puffy and sensitive now, eh?" He then teased, leaning forward and running a blood-spotted finger over the new piercing through your chest, stimulating it while it was now so painfully sensitive.

You couldn't answer, your muscles spasming in pleasure (in pain) as Strade's fingers trailed over the new jewelry, his other hand reaching up to palm your unmarred breast. 

The pain was still there, because of course it was, but it was now just another way to heighten the overwhelming sensations that were coursing through your body.

"Hhhh..." You moaned softly (to Strade’s evident albeit deeply pleased surprise) as he touched you, starting to stimulate your other nipple with a hungry look. "D-do you think you should... do the other one?"

"Mm, I think that's an excellent idea, fraulein ," Strade purred with a broader smile, running his tongue along your jaw, his wet teeth pressing a smile into your neck.

"Let's get right to it."

Exhibitionism (Ren/MC)

You stood still on the train carriage, crammed between bodies squeezed in tight like sardines in a can, holding onto the hanging strap like it was the only thing that would keep you from falling, keep you upright.

In the months of getting to know each other, you had earned enough of Ren's trust for him to let you out of the house on what he called a 'date' - a day out in the city where he would treat you to anything you wanted, just so long as you behaved exactly as he wanted. 

You couldn’t deny that a part of you was a little excited by the prospect.

However, that was naturally superseded by the parts of you that were incredibly anxious about giving him that much control over you. The control that he so desperately craved.

Ren kept an authoritative hand on your hip all the while, his tail idly swishing to and fro behind him (in the small space you were both crammed into) as he scrolled through his phone, ever casual, occasionally chuckling at jokes on his timeline and playing videos on silent. When you were standing so close to him, you could see a playful smile on his face.

"Oh, we're not too far now," He said, looking towards you as he clicked off the social media app he was browsing and through his phone menu. "Just a couple more stops and we'll be in the town center. I can't believe how busy the train is today!"

"Heh, yeah," You forced out a chuckle, your face taking on a reddish hue as he slid his hand lower, threading his thumb through the belt loop of your jeans and pulling you a little closer to his side. You had a bit of a height advantage, and that was more obvious the closer you stood, when his pointed ears barely grazed your cheek, but that didn't stop you from ducking your head down submissively as he pulled you close, trying to make yourself look smaller. "It's, um, it's pretty busy. But it’s a Friday, so…"

"Yeah," He mused with a low drawl, as he brought up an app screen you didn't recognise and began to fiddle with it, toying with settings and other things (written in Japanese). "We should probably be careful with what we say."

Without warning, you began to feel a soft, albeit deceptively powerful buzzing, pressed right up against a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and against your swollen clit. 

You had seen this coming.

He'd been torturing you with this particular toy all morning, and had only conceded to the date on the second condition that he could keep it inside of you while you were out in public, visible to the entire public. And, despite how much you had argued against that condition, you had ultimately relented to his whims, out of your own sheer desperation to leave the house.

You did your best not to flinch, nor to let your expression give away the surprising (and deeply pleasurable) buzzing against your cunt, lest anyone else in the packed train carriage clock what the two of you were up to. You instead reached down and grabbed his elbow tightly, digging your nails into him through his jacket and thick coat.

Ren smiled a little broader and put his phone away in his pocket, humming to himself innocently, as if he was none the wiser, as he reached down to the short hem of your skirt (another condition to you leaving the house, though this one was more of a gentle suggestion than anything else) and slid his palm against your arse, giving it a gentle squeeze, teasing you and winding you up even more.

You tried not to flinch at that either, though you were sure that your flushed cheeks were giving the game away to anyone who might have been in the know.

"We're going to have a lot of fun today," Ren murmured, letting his head rest against your shoulder, his tail wagging a little slower and gradually curling around your legs, comforting when he was (kind of) the opposite. "Because I know you're going to do as I say, aren't you, sweetie?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip as he squeezed your arse a little harder, one of his claws toying with the lace of your panties. 

"Full sentence, please," Ren replied, his smile spreading into a sharp grin as he put his hand back in his pocket and increased the buzzing, making you suppress a little shriek and clutch onto his arm tighter. "Use your words."

"Ngh..." You pressed your face into the crown of his head, the fur on his ears tickling your cheek. Your groan had been enough to alert someone’s attention, a guy with his headphones in, but he clearly didn’t think much of your distress when he looked back at his phone. "I'm...I'm going to do as you say."

"Good pet,” He then whispered, keening up on his tiptoes to kiss your cheek. “I just know you’re going to do so well.”

Watersports (Lawrence/MC)

"NGH!"

You grunted harshly as Lawrence tackled you down to the ground, forcing your back hard against the ground as their heavier body pinned you still and caged you down beneath them. 

"Shhh shh shh shh shhh...."

Though their face was flushed and a little frightened-looking (as if they had never done anything like this before), Lawrence shushed you in a quiet, almost sleepy tone, as they leaned forward, their breath shockingly cool against your skin, your cheeks, your lips. 

"Don't fight me, it's so much better if you don't fight, trust me," They asserted, still keeping their voice quiet as they sat up on their knees, keeping you pinned down with their hips and their strong arms pressing their weight into your shoulders. "This can be easy, we can make this so easy , if you don't fight."

"Fuck you," You muttered through grit teeth as you tried to wrestle up against them, trying to free yourself from their strong grip on your body.

"L-Language," They replied with a dirty look, as if you had offended them, before they swallowed hard, their Adam's apple bobbing against their pale throat, and pushed themselves to their feet, suddenly standing tall and towering above you.

Planting a bare foot right at the center of your chest and pressing most of their weight down onto it, Lawrence kept holding you down against the ground, their pale grey eyes locked on yours. Their breathing became shallow and quicker-paced as they stared at you hard, and even down on the ground, you got a sense that they were trembling, still scared of what they were capable of.

It would do you no good to fight against them or to swear at them, but you couldn't help your anger. 

"I, ah..." They started, making an attempt to sound nonchalant as they pushed their shaking fingers through their hair. "I think you should just...relax. A-And calm down, a little."

"Where do you get off telling me to fucking relax?" You demanded, your voice louder than theirs (which they clearly didn't like, from the way their eyes darted to the door of their apartment nervously) as you continued to fight against their body. "Why don't you relax and let me go, you fucking psycho!?"

" Psycho? "

Lawrence's eyes narrowed as they spoke, an expression that gave away their growing anger and annoyance. 

"Now that's just...unnecessary..." They continued to murmur, eyes flitting to the side as they pressed a little more weight into your chest and listened to the gasping wheeze you let out as a response, reaching up to grab and claw at their ankle. "You...you really don't wanna say things like that to me..."

You swallowed hard as your breath felt heavier and harder to get out of your lungs, your teeth gritting and your eyes fluttering at the pressure. 

They could have broken one of your ribs from this angle if they wanted to, quite easily in fact. 

You had to wonder why they weren't doing that yet.

"Or...or what?" You replied through your grit teeth, one eye squeezing shut as another surge of pressure was pressed into your chest, testing your luck beyond all better judgment not to.

Lawrence was quiet for a good moment, their eyes locked on yours before darting to the side nervously, their chapped bottom lip between their teeth. They were still breathing heavily and slowly. 

"I could hurt you." The pressure of their weight on your chest was more intense now, and they let out a brief, quiet growl. “I could really hurt you, and I would enjoy doing it too.”

"You're already hurting me," You replied through your tight frown.

"Am I...? Am I, really?"

Lawrence tilted their head to the side slightly, an expression that was almost mocking and teasing without intending to be (though you really had no idea of Lawrence's true intentions right now, their pale face was so blank and devoid of any true expression).

Their voice was still quiet, almost thoughtful and dreamy, but it was obvious that Lawrence no longer saw you as a person when they stared down at you with their doe wide, grey eyes.

No, you were more of an animal now, a pest to be gotten rid of, a bug to be squashed.

A plant to be plucked from the garden.

You swallowed hard and your body began to thrash when, after a long moment of quiet between the two of you, Lawrence started to tuck down their sweatpants and revealed their naked and...worryingly hard and lengthy cock, without saying a word.

Lawrence smiled, but there was no joy or light-heartedness behind their expression. It was a dead kind of smile that reminded you of a corpse, an ill-fated humour without feeling behind it, their grin refusing to touch their narrowed eyes with any degree of amusement. 

They then shifted their weight once more, easing up on your chest just slightly to focus a little more attention on prying their hefty cock from their sweatpants and holding it above your eyes. 

They were breathing heavily now, and they spoke softy but without any of the previous fear or hesitation, as if they knew now that they had complete control over you. 

And they certainly did, at least for the time being.

"You know...it's so rude of me, but I didn't offer you anything to drink."

Your eyes shot wide.

"Lawrence..." You said, your voice partway between a warning and a plea. "Don't-"

Though you were predictably cut off by a splash of disturbingly warm fluid on your face. 

Lawrence let out a low chuckle as the warm (disgustingly warm, despite how cool their breath had been on your skin before) liquid hit your face, but they said nothing about it, not even to gloat or goad when you immediately squeezed your eyes shut and jerked your head to the side with a shout. 

They only shifted their weight again, watching with a curious, albeit indulgent look as the dark yellow fluid ran down your skin, repulsive and demeaning, and stained the collar of your shirt.

"Is this what you wanted?" They asked, their tone dripping with contempt as the stream finally relented, the smell of ammonia thick and heavy in the humid air of the apartment. "Ah, I see now...you're one of those types that have to be forced to behave. Isn't that right?"

You stared up at them with a grimace, despite the dark flush to your cheeks, shaking your head to throw off the drops of fluid the best you could, cringing as you felt it cling to your skin and soak in your fucking hair, god-

"Are you going to be good?" Lawrence then asked with another condescending tilt of their head, the start of a smile growing on their face.

"Mph," You bit your lip again, peering up wearily towards them, drops of fluid still clinging to your eyelashes. "Y-Yeah...I'll be good."

"Good."

Gags (Strade/MC)

The fan blades turned slowly above your head, creaking and swaying in the hot air of the summer night, yellowing from age and dotted with little mold spots that nobody thought to take care of or attend to. 

Sort of like you. 

You were in a cheap motel, strange and far from any sense of home that you might have had, ridding you of familiarity or comfort you never thought you’d associate with his house. Strade had some business to attend to in the States (no doubt to do with the shitstains that ran the website he streamed on and revenue and royalties and whatnot) and he didn't trust you and Ren enough to be left alone together.

So, Ren stayed home and you stayed with him. You just hoped that there wouldn't be any animosity from the younger man when you came home.

If you came home. 

It had been a quiet night of pay-per-view movies and takeout pizza that left a grease stain behind on the cardboard and cheese that stuck to the roof of your mouth. It was the kind of food that you loved when you were younger, when you were a plucky college student who went out drinking with friends and strangers, and needed carbs to soak in the booze, lest it spill out of you.

But you weren't that person anymore. You didn't even know what kind of person you were.

The kind of person that let this happen to them, you guessed.

"You can't scream and you can't make any noise, or it's just going to get worse. But, I'm going to give you a fighting chance, okay? Because I'm just so fucking fond of you. "

Strade's voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he pressed the thick rubber ballgag between your teeth forcefully, like he was worried about possibly disturbing your neighbors in the other hotel rooms and calling attention to the two of you. He kept you pinned still to the bed with a heavy knee against your back, and though you thrashed and fought against him, you knew that he would ultimately win whatever brawl you had.

He always won.

The rubber tasted sour against your tongue and the leather belt, pulled tight around your head and buckled at the nape of your neck, was stiff and 'unlived in', and you guessed that he had bought it fresh that day in preparation for this.

With a low grunt, he pulled the belt one notch tighter, forcing the rubber ball deeper into your mouth and the leather to dig in uncomfortably on either side of your lips.

" Wunderschon ," He smirked as he took his knee from your back, satisfied that you didn't immediately try to move once he permitted you your freedom. "And I don't think I have to worry about you screaming now, either."

"Ughk..." You groaned into the gag, as he tangled his fingers in your hair and jerked your head upwards, forcing your eyes to meet again. While yours were no doubt hazy by your newly submissive headspace, his looked fond, almost affectionate.

"Mm, very cute," He crooned, reaching forward to press two fingers against the rubber ball and trailing the touch downwards, toying with your plush bottom lip. "I don't usually care about this kind of thing. Ropes, cuffs, it's a means to an end with me, but, ah..." He tilted his head just a touch as a thick stream of drool pooled from your parted lips, down your chin and coating his fingers with shining, wet silver. "You, meine liebe ? You're good enough to eat right now."

You let out a surprised grunt as Strade shoved you back against the bed, your head hitting the pillows and your back on the mattress, before shifting between your legs and yanking at the waistband of your jeans, not even giving himself a moment to unbutton or unzip them as he tore them down your trembling thighs and tossed them across the motel room.

A lot of things could just be done with brute force, and that was something you had come to quickly learn with Strade.

"Speaking of..." He let out a soft chuckle as he placed a large hand on your belly and used the other to yank your panties down with an equal amount of force, to the degree that you swore you heard a tear. "I think I'll do just that."

Any protests you might have said petered into desperate moans and whimpers into the thick rubber as he lowered his head and dragged his tongue over your cunt, immediately seeking the tight, warm heat of your hole as he kept you pinned still beneath him, a meal ready to be devoured, a helpless victim ready to be taken advantage of.

You didn't quite have the luxury of calling yourself helpless anymore though. 

He had taken that away from you. Just as he had taken so many things.

"Ghk-" You made another attempt to speak, though you couldn't manage much but a quiet vocalization, a helpless gurgle of pain and pleasure as you rocked your hips up against his ravenous mouth, desperately seeking his probing tongue despite how much you knew you shouldn't.

Evidently pleased by your jutting hips, he moaned deeply, running his tongue broadly across your cunt before focusing his attention on your swollen clit and pressing two thick fingers inside of you as he tongued and nipped and bit the sensitive little bud, just to hear you try to squeal and cry into the gag.

"Mm, I love all those desperate little noises," He growled, pressing a hungry kiss to your soft thigh, his teeth bruising and biting and leaving more evidence of his conquest over your body. "I might even like them a little more when you're gagged. They just sound so needy and pathetic, I can’t get enough."

Your face flushed bright red at the insult, though that only made him laugh and press another deep kiss to your cunt, worming his tongue into what little space was left around his fingers (which had taken to rubbing against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you that always drove you crazy). 

You breathed out heavily through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried desperately to chase after more touches, more of the burning hot pleasure, however bad it made you feel after the fact.

You just wanted to feel good. Was that such a bad thing?

You didn't think so.

“ Ich möchte dich verschlingen, ” He whispered hotly against your skin, biting down on your thigh again before he pulled away and pressed the hard bulge in his slacks against the warm, wet space permitted by your cunt. “ Meine fleisch, meine liebe .”

He didn't even bother pulling himself out of his slacks as he rutted against you, his lip between his teeth as he stared down at you hungrily, your flushed cheeks, your watering eyes, your parted lips drooling down your chest and making the white tank covering your chest wet and almost see through.

"God, if you could look at yourself now," He growled, pressing his face against your neck and biting down, similarly hard, on the juncture between your shoulder and your neck, the space where your collar didn’t cover. "If you could see what I turned you into ."

You whimpered helplessly, opening your eyes to tiny slits to peer up at him wearily, groaning into your gag.

"Fucking slut," He smirked, running his tongue along his teeth as he bit you, and bit you, and bit you and bit you and bit you and bit you- " MY fucking slut. There was no way I was going to leave you with Ren while I was gone...let him claim what was mine the second he had the chance to. No way."

Your eyes widened just a touch at that particular reveal, before he reached up with his free hand to grab your face roughly, his big hands squeezing your cheeks and keeping your eyes glued to his. 

"You're mine," He growled, his voice intensely serious. "Mine to hurt, to fuck, to kiss, to kill, to fucking love, however I fucking want to. Never forget that, ja?”

Maybe he had been granting you a mercy by gagging you. 

So you couldn’t admit your love as easily as he could, in spite of how much you wanted to.

You nodded helplessly, all the same, in place of an actual confession. “Good girl,” He murmured, his voice a little lower as his rutting hips slowed, just a tad. “Such a good girl, fraulein. A good girl for me. Just for me”

Lingerie/Panties (Ren/MC)

"Aw, you look so cute!"

Ren cooed excitedly, raising his hands up to his mouth to cover his beaming smile, his tail wagging up frantically behind his small body.

You grimaced tightly as you stood still in front of the young man, crossing your arms over your chest (trying not to push it forward or expose your cleavage too much) and shifting uncomfortably as you shivered in the relative warmth of his bedroom, your body barely covered by the skimpy lingerie he had given you (coerced you into).

"I almost can't bear it," He said as he bit his lip, barely suppressing a giggle as he stood forward to admire you more closely, his golden eyes gleaming. "You fill it out so well! All your curves and slopes," He tilted his head as he looked at you a little more intently. “You really look so perfect.”

