#I let the intrusive thoughts win in so many ways with this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slytherizz · 3 months

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Playing God - Auror!Sebastian x Dark!MC

Tags/Warnings: 18+ | Non-Con | explicit sexual content | Dark!MC | Polyjuice Sex

All tags can be found on Ao3

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Decorated Auror, Sebastian Sallow had not anticipated how his life would diverge so sharply from the woman he once loved, the most wanted and notorious witch in Britain. Or how their paths would continue to cross - their fates still bound together.

A/N This fic has been living in my WIPs for about 6 months...I wanted to reverse the dynamic of my longer fic with Sebastian being the Auror this time and in doing such explore some darker themes. Short multi-chapter that will probably end up being three chapters at most.

She was pretty enough he supposed in a homely sort of way.

Petite, with neat shoulder-length hair that brushed against narrow shoulders and, a soft bow to her overly thin top lip. But her dress was old-fashioned, a severe high-neck buttoned almost to her chin, ruffled layers of her underskirts impractical and lumpy. Layers upon layers, of an unflattering shade of yellow washed out her otherwise pleasant features.

Compared to the other witches that would frequent such a seedy establishment with their low necklines and light skirts, she would be considered dowdy.

If it wasn't for her eyes. Keen and alert as if beneath the sheep-like exterior lurked something dangerous. He most likely would have overlooked her too.

To even the keenest observer it wouldn't look like Sebastian had any particular tastes when it came to women or men. Much to his displeasure, the qualities that drew him in were rarely mere aesthetic.

Barked laughter like an ill-tempered hound. The smell of mallowsweet. Aromatic and earthy. Teeth pressed lightly into a bottom lip like they held all the cards in a game no one else knew they were playing. Until they spread the winning hand. Smile so wide it unnerved, bore too many teeth.

Tonight, it was keen and dangerous eyes that reminded him of her.

They shared no other similarities and from what Sebastian could discern from her well-manicured nails, and unblemished skin, bar a pale line around her finger where he supposed an engagement ring would usually sit - this was no fighter.

This was a proper young lady - who had wandered onto the wrong side of town looking for a sensible amount of trouble as her wedding day, most likely to some equally wellbred suitor, loomed over her like a dark cloud.

As if Sebastian were screaming his thoughts at her across the crowded tavern, those sharp eyes flicked their attention to him. Raked over the thinning patches of his civilian cloak, the shadow across his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes he'd given up glamouring. After years they were as much a staple of his face as the freckles on his nose.

The marks of a man who hadn't enough time to shave let alone visit a tailor, a man who would scarcely have enough time to ask her too many intrusive questions.

She smiled. Jarring was the only way Sebastian could describe how her face seemed to split horizontally across its centre. Neither half quite belonged to the other. The demure and polite curl of her lips was offset by the razor-edged scrutiny of her darkened gaze. Predatory. Hungry. In a way that made his mouth go dry and cool sweat beads on the back of his neck.

Ice clinked against the side of his glass as Sebastian knocked back the remaining dregs of whiskey. Disguising the way his lip twitched at the corners under the weight of her eyes. Amber liquid burned his throat was nothing compared to the heat prickling across his skin.

Sebastian held up two fingers to indicate to the Barmaid over the raucous patrons of the pub. She placed a second glass on the bar filling them both with a more than generous pour.

"Cheers," Sebastian said, placing the coins into her hand, a little extra for her trouble as he always did. The barmaid smiled brightly, flushed and preening, over a few extra sickles as if he'd declared some great love for her. Though he supposed generosity was not a trait of many that frequented the Ogre's Arms. She leaned a little further over the bar than was strictly necessary, her fingers linger too long against his palm as he hands over his sickles.

Sebastian did not miss the way that the strangers' eyes tracked the interaction. As swift and deliberately as he had been trained to be with every motion, he slipped his hand from the barmaid's grasp deftly hooking his fingers into the rim of the grotesquely full tumblers as he spun on his heels.

Whatever the poor girl had been about to say faltered in her throat. Crackling out of life like a dying gramophone. He really should have felt some sympathy for the poor girl.

She'd made her fondness for him quite obvious over the years. Despite how Sebastian would sidle out the door with what must seem like any witch but her. Too worried about any kind of arrangement that would ask for more than he was willing, or able, to give. Nor did he wish to find a new hole to drown himself in.

And regretfully - her gentle honeyed voice and hopeful doe eyes that delivered longing glances had never stirred anything inside of Sebastian. As much as on some nights he wished they would.

Sebastian weaved through the sparse gathering around the bar of the more rambunctious patrons. Turning a blind eye, to the corner booth and the two witches poorly disguising their face under their dramatic hoods, exchanging money, a rather suspicious-looking sack at their feet which gave a periodic shudder and what looked like spines protruding from the burlap. It may be his job to investigate suspicious behaviour such as this but- he'd rather not have to explain to his sergeant exactly what he was doing in this pub in the first place.

Approaching her solitary table nestled in the corner, she inclined her chin up towards him. Smug. Sloped oak beams cast a thick shadow, and candlelight flickering against her cheekbones made her features waxy like an oil painting against a grimy canvas.

"May I?"

She tilted her head, as though she expected nothing else but was amused by his gesture nonetheless."Only because you brought a bribe."

Sebastian hooked the heel of his boot around the chair leg pulling out further. Placed the two glasses on the table as he sat, careful not to spill any against the oak surface. Not that it would be such a shame if it did. Cheap whiskey from a smudged glass was hardly a waste.

Sebastian tipped his glass to her in toast, she did not feign even the slightest interest in her glass or his hollow act of chivalry.

"I haven't seen you here before," Sebastian said.

Flexing her fingers, she admired those well-polished nails. "No. I don't suppose you would have."

West Country. Quaint. As out of place amongst the sea of London accents as her dress was from this decade. Confirming a very important fact for Sebastian she was certainly not from around here. For the best.

"This doesn't seem like the place for such a nice young lady such as yourself."

Chin resting on the back of her delicate hand. A feline grin spread across her face, as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Nor the place for well respected Ministry men."

Tension seized Sebastian's shoulders. Unnerved by her perception, his eyes darted across the sea of faces. He'd left the scarlet cloak with the gold badge adorning his lapels in his flat long before he'd made apparated to the bottom of Knockturn Alley. Places like these didn't take too kindly to rozzers scrambling their clientele. Nor would he want it to become common knowledge at the Ministry that he frequented grimy drinking holes on his off hours. He was certain she'd been alone but that prickle of unease had his hand reaching towards his wand.

She caught his arm swiftly, delicate fingers folded up the cuff of his cloak. Ministry insignia branded into the tan leather strap that secured his wand to his forearm.

Chuckling breathily to himself, Sebastian felt the tension ebb as, just as swiftly, she turned down the sleeve. "Half the people here carry their wand tucked up their sleeve. You have a keen eye, to have spotted that mark from halfway across the room, lass. Do you make it a habit of checking if every man who approaches you is an Auror?"

Sharp eyes glinted with mischief. "Only the ones that interest me."

"Must be my lucky day." He leaned in closer, bitter whiskey breath disturbed a loose curl around her ear as he whispered. "Unless there's a reason you have to be on such high alert for authority I should know about?"

"Do I look like the kind of woman who would have much trouble with the law?"

He cast his eyes down, at her unblemished hands. Free of callouses and scar tissue, the tight restrictiveness of her bodice ill-suited for battle, her polite disarming smile - even those eyes, so reminiscent but not quite right. Despising the remorseful pang in his chest. Nothing like her.

"Well if that's the case this," he gestured around the damp crooked hole masquerading as a tavern. "Certainly isn't the place for you."

"Nor you. Unless the requirements for holding such an esteemed post has gone severely downhill and they let swindlers and murderers into their ranks." He almost winced at the sting of the insult she unwittingly delivered.

"Perhaps lurking around in dingey bars with terrible whiskey isn't suited to either of us. Perhaps, upstanding members of society that we are, should go somewhere we can feel more…relaxed."

"And where exactly is there such a place for me?" Most women would have covered that glaring tan line on her finger, under gloved hands or glamour, but she seemed to flaunt it as she ghosted it across his knuckles; an invitation.

Sebastian's grin widened. "I have a few ideas."

"I don't have much time. So you better make every minute count."

***

Sebastian unlocked his front door with a snap of his fingers. Gestured her inside, his hand pressed into the small of her back. She inclined her head towards him, a smirk playing on her lips at the hollow politeness of his gesture. Knowing full well his intention of inviting her back to his flat was far from gentlemanly.

Exaggerated skirts shifted as she stepped inside. Soft lamp lights scattered around his living room sparked to life in welcome illuminating the small living area. Her formal attire looked out of place; more suited for high tea than the sparsely filled space Sebastian inhabited.

Files strewn across the long velvet settee, scattered teacups and candles burned down to the wick littered every available surface. He knew the larder would be just as barren save for some tea bags and a half-empty bottle of gin the department had cobbled together to purchase for his promotion. He didn't even like gin. The presence of female company always seemed to highlight just how every inch of his flat screamed bachelor.

Sebastian shrugged off his cloak, hooking it on the back of the door. Never once taking his eyes off her. Odd little creature that she was. Against the faint moonlight that trickled in from the arched window on the far wall, her face cloaked in darkness, she cast a dramatic silhouette.

Not quite her. No. But her dress despite its bulk could not disguise the dip of her waist, an alluring swell to her chest. With her face masked from view, he felt his drink-fogged mind teeter dangerously on an edge he would not let it wander past.

She'd bent down, and pinched the corner of a piece of parchment he'd discarded the previous night between her thumb and forefinger. Sebastian slipped his wand from the holster. With a flick, the paper pried itself free to rejoin the rest which were shuffling themselves back into their file before shooting across the room into the waiting drawer of his bureau. The gold lock clicked shut, locking them securely away with an audible snap.

Her head whipped around, her chin jutted out in irritation, and her eyes narrowed slightly into a glare. Sebastian shrugged, as he unbuckled the holster on his arm, placing it on the narrow kitchen island. "Classified information. I'm sure you understand."

Sebastian couldn't have nosy witches trawling through his case files. He'd seen plenty of Aurors sacked for lesser sins. And reporters from the Prophet certainly weren't above seduction tactics to get their stories. That knowledge did nothing however to stop the tingle that spread down his spine that the defiant look in her eye ignited in him.

"I suppose." She shrugged, a forced display of indifference. Before proceeding to further inspect his residence. Striding about like she owned the place and Sebastian was merely some troublesome tenant.

The cramped flat he'd started renting in London straight out of Hogwarts could hardly be considered a home. Sebastian never planned to make it one. Or stay for as long as he did. Merely a stepping stone, at the start of his career. Close to the Ministry, so he could collapse after a long day.

Eat. Sleep. Breath. Work.

That desperate desire to prove himself more than what he'd been. Never satisfied with his lot in life. By the grace of Merlin, he'd been given a second chance to make himself a man - his parents, his sister, that he could be proud of.

He had planned to settle down eventually. Fix the decaying bones of his parents' old house on the hill with her by his side. Both were now a faded, hopeless dream. Sebastian's life had rarely gone to plan.

Tracing a finger across the well-worn spines on his overstuffed bookshelf she pondered each title with interest. "Quite the collection you have. Some rather questionable titles you have here for a man of your profession."