"Asshole," You murmured, trying to adjust your position to make your outfit sit a little worse on your body, shifting your hips and dropping your chest so it was less obviously pressed against the... cat-shaped hole in your bralette. God, he was truly unbearable sometimes. "Where have you put my other underwear? I really don't want to walk around like this all night, when it’s so cold..."

"Mm, but you know I hate it when you're all covered up," He replied with a little pout, standing a little closer and idly toying with the intricate bows that kept the bralette pulled tightly around your chest and up your shoulders. "You don't really need to wear clothes anyway, not around me. Ha, how silly of me," He laughed softly again and leaned in even closer, running the tip of his nose against your jaw. "Pets don't wear clothes, you shouldn’t have been wearing them at all~"

"I'm not-" You squeaked, a flush to your cheeks and an uncomfortable burning in your core, trying to take a step backward before the edge of the bed hit the back of your thighs. It made you shiver again. "I'm not your pet..."

"Oh, are you really that cold, sweetie?" Ren said softly, completely ignoring your protest as his hands reached down to your full, scarred hips to idly toy with the matching bows that rested on your hips. "I'll have to keep the house extra warm for you then...although," He giggled again, reaching up with one hand to run a claw over the little, pierced nub of your nipple which was pressing up against the bralette. "I have to admit, it would be pretty cute to see you shivering all the time. See your cute little nipples hard all the time, too..."

Your face flushed in embarrassment as Ren drew closer and touched you so intimately. You knew that you should push him away, you knew you should stop all of this, you knew that...but part of you didn't want to, part of you wanted to let Ren do whatever he pleased with you. 

You didn't know when you had stopped fighting against this. You didn't know when he had broken you down so far.

Would you ever get your old self back? And did you even want it back?

"Do you like the idea of that?" Ren then asked, his voice soft and crooning and gentle as he gently pressed your body down to sit against the bed, so that he was taller than you (for once), his ears twitching and his tail wagging. "Me buying you pretty outfits and keeping you dressed up and warm and taken care of all the time?"

"Mph," You did your best to suppress a soft groan, looking down at the floor to avoid Ren's gaze. You struggled to maintain your composure, your voice trembling as you spoke up again, your anger gradually dissipating more and more when he spoke to you so sweetly, when he promised you such nice things. "Yeah...take care of me. Please."

"There we go," He purred with a triumphant little smile, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, making you flinch and whimper. "There's my good pet, giving up for me."

You swallowed hard, your eyes flitting back down to the ground as your cheeks flushed a little more, humiliated and defeated, like even your body was conceding that he had taken every sense of humanity from you, and had done it so easily, too.

You would be good, you would wear the outfits he wanted, the lacy frills, the fetishistic underwear, the costumes...you were tired of being bad.

You wanted to be good. You wanted him to be good to you.

He gave you another kiss on the cheek before reaching up to stroke your hair reassuringly.

"I'll get you something warmer to wear, hm? And then I can make you something warm for dinner." He said softly, a gentle suggestion that you knew there was no chance of arguing around.

"Mm...yeah, thank you." You nodded, glancing up with a little, submissive smile. "That sounds nice."

Bondage (All/MC)

🥀

"Keep still, I can't have you moving around like this."

Lawrence's voice was a low growl as they wound duct tape tightly around your ankles and down the backs of your feet, each movement too erratic and thoughtless for them to make sure they weren't hurting you or burning into your skin with the thick, tight tape. 

You yelped and squirmed as best you could when they pushed you onto your front, first winding the tape around your knees (thusly pinning your thighs together too) and then forcing your arms into an uncomfortable, prayer-hands position against the sloping concave of your back, before winding the tape around your wrists and palms and pinning them there, rendering you totally helpless as they kept going with their uncomfortable bondage. 

Their breathing was getting a little ragged the more they bound you, and when they pressed up against your body, tearing off a strip of tape and laying it flat against your forearm, you could feel their hard cock through their sweatpants, rocking up against your backside. 

"There...there," They murmured very softly, finally setting the duct tape down and letting their now unoccupied hands gently hold your hips, keeping you still, stopping your squirming. "That's...all I wanted to do. You understand that, right? I just..." They trailed off as their hands trailed down your hips, down your plush thighs pushed together by the bondage, down to your bound feet. "I just needed you to stop moving...drawing attention, just in case someone heard."

You took in a shaking breath against the cushion they had forced your head down into, trembling as you felt their thumbs run down the sensitive soles of your feet, quickly pulling back when they curled, when you let out a helpless whimper at their curious touches.

"Please let me go," You whined softly as their hands went back up to your hips, pressing themselves against you again, their cock still hard as they rocked your body into the bed. "Please, I promise I won't tell a soul about this."

"I know you won't," They replied, though their voice was a little more rasped and thick with pleasure when they found a warm spot against your backside, against the tight crotch of your jeans, to rock up against. "Because I'm not going to let you go. I...I don't even know what I want to do with you, but I know that much. I can't let you go, now." They draped themselves over your back then, pressing their chest against your shoulders, one hand staying on your hips as the other reached up to pull your hair away from your neck, so they could look at you. "I want you much too badly to let that happen."

You can feel your cheeks flush darkly as you squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you felt theirs press against the exposed skin of your neck in a sweet kiss, your bound body shivering and trembling as they continued to rut their hips against your ass, despite the gentleness from their trailing hands and lips.

You were trying to will it away, trying to get away from this situation, but you couldn't. And what was worse, your core was beginning to stir, responding to Lawrence's movements.

"You're beautiful," Lawrence murmured hotly against your skin, digging their shaking fingers into your hips as they tried to push harder against you, making your legs tremble and struggle to hold them up. "I...I had to have you, you know? It was like a compulsion, and I..." They attempt a weak little chuckle, nestling their nose into your hair and taking a deep inhale, smelling you. "I know it sounds crazy. I know I AM crazy, but..."

"Y-You're not crazy, Lawrence..." You stammered softly, your fists curling at the small of your back, beneath the tight duct tape. "I don't think you're crazy. Just, please, let me go and I can help you, I can get you help-"

"Ah," They cut you off as their body stilled against yours, before they let out a little breath and pulled themselves away from you. "Ah...of course you'd lie to me. I should have expected that. But...well, that's okay."

They reached over for the duct tape again, a sight that made you immediately tense up and start to struggle and squirm.

"I'm not looking for you to validate me, or validate who I am," They said softly, taking your shoulder in a strong hand and forcing you onto your back, looking at your face with dull eyes. "I know who I am. I know what I'm capable of," Their grey eyes were so blown with...arousal? Anger? You weren't sure. "But you don't know what I'm capable of, do you?"

They lowered their face close to yours, their blonde hair falling over their shoulders and tickling your burning cheeks.

A mocking smile came to their face.

"You don't know what I could do to you, how I could hurt you, how I could kill you, if I really wanted to. You don't know any of that." They murmured softly, taking another slow inhale of your scent before they sat up again, and ripped the tape away from the roll. "On second thought, I don't need you to talk. I might like you better silent, actually."

You didn't have the opportunity to argue against what they were saying before they grabbed your cheeks in a rough grip and laid the strip of tape over your lips, taking the time to wind the roll around your head a few times, catching your hair in the tight stickiness and making it all the more painful.

"That's better," They muttered softly, their voice growing even more ragged as they tore off the strip and took your cheeks in hand again, staring down at you, their gaze growing even hungrier and more flushed. "Yes, that's much better. That'll do nicely."

They smiled again, before bringing their lips down to your gagged ones, giving you a sweet kiss.

You whimpered beneath your gag, squeezing your eyes shut, the only movement you were even capable of now.

"I'll keep you like this now. Just as I want you."

🦊

Ren's hands were careful and considered as he knotted the pale pink ropes down your chest, his claws delicately catching and grazing against your skin in a way you guessed was deliberate, hungry for bloody, little wounds that marred your skin and made you his.

Having kept you in the hideously girly, pink lingerie set from the previous day, Ren wanted to make things a little more intense by presenting you with a matching, pastel pink bondage set from the top shelf of his closet, intricate, leather cuffs for your wrists and ankles, a blindfold, a ballgag, and a coil of rope to top it all off.

For now, though, your wrists were cuffed behind your back as he tied the intricate shibari tie, a tutorial on his phone screen nearby to make sure he was doing everything right. 

All things considered, Ren's dexterity and focus were pretty remarkable, as he seemed to be doing everything correctly, pulling the exact right knots into the exact right positions and making sure it didn't bite into your skin too much, still prioritising your comfort over anything else for the time being. 

"How does it feel?" He asked with a smile, his voice as mellow as ever as he took the trailing ropes in hand and gave it a little yank, making sure it was secure and the knots were taut and tight. "I've actually never tried this before...you have to tell me how it's feeling, okay?"

"Okay," You murmured softly with a quick nod, as he slowly pulled the ropes between your legs, trembling a little as he pulled them tight against the (slightly damp) gusset of your panties. The pressure against your cunt was enough to make you pull at your cuffs. "Ah, y-yeah, it's fine...it feels fine." 

His hunger was evident when he looked at your body, but you still had the impression that, though he clearly wanted to touch you, to reach out and feel you, feel the heat of your panties against the ropes, he was resisting the urge to for now, knowing that it would be disrespectful to do so while you were in such a delicate headspace.

"Hey. Don't try to escape, okay?" He warned softly, his tone chiding and matter-of-fact, like he was scolding a child and not...well, talking down what was effectively a hostage. "I'm being gentle with you for the time being, so...don't make me regret that."

"I-I'm not," You replied quickly, letting your bound wrists fall still as he shifted behind you and pulled the ropes against your cunt harder, like it was a little punishment for your indiscretion. "I'm not trying to, I won't try to...s-sorry."

"It's alright..." There was an obvious smile on Ren's face as he pulled the ropes around to your front and through the knots down your chest, pulling them taut in the pattern of a tortoiseshell (a design you recognised very quickly from the various comics and cartoons he read and watched and insisted weren't pornographic). "You're behaving now, you're being a good girl for me, and I appreciate that a lot. It's a lot more fun when you're good, isn't it?"

You nodded shyly, bashfully, swallowing a little harder as the ropes of the harness were pulled a notch tighter and fed into the quasi-collar of rope around your neck, which he quickly knotted to keep secure. 

Ren's smile grew from one of anticipation to one that was slightly more malicious and desirous as he moved back in front of you, crawling around you on his knees and staring down hungrily at the tight ropes digging into your skin, making your flesh bulge around each of the harsh lines of pale, pink rope.

"So cute..." He said softly, leaning in close, his tail wagging erratically as his ears twitched. "So pretty..." He stared at all the places where the rope had bitten into your delicate skin, relishing in the swelling and harsh redness around the knots. "You look so perfect for me like this, pet. So, so pretty and trussed up and...hah..."

You took in a shuddering gasp, raising your chin a little as he lowered his face down to the crook of your neck, almost scenting you, the tufting fur of his ears caressing your cheeks as he did so. He pressed his cheek against yours for a moment, sniffing your hair as it trailed down your shoulders, the proximity making it that much harder for him to contain himself, evident from the way he quickly straddled one of your spread thighs and began to rut down against it.

"Can I do the rest?" He mumbled hotly against your cheek, panting a little as he reached up to grope your chest through the bralette while he palmed himself. "Like, the gag and the blindfold? Can I use those...please?"

"R-Ren," You squeaked, biting your lip with a little whimper as he pressed himself against you even harder, his chest against yours, his rapid breaths hot on your skin. "I don't...I don't want you to use those things on me..."

"It'll be okay." He insisted, a little frantically. "I'll be right here looking after you, and I'll be good, I promise, I will." He pressed himself against you again, gasps against your neck, his movements slightly jerky as he rutted faster and harder, each motion almost feverish. Like he was going mad from his own desperation. "Please, please let me...I want to see it finished."

Unsure of what to say (if you could even say anything), you let out a shuddering breath, jerking your chin upwards even further and biting your lip to suppress more whimpers and cries of mercy as he continued to grope your chest and palm his cock.

"Tell me you want it," He whispered with a slightly manic edge to his voice, pressing his nose into your cheek as his tail kept wagging "Say it. Give away the power...before I take it from you. You know I will."

You swallowed hard with another little whimper.

"You've already taken it," You murmured softly, looking down towards your spread thighs, his rutting hips, as he reached for the cheap ballgag, not even bothering to wait for your reply, your consent for him to do as he wanted. "Why even give me the choice?"

"Yeah...I suppose you're right," Ren then said, his voice still surprisingly soft as he stopped rutting his hips for a moment. "I guess I just wanted to hear you say it. Feel like maybe...you wanted me like I want you." 

His softly spoken explanation was certainly counteracted as he pressed the ballgag (cheap and firm plastic, the leather already biting into your skin) against your lips roughly and slowly worked it in between your teeth as you whimpered and whined and tried to pull away from him.

"But it doesn't matter if you don't want me. Not really," He whispered, pressing his cheek against yours once again, inhaling deeply as he watched you helpless and unable to speak. "Not when I have you like this...I can pretend all I want, can't I?"

🔨

"NGH! Fucking cunt!"

You fought furiously underneath Strade's body, kicking legs and fighting fists, as he pressed both palms against your shoulders and pinned you down against the basement's cement floor with all of his weight, gritting his teeth and breathing outwards with exertion as his hair clung to his sweaty face.

You had managed to get a few punches in, probably bruising his cheek badly and bloodying up his nose as it streamed down his chin and dripped on your naked chest, which encouraged you to keep fighting, but he certainly wasn't making it easy, nor was he relenting on you in any way possible.

"Hah...I have to admit, I'm pretty impressed. Not many people put up so much of a fight however many months in!" He growled with a dirty grin, his accent especially thick, placing his palm in the middle of your chest and leaning up to wipe his bloody nose on the back of his hand before licking it clean with a dark look in his eyes down towards you. "But I really am going to need to you settle down before you do something you regret. You don't have a death wish, do you?"

"Fuck you," You spat, letting out a wheezing grunt of pain as your head fell back against the floor, your chest heaving under his weight, your lungs desperately trying to keep up with your fighting spirit. "Fuck you and fuck this fucking place, you fucking prick!"

"Hmph," He let out a huffed laugh through his nose as his brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Alright then, I'll play the way you want to." Strade then leaned back, sitting his full hips down against yours and reaching to his waist, fumbling around with his belt as if looking for something. "I'm gonna need those hands to keep still first though, okay, bud?"

"NGH!" You grimaced tightly as you attempted to punch up to his chest again, but not before he quickly grabbed your wrists in one strong hand, forcing them and your arms out straight in front of you, your shoulders straining from his strength, almost threatening to pop right out of their sockets as he forced your back off the ground with a mean pull. "FUCK, stop, STOP, they're gonna break-!"

"Ah, don't be dramatic," He said with a roll of his eyes, cuffing your wrists together tightly with a pair of metal handcuffs (where did he even get those?) and finally letting your back drop back down to the ground and letting your aching shoulders rest. "I'm not gonna break your shoulders, but those hands..."

Despite the blood still clinging to his skin, he grinned as he placed his palm against yours, admiring your trembling fingers as they curled into tight fists around the tight metal cuffs.

"I'd love to see those fingers bend backward . I wonder how far we can manage before they break ."

You shrieked again, your eyes wide and bloodshot as he held onto the thick chain of the handcuffs with one hand and grabbed the pointer finger of your right hand with the other, tilting it back, little by little, enough to get you desperately bucking and squirming underneath him. 

"Stop, stop, stop!" You pleaded, a spring of tears falling down your cheeks as the bone in your fingers started to strain. "I'm sorry, I won't fight back anymore, I won't, I promise!"

"Ah, nicht so stark jetzt , eh?" He smiled with a dark chuckle, raising a brow and tilting his head in a particularly condescending way. "Not so strong when I'm planning on breaking one of your pretty little fingers."

"Mph," You whimpered as he pulled back just a touch more, the bone in your knuckle popping against your skin painfully. "Strade, p-please, I'm sorry, I won't fight anymore, I won't..."

"You know..." He purred, his eyes softening just a touch though his smile didn't relent, even a little. "I don't think I believe you. I think I'm going to have to force you to submit to me."

With that, he pulled back your finger completely with a sickening snap , your finger breaking in his grip, an excruciatingly sharp pain shooting across your hand and down your arm, making you scream out loud.

"That's one," He said with an indulgent look, staring at your mangled finger as he took the middle finger in hand and yanked that back too. "Shall we say ' two for two '? You popped two punches at me, I get to break two of your fingers...what do you think?"

"I hate you," You mumbled with a pathetic sniffle, your breathing shaking and shuddering with sobs as you peered up towards him as tears clung to your fluttering eyelids. "I hate you so much..."

"Aw," He replied with a slight click of his tongue, tilting his head. "That's not nice to say, fraulein ...especially when I like you so much."

He yanked the second finger back forcibly with another painful snap , shooting just as much, if not more, pain through your arm. 

You screamed again, breathing heavily through your teeth, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried desperately hard to wrench your wrist from his vice-like grip. 