"Special Ministry approval. They're charmed to be bound to my place of residence - before you get any ideas. Can never be too prepared in my line of work. Knowledge of magic of a more…delicate nature can be the difference between life and death."

Strictly speaking, this was not a lie. Any Auror worth his salt would have at least half the books in Sebastian's collection on curse-breaking, dark magic and deadly creatures. Admittedly, his robust library wasn't necessary for his career nor was all of it purely academic interest.

Eyewitness accounts of skinwalkers he'd picked up on a short trip to America, liaising with the MACUSA on their rising troll problem. Journals, written in the maddening scrawl of a witch who'd fancied herself a revolutionary scholar. Wanted to test the corruption dark magic had on the soul. Daft bugger used herself to test her theories. Now all that was left of her was crammed into a bachelor's bookcase.

Smallest in number and size, a thin collection of children's stories and a letter correspondence from crackpot conspiracists. He'd been too late to salvage anything that remained of Miriam Fig's research and this pitiful array was all that he'd discovered over the years with any reference to Ancient Magic. A small house fire could destroy what Sebastian could only assume was the largest collated materials on the subject.

It had been foolish to try to love her, but perhaps more still to hunt the vengeful wraith.

"Well read. Good career. Seems you are a rather eligible bachelor-"

Sebastian smiled moving closer towards her. "I'm not bad to look at either."

"Despite your proclivity for skulking around dingey bars. It's unusual to find a man such as yourself…unattached."

"What can I say - I'm married to my work. Not much time for anything else; not many witches would put up with the lifestyle long-term. Never been interested in marriage."

Liar.

She looked up at him through dark lashes, from how those sharp eyes stripped him back until he was raw and exposed - she scented his dishonesty. "Sounds like a lonely life."

"Depends on who you ask."

Sebastian leaned heavily on the shelf above her head, elbow brushing against well-loved spines. His calloused palm slipped around her waist, running up her side. Felt the curved bones of her corset under his thumb. Leaning in closer still, enough that his breath disturbed the loose curls around her temples. Her lips parted, tongue dancing along her bottom lip as she tilted her chin up towards him like a cat basking in a warm breeze.

She didn't waiver. Not a single flicker of hesitation in those sharp, piercing eyes. For a moment, Sebastian pitied the man who intended to marry her. But not enough to stop him from capturing her lips.

Tasting the tang of cheap whiskey in their mingled breath. Not a slither of remorse as her delicate hands found the nape of Sebastian's neck. Used chestnut curls to pull him closer to kiss him more deeply. Their breath was little more than stolen gasps for air and an opportunity for her tongue to seize and slip past parted lips.

Sebastian crowded her further against the bookshelf. Held tighter to the bunched fabric of her skirts, hands fumbling desperately to feel the shape it disguised. Frustrated by the garment, his lips left her mouth. Travelled down to her jaw, her breathing hitched, head tipped back to thunk against the shelf as Sebastian nipped and sucked at the column of her throat. A little too sharply. But she only pressed into him further. Blood and bruises bloomed wild across her skin as his teeth grazed along her heightened pulse.

He knew what it was like to try to ensnare creatures such as this. How they bit when cornered. Fool that he was, he desired to tame them, change their nature; almost as much as he craved to be bitten.

Maybe that was why he held her so firmly in his grasp. Petticoats balled in his fists, as he pressed himself awkwardly against her. Her dainty form didn't quite fit the stocky mould of his own.

Not that anyone witch or woman had since.

Not that she seemed to care. She pulled Sebastian in like he alone was hers to drink from. Like he belonged to her and she would bend and break him to fit her. Some part of him prayed she succeeded. He'd snap every bone in his body, boil down his sinew in the hope that when at last he healed - he would fit another.

Sebastian pressed his mouth into the crook of her shoulder and burrowed his face, inhaling deeply, as he mouthed at her skin. Soft and supple as an over-ripe peach. Desperately, pathetically trying and failing to make himself fit. But the bridge of his nose bumped harshly against her clavicle and his back ached from stooping.

He'd never melted into anyone since her. No matter how many times he tried with countless trysts with all the ways they reminded him of her in their laughs, smiles, and eyes - they were not her.

Pained groan against her shoulder. Cloth ripped as he tore past her outdated petticoats and the silk of her undergarments. Desperate hands kneaded at her bare flesh. Thigh. Hip. The curve of her arse. Every inch of her skin grew hot, flushed under his touch. If Sebastian had been in his right mind not addled, by drink and frustration he would have handed it to her; for such a wellbred lady, she did not startle easily or cringe from his working hands. With a strung-out whine, she simply displaced the torn fabric so Sebastian's knee pressed between her thighs could provide her with more friction.

Sebastian sank to his knees, hooking her thigh around his broad shoulder. Balanced precariously, her back pressed against the stacks and her leg suspended quivering. Heel dug between his shoulder blades as she sought stability. Her limbs were lean…soft. Delicate like a lamb. No coiled muscle battle worn and firm disguised under her skirts.

That did not stop Sebastian from groaning against the sparse hair as he nestled himself between her thighs. Her muscles clenched tighter. Not with apprehension. No. With blinding unhindered desire. Whining breathlessly, as she urged him to fulfil his role, drop any pretence to do what they came here for. This was no budding romance. And there was no time to pretend otherwise.

Sebastian's tongue darted out teasing the tip through her folds. Eagerly seeking out her bundle of nerves to curl his tongue under her hood. Satisfied, a mewl passed her lips to at last have Sebastian where she desired him most. Hips bucked and writhed with every broad stroke and teasing lick against her soaking entrance. Brown tresses tangled harshly in her grip, those neatly filed nails scratching encouragingly against his scalp.

Her taste was unfamiliar on Sebastian's tongue, but he only lapped at her more fervently. Desperate. As if he savoured enough of her desire for him - he could burn away the memories of sweeter nectars.

Bunching her skirt closer to her stomach, Sebastian's view of her was unobstructed. The collar pulled open where she'd made swift work of the buttons of her high neckline; they hung like loosely strung pearls cascading down her chest which heaved with every breath. Breasts dimpled against the restrictive tightly laced corset.

Sebastian's eyes flicked up to meet hers. Not the right shape or hue but that intensity to them. Storm raging across a riptide, Sebastian, vulnerable in their depth. He could drown in them and would do so gladly.

Blood rushed south, and Sebastian groaned low, pained. He sucked on her clit, coaxing more slick to coat his lips and chin. Hoping beyond hope that her eyes locked on his would flutter closed in pleasure. Her mouth was ajar, each drawn-out moan growing louder as she approached her peak. Clever calculating gaze fixed on Sebastian. He knew he was exactly where she wanted him. Prey to her predator. His cock strained and achingly hard because of it.

Her back arched against the stacks, toes curling against the centre of his back, legs shook with the strain to hold herself upright. Sebastian was relentless. He devoured the quivering nub, tongue teasing as he sucked. Her passionate cry was unrestrained, legs threatening to buckle bringing her down like a house of cards as she collapsed over the edge. Aftershock of pleasure rolled over her, he kept a firm grip on her hip as she rested more heavily against him. His desire for her is confusing and just as precarious.

Sebastian unhooked her leg from his shoulder, palms running along the backs of her calves. She was still propped up feebly holding herself against the bookcase. Pads of her fingers clutching pathetically at the shelves with the ball of her heel holding purchase on the floor.

Orgasm ebbing, softening her predatory edge. A smirk played at Sebastian's lips as he looked up at her once polished appearance now dishevelled. Rattling, with a lust-drunk gaze that defiant chin hanging slightly ajar as she greedily gulped down air.

She narrowed her eyes at his smug expression and gathered her composure before slipping her ruined dress from her shoulders letting it puddle at her feet. Nail digging under his chin as she beckoned Sebastian upwards, pulling him in.

It made Sebastian's heart beat wildly against his chest. A caged canary faced with a falcon.

Teeth grazed his bottom lip, tongue seeking his own. Sebastian's clothes fell away easily from his broad frame. His shirt was discarded, followed by breeches which tangled around his ankles as they fumbled towards the settee. Muffled grunts into her mouth every time her palm grazed his cock, hard and throbbing, through his undergarments. Sebastian moved to lie her swiftly across the settee. One hand pressed into the small of her back the other tangled in amongst the pins now falling loose from her hair.

Inexplicably, she moved faster than Sebastian thought she was capable of. Leg hooked around his ankle like a snake pulling him off balance. Backs of his knees connected with the settee as his legs buckled and Sebastian collapsed bodily onto cushions. Rarely with his extensive training did anyone get the jump on him.

Her lips curled as she observed the way his enlarged head twitched against his belly more eagerly. "Now, I think it's my turn." Laces from her corset pulled loose, she let the camisole shift to the floor with it. "-And you looked far too pretty beneath me."

As she straddled his lap, Sebastian spluttered on his groan and the intoxicating sensation of her wet centre against his shaft. Her palms were flat, braced against his chest, nails scratching at the coarse hairs that grew there. Every inch of her soft, naked flesh pressed against him. His hands settled on the curve of her hips, sliding along her flushed skin with hands that seemed too large.

She really was quite pretty. Sebastian just wished the parts that didn't remind him of her made his heart race as much as the ones that did.

She caught his lips, fingers cupped against his jaw, her mouth moving against his. Teeth and tongue. Hot breath came out in short dulcet pants as she greedily tasted the remnants of her arousal on his lips.

Her hand snaked down between them, taking Sebastian's throbbing length in her hand. He hissed, as her thumb smoothed over the leaking slit, aligning him with her entrance. Eyelashes fluttered a satisfied sigh, as she sank down, taking him inside of her. Dainty as she may appear, she appeared to relish the stretch to accommodate his size, almost as much as he did. So tight she gripped his cock, it almost sent him hurtling over the edge.

Barely giving herself time to adjust before she canted her hips. Weight shifting so she could slide up his shaft until only the head of his cock remained before sinking back down onto Sebastian's girth more demandingly. Needy grunts reverberated in Sebastian's chest as he matched her frantic desperate pace. Forehead braced on her chest as he bucked his hips into her tight core. Pebbled nipple caught between his lips, her head thrown back in a wanton moan as Sebastian ever so gently grazed the peak with his teeth.

Sebastian closed his eyes. Whiskey fog coupled with the godly feel of her clenched around him, he relaxed into her eager pace. Inhibitions lowered, his mind straying to the well-worn path he rarely let himself tread.

Face striking contorted in ecstasy; a savage beauty like lightning striking the ocean. Mallowsweet scent; that soothed like a botanist's herbal balm. How perfectly her body wrapped around his own as if by design. Sebastian's teeth pressed hard against his tongue as her name danced upon it. With his eyes closed, hands held back - that shameful part of him could pretend it was her.

"Sebastian," the witch moaned. He didn't remember giving her his name. Nor asking hers. The voice he heard was not that polite West Country lilt but one conjured from Hades - his divine pleasure and punishment.

Can't let it be her.

Sebastian forced his eyes open, to look at the woman from the bar. Her neat hair, narrow shoulders and thin top lip. Only to find the lines separating fantasy from reality blurred and contorted. His stomach lurched.

Maybe he'd had more to drink than he thought.

Whiskey had crowded and garbled his senses as well as his inhibitions. Sebastian's vision was merely blurred. She looked like her. Not just in her eyes but the sloping curve of her neck, the arch of her nose, her hair longer and tangling against the neat pins that had once held it back.