Strade looked down at your trembling, mangled hand, evidently satisfied, when he finally let go of your wrists and let you cradle your bound hands back to your chest with a huffed sob, a cruel smile forming on his bloody face.

"Look at how much you're trembling...you look so pathetic, liebling . And pretty hot, if I'm going to be honest." He chuckled again, wiping up his bloody nose again. "I'm enjoying this an awful lot."

He reached forward and gently brushed the sweaty hair out of your desperately flushed face, smiling broader as he did so.

"You really are adorable like this. I mean, you're in such a position to be played with, all you can do is beg for mercy. It's just so...enticing. Makes me want to do bad things to you."

You were silent as you peered up towards him, the pain still shooting down your trembling fingers and through your body. 

He had beaten any sense of fight out of you, as he so often did. 

It would have been unfair, if you weren't so fucking easy to beat down.

After a few moments of heavy silence, he reached for the chain of the handcuffs again, prying your hands away from your chest, but instead of torturing your fingers any further, he just rubbed his thumb against your palm encouragingly, gently, like he was trying to calm you down.

"I'm surprised...I thought you would be more of a challenge. But it really is quite thrilling to see you so helpless." 

Strade looked down at you and smiled mischievously, dipping his head to press a kiss to your unwounded knuckle.

"I think a night down here would do you good...remind you of your place, hm? What do you think?"

Emetophilia (Lawrence/MC)

"OH, GOD, LAW-!"

You managed a disgusted yelp, a repulsed grimace on your face as you attempted to wriggle away from Lawrence's hunched-up, still retching form, though their hold on your body stayed firm as ever as they spewed their guts out all over your naked body.

The vomit was thick and almost heavy as it weighed down on your skin, both in sensation and scent, since it smelled of beer, microwaved food, and rot, just like Lawrence always smelled. The greasy feel of it clung to your skin like slime or ectoplasm (if you could possibly know what those things felt like) and despite how still you were trying to be, it managed to drip down every sensitive area of your body and cover each of your shuddering curves. 

You cringed, looking down at your shaking stomach now painted in milky-yellow puke, trying to suppress the urge to vomit yourself.

"F-Fuck," They stammered, finally looking up towards you with an absolutely mortified expression on their face, their pale skin even paler (almost green in hue) as they reached up to cover their vomit-slicked lips with trembling fingers, looking like they were about ready to puke again. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me...I-I just couldn't hold it back, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." 

"It's okay, Law," You mumbled with an attempt at a smile, though you were still repulsed as you looked down at yourself, as the vomit slowly made its way down your stomach and towards Lawrence's still hips. "Just...just let me up and we can clean ourselves off, okay? And then we'll take care of you, okay?"

They said nothing for a moment, swallowing hard and wiping their mouth down their chin, their bottom lip pulled down and exposing pale gums, doe-grey eyes wide and panicked, before they...began to move again, pressing themselves deeper inside of you, since they were still as hard as they had been before, for whatever reason.

It felt good, of course, it did, but that didn't get rid of the fact that you were still absolutely covered in their vomit, and the more they moved, the more it moved with you.

"Lawrence," You then said, your voice taking on a note of firmness as you glared up at them, meeting their eyes with your own. "Let me up. Now." Your voice had lost a bit of its usual edge though, and your quivering lip wasn’t going to be intimidating anyone soon.

"Ah," They gasped softly, lowering their body back against yours, their chest pressing into the broad puddle of vomit still clinging to your own. "I...I want to keep going. I'm sorry I threw up, but I...I have to keep going. You understand?"

"Don't keep going!" You nearly shouted, outraged, though they quickly covered your mouth with a broad palm (god, was that the one they wiped their puke up with, fuck-), their other hand reaching round to fist in your hair and keep you pinned still.

"Be good," They growled softly, so quietly and dangerously, lowering their head down to your level, their lips inches from yours, so close you could still smell vomit on their breath. "I'm going to keep going...so enjoy it, or don't. I don't care which." 

You swallowed hard and whimpered against their palm as they continued to thrust up into you, keeping your head still.

"Be good...be good."

Barely seconds after removing their palm from your mouth, they kissed you hard, their sour tongue immediately pressing between your lips like an invasive species, and you were forced to taste the vile, acidic remnants of bile and vomit on their lips, their tongue. 

You squirmed and wriggled underneath them, trying to shove them away, your arms against their strong shoulders and broad chest, but your refusal to acclimate to what they wanted and the way you fought back against them seemed to only excite (and annoy) them more, as they started to thrust in and out of you again, with a new kind of vigor. 

The combined sensation of the crushing kiss and their tongue in your mouth, and the aching stretch of your cunt around their monstrous cock, pushing deep, so deep you felt it nudge against your fucking cervix, made you moan involuntarily against their lips and hungry mouth. You could hear every one of their pleased sounds too, as they fucked into you harder, pressing your chests together and coating themselves in their own vomit even more, like the two of you were bathing in it. 

It’s fucked up. It’s so fucked up, but you couldn’t deny how arousing it was knowing that they'd fuck you, even when you were covered in their vomit and when you smelled like shit. 

You could feel your cunt clench tight around them as the burning shame in the pit of your stomach made you moan even louder against their invasive kiss. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, and, dizzy with sickening pleasure, you allowed yourself to press your vomit slick fingers into their long hair and let them fuck you as they wanted.

It’s sick. 

They were sick. 

But you were so, so much worse for wanting it so bad that it ached.

Collars (Strade/MC)

"I have a present for you."

Strade’s voice was deceptively cheerful, almost airy in how light it was, as he approached you early in the morning, while you were still nursing a cup of coffee and a slice of wholewheat toast (he had good taste in sourdough, if you were going to give him credit for anything).

"Oh?" You glanced up cautiously, taking another long sip of coffee as you toyed with the thick crust of your toast, letting it break and fall apart on your plate. You didn’t trust that any gift from him would go well for you, not even for a minute. But you weren’t stupid enough to say that. "What's the occasion?"

"Come on now, don't play dumb," He chuckled, reaching forward to ruffle your hair and curl his fingers into it, a fist at the base of your skull, giving your head a little shake as he did so (reminding you of the number of times he’d done it before, bashed your head into cement, brick, bone). "Don't tell me you've forgotten already. It's our anniversary!"

"Anniversary?" You mumbled, swallowing thickly and setting your mug down, your face tight with a grimace as he curled his fingers tighter and tighter into your hair (threatening, always threatening, always keeping you alert and ready). "It's...it's been a year? Really?" 

"Yes, yes," He said, smiling as he brought his stubbly chin down to the crown of your hand, his free hand going down to your shoulder and rubbing his palm down your bare arm, feeling your goosebumps. It's almost a hug and it almost makes you vomit. "How time flies, eh? It feels like just yesterday I was picking you up at that seedy bar and we were spending our first night together."

You swallowed again. 

You had to, or you might have been sick.

"But I'm getting off-topic," He mumbled into your hair, his hand stilling as he held your shoulder, his fingers gripping a little tighter, digging into your skin (as he had done so many times before, you had the scars to prove it, to prove how much he liked digging into you ). "I have a gift for you, to celebrate such a happy day. Would you like it?"

"Mm..." You hummed uncomfortably, biting your lip, suddenly not hungry, and thoroughly put off the idea of finishing your breakfast. "Sure...that sounds nice."

"Good," He praised you casually, carelessly, (just as he hurt you so causally and carelessly, treating you like a toy he could throw away if he so chose to) as he let go of your shoulder (and your hair) and stepped to your side, a gift in hand wrapped in brown paper and twine. It was so normal looking, you almost laughed. "Here we are. Just for you."

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip nervously (you had bit it hard enough that it started to sting, it was the least amount of pain you’ve felt in days) as you took the little package, your hands shaking. 

You half expected it to blow up in your hands, or to start oozing blood or moving, like he had cut off a still-living limb from a new playmate that had been doomed to rot in the basement and gifted it to you, but nothing like that happened.

He waited expectantly for you to unwrap the gift, and...well, you had no reason not to.

Not really.

You untied the twine and removed the brown paper from the gift, your fingers brushing up against the cool metal that lay underneath.

It was a collar. 

Brand new and polished to pristine condition, you made note of as you pulled it from the paper, and lightweight enough in your palm that it probably wouldn't have even left the bruises on your neck and shoulders that your current one did.

"Out with the old, and in with the new," He said with an amused laugh, crossing his arms over his chest proudly while you gaped at the new collar, before taking the controller for your current collar from his trouser pocket and giving the button a quick click. 

The painful, bone-achingly sharp shock didn't emit like you had expected it to (like it had so many times before, you hadn’t even done anything wrong, he just did it when he felt like it) , instead, the tight metal clasp popped open at the nape of your neck and you felt it loosen instantly.

You gasped and reached up to grab it quickly, so it wouldn't fall, before rubbing your bruised skin with a relieved groan, feeling the slightly scabby bumps that the sharp prongs from the shock mechanism had left behind at the top of your spine.

"Now, don't tell Ren, I really can’t have him getting jealous," He said with a teasing tone to his voice, pacing back to his spot behind you and removing the old collar, setting it down on the counter (no doubt to be used on another helpless plaything, a pet he decided to claim as your replacement, who even fucking knew). "But your new collar doesn't even have a shock emitter in it, not yet. I figured, well, it's been a year now...I think I can trust you not to do anything stupid, since you've been so well-behaved up until now. Acting like such a little suck-up. It’s pretty cute!"

He didn't ask permission as he took your new collar in hand and brought it up to your neck, slipping it around your throat and clicking it into place, the new metal band a little looser around your neck than the previous one, but still just as immovable.

You barely resisted a whimper as you reached up to touch the polished metal, feeling the notch at your throat that he could use for…well, whatever he wanted (a leash, an o-ring, a tag that had your name, his address, a plea to ‘please take me home, I miss my owner!’)

If anything, this new collar laid his claim on you even more so than the last one.

The last collar, as heavy and as painful as it was, implied at least a certain degree of resistance, symbolising a painful punishment for misbehavior that must have happened frequently enough to necessitate such a brutal contraption.

This one told everyone what you were with just one look, that you were truly a spineless animal who didn't even need to be threatened with punishment anymore, because they thought so little of themselves, they didn't even try to fight back.

It told everyone that you had handed him your submission on a silver plate, and he had proved his ownership of you to be long-standing, brutal, and true.

He might have been bad, so bad, maybe even evil, but God, you were so much worse.

"Ah, it looks perfect. Not like I had any doubt," He toyed with the notch of the collar with a little smirk clear to his voice, triumphant and victorious, and no doubt imagining the things he could do with it. "You always look perfect."

"Mm," You bit your lip, eyes flitting downwards towards your old collar, unable to look back at him, unwilling to, (you might have cried if you even tried to).

"Aren't you going to say thank you?" He then asked, his voice a harsh whisper in your ear after a heavy moment of quiet, a thick finger trailing along the metal and back over the tight clasp that bolted you to him, permanently, if he decided to keep you . "I went through all the trouble of making it for you, after all…I think I deserve something in return."

"Ah...yeah," You cleared your throat and looked over your shoulder, through your thick hair (it had grown out in the year of him keeping you, he hadn’t cut it, he didn’t want to) back at him, an attempt at a weak smile on your face. "Thank you…I love it, I really do."

"You're so welcome," He purred, satisfied with your gratitude (at least for now) as he pressed another kiss to the crown of your head, humming happily against your skin as he wound his arms around your waist, pulling you tight to his body. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands trembling at your sides. 

"Happy anniversary, liebling ...let's hope we get to another year, hm?"

Overstimulation (Ren/MC)

"Ah-ah-ah-!" You gasped brokenly as your hips rutted up desperately against the wide, rumbling head of the hitachi, wielded like a weapon, something to be used against you and to cause you pain, as his other hand roughly groped your chest, his claws digging into your skin.

"Oh, those sounds are way too cuuute~" Ren cooed condescendingly, rolling your nipple (pert and pink and oh-so-sensitive from all his teasing) between his thumb and pointer finger, pressing the vibrator even harder against your cunt as he brought his face closer to yours, sharp teeth smiling as he watched you hungrily, like you were a squirming animal in his trap. "Is that what I do to you, baby? Do I make you sound all porny and desperate, hmmm?~"

"Mmph..." You squeezed your eyes shut, tugging hard at the zip-tie that kept you bound and secured the basement's support beam and biting your lip, hard enough that you might have been concerned about drawing blood (if you could even think). When he tilted the vibrator a little, rubbing the ridged side against your clit, you took in a broken gasp, your eyes shooting wide again, staring up at the swinging lightbulb behind his head like it was the only thing you had left. "Nghhh, stoooop, I can't-!"

Ren giggled a little, running his tongue over his shining, wet jaws before leaning in close, pressing his nose against your neck, taking in your scent. 

"Not yet, not just yet," He whispered as he pressed the vibrator down a little harder, listening to your hitched breaths as he dragged it up and down your weeping slit, stimulating every sensitive area you had. "You can take it, I know you can take it. Don't you want just a little more, anyway? Don't you want to make me proud? I can make you feel so much better..." He nuzzled his face against your neck then, his own breath growing ragged and his tail wagging erratically as he kept pawing at your chest. "I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, after all."

"R-Ren, please, I really can't take it," You whimpered desperately, your voice quivering as much as your body was, trying to plead to him as he stared intently at your sweaty face. "It hurts, please..."

"Oh, you poor thing..." Ren said with a pleased sigh, a condescending click of his tongue. "You should believe in yourself more. You just need the right kind of encouragement, I think..."

He stopped groping your chest for a moment to caress your cheek and push your hair away from your hot face, an intimate and gentle gesture reserved for lovers (that feels mocking when he does it), and then leaned in, planting a firm and deep-tongued kiss to your lips, sharp fangs nipping your lips and making you bleed.

Unable to fight back, you groaned helplessly, your eyelids fluttering and your body tensing up as he kissed you, the hand on your cheek pushing your head back against the support beam, pinning you still so he could take you exactly as he wanted you. 

"I just love the sound of your moans, you know," He whispered against your lips, parted and panting, a thin string of spittle connecting them and threatening to break. "And your reactions, god, they're getting me so hot... and I'm not even halfway done with you."

Not even halfway done. How on earth were you going to survive this?

Ren chuckled quietly, almost innocently, biting his lip to suppress a smile as he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes on yours as he gradually turned the vibrator up a few more notches, the buzzing getting louder and so much more intense.

"God-!"

You gritted your teeth with a desperate whine, your toes curling against the cold cement floor and your legs trembling underneath him, where he was straddling you and gradually rutting his own hips down against you. 

"Please, please stop, I can't, I can't-!"

"Oh no. I don't think I'm ready to stop just yet." Ren replied with another little chuckle, his playful smile broadening further into a sharp grin, his smile lines dimpling. "After all, you are so very pretty when you're all turned on like this. When you're drooling as much as your cunt is." He giggled again, his pale cheeks flushed pink, like he was saying something especially naughty. "So many cute sounds just waiting to be made, like you're my very own personal hentai..." 

A lecherous look came to his golden eyes as he turned up the vibrator another notch.

"Let's see if we can make just a few more, shall we?"

"AHHHN!" You cried out, your back arching and your eyes squeezing shut tight, your lips trembling as he pressed even closer to you, his chest practically pressed against yours, tilting the hitachi again and rubbing the bumped ridge of it against your hard clit, stimulating where you were most sensitive and relishing in just how much it was torturing you. "MPH!"

"Ohhh, oh, baby, that's it. You're doing oh-so-well, doing such a good job for me." He whispered hotly, kissing up your neck, his tongue occasionally darting out to lick over already existing bruises. "Why don't you be a good girl for me and just let yourself feel every single little thing I can give you, hm?" He tilted his head, his ears twitching. "It's easier than resisting it, right? Easier to be honest than to keep lying to yourself that you don't adore this feeling~"

"Pleaseeee," You drawled, a viscous string of spittle trickling from your lips and down your chin, tears beading in your eyes, your forehead sweating from the effort of keeping yourself from breaking apart completely under him. "Please, please, fill me up then, make me cum, I can't take it-!"

Ren laughed out loud upon hearing your request, digging his knee into your spread thigh, painful and heavy. 

"Are you begging now? Really?" He chuckled. "I'm not sure if you're in the position to be doing that, sweetie. But, yeah, maybe I will fill you...or maybe I'll do something else." 

The vibe went up another notch. Your eyes rolled back in your skull and you were beginning to lose the ability to even make words anymore.

"And I can do so much more than this too..." He whispered, pressing his cheek against yours and staring at your face, watching as your expression gave away just how much you were getting lost in the pleasure, eyes going hazy and your mind fuzzing into fog behind it. "I can make you feel so many things... so many things you haven't felt before. I can make this last forever, if I really wanted to." He giggled softly and gave you a light peck on your trembling lips. "That's an idea, isn't it? Keeping you tied up in this basement, rutting against a vibrator, cumming your brains out day after day. Maybe I'll be kind enough to fuck you sometimes too, if you ask for it super nicely. Sometimes."

Another notch. You felt your body jerk and spasm, a puppet with cut strings, a toy moments from breaking.

You wondered how many other toys he had broken. Then wondered how you still even had enough of a brain to think about that.

"I can do a lot of things to you, and I intend to do each and every one. Just as I please."

Breathplay (Lawrence/MC)

Your breath hitched tightly in your chest, tight enough to hurt, tight enough that it made your lungs burn and throb, as the plastic bag was slipped over your head and pulled around your neck.

Taking in what very little air you could and making the plastic constrict even tighter as you did so, you fought desperately hard against the strong grip around your neck, big hands (beautiful hands, hands you admired and fantasised about) unrelenting as they held the plastic tightly, undeterred by your convulsing body, and utterly silent.

Like they were doing this just to listen to your wheezing gasps of breath, just to listen to you as you were about to die.

"HGK-!" You gasped again, your eyes rolling back into your skull (showing the milky whites and bloodshot veins) with each heaving breath, sucking plastic into your gasping mouth, reaching up with bound hands to Lawrence's wrists to try and pry them away, though to no avail. 

They just held on tighter, forcing your squirming, spasming body upright, almost on your tiptoes just to meet their height.

Your limbs felt heavier and heavier with each second, sluggish and slow like you were moving in slow motion. 

Every part of your body hurts.

You knew that one day, Lawrence was probably going to kill you but not this soon, not like this, not without giving you a fighting, fucking chance-

Eventually, probably seconds before you were about to pass out (or die), they relented and let you go, watching curiously as you fell gracelessly to the floor with a heaving gasp of air, like a fish out of water.

"God," You moaned helplessly as you tried to climb up to your knees and get away from your captor, your watering eyes tearing up and your shoulders beginning to shake with barely there sobs. "God, oh God, oh God…"

"Stop complaining," Lawrence murmured through a low (and familiar) monotone, taking a step closer towards you and pressing a socked foot to your thigh, forcing you onto your back so that they could stand over you and admire your helpless body as it shook. "It's not that bad…"

"Law, please," You whimpered through your sobs, watching with wide, terrified eyes as they palmed their hard cock through their sweatpants, the image of it long and hard at the sight of your suffering imprinted onto your mind. They had enjoyed doing this to you, it seemed. "Please, don't, I can't-"

"The human body can handle an awful lot," They continued with a slight tilt of their head, a faint flush to their cheeks as they groped themselves more. "It can survive without air for almost six minutes. Of course, after four minutes, it's at risk of serious brain damage. Ah-" They took in their own short gasp, pale grey eyes growing hazy and lustful the more they touched themselves, prying their heavy cock from their sweatpants and gripping it tight, the flushed head drooling with pre-cum already. "But that's not a problem for me. I don't mind a broken toy to look after."

"Mph," You tried to crawl backward, warm tears trailing down your face as they sank down to one knee, and then the other, caging your body down with their own, appearing so much bigger and more monstrous than they had before. "Lawrence, please..."

"Shhh," They shushed you softly, not out of a need to treat you gently or with any degree of care, but out of a desire to keep you as quiet as possible. "That was barely thirty seconds. Let's try and get you to a whole minute, hm?"

"WAIT-!"

You couldn't even begin to say anything as they pulled the plastic bag over your head again before you even had the chance to take a proper gulp of air and prepare yourself for this torture.

The second time was so much worse than the first, your lungs already on fire from their previous abuse, the plastic constricting even tighter somehow and sticking to your sweaty face as you took in panicked gasps, writhing helplessly underneath them as they kept you pinned to the ground.

It was even worse, though, now that you were able to see Lawrence looking down on you so intensely, their grey eyes narrowed and focused as their hands clenched even tighter at each side of your neck, keeping the plastic bag taut.

"Fifty...forty-nine...forty-eight," They murmured, their voice sounding like it was underwater as their hands shook, just a touch, and their hips dipped down to meet yours, rubbing the head of their cock against the (unfortunately) weeping mound of your cunt. 

Their expression gave away at how surprised they were that you were wet (because of course you were fucking wet, wet enough that it was soaking into your panties), but they didn't stop counting, nor did they stop bucking their hips against yours, providing you both with a modicum of stimulation while they were committing such an awful act.

"Thirty-seven...thirty-six..." 

Slightly crooked teeth bit down on their bottom lip, their words trailing into soft murmurs as their cheeks grew even more flushed.

You were helpless to do anything but slowly suffocate underneath them, any trace of oxygen long gone as the plastic constricted tighter and tighter, your body completely slack and dead beneath theirs, like a wilted flower that had its stem cut.

"Twenty-three...twenty-two..."

You weren't sure when you passed out, but it was probably after you felt the splatter of warm cum soaking through your panties. 

#boyfriend to death #btd strade #btd ren #ren hana #btd lawrence #lawrence oleander #strade x reader #ren x reader #lawrence x reader #strade x ren #fox x reader #fox tpof

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

May 7th

~*~

1. any fics of lwj groveling for wwx? thank u <3

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

~*~

2. Hello, I am currently in a reading slump and I'm in the mood for a fix that will get me out of it. XD

A) Could you recommend some of your favourites?

B) And maybe if you know of any great alpha/alpha wangxian as well. That would be great, thank you! @broodyelii

2A)

Mod Favorites pt.1 (I couldn't decide which to choose so have the whole comp :') ~Mod L )

2B)

In This Reality (it could only be you) by Khashana (E, 5k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, fluff and porn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Oblivious WWX, Lan Disciple WWX, very light somnophilia, blink and you miss it really, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Alpha-Alpha Sex, Rut Sex, Knotting, no dubcon, Alpha LWJ, Alpha WWX)

Rutbrain by catsandmaps (E, 6k, WangXian, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Rutting, Mildly Dubious Consent, because of said rut, Unreliable Narrator, Alpha/Alpha, Intercrural Sex, Spanking, Anal Sex, Convienant bottle of lube, that unconvienantly disappears again sorry lube lovers, Muzzle, Knotting, copious amounts of cum (honorable mention), Misunderstandings, Getting Together)

Yours Shamelessly by kmichee (E, 35k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha/Alpha pairing, Alpha WWX, Alpha LWJ, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Knotting, Scenting, Discrimination, letter writing, Courtship, Swordfighting, smut then fluff then smut then fluff, Epistolary, Alpha/Alpha, Rough Sex)

Habits of Defiance by Feynite (Not Rated, 5k, WIP, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha LWJ, Alpha WWX, Introspection, Homophobia, (of a sort), Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence)

Body Language by Scourge Daughter (scourgedaughter) (E, 33k, Female WangXian, Modern, Office Romance, Hacking, hacker au, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha WWX, Alpha LWJ, They both have dicks, Arranged Marriage, arranged marriage is not between wangxian, there is no wangxian/others, WangXian Endgame, Happy Ending, madame yu’s a+ parenting, Boston, Suicide mention, Canonical Character Death, Sexual Harassment, Drunk! LWJ, ruts, Anal Sex, spitting, Biting, Switch wangxian, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch LWJ/WWX, Genderbend, Meet kinda ugly, Vibes of enemies to lovers but it’s wangxian so)

~*~

3. For the itmf: does anyone have anything with the Jiang siblings realizing that wwx has a better relationship with the Wen siblings than he does with them? thank you!

~*~

4. Itmf fics where wwx is more innocent (like the drama characterization) and the jianghu/cultivation world learn about the frame up while he's absent. Like during the 13yrs dead, or maybe he's in hiding, etc

foliage by antebunny (G, 7k, WangXian, JYL & JL, Canon Divergence, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Canon-Typical Violence, JL and his many many uncles, JGY is morally ambiguous but okay, BAMF WWX, WWX is innocent of literally everything, for plot purposes, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, Hopeful Ending)

gather by antebunny (G, 10k, WangXian, JL & WWX, WWX & JC, LXC & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF WWX, JL and his many many uncles, Found Family, Fluff, JYL Lives, they're soft your honor, Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending)

Loneliness Knows My Name by Jaywalker_Holmes, Treef (T, 208k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, mutual idiots)

~*~

5. Hi, the other day I read a fic in which wwx was Olivia Rodrigo (as in he was a singer and her songs where his songs, idk if I'm explaining myself), and I was wondering if anyone has something like that except wwx is Mitski 😭

Thank you!!!

~*~

6. Are there any good fics, that stay true to canon characteristics, where Jiang Fengmian lives? Specifically ones where the core transfer still happens?

I have this plot in my head that idk when I'll write it cause life right now is chaotic. The story would diverge at the lotus pier attack. JFM would have gotten stabbed trying to save YZY and passed out. Everyone presumes he's dead and YZY dies like canon. He wakes up around the same time WWX & JC comes back but stays still. When everyone leaves the area, he rolls himself into the water and swims to shore. Some how his body isn't noticed to be missing. JC gets captured like canon and WWX collects him with the help of WN. WWX asks WN to collect JC's parents bodies, WN comes back and said he was only able to save YZY body. They presume the JF body was dropped in the lake/burned. JF makes it to JYL and is reunited with JC later. (How would the plot diverge with JF leading lotus pier, being an active general in the war who is senior to everyone else, understanding the benefits of backing WWX, & who may be grateful for WN & WQ help retrieving his wife's body and securing his heirs life).

If anyone wants to write this, please do!! I would love if it stayed true to canon characteristics. @myblurryreality

Yearning for Miles by Murahi (M, 378k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, Mutual Pining, seeing the future) not sure if this is similar to what you want but jfm and madam yu both live and (spoiler) wwx gives his core to madam yu

~*~

7. any fics of wei ying marrying into the lan sect? thankss <3

🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke ( M, 180k, WangXian, Arranged marriage, Canon Divergence, Hurt/comfort, Light angst, Canon typical violence)

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 803k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement)

the river and the sea by sasamelons (T, 7k, WangXian, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Falling In Love, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Mutual Pining)

a light hidden and singing by occultings (microcomets) (E, 48k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Era, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Slow Burn, brief family abuse, mentions of wangxian’s canonical kinks, Misunderstandings, Blood and Injury, Rimming, Outdoor Sex, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, First Time, Miscommunication, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending)

forever is home (with you) by moonsteps (T, 23k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers, the inherent romance of the forehead ribbon)

🔒 In Agreement by kuro (T, 9k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship)

~*~

8. Itmf fics where wwx essentially becomes a god or protector spirit in some way

the past drifts away with the waves by thelastdboy (E, 58k, wangxian, WWX & Wen remnants, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, canon divergence, fall of lotus pier, major characger undeath, YZY being an asshole, implied/referenced child abuse, minor character death, major character injury, amputation, loss of limbs, transformation, merpeople, fierce corpse WWX, kind of, merperson WWX, resentful creature WWX, undead WWX, riverspirit WWX, it gets worse before it gets better, heavy angst w happy ending, no sunshot, hurt/comfort, politics, not cultivation world friendly, slow burn, getting together, revenge, demonic cultivation, WWX pov, dark WWX, monsterfucker LWJ, wen remnants live, sect leader WQ) WWX becomes a river spirit in this one. idk if that counts

🔒 Of Destruction and Rebirth by demoniqt (M, 88k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, major character death, rape/non-con, underage, graphic depictions of violence, Slow Burn, Canonical Character Death, God WWX, God Verse, BAMF WWX, Grieving LWJ, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Gods & Goddesses au, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Rabbits, Fix-It, Attempted Sexual Assault, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Castration, Lots of it, repeatedly, Punishment, Hell)

Meet you at a different place by tawaen (M, 57k, WN & WQ, WN & WQ & MXY, WWX & WN & WQ, WangXian, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Ghost General WN, Ghost WQ, Eventual WangXian, Canon Divergence, WQ comes back to haunt the cultivation world, Bad idea to kill the one person who didn't kill anyone, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Wen Remnants Deserve Better, Sīsī Deserves Better, MXY Deserves Better, POV WQ)

You still sound like a song by Moominmammashandbag (M, 64k, wangxian, WIP, Ghost!WWX, Mystery, LWJ plays inquiry, AU from after the Wens came to Lotus Pier, Most people lived, not everybody died, Angst with a Happy Ending, river spirit!WWX, Angst and Feels, description of murder, imminent smut, Execution, bad dog names, Poisons, Discussion of Attempted Murder, BAMF WWX, Family Feels)

🧡 Vow by draechaeli (E, 216k, Canon Divergence, BeliefGod!WWX, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Pregnancy Kink, Mpreg, minor male lactation, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con because JGS, Mentions Canon Typical Incest, Canon Typical Violence)

Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, MXY & WWX, JL & WWX, WWX & JC, JL & LJY, JL & LSZ, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Mutual Pining, Parental WWX, BAMF WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Ghost Sex)

~*~

9. hi!!! if this has been asked before feel free to point me towards the relevant post, but for your next "in the mood for" post, could you recommend some fics where wwx dies in the battle at nightless city instead of jiang yanli? any canon goes! @tiesanjiaoshenanigans

💖 Shattered Dreams by pupeez4eva (Not Rated, 8k, WangXian, Time Travel, Angst, lots and lots of angst, Character death, but it's WWX so he is coming back, WWX time travels back to the Nightless City And doesn't let JYL take the blow for him, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, And then just lots of fluff and WangXian and Yunmeng sib feels to make up for all the angst) link in #16

~*~

10. ITMF angsty wx gf where Jiangs (all of 'em) are present. But not for bashing ok. I just want a full wx family. Thankyou

~*~

11. Are there any fics where wwx finally snaps the question " what do you want from me?!?! What do you want me to even do?!? " to Jiang Cheng? Not in jiang Cheng bashing way ok? Thankyou

~*~

12. Itmf a fic where canon diverges around where qiongqi path happens in the timeline, but not specifically the ambush changing. Maybe something happens before or after. Ig more like Jin ling's celebration. Does wwx get attacked at the party? Does the party go well to lure him into a false sense of security as part of a long con to get to him later? Things like that. Maybe Jin zixun doesn't get cursed, but wwx is blamed for nmj poisoning instead? Etc.

the cycle of regret by KouriArashi (T, 14k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Fix-It, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Canon) A LWJ-centric timeloop fic set around the Qiongqi Path ambush that explores some different outcomes during the loops

Obedient and Bellicoseby thunderwear (T, 20k, Wangxian, Ella Enchanted AU, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, cursed LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good brother LXC, LQR loves his nephews you cant change my mind, LWJ crying, Protective LXC, Pining, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Brief Depictions of Violence, meaning at least one of the people you really want to get stabbed does in fact get stabbed)

💖 A Crying Shame by thunderwear (G, 16k, wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, burial mounds settlement days, getting together, pining, domestic fluff, love confessions, first kiss, sharing a bed, marriage proposal)

My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun by nonplussed (T, 26k, WangXian, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Crossdressing, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

To Be Named by Suibian_613 (T, 39k, WangXian, XuanLi, WIP, Canon Divergence, Out of Character, WQ is out of character, Everyone is probably ooc, canonical violence, Canonical Character Death, JYL lives, Somewhat Sentient Burial Mounds, WN and JC Rivalry, Sibling Rivalry)

Birthday Party by waffles_4_breakfast (E, 100k, WangXian, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Sharing a Bed, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Canon-Typical Violence, Pining, Slow Burn, Poison, Torture, Requited Unrequited Love, First Time, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Come as Lube, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Spit As Lube, Rimming, Consensual Non-Consent, Safe Sane and Consensual, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

~*~

13. In the mood for all ur fav fics that update rarely, but when they do u get super excited.

see you yesterday by glyphic (M, 138k, WIP, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Ghost Hunters, Time Loop, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn)

Ghost of Mine by SasukiMimochi (E, 139k, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, wangxian, Golden Core Reveal, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Demonic Cultivation, YLLZ WWX, Canon Temporary Character Death, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Romance, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide, Past JYL/JZX, WIP)

Kingfisher Feathers by anonymous (E, 165k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty AU, Emperor LWJ, Concubine WWX, A/B/O, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Angst with a happy ending)

~*~

14. Hello! For itmf,

So I recently read this fic by covalentbonds named Linearly above. It's a fic exploring canon story with married Wangxian but from an older generation then they originally are from. Do you know any similar fics?

Or Any fic with older generation WWX and LWJ?

Thank you!!!