It's all the whiskey.

If he could bring himself to look away from her face for even one moment he would see the room spinning. But he couldn't look away.

Those keen eyes bore into him, locked with his own and he swore they changed colour. The fire that had been smouldering within sparked, roaring, melting her irises into that familiar hue.

He didn't just have to squeeze his eyes shut to see her and pretend it was her impossibly tight walls clenching around him with every thrust.

There she was.

"You," Sebastian spluttered, disbelief tight in his chest. "No. No- It can't be you. This can't be happening." Who cares if he sounded mad? His mind was spiralled and scrambled, desperate to bring back the visage of the woman from the bar and right himself. This face; her face didn't waver. She rolled her hips once more, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she cast her gaze down. Over her breasts and the faded scar that curled under the left from the crucio, he'd administered. Firm muscles of her legs earned from years of battle. Calloused hands of someone who knew little of comfort. All were once again her own.

Sebastian's world was spiralling, tipping on its axis. Tension in every muscle in his body. Still as beautiful as she was in his nightmares, even the ones where she tore out his heart. She clicked her tongue, amused then smiled. So wide, it bore too many teeth.

Fucking exquisite. Sebastian despised the way his heart faltered in his chest.

"Pity. I guess the kneazle's out of the bag," she purred, teeth raking sharp across his earlobe. So sharp it shocked his spiral back into sickening clarity like ice in his veins.

Like a shot, Sebastian wrapped his hand hard around her throat forcing her face away from him. Thumb pressed harshly into the corner of her jaw with his iron grip on her windpipe. Any sane woman would tremble to have his large hand like a vice around her throat in anger. Cower, under the venom in his eyes.

But she was far from sane; perhaps never had been. She gasped involuntarily choking around where his fingers so deeply pressed into her flesh, but the smile on her lips never faltered despite how he could feel the hammer of her blood against his fingertips.

"You should know I don't share," she wheezed. It wasn't the polite West Country drawl she'd adopted at the bar - but that feminine purr he knew far too well. Velvety, like a caress that sent shivers down his spine; and if it were possible simultaneously made his blood run cold and his cock impossibly stiffer where it was sheathed deep within her. She whimpered approvingly, hot breath ghosting his freckled cheeks.

"Fuck- how did you-" Choking on his groan as she expertly rolled her hips, grinding on his cock. Evil, manipulative witch. She knew exactly how to turn practically every rational thought in Sebastian's brain to smoke.

"Polyjuice. She was pretty don't you think? You seemed to like fucking her while it lasted. Maybe not as much as that curvy redhead from a few months ago...I had bruises on my thighs for weeks."

Somewhere deep in his psyche, Sebastian knew he should push her off. Bind her. Gag her. Put as much distance between himself and her and the mixed-up way she made him feel. Preferably in a cell in the deepest part of Azkaban the Ministry had long ago allocated for her when they signed the warrant for her arrest. At that moment, over the cacophony screaming through his head the only coherent thought was how to keep her desperately bouncing on his cock.

"I thought it was my turn to have some unsanctioned fun."

No - rose, bubbled and died in his throat. Caught somewhere amongst the shameful rasping groan as she began to rhythmically rock her hips. Never quite releasing her entirely, but Sebastian's grip on her throat loosened as his muscles slackened in shameful pleasure.

Using every bit of her newfound leash, she leaned forward to kiss him. Sin, like ambrosia on his tongue. Lips slotted against him, they moved in perfect harmony to a melody he wished had never been composed on his bones.

She wrapped around him as if the wild thing that she had always been had sprouted from the earth, and curled her tendrils around him. Or rather, like a constant wave beating against him she'd worn his surface. It was a marvel he hadn't crumbled into her sooner.

"You're mine you know," she cooed, her breath hot against his ear.

"I am not," Sebastian spat. But try as he might to deny it, curse her until his final breath - his words rang hollow. And he loathes himself all the more for it. She was not his any longer, but something else. Twisted by cruelty and power that simply wore the face of the woman he once loved.

Shame stirred in his gut; desire coursed through his blood.

"Denying it doesn't make it any less true. You know me blind. When my face is not my own. Fate has bound us, Sebastian. Just as I would know you in any life."

Sebastian gritted his teeth, cheek pressed against her sternum. Fingers digging into her shoulder blades, as he pounded his cock up into her harder, faster. If he was stronger, he would not be prey to her illicit designs for him - but he was not. She keened, greedy to take all he could give her. Consume him entirely if she could. Sebastian closed his eyes and cursed himself for being weak.

Vision narrowing, Sebastian groaned, low and pitiful into the curve of her neck. Ashamed of what he knew was coming. "I hate you," he cursed. Repeated it like a mantra, his lips against her sweat-salted skin as if he could transcribe the words onto her flesh.

Deep plunges into her warmth growing erratic as Sebastian's coil tightens. Her body clenched, tightening around him, with every thrust teased against her sweet spot coaxing more slick onto his cock. His punishing words merely rolled off her curves like water off a duck's back.

"S-Sebastian," her hoarse cry pierced through his resolve. Sebastian bit into her neck trying and failing to hold back from the precipice of the inevitable. Unwilling to surrender any more of himself to her. It only served to send her hurtling over the cliff. His cock buried deep inside of her, her head thrown back, cunt quivering as her climax broke. Orgasm, wracked through her in waves. Engulfing Sebastian's every sense.

Fire and Brimstone. Gentle breezes and mallowsweet.

Beauty. Terror.

Rhythm faltering, Sebastian's hips spluttered as that mounting coil finally snapped. Her name on his lips, her scent on his skin. Everything that remained of Sebastian Sallow was consumed entirely by her. He came hard - with a broken pathetic whine that forced itself from his body as he spilt inside of her.

It was no little death - it was all-consuming. A part of him would never come back from. Another piece of his soul surrendered along with what was left of his dignity.

Sebastian fought for breath. Unforgiving waters filled his chest, ice seized his joints, heart thundered as dark edges clouded his vision, threatening to drown out the light and sound. Choking on his saliva he wheezed, shoulders heaved forward violently. Fresh tears pricked in his eyes.

She shushed his soothingly, thumb tracing idle patterns on his skin with a sickening gentleness that curdled his stomach. He whined pathetically against her chest but she only gripped him harder. Fingers carded through his hair as she hummed a sweet tune peppering kisses to the crown of his chestnut hair.

Perhaps, in another life, he had the strength to overcome the guilt and sickness now seizing his bones. In another, perhaps there was no deception to be ashamed of.

He wasn't sure how long they sat entwined, soft cock still inside her, his spend leaking onto his thighs matting in the hair. When at last Sebastian's violent sobbing eased he felt the enchantment stretch across his body, taunt ropes strapped his arms to his sides, and bound his ankles. A chaste kiss against his temple as she slid from his lap.

Sebastian watched her and tried to pretend for a second, that he was not bound, she was not mad and hips swaying hypnotically as she pranced naked around their flat as she did every Sunday evening. Not his. Theirs. Another life, unstained by dark magic where she was still his.

Fussing with her dress, eyebrows pinched together, frowning as she examined the shredded yellow gown. She sighed, holding the unlaced corset over her breasts, gathering up the remnants to haul them to the kitchen island. She found his wand, with its emerald and onyx handle, the one that had belonged to his paternal great-grandfather. Back and forth she toyed with it in her hands.

"Put that down." A feeble attempt at a threat from a man bound, naked, cheeks streaked with stale tears. Tight from salt they felt stretched like a drum.

"You ruined my dress," she pouted. "The least you can do is help me fix it."

Traitorously, Sebastian's wand didn't so much as shudder in retaliation. It obeyed her easily, stitching up the splintered seams, her corset tightened, cinching at her waist. Her hairpins reorganised themselves. She looked almost like her old self, the girl she'd been at school, with a spark of fire in her eyes that mirrored his own.

"Before you go running off to the next little witch who bats her eyelashes at you, Bash. Try to remember - I don't share." She placed his wand back on the counter and slipped a canteen from her purse. She drank deeply. Gagging, hand smacking into her chest to keep down whatever foul liquid it contained.

If Sebastian had still been drunk the way her face bubbled like stew on a boil would have turned his stomach. Her lips thinned, her hair shrunk back into her scalp, her scars paled and her muscles softened. The woman from the Pub returned, exactly as he'd met her. It did nothing to quell the sickness churning in his gut.

"Au revoir mon amour." She was gone as quickly as she came, but her presence lingered like a gaping, festering wound.

Sebastian sat in the dark. Hatred for her that he cultivated in public and the private yearning he tended to as it grew like persistent weeds in his garden he tended had given way to emptiness. A void that for a time he was content to let swallow him whole as he stared at the cracks in his floor. Mourning the woman he'd loved. But most he mourned for himself, for all she took from him.

Shadows inched across the floor as dawn eventually broke. Long after the bindings had dissolved. Sebastian hadn't slept or moved for hours and his joints stiff, groaned as he got to his feet. He trudged to his bathroom and ran the water until it was scalding. Intent on scrubbing his skin raw. As if she could un-touch him.

#Please mind the tags #dark fic #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic

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netherfeildren · 5 months

Text

With Mercy for the Disturbed

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: AU; Extremely Dubious Consent; Or Non Con; You decide but vibes are definitely off; Dark Fic; Rough Sex; Face fucking; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Bondage; Unreliable Narrator; Memory loss; Blasphemy; Discussions of religious disdain; Discussions of morality; References to suicide; Beware of the old man who’s crazy and lets all his intrusive thoughts win; Older man/Younger woman; Creampie; Light breeding kink; Like very light for the likes of me promise; Possessive Behavior; Kidnapping; Joel POV

A/N: Hello and hallelujah, I’m so happy to be posting this!! For a minute after I finished Pink I felt like it would be impossible for me to write anything else ever again, and felt so weird and without anything left to say. I struggled so much just getting these words down, and it was supposed to be something very different initially compared to what it turned out to be, but I think I quite like the final product. I hope you do too.

And one million kisses and thank yous and all the praise in the world to @frannyzooey for giving this a little looksy over before posting. You’re the greatest and the bestest, Kelli, thank you so so much :)

Please heed the tags carefully and err on the side of caution!!! The goings on in this are very strange and this is probably the darkest thing I’ve written to date.

Word Count: 8.8K

Read on AO3

He can’t remember her name anymore, but he remembers the number. It’s been seven hundred and thirty eight days since his daughter died.

Sometimes, he’s not sure if he even remembers his own name. He thinks it’s Joel, and the sound of it brings him comfort in a way, when it’s especially dark and confusing in his mind, and so he tells himself over and over again that that’s what it is. Joel. Joel. Joel. I am Joel. That that’s what it’s always been. That that’s the name she knew him as.

Sometimes you call him that too.

He used to be a father, and then one day, so suddenly he can’t recall how it even happened, he lost everything. Like dominos falling over in his mind – the girl, and then his memories and then the man with the face like his. He plays dominos all the time now.

In his spot in the sun in the big blue room, wearing his whites and his soft socks and taking the pills they force down his throat. He plays dominos, and he does his exercises, and he thinks of that daughter whose name he can’t remember. He says his own name over and over and over again so many times until it’s not even a sound anymore, only a buzz or a hum or a scream.