~*~

15. Hi! Itmf dragonji hoarding wwx as his treasure. Thx so much!

💖🔒 Hoards and treasures by  apathyinreverie (T, 21k, WangXian, Siblings, Family, not particularly Jiang friendly, YZY Bashing, slightly darker Gusu Lans, LXC being the   best brother, Some manipulation, But with the best of intentions, and   not between wangxian, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Smitten LWJ, Fluff, perfect   happiness, adorable WWX, Romance, Some worldbuilding, courting)

A Baby Dragon’s Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing by sweetlolixo (M, 102k, wangxian, Fantasy, But still in the Cultivation World, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Younger LWJ, Older WWX, Fluff, Humor, Eventual mpreg, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Boy A-Yuan)

🔒 Turnabout by apathyinreverie (T, 7k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX; LSZ & LWJ, WIP, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Tiger cub A-Yuan, Mischievous WWX, Smitten LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Domestic WangXian, LXC does his best, LQR wishes his nephews had better taste in men, Fluff, Romance, Mpreg mentioned, courting, creature shifts)

a siren's tail by sweetlolixo (M, 3k, WangXian, Dark Fantasy, Dragon LWJ, Siren WWX, Dark LWJ, Dark LSZ, Dragon LSZ, lying by omission, Manipulation, mpreg mention, Royalty, Happy Ending)

These Mortal Treasures by ChilianXianzi (T, 9k, WangXian, Fantasy, Canon Divergence, Dragon LWJ, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Possessive LWJ, Domestic Fluff, implied eggpreg, Dragonji’s hoard is 1 (one) weiying, The Cultivation World’s canonical fuckery, eggyuan!, Gift Giving)

~*~

16. Can the mods and the readers please give me the saddest wangxian fics they've ever read? The sadder, the longer, the better. No bad ending though please.

Ps: please no Jiangs bashing.

💖 where the shore meets the sea by pale_and_tragic (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern, Anxiety, Agoraphobia, Panic Attacks, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, LWJ Needs a Hug, Bunnies, With Ridiculous Names) don't know if they're the saddest there are but here's a couple that made me cry so... ~Mod L

💖 symmetry by bleuett (M, 44k, WangXian, Space, Science Fiction, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Holding Hands, Blow Jobs, Hand Feeding, Cultivation in Space, Yearning, Reunions, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Grief/Mourning, Unconventional Time Travel, Burial Mounds)

💖🔒 I will find you by ThisIsWhereTheMagicHappens (T, 13k, WangXian, Modern, Angst, A LOT of Angst, with a bit comfort at the end, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Happy Ending)

💖 Shattered Dreams by pupeez4eva (Not Rated, 8k, WangXian, Time Travel, Angst, lots and lots of angst, Character death, but it's WWX so he is coming back, WWX time travels back to the Nightless City And doesn't let JYL take the blow for him, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, And then just lots of fluff and WangXian and Yunmeng sib feels to make up for all the angst)

💖 I would wait for a thousand years by bleuett (T, 10k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Memory Loss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunions, Curses, Intimacy, Yearning, Happy Ending, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Immortality, Fluff, Angst)

💖 the best good thing by almostsophie1 (T, 12k, WangXian, Space, Post-Apocalypse, Touch-Starved, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Hurt/Comfort)

💖🔒 you are safe / loved / worthy / enough by everythingispoetry (T, 150k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Social Media, Mental Health Issues, Healing, self-care, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, the mortifying ordeal of self-acceptance, Falling In Love, Depression, Slow Burn)

💖 Take Root, Come Home by piecrust (G, 3k, WangXian)

🧡 like speaking to my heart by SnowshadowAO3 (T, 613k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Daemons, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Some people live!, additional warnings in specific chapters, if you don't know what daemons are that's ok because I explain it in the author's note, also by slow burn I VERY much mean slow burn) i don't usually read extremely sad fics but this one had some sad scenes in it iirc - mod c

🧡 Misunderstood by Silver_Flame_2724 (M, 250k, wangxian, heavy angst, fluff, eventual happy ending, implied/referenced rape/non-con, misunderstandings, self-harm, self-hatred, family fluff, mental breakdown, cannibalism, reincarnation, WIP 31/33)

🧡 Discarded by teawater (E, 178k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dying Lan children, Hurt/Comfort, YLLZ WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, and it's not always dark, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ) i haven't actually caught up yet but the beginning was pretty sad - Mod C

🧡 (Un)Hidden truth by Sarah_R (M, 122k, WIP, WangXian, Suicide attempt, Time Travel, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Self-Harm)

🔒 Salt to the Sea by Starmins (M, 31k, wangxian, JYL & WWX, modern, grief/mourning, roadtrips, canonical character death, love & loss)

134340 by silverclaw (M, 18k, WangXian, Space, Space Opera, Heavy Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Closure, Parallel Universes, Coco the robot, LWJ accidentally adopting creatures as he goes, LWJ also has a nose ring, The following are SPOILER tags, there are two lwjs and one of them dies, wwx mourning lwj, Hopeful Ending, in terms of closure and healing, parallel!lwj and wwx form a bond, mentions of captivity, dystopian themes)

~*~

17. Hi! I am looking for red thread of fate soulmate aus. Especially ones where you trace the thread back to your soulmate. Preferably canon era, but honestly I am fine with any genre au. Thank you so much!

the heartlines on our hands by occultings (microcomets) (E, 47k, wangxian, Soulmates AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, First Time, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death)

lost my fear of falling by thefireplanet (E, 30k, WangXian, HuaLian, Bodyswap, Wei "My Intrusive Thoughts Are Totally Not Winning" Wuxian, Hua "My Husband Said I Had to Help You" Cheng, YLLZ WWX, WWX-centric, WangXian-centric, Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Canon-Typical Wangxian Sex Things, One (1) Obscure War Movie Reference, mawage, Mawage is what brings us togeder tooday)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

[indigovigilance]

Anthony, Anthony, Anthony

What does your Anthony mean, exactly?

I feel like your Anthony and my Anthony are different Anthonies…

In 1941 we learn that Crowley has named himself Anthony J. Crowley (Aziraphale doesn’t pronounce the H but closed captions write it and Neil Gaiman hashtags #Anthony and also it’s Anthony the script book so I guess Michael Sheen is just doing a thing idk). I haven’t seen extensive discussion of this topic but I’m going to jump in with both feet.

I propose that Anthony actually has a double meaning; that is, Crowley chose this name for one reason, but Aziraphale believes he chose it for another.

(I cite as indirect inspo a wonderful Tumblr meta about how the ineffable blockheads have completely different interpretations of Jane Austen and how this informs their S2 decision-making).

Read or bookmark for later on Ao3 because this got away from me and now it's a 2,888 word meta on people named Anthony what am I doing with my life

~~~

First and foremost, let it be stated that there is no canon for when Crowley anti-christened himself Anthony. Neil Gaiman himself won’t know until he writes it.

Secondly, let it be known that I am not an historian nor a literary scholar of any kind. So people who actually know these stories may find themselves cringing at my surface-level summaries and inaccurate interpretations: I’m just piecing together what I could find easily. I invite someone else to revise and republish if they can delve deeper on these topics. 

Part 1: Mark Antony

There is a bust of Marc Antony in Mr. Fell’s bookshop as of S1E1 modern day (2019) which is still there at the end of S2E6, where it features prominently in the center of a shot. In 2019, the bust is adorned with yellow ribbons; in 2023, it is naked. The flashback to 1941 doesn’t give a good view of the part of the shop where the bust would normally be located so I have no idea when the bust actually got added to Aziraphale’s collection. I’m going to assume, for argument’s sake, that Aziraphale acquired this bust after the Blitz. I’m going to further propose that he acquired this bust because he believes that Crowley named himself Anthony after Mark Antony.

Why would Aziraphale think that? Two reasons.

1) Mark Antony was the loser of a civil war for liberty

Mark Antony was a good and loyal Roman citizen, serving Caesar with distinction, even attaining the title of Master of the Horse (Caesar’s second-in-command). See additional metas on horse symbolism seen throughout S2. After the death of Caesar, however, Octavian and members of the senate turned on Antony, starting a civil war. You know, much like a certain someone we know that was involved in Dubious Battle on the Plains of Heaven.

Mark Antony was loyal to Caesar’s political mission, which was to establish a Roman republic, where the voices of the citizens would be heard through their representatives [a suggestion box, if you will]. But Antony’s defeat marked the end of the republic, ushering in an age of autocracy. Octavian, following his victory over Antony, crowned himself the first Emperor of Rome.

2) Mark Antony was a libertine, but also the loyal, ardent lover of Cleopatra

Mark Antony was an infamous, lascivious, debaucherous, womanizing lush. He was also Cleopatra’s lover and closest ally. Though Mark Antony could not often meet with Cleopatra, their affair was allegedly very romantic, and from afar Antony did everything in his power to support Cleopatra politically, expanding her territorial holdings even while they were apart for years. 

So legendary was Antony's wanton hedonism that when he went to Athens, he was deified as the New Dionysus, mystic god of wine, happiness, and immortality. Religious propaganda declared Cleopatra the New Isis or Aphrodite (mythic goddess of love and beauty) to his New Dionysus. The ineffable emperors, if you will. [source: Encyclopedia Britannica]

Parallels arising after 1941:

After Antony had officially divorced Octavian’s sister, Octavian formally broke off the ties of personal friendship with Antony and declared war, not against Antony but against Cleopatra. Much like how Shax, after her S2E1 “you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours” proposal, threatened Crowley that if he did not assist her search for Gabriel, Hell would declare war not on him but on Aziraphale.

The legacy of Mark Antony, therefore, is one of hedonism, romance, fighting for a cause that you believe in, and losing that fight. It’s easy to see how Aziraphale drew the conclusion that Anthony J. Crowley took his inspiration from this historical figure.

Part 2: Antony & Cleopatra

How is this a part 2? Weren’t we just talking about Mark Antony and his relationship with Cleopatra? Hear me out.

Crowley has never expressed much interest in politics. Every time something of political import happens, he declares that the humans made it up themselves while also taking credit for it with Hell. This includes 1793 Paris and the Spanish Inquisition. If I forgot any, drop them in the comments. 

But Crowley has a deep and pervasive interest in stories, especially romance stories. If he can keep the Bentley from turning it into Queen, he listens to the Velvet Underground. He watches Richard Curtis films (to the degree that he identifies them by director rather than by title). Though book canon is not show canon, it’s worth mentioning that his favorite serial is Golden Girls; while not a romance, it is certainly heartfelt storytelling at its finest and a homosexual staple.

We know, too, that Shakspeare stole a line from him, with an adjustment for pronouns:

"Age Does Not Wither, Nor Custom Stale His Infinite Variety”

Let’s first talk about Crowley’s context for the quote.

Picture it: the Globe Theater, 1601, the house is empty because it’s one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones and an irritated young Burbage, in the role of Hamlet, is droning out his lines like he would rather be anywhere else.

Burbage: To be or not to be. That is the question.

Aziraphale: To be! I mean, not to be! Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, grinning with delight. Crowley stares back at him, shaking his head slightly, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lip. He wants to be embarrassed, but cannot help being charmed.

Aziraphale: He’s very good, isn’t he?

Crowley: Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.

Crowley is looking up at the stage, and speaks immediately after Aziraphale has made a comment about Burbage. But is Crowley talking about Burbage? Does it stand to reason that age would not have withered, or custom not staled, this twenty year old (yet somehow jaded) stage actor?

I propose that this is a poetic inversion of the S2E1 cold open, wherein the Starmaker, looking out upon creation, says: “Look at you, you’re gorgeous!” and Aziraphale erroneously thinks the statement was directed at him. Here, even though Crowley isn’t looking at Aziraphale, I believe that Crowley is actually talking about Aziraphale when he delivers that iconic line. Unlike Burbage, Aziraphale is old, very, very old, and we know that he has a penchant for custom, wearing the same clothes and listening to the same music for century upon century. Yet here is this precious angel being a cheerful little peanut gallery of one, continuing to surprise the demon after all this time. Neither age nor custom has staled Aziraphale’s infinite variety.

When Shakespeare commits the line to a play written 1606-1607, a few years after this event, Crowley will recognize his own sentiment about Aziraphale issuing from Antony’s mouth about Cleopatra. The actual historical events will not have left much of an impression, but the immortalization of his own admiration of the angel in human romantic fiction will have.

It must be mentioned that Antony & Cleopatra is a tragedy, where the star-crossed lovers are kept apart by warring factions that demand loyalty to the state at the preclusion of each other.

There are also some (as far as I can tell) nearly copy-paste plot points from Romeo & Juliet about a misunderstood faked suicide followed by actual suicide and the lovers dying in each others’ arms. It does not have a happy ending. Anthony Crowley deliberately choosing his “Christian name” from this play embodies not only his deep love but his hopelessness that he can ever get the happily ever after he desires.

In Summary

Crowley was an admirer, in one respect or another, of Mark Anthony, though he relied more heavily on Shakespeare’s portrayal and reimagining of the character than Aziraphale gives due credit. Nevertheless, the difference…

Wait a minute…

What’s that?

Is that…

A piece of canon evidence that completely undermines my argument??

This screenshot will only be visible to Tumblr users (sorry Ao3), but at some point we get a good look at the Mona Lisa sketch that Crowley has hanging in his apartment. It is signed (translated from Italian) “To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V.”

The problem with this is, the Mona Lisa was painted 100 years before Shakespeare penned Antony & Cleopatra.

However, Neil Gaiman reblogged this transcription and translation, posing the hypothetical, “I wonder if Crowley knows what the A in A.Z. Fell stands for.”

Could it be that the Notorious NRG is jerking us around and sending us on wild goose chases? Absolutely a possibility. But. Let’s give a little grace for a moment, and assume that this comment was made in good faith. A bold assumption, I know. But humor me.

We know that Crowley and Aziraphale both knew Jane Austen, but from completely different perspectives. It stands to reason that Crowley knew da Vinci the scientist, but that Antonio Fell knew Leo da V., an artist with a heart that yearned for an unavailable lover. I’m just making wild conjecture that Lisa Gherardini (aka Mona Lisa), the wife of Florentine cloth merchant Francesco del Giocondo, was a love interest of da Vinci, but it could be true in the GO universe and would make for a great story.

Aziraphale also collects signed items from famous people; the inscribed books of Professor Hoffman to a wonderful student, and the S.W. Erdnase book, signed with his real name, come to mind. The Mona Lisa draft fits in much better with that collection of souvenirs than with anything in Crowley’s apartment. So it stands to reason that it could actually be addressed to Aziraphale.

There remains the question of how or why Crowley has it, but I won’t subject that to speculation here. All to say. Neil Gaiman’s implication-by-redirect is… possible. So let’s assume that it is the case, just for a moment.

If the Mona Lisa sketch is signed to “Antonio” Fell, then this allows the above theory regarding Crowley’s self-naming to remain intact. But it brings up a few questions regarding Aziraphale, not the least of which is: why did he name himself Antonio/Anthony?

Part 3: Saint Anthony of Padua

Anthony was the chosen name of a Portuguese monk, taken upon joining the Fransican order. Anthony rose to prominence in the 13th century as a celebrated orator, delivering impassioned and eloquent sermons. He is also associated with some fish symbolism, since he preached at the shore and fish gathered to listen. He was, incidentally, a lover of books:

Anthony had a book of psalms that contained notes and comments to help when teaching students and, in a time when a printing press was not yet invented, he greatly valued it.

When a novice decided to leave the hermitage, he stole Anthony's valuable book. When Anthony discovered it was missing, he prayed it would be found or returned to him. The thief did return the book and in an extra step returned to the Order as well.

The book is said to be preserved in the Franciscan friary in Bologna today. [source: https://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=24]

This miraculous incident, wherein the thief not only returns a valuable book but also has a change of heart and returns to the bosom of organized religion, smacks of angelic intervention. But that is neither here nor there. 

Saint Anthony is the Patron Saint of the Lost, and is prayed to by those seeking to recover lost things. What is “lost” in this context is usually an item, rather than a person or an intangible concept, however he is also “credited with many miracles involving lost people, lost things and even lost spiritual goods,” such as faith. [Edit: @tsilvy helpfully contributes that "Here in Italy Sant'Antonio is commonly not just the saint patron of lost things, but, maybe primarily, the saint patron of lost *causes*."] He died at the age of 35, and in artwork is typically depicted with a book and the Infant Child Jesus.

It’s a defensible position that the thing that gives Aziraphale the most consternation across the millennia is Crowley’s loss of his angelic status, and it could even be framed such that Aziraphale does not consider Crowley actually fallen, but rather simply lost. It is a fact that he finds difficult to reconcile and, depending on your reading of the Final Fifteen, the offer to restore Crowley’s angelic status is one that is so pivotal to resolving his internal conflict that he cannot refuse. If this conflict is so central for Aziraphale, perhaps he did name himself after a booklover and the patron saint of lost things, hoping that the name would carry with it some of the power of the blessing, and return Crowley to the light, and in turn, to him.

But wait.

Because I googled “St Anthony” to look for some images and….

St. Anthony of the Desert

I shit you not there are multiple St. Antonies and we’re going to talk about another one of them with respect to Aziraphale because this guy is bonkers. The story traces to the Vitae Patrum, yet another fringe biblical text and I cannot even get a quick answer on whether it is canon or apocrypha because it’s so fringe. Anyways. I think the best way to explain St. Anthony of the Desert comes from the wikipedia page on the Desert Fathers: 

Sometime around AD 270, Anthony heard a Sunday sermon stating that perfection could be achieved by selling all of one's possessions, giving the proceeds to the poor, and following Jesus. He followed the advice and made the further step of moving deep into the desert to seek complete solitude.

[He] became known as both the father and founder of desert monasticism. By the time Anthony had died in AD 356, thousands of monks and nuns had been drawn to living in the desert following Anthony's example, leading his biographer, Athanasius of Alexandria, to write that "the desert had become a city." The Desert Fathers had a major influence on the development of Christianity.

Let’s all agree that this guy is not Aziraphale; this whole becoming an ascetic and living alone in the middle of a desert thing? Not his cuppertea. But St. Anthony is interesting not just for his decision to go into the desert, but what happened when he got there.

The Torment of St Anthony is a 15th century painting commonly attributed to Michaelangelo. It depicts demons crawling all over and attacking a hermit.

But the first round of demons are scraping the bottom of the barrel, practically the damned. Anthony’s journey continues and he meets another demon. Actually he meets two; a centaur, who is not very helpful, and then a satyr who is. It is much easier to find paintings of St. Anthony and the Centaur than of St. Anthony and the Satyr, so you don’t get an image, but I find the satyr to be a much more interesting character, so you get that story instead:

Anthony found next the satyr, "a manikin with hooked snout, horned forehead, and extremities like goats's feet." This creature was peaceful and offered him fruits, and when Anthony asked who he was, the satyr replied, "I'm a mortal being and one of those inhabitants of the desert whom the Gentiles, deluded by various forms of error, worship under the names of Fauns, Satyrs, and Incubi. I am sent to represent my tribe. We pray you in our behalf to entreat the favor of your Lord and ours, who, we have learnt, came once to save the world, and 'whose sound has gone forth into all the earth.'" Upon hearing this, Anthony was overjoyed and rejoiced over the glory of Christ. He condemned the city of Alexandria for worshiping monsters instead of God while beasts like the satyr spoke about Christ.

St. Anthony, then, is entreated by a demon to ask forgiveness from God upon the demons, and St. Anthony, seemingly, agrees to do it. He’s overjoyed to ask God to forgive demons. In connection to my analysis of the origins of the Metatron, and how Aziraphale and Crowley’s potential beef with him is that, as a human put in the exact same situation, he did the opposite, refusing to take the demon’s petition for mercy to God but instead taking it upon himself to confirm their unforgivability (yes that’s a word now) and damnation.

That seems like it would be pretty important to Aziraphale.

In Summary

I give up. I have no idea what’s going on with this show anymore. Here are two options each for both of our ineffable husbands to have given themselves the same God-blessed/damned name. You guys tell me what you think, I just have a pile of evidence and no spoons to evaluate it. 

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley

[relicsongmel]

The dubious nature of Iris' name (and what it means)

Sister Iris Fey Hawthorne of Hazakura Temple finds herself in a rather peculiar situation for the Ace Attorney franchise in the fact that she is one of very few characters without a canonical last name. Of course, this hasn't stopped fans from assigning her one—for the purposes of tagging and categorization (or simply to distinguish her from Iris Wilson from The Great Ace Attorney series, because "Iris Ace Attorney" is no longer specific enough), every Ace Attorney fan seems to have a different answer as to what they call her, whether it be Iris Hawthorne, Iris Fey, Iris of Hazakura Temple, or simply Sister Iris. This confusion is understandable given the lack of a clear answer in canon as to what her legal last name is as well as her unusual upbringing; what with being raised in Kurain Village as a Fey, taken away by her father as a Hawthorne, and then sent to Hazakura Temple to become a nun. However, before we delve further into Iris herself, there's something a bit unusual (that I don't often see acknowledged within the fandom) that I'd like to bring up—that being, that this name drama not only affects Iris, but her twin sister Dahlia as well.

Simply put, Dahlia Hawthorne being named Dahlia Hawthorne doesn't make much sense when you think about it. Dahlia was born to Morgan Fey, the then-leader of the matriarchal line of spirit mediums of the Kurain Channeling Tradition. As such, it's safe to assume that she and her twin sister were also given this name upon their birth—so why, then, does she have her father's (or possibly her stepmother's—it's unclear) last name when we meet her in-game? Children generally do not have their last names changed when their parent remarries, so what's the deal? This strange situation makes slightly more sense when you remember that much of Trials and Tribulations builds up to the reveal that Dahlia and Iris are Morgan Fey's daughters; as such, Dahlia appearing in Chapter 1 and introducing herself as "Dahlia Fey" would be a MASSIVE spoiler for the events to come.

As for an in-universe explanation, we obviously aren't given one, but we are given a bit of insight from Dahlia (while disguised as Iris) regarding their father's perspective on leaving Kurain Village:

"He hated the place. He said it was a hick dive, and that he had no reason to stay there."

I think it's not an unreasonable stretch to say that their father wanted nothing more to do with the Fey clan after its reputation had been destroyed post-DL-6, and likely went to great efforts to separate himself (and his daughters) from anything that reminded him of it. With this in mind, who's to say he didn't have the twins' name changed? Now, obviously whether this affected Iris herself is still up for debate—it's possible she had already been sent away to Hazakura before this had all happened. But given that Dahlia implies Iris had only been sent away after their father's second marriage, I find it more likely that her name was changed beforehand. That said, it's still just a headcanon based on my personal preferences—I like the idea of Iris having the last name "Hawthorne" because I think the association with the Hawthorne effect (in which one modifies their behavior in response to being watched) fits her really well, but I don't disagree with those who choose to use other names for her because there are good arguments to be made there as well.

However. However. The intrigue behind Iris' name doesn't even end there. We hear from Sister Bikini very early in Bridge to the Turnabout that it's Hazakura Temple tradition for nuns to choose a "temple" name—meaning that even Iris' given name might not be her real one. I hesitate a bit on this idea considering her name already pairs up nicely with Dahlia’s due to the shared flower theming (and Iris having a lack of respect for acolyte tradition in that regard would give her an interesting resemblance to her mother which I REALLY like), but if it is true it creates another fascinating bit of symbolism—Iris’ first name is a lie. A facade. Which fits in with her lying about her identity to Phoenix for 8 months and her general tendency to put up a front of whoever the person she's talking to wants her to be—whether that be Dahlia's obedient co-conspirator, Bikini's sweet and good-natured daughter figure, or Godot's accomplice and the scapegoat he can use to protect Maya. And neither of the common last names given to her by fandom accurately reflect/show the full picture of who she is either. Fey is what she was born as—but that name comes with a whole host of burdens and generational trauma that she likely does her best to distance herself from considering her tendency to run away from conflict like she did with the fake kidnapping and the aftermath of Doug Swallow's murder (she’s a lot like her aunt in that regard). Hawthorne ties her to the sister she so dearly loves—but also weighs her down due to her sister’s crimes, her role in said crimes, and the family she was sent away from against her will (even if it ended up being better for her) before it tragically fell apart. Neither one truly fits—the Iris name debacle is a perfect representation of the identity crisis of her character and that is nothing short of beautiful to me.

#ace attorney #aa #pwaa #ace attorney trials and tribulations #aa3 spoilers #iris hawthorne #iris fey #iris of hazakura temple #dahlia hawthorne #morgan fey #sister bikini #phoenix wright #godot #meta #my meta #finally posting some of my iris meta here woohoo!!!! #if anyone has additional thoughts feel free to add #iris lovers PLEASE interact she is everything to me #local woman going feral over sister iris ace attorney for the 261478th time. more at 11

[komihoyinsblog]

Honestly, I'm a little annoyed that we don't know about who Kakashi's mother is. Like, hey, he's one of the four human main characters. We know the parents of Sasuke, Sakura, and Naruto, we know Kakashi's father, but we don't know his mother. No name, no clan, no appearance. And that's a huge omission.

I have to say, I love Sakumo/Orochimaru and Sakumo/Kaguya. Each of these ships gives me a huge scope for ideas and au. I love it. But at the same time, it makes me want to think of something more real and possible.

I have a theory that Kakashi's mother was a Senju. What do we even know about the fate of the Senju clan? Only that they all died during the two shinobi wars. Honestly, that seems a bit dubious to me. I think there were a few people who married people not from the Senju clan. Like, for example, Kakashi's mother in my theory.

The fact that the Senju clan is best known for their chakra control is what led me to this theory. Kakashi is known for that as well. Yeah, that doesn't mean that anyone with good control is a Senju, but I'm just saying it's very interesting.

Both Kakashi and Tsunade are the last members of their clans. It's very sad and wouldn't it be nice if they were related and were distant relatives? They both wouldn't be so lonely then.

I generally like the idea that Sakumo, Jiraiya, Orochimaru and Tsunade knew each other and even participated in some missions together. We're told in canon that Sakumo's power level can be compared to theirs, then why not?

Hence my au. Tsunade left the village sometime towards the end of the second shinobi war, didn't she? So, she, upon learning that Sakumo committed suicide, decides to gather Kakashi with her from the village. Because Kakashi remains her last living relative and she's not ready to lose him as well.

She arrives just as the villagers begin to poison and abuse him. His, Kakashi's, child, because of his father's "misbehavior". Tsunade sees that Kakashi is slowly starting to break down from the inside and darkness begins to appear in his heart. So she takes him away from that hell. She tells the hokage it's for training. She threatens if she has to. But she doesn't let Kakashi go and she doesn't give up. They leave the village and Kakashi travels the world with Tsunade and even learns things from her? Imagine Kakashi with a byakugo and a kimono, omg. That's beautiful.