His beard is thick and his hair is long, and he does not recognize his own face in the mirror. All he sees are ghost green eyes and dark hair and a fathomless sort of failure. A father, no longer a father. He goes for walks in the garden, he eats the food they give him even when he doesn’t really want to, even when it tastes like ash or greater madness than the one he’s already swallowed. And he waits for you. All the time he waits for you to come to him, he watches the big doors that go out into the world he’s too frightened and broken to step foot in now, draws his fingertip over the gristle of scar tissue at his temple mended over invisible fracture, and he waits and waits, and he says his name and he thinks of that nameless daughter and he waits and he thinks: the morning after I killed myself, I woke up in the perfect place with the perfect white walls and now all I do is wait.

He sits in his chair in the corner now and counts the seconds for you to come for him. Always at this time, always when the sun is at that spot in the sky. When it rains, and he can't tell where he is in the world, and the clouds are swollen purple gray verging on melancholy and anger, he feels something like despairing. Something like the sort of insane they whisper he is behind his back now.

He watches the puddles filled with dark mercury grow and grow like the ocean rising out of concrete, and the orange tree that drips and weeps and sags and he thinks he feels very much that way inside too. Sometimes, when the sun shines and there are no clouds and he doesn’t feel so terribly downtrodden, or maybe worse than usual, each orange blossom opens like a hand reaching out for him. Begging him not to do it, not to think of it, not to go back to that bad place. Focus only on me, she says. Focus only on the blue walls and the perfect room and the place where the sun sits in the sky, she’s on her way, she’s almost here.

The first time they’d told him he was ill – or dead – the first morning in the perfect room, he’d been angry, affronted or offended, and he’d howled and fought and said I’m not fucking crazy, it’s only that my daughter is dead. But as much as he’d fought or kicked or screamed, wept until he was brittle and dry as a whale bone, they’d not believed him. And so, he’d come to appreciate the peace of the perfection surrounding him, the perfection of a lie, or the perfection that comes to visit him in the shape of a woman, soft and round in all the right places and pretty. Fuckable. He tries not to think of it. He swears he does. But there’s little else to consider in the perfect place. So really, he thinks of little else.

You’re almost here, he knows it’s almost time.

A few more moments of the sun in the place where it is until it’s in the place where it should be, and then you’ll be here, and he looks down at the stone in his palm, held for so long it’s turned dark with his sweat now. I shouldn’t have, but I brought you something, placed it in his hand, done that thing with your eyes and your mouth that told him secrets he wasn’t sure you were even aware you were telling him.

He knows that it’s November now because you’d said it was, and he doesn’t know why, but when you’d told him, he’d wept and wept and wept. Become inconsolable which had sent you to worrying, put the different sort of look on your face, in your eyes, the one that vibrates, that screams instead of whispers. And he’s positive you don’t know you show him that one, but he sees it anyways, you’ve got a shit poker face. And he’d told you between sobs and chokes, it’s November and it’s terrible and I can’t explain why except to say that it’s as though the earth has suddenly realized that she’s grown old and cold and there’s nothin’ she can do to prevent it except weep, and I feel very much like this in my own heart too. And when he looks back up at the sun, it’s finally where it’s supposed to be, and when he looks back at the double doors that lead away to all his fears and all the bad, there you are. You walk towards him slow and measured, and you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. Precious, impeccable, absolutely exceptional in every way. He wants very much to ruin all that pure magnificence.

He knows that he did something very bad after his daughter, after they took her, lots of very bad things to lots of very bad people. He knows this, he remembers this vividly, enjoys the memory of it, savors it like something sitting sweet and light on his tongue.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with the idea of a girl who was gone who’d come from me who is never going to be again. Who I never made enough time for when there was still time to be made.

You always wear beautiful clothes, and it makes him appreciate the blandness of his own. That you stand out, that he’s merely a blank canvas for you to inflict yourself on. Wool skirts and silk blouses and sheer pantyhose he wants to rip to ribbons with his fingers. Makes him appreciate the beauty of you, faultless, guileless. Sweet in a way he’d never witnessed before like a kitten that’s so adorable you want to squeeze and squeeze and smother until it bursts. Big eyes and a full, soft mouth and breathy voice, and then you’re right there.“Hi, Joel,” and yeah, that’s right, he does know his name, you remind him of it all the time.

“Mornin’.”

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The room you usually sit in to talk has a big painting of a field in it, a bear in the far off center up on its hind legs, somehow, appearing as if it’s dancing away. Even the paintings are mad here, but he likes it, wants to dance away into the far off unknown like that too.

“The middle of the day’s not the best time for fishin’ usually.” Sometimes, you let him start where he wants. Silent until he chooses to break. He pulls the thought out of nowhere. “Bein’ out there’s just the excuse, I suspect, in the sun and the water.”

He listens to the scratch, scratch of your pen. You write with one of those fountain types with the sharp point, and he wonders if you’ve ever considered how easily he could turn it into a weapon. How smoothly it’d pierce the soft, satin skin of your throat he likes to fantasize about. He would never. But he does like to think about it, pretends it’s a show of your trust, wonders if the guards and higher ups know you bring something like that in here with him. Scratch, scratch, scratch, and it makes his brain itch.

“You used to fish?”

“Think so.”

“Are you remembering?”

“Nah.” The morning after I killed myself, I lost my memories – it’s only that they’d hurt everywhere I’d touched them, and so I’d had to let them go.

“No?”

You’ve got the loveliest voice, and sometimes he wishes he could tell you to stop asking so many stupid questions about him and talk about yourself. Endlessly. He chooses a new route. “What is it about empathy that people find so difficult to be generous with?”

That soft hum in your throat he loves, the one he feels soothe that itchy brain of his. “Humans can be inherently selfish. We’re born with only ourselves, we die with only ourselves, sometimes that gets in our way.”

“No… Don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” He knows you like to lead him sometimes, like a game he doesn’t want to enjoy. “You’re the one saying we’re greedy with our empathy.”

“Forgiveness too,” he adds.

The click of your tongue, “Do you think you’re forgiving?”

“Not at all.”

Scratch, scratch. Once he’d asked what it is you write about him during these talks of yours, and all you’d said was notes. It’s the only time he’s ever been angry with you, refused to talk to you for three days after that. Only because if you wouldn’t tell him things, then he wasn’t going to tell you anything either. “Then what’s the point you’re trying to make? What’s your question?” But then he’d missed the sound of your voice too much, had felt the burn of your gaze on his skin too intensely, had masturbated too many times without satisfaction to the memory of your eyes on him that he’d been forced to relent. He needed the sound of your voice in his head also to be able to come.

“Why is it so difficult?” He asks again because he has to understand. Because he needs an answer desperately.

“It’s hard to see someone as simply themselves, simply human – a sentient flaw, so to speak – when they make a mistake. And yet, as grievous or offensive as something can be, we all do it eventually. Some people have no patience for that.”

“Even though they themselves will eventually, inevitably, do it too?” He can feel himself getting upset, his heart beating too fast, a cold sweat sprouting at the back of his neck while his face flushes hot and red.

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

You shrug, “Perhaps.”

“Selfish.”

Again, “Perhaps.”

And then the true source of his anger, “I think I’m like that.”

You nod like you understand, and he wants to shake you and make you see that there’s no way you actually could. “Would you like not to be?” It pisses him off when your voice goes all even and patient like that.

“Yes. I hate people like that. I hate people that can’t find it in themselves to forgive – to give someone a second chance.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He can’t help himself when he vomits the words, not fully expecting them to come out so slicked in truth as they do. “Because I wish someone would give me one, even if I don’t deserve it. F– forgive me– But even then… what does it matter? What does it matter if I’m forgiven, given a second chance, absolved of all my sins? Look at where I am. Look at what I've become. I’m entirely lost to myself. You know, sometimes I can’t remember my own name if you don’t remind me of it.”

“You’re Joel. You had a daughter. Her name was Sarah.” He flinches at the sound of it, wants to bare his teeth at you like a rabid animal. “Your brother is Tommy. He calls every Friday at three o’clock to ask how you are. You’re Joel Miller.” That’s right. The morning after I killed myself, I met my brother for the first time. The real him. The him who’s afraid of me. The real Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Sometimes the name rings familiar in his mind, again, when you remind him of it.

He shakes his head, swallows a gruff sound, tries to shutter the manic look he knows floods his eyes, reverts back to his initial thought, “False senses of moral superiority disgust me.” The sun’s shining in at an angle so that there’s a single tendril of sunlight wrapped around the slim of your crossed ankle, gripping the nylon covered limb in its light. Joel’s eyes shift jealously from that held piece of you to the shadow of far off rain he can see in the distance through the window, trying to find some measure of peace in the sight. It’ll reach here eventually, and he tries to ground himself in the inevitability. “Yes, there’s right and wrong. There’s also humanity. There’s also the right to grow and learn, and to make mistakes that, in the end, make you better. Who are you to condemn me? Is your glass house so pristine not a stain mars it? Grace, forgiveness, empathy… I find those infinitely more valuable than whatever false sense of good and bad you’ve decided makes me worthy or not,” he says, eyes cast towards the coming rain. He can feel your gaze on his face, and he does not want to acknowledge it.

“But the things you did were bad, Joel. You hurt people. You killed people.”

That makes his eyes snap back to yours for the way you say it. As if you’re sharing a bit of inconsequential news with him. The weather is about to hit, the rain is almost here. Can’t you see it, just there, in the distance? Voice so even and soft. Sometimes he calls you angel, when he knows he’s charmed you enough just to get away with it, when he’s said all the things he knows you want to hear from him and smiled all the right smiles that cost him so much. Voice like a goddamn angel, face like a goddamn angel. Everything else… like something come straight from Hell to drag him down to where he really belongs and never let him go.

He eyes you suspiciously. “The Bible says an eye for an eye. They killed my daughter so I took their eyes.” And then other parts.

“And then their lives…” And then their lives. He nods once, succinct. “You ascribe to the scripture?” You snap that little leather bound book open again, red, scratch in it once again, all your secrets about him. That itch returns, stronger than before. He bites down on it, chews it away within himself.

“What? Like I believe in it? Fuck no. Fuck religion. It isn’t real. A weak construct made for weak men in need of comfort. And– and… like what – it’s going to save my soul? I ate that a long time ago, angel. Look at where I am…” He shrugs, letting his head fall back in a circular motion, coming to rest on his shoulder. He can’t help but smile at you, he knows you hate it when he gets like this, all ornery and heretical.

You purse your lips, shake your head at him gently, and he wants to eat the lipstick from your soft mouth. “You believe in angels though… you call me–”

His smile cranks up another notch for a single beat. “Gotta believe in somethin’ that’s right in front of my eyes, don’t I? What d’ya think, that’m crazy?” And his eyes slide to the window again, smile melting off his face. “‘Sides they told me so–”

“Who told you what?” Voice slow, measured, all serious-like. He rolls his eyes, feels the stone of anger in his belly heat, spin, jump to his throat.

“They killed my daughter,” he spits like a whispered scream instead. The shadow of rain is closer. If the dancing bear were out there, it’d be lost to the deluge by now. “I should’ve done worse. I would have, had I not been thrown away in here.” He remembers that a man with a face like his left him here, but he doesn’t know who. He shakes his head, jostles the non-memory out of his ears, searches harder for the dancing bear, killed a bunch’a people, he murmurs to himself, once more again, because he likes the sound of it.

“So you’re talking about yourself. You want to be forgiven.” He doesn’t like when you tell him, when you don’t ask. It makes him feel like you know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know everything you know.

“No. I don’t know.”

“Do you feel thrown away, Joel?”

“I feel forgotten – impossible to remember,” his voice cracks at the end, eyes suddenly wet and hot.

“By who?”

“The world.” He can’t remember his childhood. He can’t remember what he was like as a child, and it makes him sad.

You’re quiet for a long time, no more scratch, scratch, scratch, no more itch. No more angel voice, and then, very soft, like you know you shouldn’t. “I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you.”

Once, a time ago because he can’t discern lengths of it anymore, it doesn't exist here in the perfect place, amidst what, he thinks, is a lot that you know you shouldn’t have allowed, you’d changed the routine up on him. Had sent for him, instead of coming for him yourself. When he’d stepped into the room where you have your talks, you’d been facing the big window, looking out at the green, the line of your shoulders and the dip of your waist and the swell of your ass in your skirt that shifts like water around your knees and the saliva pooling heavy in his mouth, it’d been too much, too much for a broken thing, and you hadn’t turned. Like the pen, like more trust, you hadn’t turned to face him even though he knew you’d heard the door snick shut behind him. He’d stepped as quiet as he could up behind you, quiet like when he was sneaking to kill, and he’d brushed a single tip of his finger up the length of one of your skinny, little ones, so much smaller and finer than his thick, brutish ones, stroked the palm of your hand. You’d made the tiniest sound, interrupted by a swallow, but he’d heard it. He’d heard the want in it. He’d not forgotten either, and he sees that sound in your eyes now, again, as you stare at him with an intention he’s not so fucking crazy that he doesn’t know you shouldn’t possess.

He smiles a little again, and you don’t return it, but it’s okay, he sees the sound of your want in your eyes anyways, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to him. “It would serve us all well to remember to try to be a little more empathetic, a little more forgiving.”

You swallow, shaken, he can tell. Shaken by that thing inside you for him he knows shouldn’t be there. You scratch a little in the book, say slowly, “It starts with you, I think, you have to forgive yourself first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. There are things you talk about you clearly have no understanding of. You’re young. You don’t know better. He understands. “I think… I think, I haven’t been myself lately.”

“Who have you been?”

And again, he doesn’t mean to say it, but you tell him so much you don’t mean to say either that he feels he might as well also. “Someone–” That anger again, he can’t help himself even though he desperately wants to. “Someone my daughter would be afraid of.” Full blown rage now. At you. Yes, at you. You force things from him he doesn’t want to give you, and there’s a thing within him that wants to punish you for it, take a pound of flesh in repayment. “I want someone to forgive me. I want to be forgiven. I want to experience it.” Truth is like fire, hypnotizing, seductive, once it catches, inextinguishable. He wants to hate you sometimes for forcing these things from him, for not giving him a choice, and worst of all, done so unintentionally, unknowingly. He wants to not give you a choice either.

“From who?” You ask. Silly little girl. You need to learn the art of restraint, of temperance. He should teach you.

“Our hour’s up.” He looks away, dismissing you. As if he’s the one in charge here, and not the one caged. Divested.

“No, it isn’t. It’s–”

“Our hour’s up,” head snapping back towards you, barking– “It’s time for you to go.” And something in his gaze must tell how far he’s been pushed, by you, for you jerk up and out of your chair suddenly, turning to scurry towards the door, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to turn back, not bothering to notice the clatter of your pen on the linoleum.

He watches you go, a single black seam runs up the back of your hose, and the sight makes him feel violent, eager for darkness and the solitude of his white box room.

He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the rain beats against the singular tiny window in his room, maybe the way it whispers at him like all the other things that whisper at him now, but he knows you’ll come before he hears the stunted jangle of keys, the sigh and click of his door, the bare pad of shoeless feet on the hard floor, you’d thought this through, your too fast, too shallow breathing.

He’s staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, cock hard, a little chafed. He wasn’t able to make himself come tonight, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes he needs the imagination of your wet cunt more than just the mere memory of your voice in his mind and the remembered feel of your gaze on him, but he’s never let himself picture the full act of fucking you. Thinks it would send him to a level of unhingedness he’d find unable to restrain in your presence. He only thinks of bits and pieces of you, like a dissected doll pulled apart for his half pleasure. Never the full thing, ever.

You try and say whatever it is you want to say several times before it finally comes out, all choked and feigned regret, but you do try and put on a good show, swallowed up by nerves as you are. “I– I just– I just came to make sure you’re okay,” you whisper. You’ve never been in his room before. He’s never had you in his space like this, and it makes him leak.

“You didn’t come for that.” Voice slow, still wide eyed, looking up at the white domed ceiling, something like victory in the shape of a hymn pounding through his veins. He won’t look at you until he’s ready.

“I… I felt badly about how we left things this afternoon. I shouldn't have– I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t end our talk the way– the way… Joel?” You stutter, trail off, voice small and unsure.

He sees you move out of the corner of his eye. One step forward, two back, pressing up against the door again. Little bunny full of regret for coming into the wolf's bed, and he moves suddenly, swift despite his age still. He has little to do here besides move his body, make sure it doesn’t grow rust. He sits up quick as a whip, swinging his legs over the edge of his too small bed, planting his feet wide and sturdy on the cold floor. He can see the tremble of your throat even from here, the pristine lines of you. Your hair and your face and your tits and the tiny little pearl buttons of your blouse like soldiers waiting to be felled on the battlefield. He’s going to rip them from you, pluck the garments keeping you hidden away from your skin, spread you out, filleted.

“That’s not what you came here for, angel.” He shakes his head slowly, and your panic ricochets higher, makes his cock harder. Your arm reaches back for the latch slowly, fumbling behind you, and he braces his legs. Your other palm outstretched, fingers trembling. He gives you another slow shake, as if that small gesture could keep him at bay. “I hear all the things you tell me. Don’t worry. I always hear.”

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“I always see the things you want me to know. I know… I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t– I’m not sure… I shouldn’t have come.” Your hand finds the latch, angling your body to slip through as swiftly as possible, and his muscles coil tight and ready. “I just wanted– to– to make sure…” You pull the door open, move to slip away, and he lunges for you, catches the edge of the swinging door, lets you float in the lie that you’ve gotten away for a few seconds, scurrying a few paces down the dark corridor of his perfect place where he’s found his perfect girl.

The morning after I killed myself, I found an angel.

You make it as far as the bend in the hall before he’s trapping you in his grip, swinging you around so fast you bounce against the white tiled walls, cages you there, open mouth immediately at your jugular, biting down hard while his big palm completely smothers your face, forces your choked cry back down. His other arm wraps around your waist, lifting and dragging you back down the hall towards his white box and his little bed and all his fantasies, artery caught between his teeth, no more choices to be had, exactly like you leave him all the time. He whispers at you to be quiet, quiet, quiet, angels are always good, and then he’s shutting the door behind him, trapping you inside and plucking the keys from your skirt pocket, locking the two of you away together as you should’ve been from that first day.

You try and struggle in his arms, little feet kicking weakly at his shins, scratching at his sides where he has your arms trapped, but the sound of your fight is restrained, held low and gurgled in your throat, and he knows that you know that this is what you’d come for, that you’re getting exactly as you’d sought.

“Fight harder if you’d like,” he says low in your ear, throwing the keys to the far corner and wrapping both arms tight around you, pressing all the air out. Finally, fucking finally. He’s touching you, the plush heat of your breasts against his chest, the soft swell of your belly against his stomach. He’s so fucking hard he wants to rut into you like a beast. “I want you to be scared,” and it’s the foremost truth he’s ever shared with you. The heart of all his depravity. “I want you to want it so bad you’re terrified. As bad as I want it. I want you to not want it also. Want you to fight and cry and scratch and bite, and then take it anyways ‘cause I’m gonna to give it to you anyways. You always take all of my choices from me,” he adds on, voice going barely there, mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the tiny hammering pulse in your throat, and you let out your first soft moan. An angel singing right into his ear. Your fighting tells all sorts of lies. He hoists you higher, presses you closer, and you wriggle and squirm, grinding his erection into the soft apex of your thighs.

“Joel– stop, please– please. I– I didn’t think–” He bends his head to your breast, drags his nose over the hard peak he feels beneath the silk of your blouse, nuzzles there, enjoying the sound of your breathlessness, again that feigned shock. You’re right, you didn’t think, and it’s too late now. What did you expect would happen, coming here to his cage like this in the middle of the night? He catches the taut peak between the edge of his teeth, tugs gently, plucking your cords.

With a fist wrapped in the length of your hair he forces you to your knees at his feet, jerking your head back roughly so that your mouth falls open on a gasp giving him the opportunity to hook his fingers over the edge of your bottom teeth, stretching your jaw open wide. “Open– lemme see,” he orders. “I wanted you so bad,” dragging the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge of your jaw. “I want you so bad. All those days when you forced me to tell you things I didn’t want to tell you. I’m going to show you temperance now, angel,” he nods his head down at you condescendingly when you try and protest. I didn’t force you to do anything, “But you did. You did. You pulled things out of me I didn’t want to share. And now I have to have you. You always take all of my choices from me.” He clicks his tongue down at you, and there are tears in your eyes that go wide and something worse than frightened when he tugs the elastic waist of his soft white pants down, pulls out his angry erection and heavy balls. Your expression morphing from something worse than frightened, to something like desperate, like hungry, like his for the taking. And he’s big, he knows it. Much too big for the pretty little throat he’s about to force it down. But he’s going to be gentle, he’s going to help you, teach you.

“Joel, please–” And look at you beg, so pretty with tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brings the searing brand of his erection to your cheek, presses the burning hot skin all over your face, coating himself in the wet of your tears, marking you in the thick male scent of him. And the feel of you, just like this, just this little bit – with his fingers still hooked over the edge of your teeth he turns your face so that your open mouth brushes against his length. “Taste– I know you’re hungry for it. Give it a kiss hello, little angel.”

Your eyes flash up to his face for a brief moment, almost too quick for him to catch, and then you’re pursing your mouth against him, swallowing the shudder that moves through his entire frame. A tiny kiss to the ridged underbelly of his cock, the drag of your lips against the length of him to the fat tip, and then another kiss with wet lips and enough tongue to undeniably lick up some of what’s slicking it. You want him, even if you won’t admit it, even if you cry or fight. It’s all he needs to know.

Still caught by the teeth he jerks your head back forward, opens you wider and forces his cock down your throat. You gurgle around him, whining, shrieking, false, he knows what you really want. Can feel it in the slicking of your tongue around the proof of his desire for you, he’s giving you everything he has, and he spits your name, purges it from his belly like an infection over and over again while he starts to fuck your mouth. Feels you gulp hard just at the right moment to get his leaking tip caught tight at the choking opening of your throat. He could come just like this. He could, he could. You’re all his. Fill your belly with his semen until it bulges, feed you himself until you’d never be without him. He lets his head fall back, looks up at the white dome, at the false home of the false God, tells you again, voice all cracked and broken and gone away from him, “I don’t believe in God anymore, but that’s okay. I have you to believe in now,” fucks harder, listens to your cries climb up the walls, savors the scratch and shove at his thighs when he tightens his fist in your hair to a painful degree. You always take all my choices from me, always. But he knows that if he’s to show you temperance he must exercise his own, and after a few more slick thrusts, he pulls wetly from your mouth, enjoying your whistling groan as you sag face first against his thigh. He pets your hair now gently, fingers twisting through the softness. He’d always wanted to feel it, memorize its texture, its scent. There is nothing about you that isn’t worthy of veneration, of doing the worst thing in the world just to have you, taste you, keep you.