This au becomes twice as interesting if it's also so (adored by me) time traveling. Imagine it's Kakashi(what age? Hmm, good question) traveling through time and he gets to the moment when he finds his father's body. Kakashi experiences the same nightmare again. He thinks back to what the future holds for him and how it could have been fixed. The obvious place to start is with Minato's team, but how? What is there to do?

Kakashi tries to make plans and at one point he receives an offer from Tsunade. Kakashi is shocked, he doesn't remember this last time. What was different then?

Kakashi at first thinks of refusing because he needs to save the world, he needs to save his near and dear ones, he has so much to do, but then.... Kakashi wonders if things wouldn't be easier if Kakashi just disappeared from Team Minato's life? It would change the story. There would be no Rin's crush on him, no Obito's jealousy and they would get a third teammate, much better than Kakashi. There won't be fights and problems. Kakashi isn't running away from his problems and troubles, he'll still find ways to deal with Zetsu, Madara and Danzo, but just away from Minato's team.

Kakashi thinks about it all night and comes to the decision that he accepts Tsunade's offer. After all, what in the life of Team Minato would his absence change? Maybe Rin and Obito will get together and there won't be a cannabi bridge mission, there won't be all that disaster in that form. Minato will be with them. It'll all be good, right?

That au can add a third layer to this one. A few months after Kakashi leaves the village, a certain little Uchiha Obito starts having strange dreams. In them, there's a team featuring an ash-haired boy and his childhood friend Rin. There is rivalry. There is blood and death and madness. There are red clouds and the moon. There is Kakashi, who Obito doesn't see in the village until the time of Team Minato. And then there is the time of Team Minato's formation and Obito wonders who is this third comrade of theirs and where is Kakashi?

I like the concept of Kakashi and Obito going 1+1 share when traveling through time. Because Obito wanted to see the future through their shared eye, so why wouldn't he see that very future while in the past? Their connection is beautiful. Will Obito get all his memories and his identity back? That's a good question.

P. S. If anyone decides to further explore this theory, this au, or write a fic, flag to you. I'm all for you!

#naruto headcanons #naruto au #naruto #kid kakashi #hatake kakashi #kakashi hatake #tsunade #Kakashi is senju #tsunade senju #hatake clan #oh help me #My brain cant stop #time travel #kid obito #uchiha obito #obito uchiha #team minato

[ladamedusoif]

Starry Night (Joel Miller x Stargazer f!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 1

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x Stargazer F!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word count: ~1500

Warnings: Strong language (Ellie is involved); canon doesn’t go here; alcohol references; fluff; almost certainly some stargazing errors please forgive me

Summary: There are a lot of wonderful things about making it to the safety of Jackson, but the darkness of the night sky makes it a perfect home for a stargazer like you - and you’re only too happy to share your knowledge with a space-mad teenager. Oh, and her grumpy dad.

Every time you set up your telescope, you remembered the look Maria had given you the day you returned from a scavenging mission with it strapped to your back, still in its packaging.

“Seriously?”

You shrugged as you got off your horse. “Seriously. Got plenty of other stuff too, so let me have this, please?”

She looked dubious, but threw up her arms in resignation. “If we need it for lookout - it’s ours, okay?”

You nodded, hugging the telescope close to your chest, and raced home to set it up. 

Space was your dad’s thing, and he’d made it yours, too. Nights in the backyard with his very basic kit trained on the skies, stargazing maps in front of you, climbing on his lap to look through the viewfinder.

He taught you the major constellations, how to find planets visible in the night sky, explained how stars helped people navigate, long ago. 

Little did you know then how that information would come in handy years later, finding your way to the safety of the Jackson settlement with nothing else to guide you. 

Stargazing in the suburbs wasn’t ideal. Too much light pollution. In Jackson, though? Wide, open dark skies, far as the eye could see. 

Every time you watched the night sky, you looked out for your dad.

Cold, crisp, clear winter nights were your favourite time for stargazing. Bundled up in your warmest coat, hat, and blankets, you sat on your porch, telescope in front of you and an old Atlas of the Night Sky on your lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you became conscious of two people walking along the sidewalk past your home. Recent arrivals, you guessed, seeing as they weren’t familiar; a young girl, an older man. Father and daughter, probably.

“Whoa, dude. She’s got a fuckin’ real telescope!”

The girl had stopped to stare at you, eyes wide in astonishment. You offered a shy smile and a little wave, and were about to speak when the man interjected, beckoning the girl on with a frustrated tilt of his head.

“Mind your manners, Ellie. Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to disturb you. You have a good night.” He nods and you return the gesture, touched by his somewhat old-fashioned manners, and they walk on as you go back to seeking out Castor and Pollux.

Over the next couple of weeks, you learned that the man was Tommy’s older brother, Joel. His exact relationship to Ellie, the teenage girl, was not clear: she wasn’t his biological daughter, you suspected but Tommy tended to refer to her as “Joel’s kid”.

They tended to keep to themselves, for the most part. But she would peek in your direction if she spotted you at social events in the community, as if she was weighing up whether she should go and talk to you. No amount of friendly waves and smiles from you could ever convince her, it seemed.

You took matters into your own hands at the holiday tree lighting ceremony. You picked them out easily: Joel, big and broad in a sheepskin-lined winter coat, greying hair curling over the collar; Ellie, ponytail bobbing from side to side as she looked at the illuminated tree in absolute awe and wonder. 

“Joel and Ellie, right?” 

They turned to appraise you, still wary of new people. You held out the mugs of eggnog you’d grabbed for them on your way across the room. 

“Thought you might like some eggnog, and I wanted to introduce myself. I’m the telescope lady.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “So cool,” she murmured, as if to herself.

Joel nodded and accepted the eggnog gratefully, the mug suddenly appearing doll-sized in his large hands. “Ellie’s got a thing for space, don’t you? Loves hearing about the space programs, the astronauts, all that.”

The teenager looked down at her shoes and blushed a little as she nodded. Apocalypse or not, teenage girls will always be embarrassed by their dads. 

Ellie took a sip of her eggnog. “How’d you get a fuckin’ telescope, anyway?” 

Joel scolded her, but you chuckled. “I found it in an old hobby store on a scavenging mission one time. I wasn’t gonna leave that behind, now was I?” She grinned at your conspiratorial wink, and Joel seemed to relax a little.

“Come over whenever you want, and I’ll give you a guided tour of the sky. We’ve got perfect conditions here for it.”

She beamed and turned to Joel, who shook his head softly. “We don’t want to be disturbing you, ma’am.” You corrected him with your name, and he repeated it, low and slow, in that warm, dark voice of his.

“I mean it, Joel. You are both very welcome to do some stargazing with me, whenever you’d like.”

“No fuckin’ WAY!”

Ellie tears into the kitchen on the morning of December 21, excitedly brandishing a piece of paper under Joel’s nose as he sips - or tries to sip - his morning coffee.

“Whatever it is, El, it’s far too early for this kind of excitement.”

“Look at it, dude!”

He rolls his eyes, puts down his mug, and looks at the piece of paper. It’s a handwritten invitation, decorated with drawings of celestial bodies and, at the bottom, a bright red telescope. He can’t help but chuckle as he reads the words aloud.

“Ellie (and Joel) are invited to a special winter solstice stargazing party tonight, December 21, at 6pm. Wrap up warm and be ready to see stars.” Underneath, you’ve carefully written your name and address in neat print.

By now, Ellie is positively bouncing with excitement. “The fuckin’ telescope! I’m gonna look through a fuckin’ telescope! At fuckin' SPACE!”

Joel’s heart swells as he takes in her sheer joy at the prospect of looking up into the heavens, knowing how hard everything has been for her, how much he has wanted to make her smile again. 

“Alright, but there’ll be no telescope if you don’t eat and get dressed for school. Go on, now.”

The telescope is already set up on your porch when they arrive later that evening, Joel carrying a flask of hot coffee and Ellie a tin with a few cookies - the best they could rustle up at short notice. 

“I’m so glad you came!” You beam at them as you open your front door, beckoning them inside. “I’ve got some snacks ready, and some hot punch.”

A smile creeps over Joel’s face as he realises you’re somehow playing a compilation of holiday music. Brenda Lee is singing about rocking around the Christmas tree, Ellie is nodding her head in time to the song as she makes a beeline for the bowls of snacks you’d set out, and he is struck by just how long it’s been since he’s experienced anything akin to “holiday cheer”.

“What the fuck does ‘rockin’ around a Christmas tree’ mean, anyways?”

Joel tuts and rolls his eyes. “Ellie. Language.”

You giggle as you hand Ellie a cup of non-alcoholic hot punch. “It’s fine, Joel. I think she means people are dancing around a Christmas tree, Ellie.”

Ellie looks sceptical. “Fuckin’ weird. Hey, when can we look at the stars?”

Joel lets you take the lead, as Jackson’s resident stargazer. He sits on one of your kitchen chairs, sipping from a mug of punch, watching you show Ellie how to navigate the night sky. 

The punch is warming in more ways than one. As Ellie bounded out to the porch earlier, you’d subtly held up a bottle of liquor at him and raised your eyebrows in a silent question, before adding a little to your and his mugs of punch once he’d nodded his assent. 

“See that really bright, orangey one there? That’s Betelgeuse. It’s a red supergiant.”

Ellie’s mouth hangs open as she squints through the telescope’s eyepiece. “Red supergiant,” she repeats. 

“See if you can find Orion’s Belt for yourself. It’s not too far away.”

You turn to Joel, checked blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and raise your mug towards him with a warm smile. “Happy holidays, Joel.”

He reciprocates the gesture, dark, warm eyes crinkling as a gentle, genuine smile spreads across his face. It might be the first time you’ve ever really seen him smile.

He looks to the heavens, taking in the perfect, pitch-dark blue-black carpet of a night sky embroidered with millions of twinkling stars. For an instant, he finds comfort in remembering that we all - everyone who is, who has ever been, and who will ever be - gaze up at the same firmament. 

General fic taglist: @agentjackdaniels, @julesonrecord , @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush , @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss , @imaswellkid , @intheorangebedroom , @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse, @veryprairieberry (let me know if you'd rather not be tagged!)

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller jackson #the last of us fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us #ellie williams #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 4 - Gestation

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

He’s browsing at the trading post when he sees Charlie again. He’s checked off 14 more days in his little calendar, and each time he picks up the pen, it stirs a bittersweet feeling of anticipation and sheer terror in his gut.

He’s picking over the trades, looking for new sneakers for Ellie, when his eyes fall on something else.

Footed pajamas, impossibly tiny, the little plastic price tag still clipped to the sleeve. His hand drifts over the yellow fabric, faded but minky soft. Warm. Good for winter.

Sarah had pajamas like this once…a sleep suit with a hood and little round ears peeking up from the top. He hasn’t thought about that outfit in…well, decades. The memory of her toddling toward him with those silly little ears poking up from her downy head is so vivid that he can almost hear her trill of laughter and he has to lean on the table to catch his breath, the yellow onesie still clutched in his hand.

“Joel? Are you okay?”

Charlie’s voice comes from over his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie, and he turns around.

“Yeah…yeah just, uh…yeah, m’fine. What’re you doin’ here?”

He hides the pajamas behind him, balling them up in one large fist.

She holds up a white package. “Heard they had TP. Figured I’d better get down here and snag a roll before it was all gone. You?”

“Lookin’ for stuff for Ellie.”

“Find anything good?”

“She won’t think so.”

Charlie smirks. “Teenagers, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, shoving the onesie deep into his bag and making for the counter. He drops off a sack of old clothes into the donation bin, all the stuff Ellie has outgrown, and watches as Charlie does the same with her trades.

They find themselves outside, the warmth of late spring making everything smell fresh and green. Charlie’s button-down shirt floats over her jeans in such a way as to hide her midsection, but her proportions have changed. Her face is fuller, her breasts are swollen, and her skin looks so soft and smooth and—

He coughs and looks away, feeling a brief wash of shame for noticing her. Again.

“So you’re, uh…still…”

“Yeah…I’m still,” she says.

“That’s good,” he says, and means it. “Feelin’ okay?”

She shrugs. “A little tired…but yeah. I feel better. So far, so good, I guess.”

He nods thoughtfully and bites his lip, thinking of the calendar next to his bed. He can almost hear the days falling away.

“Look, I…uh…I shoulda said somethin’ before now. I…know I haven’t been the most…uh…I’m not trying to get out of…anything.”

She blinks up at him, brow furrowed, waiting for him to make sense. He winces, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I wanna help,” he tries again. “However I can. I know it’s not easy goin’ it alone,” he says, looking down at the bag with Ellie’s clothes and the onesie tucked at the bottom. Then he’s thinking of Sarah, of long nights spent pacing and rocking and soothing.

“You’ve done enough.”

“Oh,” he chokes out. “Uh, I, uh…s’pose I deserve that.”

Her eyes widen, cheeks turning a faint pink. Now it’s her turn to fumble her words.

“Oh…I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…you’ve been good. You’ve helped. I–shit. I’m sorry.”

There’s a painfully awkward silence as this sinks in and he bites back a smirk.

“We’re pretty fuckin’ bad at this, huh?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “We are.”

This admission seems to ease something between them. Before he can lose his nerve, he continues.

“Could I come to your next appointment? Is that somethin’ people still do?”

She nods slowly, considering this. “I have one next week. It’s not very exciting, but…you could come with me.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m not sure you will,” she says. “The midwife is…intense.”

“I’ve heard,” he says. “I think I can handle it.”

~*~

He can’t handle it.

The midwife, Joanie, is cold and abrupt and downright abrasive. He can’t imagine this person welcoming anyone, let alone his future child, into the world. He wants to put his arm around Charlie, turn her around, and tell her they’ll find someone else.

But he can’t. Jackson has one midwife. And the town doctor is a 76-year-old man who “doesn’t do babies”.

The woman is dressed in a long, flowing caftan, gray hair pulled neatly into a braid down her back. She looks like a hippie but her eyes are sharp, and her tongue is sharper.

“You brought the boyfriend this time,” she says as Charlie settles on the makeshift exam bed, a chaise lounge with a sheet draped over it. Joel can’t help but notice that Charlie doesn’t bother correcting her.

“You can sit,” Joanie says to him, gesturing to the chair next to the chaise. When he doesn’t move, she throws her hands up. “Or keep hovering. Whatever.”

Joel crosses his arms and barely restrains a snarl. Charlie shoots him a look as she slides her unbuttoned jeans down to her hips.

I told you.

The woman performs a cursory physical exam in silence. It’s obvious they’ve done this routine several times, and neither seems to feel the need to explain it to Joel.

The midwife is frowning, digging into Charlie’s belly with pointed, demanding fingers, feeling around until Charlie winces. Joel clenches a fist at his side, resisting the urge to snap at the woman for being so careless and rough.

“Growth is on track. You’re measuring at sixteen weeks.”

She pulls out a speaker attached to a wand–he vaguely recognizes it from appointments with Sarah’s mother at the beginning–and a tube of gel. She covers Charlie’s lower abdomen with goop and presses the wand in, levering it this way and that, seeking the sound of a second heart. There’s a long moment where he thinks they won’t find it–that this will be the day it all goes to hell.

But then there’s a familiar but distant echo, a rapid pulse of sound, the memory coming back to him across thirty-five years and an apocalypse. It’s the sound that once filled a small room in a sterile hospital. He remembers it as a black-and-white flutter on the ultrasound screen, fast and vigorous and alive .

Mine , he thinks dimly. He sinks into the chair because his legs no longer want to hold him.

The midwife, satisfied she’s found what she’s looking for, holds the wand steady and looks at her watch. It’s the shortest fifteen seconds of Joel’s life and he doesn’t want it to end.

“One-twenty-six. You can sit up.”

Charlie does. Joel notices she doesn’t bother trying to button her jeans. He vaguely remembers Sarah’s mother needing soft, stretchy things, and wonders if Charlie has anything like that.

“Any cramping?” Joanie asks, flipping through a file.

“No.”

“Still bleeding?”

Charlie hesitates for a fraction of a second. “A little. Not every day.”

Joel’s eyes snap to her at that, but she’s not looking at him.

The midwife frowns. “Given your advanced maternal age and your history, I don’t like to hear that.”

Her sharp eyes focus on Joel. “You’re, what, sixty?”

“Fifty-seven.”

“Mmm. Sperm quality after fifty is a crapshoot,” she sighs. “You’re looking at an increased risk of genetic defects.”

Joel grips the arm of the chaise hard enough to rip it from the frame. He’s going to kill this woman.

“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” she continues. “Maternal-fetal medicine in this country was a shitshow before cordyceps, and the pandemic might as well have sent us back to the dark ages. I’ve seen one death for every five live births. Maternal survival rates are better, but only slightly.”

She’s looking at Charlie. “I can’t tell you you’re going to be okay. I can’t tell you your baby is going to be okay. I can only tell you what I think will help your chances and then…we wait and see.”

Charlie nods, her face drawn into a flat, emotionless mask as she takes this in.

“No more patrols. Light duty work only. No lifting. I can give you a doctor’s note for the council to reassign you if your regular job is too strenuous. No sex,” she says, looking pointedly at Joel. “And if the bleeding gets worse–if it’s bad enough that you need a pad–you go on bed rest immediately.”

Her eyes shift back to Joel. “Stress is a baby-killer. Your job is to take care of her and make sure there is no stress. None. If you can’t do that, you need to find someone who can.”

He grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he hears a molar crack.

“We’re done. I’ll see you next week,” she says dismissively.

And then Charlie’s off the chaise and ushering him to the door before he can open his mouth to give the woman hell and they’re stepping out into the rain. They make it to the end of the street before he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says, hating the way his voice shakes, recognizing the animal clawing within his chest as barely contained rage.

“I did–I warned you,” she frowns. “She’s rough.”

“No–I mean, the bleeding. You said you were fine.”

“I was. I am,” she says flatly. “You heard the heartbeat.”

“S’not what I meant and you know it,” he hisses.

Her lip curls in a snarl. “You fucked me once . You think that gives you the right to—to everything?”

He blinks. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

When he can’t answer, she turns and walks away. The sight of her retreating back hunched against the rain only serves to stoke the fire of his anger further. Her shirt is getting soaked.

Where the fuck is her jacket? She’s going to get sick.

He catches up and grabs her by the arm, turning her around and holding her in place.

“You heard her. How am I supposed to take care of you if you won’t fuckin’ let me?”

Only then does he see the tears in her eyes, rain mingling with salt on her cheeks. Guilt stabs at him and he loosens his grip.

“I don’t know,” she hisses. “I can’t just…be that person with you. I don’t fucking know you! I don’t even know your middle name, but we’re having a fucking baby. Or maybe we’re not, because our odds are shit, and I should have taken care of this when I had the chan–”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he pulls her to him, wrapping her in his arms until he’s holding her in the middle of the street. “Stop. Please.”

She shudders but doesn’t push him away. The sky rumbles, threatening a downpour.

He ducks his head, speaking softly. “It’s Arthur.”

She snorts into his shoulder. “What?”

“My middle name. S’Arthur. After my grandfather.”

She makes a noise that sounds like a sob…or a laugh. He can’t tell. The sound stirs a frantic need within him and he grips her by the shoulders.

“Move in with me.”

“What? No.”

“Just until the kid gets here. Let me take care of you both.”

She looks up at him, eyes ringed with dark circles. A raindrop splashes on the tip of her nose and drips into the divot above her upper lip. 

“Do you even want this? I need to hear you say it.”

Any lingering anger melts away. He thinks of the soft yellow onesie still tucked into the bottom of his pack.

“I do,” he says, hoping the two little words are enough to hold her, to convince her.

She ducks her head with a watery sigh, close enough for her hair to brush at his chest. “Let me think about it.”

He nods. “Alright, but…not too long, okay? You’re, uh…”

He trails off as the back of his hand touches her stomach, just grazing the fabric over her bellybutton, before dropping back to his side.

She sniffs. “Yeah. I’m well aware we’re on a schedule.”

“Okay…okay then,” he nods, resuming their walk toward town. They’ve almost reached the trading post when she speaks again.

“It’s Sarah, by the way.”

The name takes his breath as it always does, pulls at that black hole in his heart that even Ellie can’t completely fill.

“I don’t under–”

“My middle name,” she sniffs. “You didn’t ask, but…it’s Sarah.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, just ducks his chin in a nod. Sarah. Of course it’s Sarah.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

~*~

That night, she appears on his porch. The rain has let up, but her hair is still damp, matted to her temples. 

“I’ll stay with you,” she says without preamble. “Under one condition.”

He blinks. “Anything.”

“We don’t talk about the kid. No names, no what-ifs…no…playing house. I can’t do any of that,” she says. “We take it one day at a time and…see what happens.”