He lets you rest for a moment, wonders at the fact that you haven’t screamed yet. You easily could, call for help, salvation, an escape. You haven’t, and it soothes him. Makes him feel disgusting in a way that doesn’t match up with how disgusting it should feel to force himself on his pretty angel; a self satisfied type of disgust. Something he should be more ashamed of than he truly is. But when you have so little, when you barely have yourself, when theft is the only means of self satisfaction, little recourse remains for creatures caged in perfect places with only bad avenues left to them.

He hauls you up by your underarms, lets his wet cock press trapped between the two of you, and he’s so close, so close, so close to what he’s needed for so long. He gathers you in his arms, cradles you gentle and with purpose. Tucks your hair behind your ears and wipes the tears and spit from your face, takes it the sparkle of your big wet eyes. So pretty. “Truly like an angel,” and chucks you beneath the chin when you shake your head at him. “You are. So pretty and so soft.” And then finally, like so many times he’d forced himself not to imagine it because he was terrified of what the fantasy would turn him into, no longer the dancing bear in the distance finding it’s escape, but a hungry one, a violent one, an animal so far beyond control all it could do was devour, he pulls you close by the tip of your chin and swallows your mouth whole. All tongue and teeth and the slick slide of your own fervor because yes, it’s there, tangling with his own mouth, pressing your own spit onto his tongue like an offering. You kiss him back.

You kiss him back.

And, “I want to make you my little butterfly,” he says, “Spread you open, pinned just for me to look at. Only me.” He whispers it into your mouth, soft and secret and true. He’d string you up if he could, split you open and peer inside, rifle through the shafts of your ribs like a lexicon that spells out the truth of who you really are. And then that sudden anger again, that furious stone spinning in his throat. His touch becomes harder, punishing, “You’re going to tell me everything about you,” he says with all that rage in his voice, spits the stone out at you. “You shouldn’t have kept secrets from me.” Fuck the little red book and the scratch, scratch, scratch. He’s going to have all your truths. He’s going to be the one taking all of your choices away from you now.

He hauls you towards his little bed, popping the pretty pearl buttons as he goes, knowing he’s going to go to his knees later to collect them like treasures for himself after this is done. He rips the blouse from your shoulders, shudders at your indignant little gasp with the sound of the tearing silk, and you’re all soft skin and fine lace and the prettiest thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes in this whole life.

You bring one delicate hand up to his throat, try and grip him there, push him back, but he presses into the touch, sucks at your mouth again, harder, biting, and you say onto his tongue that you shouldn’t, and please, Joel, just wait, but he won’t and he can’t and he tells you it’s useless to fight because he’s having you regardless.

“No, no– none of that. You’re going to take your fucking like a good little girl,” and something about his words or his tone or the look in his eyes must make the connection in your brian that this is happening click because you suddenly go boneless, head falling back to bear your throat for him, soft sound of concession slipping from your lips.

He goes in for the kill, he’s always been exceptional at that, after all. Teeth latched at your jugular, tongue up and across the slope of soft sugared skin, and you taste like salvation. He’s saved now, he’s sure of it. Everything he’d lost, his daughter, his mind, himself, he’s going to find it buried in your cunt. Joel is absolutely certain of it.

He divests you of your skirt, the pretty lace, leaves the nylons held up by tight elastic around your soft thighs, and then it’s all just bare skin and heat and your soft whimpers, the coolness of your hair between his fingers. He lays you out across the length of his bed, takes in the majesty of his winnings. An angel felled and caught. You lie there staring up at him, and there’s an innocence to your gaze that brings him to his knees, set down and at your mercy now. He parts your legs slowly, one small kneecap in the bowl of each palm, the softest skin he’s ever felt beneath these death roughened hands, and Joel could sob now, weep if he had the time for it. He spreads your thighs wide, palms dragging up the insides, calluses catching on the smooth nylon and watches the dip and hitch of your belly as you gasp and shiver.

“Are you scared?” He whispers right as his palms reach the uppermost part of your thighs, and you’re all softness and warm, damp skin, plush in a way that makes his mouth water and his gums ache, and then he’s finally laying eyes at the center of you, and you’re slicked in the gloss of your desire for him. Playing pretend, feigned fight and reluctance, but he’s looking right at the heart of you, and all he sees now is your truth. You shake your head no, let out a soft breath. “Look at this drippy little cunt,” and he drags his thumb over the pearl of your clit just as whisper soft as his voice is. A half screeched hitch claws up your throat, your thighs jumping at that first touch. He needs to see more, hooks a thumb at each delicate lip and spreads wide, but gently, so as not to hurt you. That’s for later. He stretches your little hole, enjoys the shy wink it gives him.

“My God… look at you,” he says with something like reverence in his voice. So slick and gorgeous. “I think this little cunt’s going to take me in very nicely.” He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit again, clicks his tongue when your knees try to struggle shut. “None’a that, angel. Be good for me now.” He presses harder at your clit, runs his thumb down to your twitching opening, passes there lightly, coating himself in your leaking slick. “I wanted you so bad,” he tells you, one more moment for confessions before he starts. “I want you so bad. And you’ve always taken all my choices from me. Forced me to stay myself when that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

“You’re Joel,” you whisper, and bring your hand to circle the wrist of the hand he’s petting you with. Not pushing him away or pulling him closer, only a gentle manacle around the thick of his bone. He looks up and into your eyes as he presses his thumb slowly inside of you, hooking it over the thin edge, twists you open slow and gentle and measured, gets you ready for the thickness he’s about to split you open with.

“That isn’t who I wanted to be anymore. I wanted to forget all that, all the bad, her, I wanted to forget all of it. I tucked her name under my tongue for so long it became blood, and I wanted it like that. And you didn’t let me.”

Your thighs shift restlessly around him, and you bring one foot up to the edge of the bed, anchoring yourself there so that you can begin a gentle rocking motion of your hips, fucking yourself slowly on his thumb. Your breasts heave and sway with the motion and his balls go so tight and so searingly hot, he could come just now like this from the sight of you, suddenly green and untried like he was in his youth. He didn’t think it was going to be like this, and it’s like he’s wasting your honor, stealing it from you, but something given can’t be stolen and his plans are foiled, he’s not in control but he doesn’t really care either. He finally has you.

He bends his head, brings his mouth to your slick swollen cunt and takes the first sip. Groans so deep in his chest he’s more animal than man suddenly, sucking hard and sharp on your clit, he pulls his hand from you and laves his tongue over the entire slope of your sex, tongue dipping into the well of you. He spreads your lips again, wide, stretches your hole and fucks you with his tongue, big nose pressed to your clit, drowning in your sweet musk. Your fingers twine in the overly long curls of his hair, and he grips your thighs so hard he’s sure you’ll be left with the mark of him later which only makes him rougher, stronger in his hold. With your grip in his hair you sing for him in soft moans and whimpers and more feigned resistance with whispers of no, Joel, and please, stop while you ride his face, his entire mouth covering your cunt, eating it. More beast than man, not Joel, not a father, not a brother, not a killer, only yours. Carved in the image you’d wanted him to be. The one you’d made him with your words and your looks and your scratch, scratch, scratch. All those times you’d asked him what do you want, Joel? And he’d never had an answer for you because what was he supposed to say? You, this, freedom, your wet cunt, the far off field and the dancing bear and my daughter back, alive, my brother, face not unknown. My name, my name, I want my name back. I want myself back. To be alive. I want to be alive. You come on his tongue, first with a shudder and then with a groan, your entire body flushes hot, and it’s a concession of yourself and a door opening, the first vestiges of what the rest of his life will be.

“You’ve got the sweetest little cunt, baby. Goes so tight and wet and fluttery,” he licks up the sticky sweet of your come, runs his tongue over the wet around his mouth, feels it trickle through his beard. “Think I’ll keep you.”

Pulling his shirt up and over his head, he crawls up the length of you, slotting his hips between your damp thighs, pushing his soft pants down his legs as he goes, gathering the small of your wrists in a manacle of his fingers to pin them up above your head. He drapes himself over your body, covering you entirely with his weight and pauses for a moment, nuzzling through the curtain of your hair to get at your ear, your throat, your smell. “Are you going to fight back?” He says soft into the small shell of your ear.

“No, I don’t want to.” You turn your head further to the side, bearing more of your throat to him.

He follows your orders, runs a line of wet kisses up the delicate column, tastes the pulse of your heart and the slope of your shoulder. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in me. I’m not a fighter, I came from a place where there was always fighting, where I always had to do battle constantly. I don’t have it in me now, anymore, ever.” You turn to face him again, lick at the line of his mouth, suck on his tongue, your hips rolling now against him, his erection slotted between the soaked lips of your cunt, swallowing him in warmth. “But also, because you were right. Because I want you. Because I did take all your choices from you.”

Your words pull a groan, a whimper from him, and he pulls his hips back, presses forward, uncoordinated and slipping against all that slick, hot skin. He lets one of your wrists go, keeps the other trapped above your head. “Fuck– grab my cock,” and he feels the heat of your fragile formed hand wrap around the thick of his cock. An ugly, brutish thing held by perfection. You squeeze gently, twist just barely, and he feels his tip rim puckered skin, hot and round and persistent, probing against you as you try and find the right angle. “I’m gonna ride this cunt – hard. And you’re going to take it just how I give it. And you’re going to beg for more and harder and you’re going to thank me.”

Yes, yes, yes. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel.

You notch the tip of his cock at the wet mouth of your cunt, and then he’s pushing in, saving himself, finding salvation, returning or leaving himself, it doesn’t really matter anymore. He presses in, in, in all the way until he’s sitting hard and heavy and deep inside of you, and he’s sure he can almost feel your heartbeat when he bottoms out, balls pressed to the slick curve of your bottom. Your breaths scratch in whimpers against his ear, his hair fluttering in the wind of your gasps, and your free arm wraps tight around the back of his neck, your hips rolling to take more, impossible, for he’s already deep as he can be, tip to womb. But he shifts his weight, grinds against your cervix and enjoys the sound of your pained moan.

“You feel right there? Where it hurts? That’s where I fuck you full’a my baby, little angel.” And his thoughts are unhinged, his desires full of madness and future and possibility. He pulls his hips back, drops them and shifts his weight forward inside of you. “And right there?” Grinds against your most sensitive spot, “That’s where I make you cream all over my cock.” He pulls his hips back again, focuses the tip of his cock at that desperate place inside of you and with his hand gripping your bottom to the point of pain he pounds into that place over and over again. The slick wet, obscene sound of his cock fucking in and out of your drippig cunt rings in his ears, and he grits thourgh clenched teeth, “Say thank you, say thank you. Beg me for it harder.”

And you’re so good, so good, and all please, Joel. Harder, harder, more. You’re so deep, it’s so good, please, more.

He’s going to fill you up and mark you and keep you for himself, and he bends his head, wraps his mouth around the full and heavy weight of your bouncing tit as he fucks you into orgasm around his cock. Going tight, tight as a fist, so wet it drips down his balls and onto the already soaked sheet of his too small bed, and you come for him the way he’d never let himself fantasize about before. Your moans like a song in his ear, and it’s so fucking good, better than any dream, better than anything the voices in his head or the dancing bear could have ever conjured up. He shifts upwards, anchoring himself above you so that he can look down at you as he fucks down deep into your cunt, cock punching against your womb so that it hurts, so that the look on your face is folding in on itself, but good enough still so that your pussy convulses again in another forced orgasm. He wants to look at you as he fills you with his spend, turns you into something he owns after this.

“Gonna fill you up now– gonna fill you until you’re leakin’ me.” Your hands slide up the soft slope of his stomach, his chest, fingers dragging through the hair there, twisting and pulling on it, up to his face where you cup his chin gently, eye to eye and all wrapped up in your cunt he starts to come, the thick heat of his semen coating your womb while you milk him deeper, every last drop of every last part of him he has to give.

When he’s done he pulls heavy and wet from you, the sight of your swollen red cunt gaping from him, he finally pulls the slick ruined panty hose from your legs, the marks of the too tight elastic leaving brands in your soft skin, he fingers the grooves gently, clicks his tongue at the sight in reproach. The only thing leaving marks in your skin now should be him. He pulls your wrists back into his grip again, and the look on your face is almost melting in submission, soft and spent and sloppy, leaking cunt all covered in him.

He ties each delicate wrist to the iron frame of his bed, tight, he can leave marks here now, you’re all his, and returns his attention to the source of his salvation, ignoring your protests as he eats his own come from your cunt until you’re crying a little too loud to remain undiscovered, coming twice more before he gives you reprieve, but he’s the one taking all your choices now, and you have no say in what happens after this.

He eyes the forgotten keys he’d thrown to the dark corner of his white boxed room, “If you’re not good and quiet, I’ll leave you here for everyone to find, naked and fucked and leakin’ me. Pretty used cunt for the whole world to see, that what you want?”

“No, Joel,” you shake your head, all falsely innocent gaze sparkling up at him.

And he tells you how good you are because the two of you are only going to share truths with each other now, only going to share everything. “I had nothing for so long. Nothing. Not even my own body, not even my own mind. Now I have you, and I won't give you up for anythin’. You’re mine now. They all told me so.”

“Who told you?” You ask softly, but he ignores the question as he draws his clothes back upon himself.

“I find myself so hard to remember and so easy to forget, but you remember me. You said so, and now I’m going to make sure you never forget.” Joel collects the keys and the pearls brought to him for his salvation, the dancing bear is so close now, and wraps your shredded clothes back around you, unties your wrists from the bed only to re-secure them, and hoists you folded over his shoulder for the taking.

Joel lost his daughter, and then he lost his mind, but now he’s found you. And they said it would all be okay now that he’s found you.

The morning after I killed myself, I found the end of my suffering, and at the end of that suffering there was a door – behind that door, I am alive again.

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goddessofwaifus · 3 months

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Honestly, how shinichiro managed to worm his way into my heart still surprises me...

He deserves love too! Nobody is "normal" by any standard so how does such a cute weirdo like him get rejected 20 times?! Whatever if none of the girls who rejected him want him, I guess that means no competition for being his one and only 😏 This one is for my shinichiro lovers!!! He may be a loser but he can get a w while being a lovable dork. If takemichi can get bitches, then it shouldn't be out of the question that the same can apply for Shin!

Premise- You're walking in the usual crowded halls and there you bump into the boy who every girl gossips about at school. He's weird, he doesn't know how to talk to women, he's been rejected 20 times... Wait what? How does that happen?!

The only real thing I should note for this little fic is that you and Wakasa are familiar with one another. The relationship can be familial or platonic. Might give some background in a follow up part if anyone is interested in exploring that aspect in detail. Reader,as usual,is gender neutral for inclusion of all who read.

Lose to win

Shinichiro Sano x Reader

How many dates would you go on with this guy? Honest answer for the shinichiro simps out there, I know you're out there!

Personally, I'd go on however many dates he wants. If none of those girls want him, I'll take him myself 🙄 their loss

Honestly school is shit. Especially when you're the subject of gossip and your friends have better luck with pulling than you. That was the case for Shinichiro Sano. Poor guy had been rejected 20 times, he was about ready to give up and just fully dedicate himself to the gang life with his love for bikes. Walking down the hall with him were his friends Wakasa Imaushi, Takeomi Akashi, and Keizo Arashi (Benkei).

"Honestly Shin, I'm starting to worry about ya bud. You are just woman repellant, I feel so sorry for you."

"Maybe his charisma just doesn't work on girls? You really need to stop letting your intrusive thoughts win, man... Girls avoid you like the plague and I don't need you scarin' off the bad bitch I snagged this week..."

"You'll find someone eventually. Girls are picky. If it doesn't work out, who knows? Maybe datin' ain't it for you. If not, you got us! We can go out and kick some ass! Cheer up man!"

Shinichiro gave a small smile to Benkei 's attempt to lighten the mood. He gave a frown to Waka and Takeomi, feeling the white-haired boy give him a light punch to his arm with a chuckle. Some friends they are, he joked until he felt an impact with his chest that prompted him to stop with his friends pausing as well. You had bumped into him on your way to class and bowed your head, embarrassed for getting in his way.

"Sorry... I wasn't watching where I was going. I didn't mean to bump into you! I'll get out of your way... Sorry for the inconvenience. I'll-"

"No no you're fine! This hallway is pretty crowded so it was inevitable for this to happen."

Shinichiro laughed, rubbing the back of his neck while his friends looked down at you. You were going to move aside and continue your trip to your classroom when Wakasa spoke to you.

"Yo y/n, before we let you go off to class, I got a question for ya. You got a type?"

The question was completely out of left field so it flustered you a bit. What kind of question was that? Wakasa is prone to asking odd questions, sometimes to perform his own personal social experiments among other students or simply for his own personal reasons. Maybe to try and see what kind of person they are? You'll never know, Waka has always been aloof and a bit mysterious in your time of knowing him. You shrug and figure maybe this was a test of his, so you'll bite.

"In partners? I guess it doesn't really matter as long as they're not an absolute dickhead or douchebag just looking for some ass. I can't stand people like that..."

You trailed off as you had glanced up at Shinichiro who looked like he wanted to be swallowed up by the floor beneath him. You slowly put the pieces together as you remembered overhearing girls giggling and laughing or gagging in over exaggerated disgust about some boy named Shinichiro who had supposedly asked them out, but they either blew him off or he somehow screwed up his chance by saying something weird that creeped them out/ turned them off from pursuing anything with semblance to a date. You then glanced over to Wakasa as you were now curious to see where he was going with the question now answered.

"You've probably heard around the hallways, but this guy has had an unlucky streak with the ladies. Unlike everyone else, you're one of the nice ones here on campus. You can probably see where I'm going with this."

You nodded, looking back at the embarrassed delinquent busying his gaze with the floor to avoid looking at his friend who was smirking slightly at the response. A gentle tilt of the chin upwards was almost enough to put the boy into cardiac arrest as he instinctively swallowed against your hold. His charcoal eyes meet your (e/c) ones in hesitation,you can see the anxiety building behind them. He watched your lips as you spoke your next words, his ears at attention.

"Shinichiro Sano. 20 rejections? What did you do to scare them off?"

"Too honest and open."

"Speaks before he thinks."

"Being himself is apparently the worst advice to give him..."

You weren't expecting the three boys to list every fuck up the guy made for every girl he potentially had interest in. You almost felt bad for his string of bad luck, but you figured Waka chose you for the most obvious reason.

You didn't have the best track record with dating either. Although you don't like to admit it, you can sympathize with the guy. Girls, as a joke or genuinely, have warned/told you not to get involved with Shinichiro. Social suicide they said, you'll never be able to eat with the little friends or acquaintances you have due to associating with the weirdo, he's not worth it, and so many other disheartening things they spewed from their mouths.

Who were they to tell you not to give the guy a chance? Half of the girls spouting that crap are either dating his friends, fucking with them, or haven't gone out with the guy and are simply regurgitating what everyone else is saying so they don't get the side-eyed by the ones who started spreading the information around. Some say he's bad in bed, others say he's not loyal, one girl said she couldn't stand the smell of smoke from his cigarettes, another said he's impulsive, and so on. They all had something to say about him, never positive things. You would decide, not them. You had a mind of your own and you could tell a person's intentions based on their behavior.

So what if he's bad in bed? Sex ain't everything in a relationship after all.

Most of the girls couldn't say anything about being unfaithful to their lovers when the hypocrisy in their words couldn't have been any louder.

You honestly couldn't say anything about the cigarette smell, but he should quit while his lungs are still healthy and taking in oxygen as they should. The smell is an easy fix, just spritz cologne lightly and it should overpower the nicotine. Some girls don't mind the smell or taste.

As for the impulsive part, that comes with being a teenager. Hormones play a part as well as other factors. You were a bit impulsive yourself so maybe every now and then you say something wild or out of turn that would have the class eyeing you like hawks and wishing you could vanish right then and there in the moment. Perfectly natural for both men, women, and those in between. Nothing new, nothing bad.

Half of the things they listed weren't heinous or anything worth slandering his name for. If not to put these stupid rumors to rest, then just to satisfy your buzzing questions and learn more about the boy who supposedly repels girls away instead of attracting. You don't know what the fuss is about, he's a good looking guy and from the times you've passed by him and his friends, he's a pretty chill and easygoing person. He's never caused trouble, his grades are decent, has no problem with making friends, and you wouldn't assume he's the type of guy who goes around beating up other students to assert his dominance and show off his strength. Shinichiro Sano seems like your average guy who might,one day, work as a mechanic.

"You're L/n-san, right? Y/N? Y-you don't have to if you don't want to... I wouldn't want to waste your time or bring down your reputation by asking you out. I'd only cause problems for you and the guilt would eat at me..."

"What are you talking about? What reputation? I'm not losing anything from going out with you. If anything, I think I wanna be the first girl to ask you out for a date~ If that's alright with you."

You stopped his train of thought right then and there, a smile he swore took the breath from his lungs and made his heart thump hard enough to nearly trigger a panic in him. You asking him ,out of all the guys at school, on a date? He swears up and down his face has never been so hot and red like a cherry tomato before. The smugness of his best friends couldn't have been so loud and visible to the raven-haired delinquent.

It's a big deal because, while you aren't picky about who you date and go out with, you still have standards and on top of that, major trust issues as a result of relationships that have crashed and burned for many reasons you don't want to think about or remember right now.

"Is it cool if I join you guys for lunch period? For once, I don't wanna eat by myself like I usually do. Maybe I can also get to know the gossip topic himself better so I have a better read of him. I have a fairly good idea of who he is,but I wanna hear it from his mouth for myself."

"Y-yeah! It's perfectly fine for you to hang with us! T-the more the merrier right?"

He can't get any cuter or be more of a dork, you thought to yourself with a soft smile. The boys walked you to class and you breezed through most of the lectures with ease. Before you can even squeeze in a little nap, it's lunchtime and unlucky for you, you completely forgot to make yourself lunch this morning before you took off towards the school grounds. You sighed in disappointment,trudging to the roof as you also didn't have enough money for even a little snack to suffice. All you brought with you on the way up was your sketchbook for doodling while you ate, but maybe today was looking up for you.

"Hey. You made it...Did you forget to make yourself lunch before you went to bed again last night?"

The look on your face gave Wakasa his answer, he chuckled as Shinichiro had been telling Benkei that he was saving the extra bento he made to hopefully give to someone (preferably someone who was a good cook) as a taste tester for his cooking. Ever since his little brother and sister started teasing him about being a bad cook, he had become determined to improve his culinary skills in the kitchen to get his rotten little siblings off his back and prove he was a good cook. The lunch he made tasted fine to him, however a second opinion was needed due to his taste being an "unreliable source" to his siblings and grandfather. No more takeout, he would learn to cook for them. Plus, it makes good practice.

"Alright, what idea kept you up this time? I'm assumin' ya jotted it down in your handy sketchbook so let me have a look and see."

While Benkei was distracted by whatever you had stayed up late to work on instead of getting your precious sleep, Takeomi saw the extra lunch Shinichiro made as a perfect opening for the two of you. He nudged their leader and nodded his head over to you to signal him into seizing the golden opportunity to learn more about you. The messy haired bundle of nerves that was Shinichiro gave a subtle nod to his friend's encouragement, sighing deeply as Wakasa sat on one side of you and Benkei sat by Takeomi. You and Shinichiro were sat in the middle as the five of you sat against the fence walls along the school rooftop, Waka seeming to get the same idea that Takeomi had when he remembered the extra bento his friend was holding onto.

"Uh hey Y/n? So I've gotten into cooking recently on account of wanting to get better at it for my lil siblings and grandpa. S-since you forgot to make lunch for today, I figured maybe you could try the extra one I made and have that if you like it. If it's cool with you, I wanna see what you were working on last night too in exchange. If you're not cool with that, I'll still give you the lunch either way!"

You nodded, a bit nervous about showing him the doodles and pieces you scribbled away in the confines of your sketchbook, but you figured it wouldn't hurt for him to see. You didn't think you were the best artist and admittedly didn't think you were good at cooking to really be a good judge of taste testing. Wakasa would shut down any and all belittling of your skills, be your number one cheerleader, and encourage you to pursue your hobby. If you didn't think you were the best cook, shut up. How dare you call his friend a bad cook? He should have you cook something for him and he'll judge it for himself.

Shinichiro traded you the lunch for your sketchbook under the single condition that he didn't laugh and make fun of what you worked on until 2 in the morning before finally falling asleep upon satisfaction of your finished product. Let it be known that you rarely show anyone your work on account of being laughed at and/or bullied for the subject matter of your pieces. You were an anime fan, you liked to watch anime at night and often imagined scenarios between you and your favorite characters from the media, if inspiration struck (more often than not as you're getting ready to go to bed) you would draw said idea in your sketchbook, erasing and redrawing line after line until it looked exactly like your daydream or was close enough to it.

Watching with held breath as the charcoal eyes of Shin glided across the page where your latest piece from the night before sat. He admired each line you drew, the expressions, poses, no space on the filled canvas was left untouched by the observant eyesight of the gang leader. You were so worried about what he thought about your artwork that you hadn't touched the lunch he gave to you. What did he think of the doodles you made? Was he gonna laugh at you too? So many questions flow into your mind, filling your stomach with dread and slowly regretting handing over your sketches.

"I recognize this character! I've seen the anime before, but I can't remember the name. God... What's it called? Oh! A/n (Anime/name)! It was really good!"

"You've seen that anime? Y-you watch anime? I didn't think you were the type to be into that."

"Well, I remember reading the manga for it and thinking 'what's the anime like?' so I watched it and I got invested! This art is really cool! I like the way you drew them, is this your character in the anime? They look really nice."

You smiled, nodding as Shinichiro didn't need you to tell him what was what. He did notice you hadn't touched the lunch he made yet, he looked through the other pages before he was satisfied with taking in your work and committing it to his memory.

Eventually, you opened the bento and found delicious food inside,wafting to your nostrils and making you salivate from the aroma. Shinichiro watched you drool over what he cooked this morning,pride blooming in his chest at the sense of accomplishment but he needed to know if you would eat it. He needed you to take a bite and give him your thoughts on how it came out. Now you were the one being observed closely with bated breath by Shinichiro as you thanked him for the food, bringing a portion up to your lips taking a bite of what you grabbed. The flavor made you tear up with a smile, chewing thoughtfully to savor the taste in your mouth.

You won't forget the looks on their faces as Wakasa cackled from the range of emotion in his friends in response to what you said about Shinichiro and his food. Shinichiro was redder than a strawberry and trying to cover his face, Benkei nearly spit out his food from how wild your response to the food was, and Takeomi was just as flabbergasted if not in utter disbelief at what came out of your mouth. Once Wakasa could breathe somewhat and finally wipe the laugh tears from his lavender eyes, all the snow haired boy had to say was:

"I told you you weren't the only one who blurts out weird shit on impulse! I tooold you!!!"

You hadn't even realized what you said until you saw Shin turn into a tomato with his coal eyes wide open in shock and other things in the mix. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't flattered by the comment on his cooking. It meant he was improving and his practice was starting to pay off. Did you really love what he cooked that much? If so, he'd make a personal note to try and cook more for you in the future. Maybe he could even taste your cooking one day if the date was still gonna happen and it went well. The date was still on and you'd make sure it was fun for the both of you. This date would be the best one that you and Shinichiro had ever been on.

"Ready to go?"

You gave Shinichiro a nod, looking forward to how this date would pan out. Even if the date didn't go well, you would give him the opportunity to take you on another one to make up for it. The two of you had fun riding around together, watching the world pass by as you were behind him on the bike. He'd check on you every few minutes to make sure you were okay, slow down if he felt you were nervous about the speed he was going, he was very accommodating and that alone made the afternoon all the more enjoyable for you.

Shinichiro took you to the movie theater, you had tickets but wouldn't tell him what movie you were seeing. You wanted it to be a surprise,and you had good seats in the back with a perfect view of the screen as long as no one blocked it in the middle row. You two had all kinds of snacks and the best part about this theater was the security doing their job to ensure the watchers had a good time which meant they made sure everyone turned off their phones or put them on silent. If they didn't, well they would "mysteriously lose signal" on their phones and would be forced to go outside to get better reception. If they brought noisy kids, quiet them down or leave. If you stepped out of the viewing room for any other reason besides going to the bathroom or getting more snacks for the movie, you weren't allowed back inside to avoid disrupting the movie for everyone else.

If the adults who were disregarding the viewing room rules of turning off their phones brought kids, the children would have to leave with the parents or whomever the adult in attendance was. They were serious about their jobs and they too respect the rules of the viewing rooms. You had gotten mildly annoyed because as the movie was getting good, that's when the wailing of upset babies, ringing phones, and loud talking began.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Wakasa happened to be in the watch room with the two of you, acting as the discreet wing man once he spotted you both on the way in. Waka did his part and helped jam the signals of any moviegoers who were on the phone when they shouldn't have been. Many complaints followed by irritated teens and adults alike exited the theater to get better reception to their dropped calls or messages they couldn't send, falling into the trap of being kicked out via signal jammers. If they came with kids, the kids would be escorted to their families to avoid the risk of leaving them unsupervised. It's not like they would be allowed to come back inside once they were out anyway.

With the amount of noise now back at acceptable levels, you could hear the movie and enjoy your large shared bucket of popcorn that you got for the two of you to share. Although you both weren't focused on the movie, moreso on one another as you both softly conversed in the back row while munching on your snacks and sipping your respective drinks. Really, you two were using the time to get better acquainted with one another by learning about your common interests and what lives you two lived. By the time you two noticed the movie was nearly over, you felt kinda bad for not watching it because you didn't know what the movie was about.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when Shinichiro admitted he wasn't really focused either. He'd already seen the movie several times so it didn't really matter, but he still had a great time with you and that's all that really mattered at the end of the day. The movie could have been absolute garbage and he'd much rather talk with you than watch it because he really liked you. You'll admit that,on some level, part of you is happy that other girls aren't attracted to Shinichiro and think they're out of his league. Because you aren't too sure you'd have been able to compete otherwise if there had been anyone else that was interested. If it were up to you, you'd keep this handsome,dorky sweetheart of a boy all to yourself and Shinichiro wouldn't mind it. If this is what being loved feels like, then he's all yours and how can he refuse someone as sweet as you if you ever suggested being his one and only lover? He can't and he won't.

I hope I did Shinichiro justice 👉👈 Same with Wakasa and the other boys too, they haven't been animated yet but with how they act in the manga, I assume they're a couple of bros that fuck around and tease their leader about his failing love life. They might shit on him for it but hey, they aren't your friends if they don't at least try to help set you up with someone they think you have a shot with or try to cheer you up if you've been rejected back to back. Bros roast each other but they've got each other's backs when they need it.

#tokyo revengers #shinichiro sano #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro sano Tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader #wakasa imaushi #Benkei #takeomi akashi #arashi keizou #tok rev

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ushioliddell-blog · 2 months

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Pomme and Aypierre's relationship.

I never took the time to analyze it so....Let's go. And there are things, much more than the troll he likes to do to her.

Origin

Their relationship began.....from the beginning. Doesn't begin later like for Antoine or Étoiles. He immediately began to take care of her, made her cookies, offered her diaries to write and many others things. He was not like Baghera, though but was one of the most commited in.

2) Depth of their bond.

When you see him like he is, you can think he doesn't care about her, he is just a troll, blah blah.....The mic jokes, Max and their jokes.... But..... If asked to choose between the love of his life and her.....She wins. She is his queen, his princess, he always proceeds to give her what she wants, make always sure she is not far from him, makes sure she is safe when he does dangerous things. He never lies to her and she is the one who knows most of his secrets. He loves to troll her, sure, but remember that in his ways, it's like his love language. And way to hide his thoughts and sadness. On this subject, he is really similar to Richas way to not let himself be sad (no wonder these two get along so well in my opinion ). Emotional support is much more tricky with him, because of how he can't really handle his without hiding them to not worry anyone. He is also someone who take care of his problems alone so he doesn't talk about them and has tendancy to not ask about others problems, letting the others talk more about them or not ( because himself would not like others in his without asking and because he made so much efforts to not let see any weakness....) (Probably why he knows that Bad has problems but keep an eye on him from a little afar, asking a little but not ask more to not be intrusive and letting him talk if he wants ). But if she talks to him, he will try everything to not let the things goes too scary and made her laugh.

He can be immature with her, but he loves her really much and loves all the eggs too. Will make everything to save them, if he can. Everything.

So as always, with Aypierre, many layers, some hidden, some not and Pomme knows him so much she can see the layers.

If I find others things, I will gladly add it, as always. :)

#q!badboyhalo #qsmp pomme

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willyoubemycherryy · 2 months

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❥𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑎 𝑜𝑓 𝐽𝑜𝑒 𝑅𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑧’𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑔𝑓．．．٩(◕‿◕｡)۶𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒔!

Warnings: innocent victimless pranks😇, disturbing his peace, some suggestive lines here and there, she’s a headache but one he loveeees getting folks😂💕

“𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚, 𝒊 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐...𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚...”

._(✿ ❤︎︎‿❤︎︎)(っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )(≧◡≦) ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡•..~

Its been about a week ago since Joe had