“If that’s what you want,” he says, swallowing hard.

She nods, satisfied. “Alright. I can bring some stuff by tomorrow.”

“Good. That’d be good. But I uh, need to tell Ellie,” he pauses, thinking. “Can I make dinner for you? For the three of us, I mean?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Not playin’ house or whatever,” he clarifies, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Just…figured the news might go down better with food.”

She nods slowly. “I could do that.”

“You like spaghetti? S’Ellie’s favorite and it’s hard for me to fuck it up.”

“I like spaghetti,” she says, smiling a little. “I get off work at six.”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Six. See you then.”

~*~

That night, instead of staring at the ceiling during his usual sleepless hours, he moves most of his clothes into the spare bedroom closet and cleans his stuff out of the attached bathroom.

As he works, he thinks of Charlie’s unbuttoned jeans straining around her womb and the climbing summer temperatures. Soon there would be no hiding her stomach under a jacket or sweater.

Jackson was friendly, but it was still a small town. People got bored and they talked, and anyone who paid attention would have seen Charlie and Joel together. There were already enough rumors about Tommy Miller’s broody older brother and his mysterious adopted daughter, the one who wore long sleeves even on the hottest days and carried a switchblade.

Ellie.

Another pang of guilt gnaws in his gut. He’d done enough damage to their relationship as it was, and now he’s about to drop a fucking bomb.

He finds himself knocking on the garage door the next morning, hands rubbing restlessly at the thighs of his jeans as he waits for her to answer. He realizes it’s been a few days since he’s talked with her beyond a simple “hello” in passing, or to pass the salt at dinner, or to ask where she’d put the TV remote. He chides himself; Ellie is independent by nature, but she’s still a kid, still his responsibility. She’s never going to trust him again if–

She answers the door, rubbing her eyes and blinking owlishly up at him. She looks so young when she first wakes up, hair tousled, sleep lines on her cheeks.

“Hey, I uh…we’re, uh…having dinner at the house tonight. Makin’ your favorite. Spaghetti.”

She raises an eyebrow. Joel doesn’t usually cook if he can help it; the caf is easier and less prone to burning things. “What’s the occasion?”

He swallows hard. “There’s somethin’ I need to talk to you about. And…Charlie will be there.”

“Ooooo-kay,” she yawns. “Love a good third wheel situation, I guess.”

“S’not like that,” he shakes his head. “She’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she smirks, then sighs dramatically. “I guess I can make room in my packed social calendar for dinner. As long as it’s spaghetti. Maria’s sauce, right? ‘Cause yours is…yikes.”

She sticks her tongue out to drive the point home.

He snorts softly. “Yeah. Maria’s sauce. And garlic bread.”

“Cool.”

He nods, and the moment draws itself out, that awful, awkward, twisting silence filled with all the things he can’t say.

“So…was there something else?” she asks. “I gotta get ready for school.”

“No…nope,” he mutters. “I guess not. I’ll see you tonight, kiddo.”

~*~

He doesn’t quite burn the garlic bread, but it’s pretty fucking dark. He’s scraping the crumbs into the sink when Charlie appears at the door with a salad in hand and a backpack slung over her shoulder. She’s wearing an oversized blue button-down over soft black leggings. For comfort’s sake, he hopes the jeans have been retired for a while.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the bag, frowning at its weight. “You’re not s’posed to be lifting stuff.”

“I can handle a bag of clothes.”

He grunts, gestures to the salad. “You can put that on the table. Ellie’ll be over in a few.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“You can sit,” he says, perhaps too gruffly, placing her pack by the stairs. On the stove, the reheated marinara starts to bubble, spitting red flecks. He rushes to take it off the heat.

Ellie arrives just as Joel is setting the last bowl on the table. She nods in a wary greeting to Charlie, then helps herself to spaghetti and salad and bread.

“So what’s up?” she asks around a mouthful of food, forgoing any small talk—his kid, through and through.

Joel swallows hard, looks at Charlie, who simply shrugs as if to say this is your show .

He opens his mouth but the words are stubborn and nothing seems right.

You’re going to be a big sister.

Your old man is going to be a dad again.

I fucked up and we’re having a baby.

He’d never had to worry about this with Sarah. On the rare occasion a date went further than dinner, he’d been cautious to a fault. He’d been considering a vasectomy before the pandemic but time and savings were sparse. He probably could have had the procedure done back in the QZ, but Tess had been his only partner, and she’d had a hysterectomy in her thirties. An operation that would put him out of commission for any length of time seemed like an unnecessary waste of ration cards.

He realizes he’s lost in thought, and they’re both watching him, still waiting.

“So, uh…Charlie’s gonna move in with me for a bit,” he says. “I’m givin’ her my room, and I’ll take your old one…if that’s okay.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “You two aren’t… together ?”

“No,” Joel mutters, meeting Charlie’s eyes across the table. “S’temporary. She just needs a place for a bit.”

“Weird, but…fine with me,” Ellie shrugs, then turns to Charlie. “Joel’s good at taking in strays, it’s kinda his thing. Case in point.”

Charlie smiles a little at this, takes a sip of her water.

“She’s, uh, gonna have a baby,” Joel continues, focused on his plate, pushing the food around.

“Oh shit, congrats!” Ellie grins at Charlie, then looks back at Joel. He can’t meet her eyes.

There’s a heavy silence. Joel grips his fork until the design in the handle makes an imprint in his palm. He waits for Ellie to do what she does so well, to pick up the hints, put the pieces together, and say the things he can’t.

“Wait,” Ellie says, looking back and forth between them, mouth dropping open in a scandalized O .

“You didn’t—”

She coughs then, choking on a mouthful of food, and fumbles frantically for her water glass.

“Joel,” she says when she can speak again. “Tell me you didn’t.”

All he can offer is a tiny shrug.

“Holy shit ,” she breathes, fork clattering to her plate. “You slut !”

Not for the first time, Joel wishes she had a proper full name–Elspeth, Eleanor, Elizabeth, Eliza–anything that, combined with a solid middle name, made for a convincing and forceful reprimand.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller” was always effective when his first kid was being a little shit, even if he rarely had to use it.

As it is, he can only growl Ellie’s short-and-sweet name under his breath and watch it roll right off her back. She doesn’t miss a beat.

“Wow, I can’t…I mean, you just said you weren’t even together –”

“We’re not,” he grates out. “It was a…a one-time thing.”

His face is so hot, he can practically feel the vein throbbing at his temple. He wonders if his second kid will give him a fucking aneurysm before his third kid can even be born.

“Thanks for that, now I need to bleach my fucking brain,” she says. “Gross. So, so gross. Dude, you’re like, sixty .”

“I’m fifty-seven,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, so really fucking old . Do you not know how babies are made ? FEDRA school was shit but even they taught us how to put on a fucking condom—”

“Ellie, we didn’t—“

“Don’t, dude. Just stop. You’re really fucked up, you know that? Like, I know I have issues, but this is fuckin’—”

She’s interrupted by a muffled snort from the other side of the table. Charlie has clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes are brimming with tears. She’s going to fucking cry because his kid is an asshole and he is an even bigger asshole and this has gone all fifteen kinds of wrong.

Joel would like to die, right now, face down in a plate of spaghetti with his face the color of marinara—anything to end this godawful conversation.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie gasps, and it dawns on him that she’s not crying at all–she’s struggling not to laugh. “I’m so sorry. It’s just, I haven’t–this is just–holy shit .”

She breaks out into a peal of giggles, leaving both Joel and Ellie in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, heaving and hiccuping as she tries to catch her breath. “Everything has been so awful and serious and…this is just so…so…fucking funny –”

Ellie blinks, looking back and forth between Joel and Charlie in wide-eyed amazement.

Something in Joel’s chest unfurls from its tight, anxious knot, and when he meets Charlie’s eyes, he can’t help but return her grin.

“You two are fucked ,” Ellie pronounces, but there’s a slow smile spreading across her face.

“We are,” Joel agrees. “We’re fucked.”

“Totally fucked,” Charlie agrees, then giggles again.

Ellie shakes her head in disbelief, digging back into her spaghetti. “Welcome to the fucking family, I guess.”

~*~

Joel shows up for work the next day feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He’d finally slept . Ellie, while completely disgusted, hadn’t disowned him; she’d even hugged him before returning to the garage. And Charlie had made herself at home, joining him on the couch to watch a movie after dinner.

Maybe this could fucking work.

His newfound peace lasts about as long as it takes for Tommy to find him and clap him on the shoulder.

“What’s this I hear about you takin’ in strays?”

Joel scowls, picking up an extension cord and trying to untangle it from a pile of the things. “Don’t believe everythin’ you hear.”

“So Charlie isn’t shackin’ up with you, then?”

“S’not like that. It’s temporary.”

“Uh-huh.”

He shoots his brother a look over his shoulder, weighing his options. The rumor mill isn’t churning as fast as he thought or Tommy would be all over it by now. He rolls his eyes, knowing what comes next will be just about as bearable as a tooth extraction, aware he can’t put it off any longer.

“She’s gonna have a kid.”

“Right,” Tommy snorts. “Your kid?”

Joel turns and holds his brother’s gaze.

“Holy shit,” Tommy breathes. “You’re serious?”

“You’re gonna be an uncle again,” Joel says dryly.

Tommy whistles. “Well, don’t that just beat all. How the hell–”

“The usual way,” Joel grumbles, turning back to his work. “Can we not do this here?”

But Tommy has never been easily deterred. He practically launches himself at his brother for a bone-crushing hug while half the work crew looks on, bemused.

“Christ, get offa me.”

Tommy doesn’t. When he finally pulls away, grinning and gripping Joel’s shoulders, he’s almost teary-eyed.

“Maria’s gonna be thrilled.”

“I doubt it,” Joel mutters, thinking he’s already not held in high esteem by his sister-in-law. Knocking up a girl twenty years his junior is hardly going to redeem him.

“Does Ellie know?”

“Yeah, we told her last night. She’s…about as excited as you’d expect.”

“Damn. I can’t—I mean, I always thought—after—“

Tommy sobers, and the word lingers heavy between them.

After .

“I know,” Joel says, realizing with a dull ache that his brother is the only other person alive who understands the gravity of the situation…the only one who knew Sarah as more than a sad story in their history.

Joel closes his eyes and sees his brother at twenty, Sarah’s tiny arms wrapped around his neck as she clings to his back, laughing wildly as he dives through the sprinklers on the front lawn.

He blinks the memory away, busies himself with the extension cord again. He doesn’t even remember what he wanted it for, but he needs to do something with his hands.

“But it’s good, right? This is good,” Tommy says, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Joel swallows hard. “It’s good.”

Tommy grins, then frowns just as quickly. “Oh, man. The midwife–”

“Yeah, she’s awful.”

“Maria damn near killed her when Izzy was born.”

“‘Bout ready to myself,” Joel mutters.

“And…you and Charlie ain’t…?”

Joel glares at him in answer. 

“Alright, brother. Damn, man. A kid…and at your age…”

Tommy laughs and ducks just in time to avoid the extension cord as it whips by his head.

#fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #babyfic #pregnancy #tlou fanfic #tlou fic

[chthonicarcher]

Hello!! I've been a fan of your art and writing for a while now, and I wanted you to know your works a big inspiration and comfort to me!! Anywho, thoughts on Davebot and Commander Vantas :]

first of all, wow, thank you so much!! that’s so kind <3

mkay so...

the thing is,

sigh. so. okay.

okay listen—

OKAY THE FIRST THING I GOTTA SAY, and I mean this ought to go *without* saying but I’m still just going to say it: this is all JUST MY OPINION!! it’s subjective, I’m not saying other people are wrong just bc we may happen to disagree about this!

TO BE HONEST WITH YOU, though, I only really engage with “beyond canon” or “dubious canon” or “post-canon” content in the way I’m doing right here, which is to say, drawing silly requests to dress up CKat as Hatsune Miku or whatever. or sometimes drawing something featuring meat or candy DaveKat specifically for my dear friend bug, who loves the epilogues and HS2, and still has a lot of hope for a happy DaveKat ending in *both* timelines. (love you bug, love your optimism, and I hope for your sake that HS2 doesn’t disappoint!)

because **MY** opinion of all that is that it sucks and shouldn’t exist, lol. sorry!! I hate its very existence! I ignore it and I mostly avoid it because it upsets me deeply, and I only engage (very shallowly) with the elements I can fully get behind, which usually means “cool outfits” or “cool designs.” Davebot looks real cool, man! that’s about all I can say about him without wanting to vomit!! his very existence makes me sad as fuck and I hate it, idk what else to tell you. I hate that even though that story goes out of its way to point out how non-canon it is, just by nature of being an officially sanctioned product it kinda IS canon, and the fans sure treat it that way, and I’m not even saying they’re wrong. if Hussie wanted the epilogues to actually be treated like fanfic maybe they shouldn’t’ve attached their name, man, idk.

anyway, I know drawing CKat and Davebot as just silly little guys without actually fully engaging with/reading post-canon sorta makes me part of “the problem,” like those “fans” of Homestuck who don’t understand it at all bc they HAVEN’T READ IT yet insist on making art about it that misunderstands the characters? but tbh I just don’t like or respect post-canon stuff in the same way I like and respect the original work. to me it is fanfic, and not even like a good one that I would bookmark or download a PDF of, lol. sorry if this disappoints you! I still think the designs are cool ✌️

#my art #homestuck #dave strider #davebot #karkat vantas #commander karkat #davekat #post-canon #asks

[spitdrunken]

im fascinated to know more of your thoughts on the winter king! Your first post and ideas were fantastic. If its okay I’d like to know about any kinks, suggestive, or overall possibly dark concepts you may have on his views/relationship with the reader! Like a continuation of some sorts of your first post! (Could be male reader or gn)

I will just write down some general thoughts here :')!! I'm glad to know you would like to know more of my ideas. I'll just start of with some NSFW headcanons I definitely have for him. These are just the main ones tho, I also have some somewhat extended petplay thoughts for him that I didn't put here.

notes: public / exhibitionism, CNC mention.

After being under the crown's influence for so long, Winter highly values the feeling of being in control. Especially in an intimate act such as sex, he'd want to at least feel like he's the one leading, at least the first couple of times. If he really, truly trusts you, he would be more willing to let you dom him. Based on some of the things Ice King says in canon, I do personally think he has a submissive side- An inclination for it, even, which is a remnant of Simon. His own experiences have shaped him to suppress any of such desires, though!

Winter does not shut up during sex. He's very, very talkative, constantly praising or teasing you, and describing how he's feeling! It's going to take a lot of pleasure to try and get him to shut up! Even when he's going cross-eyed with bliss, he's still babbling his needy little worlds. It melts his brain quicker if you're human, though. Your natural body heat would enhance the experience incredibly for him.

He's an exhibitionist in every sense of the word. Winter would get a lot of satisfaction of getting himself off in front of you, making a show out of it, but not allowing you to touch! He wants to see you squirm and shake with need for him so, so badly. In general, he'd try to have sex in, like, every corner of his palace. He assures you that his subjects, if they happened to walk by, wouldn't even be able to comprehend what they were seeing, much less talk about it! And if you'd let him, he'd absolutely just fuck you silly while having an audience in his throne room.

Oh, he just loves all kinds of roleplay! And if you indulge him, he will truly go all the way, with preparing costumes and lines of dialogue. It all sounds straight out of a cheesy porn, sure, but he's having the time of his life. He'd favour scenarios with darker undertones, and would be very interested in CNC if you wanted to try it out alongside him. Though he tries to ascribe any and all desires of the Ice King to the past, away from himself, he really wants to act out a kind of scenario where he's kidnapped you, his prince(ss)...! It gets him all kinds of giddy. Or anything else where he has an excuse to make you call him 'my grace / liege / King'.

As for any darker thoughts! Feel free to disregard these from the above if you aren't into it, btw. warning: emotional manipulation, dubious consent / noncon, depending on interpretation

He will try to guilt trip you into sex, if he wants to fuck you. Winter hasn't had sex in nearly a century, (....he doesn't count the times he's had encounters with Candy, the few times that has happened. He would label those moments as mistakes.) and a part of him is selfish enough that he just feels like he deserves it. He's put so much time and effort into trying to sweep you off your feet, got you food and a place to stay, plus everything else that you could desire! His hints will turn more and more thinly veiled, his touches lingering more and more. Dear, hasn't he done so much for you? Won't you be willing to indulge him, just this once? He's certain you'll enjoy yourself with him, he'll make sure of it! It's horrible, really, but Winter is simply not a very good person.

If you continue to deny him for long, he might create a mindless, stupid ice clone version of you, that's basically just a cocksleeve for him. A version of you that cannot deny him, and is always happy to be stuffed full of his cum. In all honesty, it lacks in comparison to what he believes the true experience to be like... It only makes him needier for you, in turn.

#winter king x reader #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake x reader #winter king #cha.winter #cw.dubcon #cw.public #cw.noncon #cw.cnc

[nofomogirl]

What we know and don't know after Good Omens S2

Honestly, it's mostly what we don't know.

This was originally meant to be an intro to Before the Beginning (part 1.5.) - a post in my series of posts discussing what we learn from the opening scene of S2 - but I've decided to make it its own thing after all.

I just enjoy reminding myself and others what we know for sure and what is just a theory or a headcanon. So here I go.

#1 The Fall

I've already written about the Fall shortly after S2 aired: Implications of Metatron's offer

My points still stand, except now that I think about it I might have put too much stock in Metatron's words. I think they prove less than I was willing to believe back then, as it's not difficult to imagine they might have all been a bluff.

In short: we don't know what the Fall is and how it actually works.

All that we know is that it happened once, and in the process, part of the angels were transformed and became demons.

The rest is just a long list of questions.

#2 Crowley's Fall

We're not much wiser when it comes to the circumstances of one specific Anthony J. Crowley's Fall.

Let's look at the very few facts we have:

In S1 Crowley claims that "he didn't really fall, he just sauntered vaguely downwards", "he only ever asked questions [and] it was all it took to be a demon", and "he didn't mean to fall, he just hung around the wrong people".

Neil Gaiman suggested more than once that Crowley isn't the most reliable narrator when it comes to his own Fall, and while he's not as bad as Heaven believes, he's also not as good as he thinks.

In Job's minisode, when Aziraphale is on the brink of questioning God's sense of justice ("Yes. But..."), Crowley tells him that was how it started for him too.

We learned from Furfur that Crowley actively took part in the dubious battle on the plains of Heaven just before the Fall.

In the finale, Metatron isn't the slightest bit surprised Crowley didn't take his offer and comments he "always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions too."

What does it all tell us? Nothing specific, except that perhaps we were a bit too quick to take Crowley's word that he hasn't done anything that would warrant any kind of punishment.

Questioning God's way of doing things was just how it STARTED for him. Asking damn fool questions was something he did TOO.

In short - we have no idea what really happened.

#3 Memory erasure

It's one of those popular headcanons that have been around at least since S1 and got canonically confirmed in S2.

We now know it's something that exists.

And that's where our knowledge ends.

Everything we really saw in the show was Gabriel getting sentenced to having his memories of being Gabriel removed. Then he very quickly moved his whole self to the fly to save it and we don't actually get to see what the result would be if Heaven did it. Would he be the same returned-to-factory-settings goofball or would he be given some memories to fill the blank spaces?

Is it actually possible to plant false memories in someone's head or can you only delete them?

Are memories really erased or just made inaccessible? Gabriel could still force himself to access some of his old memories. Was it because that's how it works and everybody could do it theoretically or was it because the memory-erasing procedure wasn't performed properly in his case?

We know it can be done remotely, but what is the range?

How precise and selective can it be? Gabriel was meant to forget everything. Perhaps that's the only way and you cannot pick and choose what one remembers or not.

We do not know.

#4 Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship

In S2 we have learned that they knew each other before the Fall. But all we saw was one meeting that appeared to be the first one to boot, judging by the fact that Aziraphale introduced himself.

We don't really know if they met again after that, how well they got to know each other, and how close they became.

It's not impossible, that when Aziraphale insists he knew the angel Crowley was, he's not even right about that...

#5 Aziraphale's and Crowley's memories

Last but not least, whatever Aziraphale and Crowley knew initially and whatever events they were part of or witnessed, we have no way of knowing what memories they've kept AND if they're even aware one or both of them might be missing something.

There may be important things that only one of them remembers but since I doubt they've ever compared notes, he operates under the wrong assumption that the other is aware of it too.

Anything is possible, really.

I've seen many convincing theories regarding all of the above and plenty of delightful headcanons. I'm just listing it to keep in mind all the questions remain open.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands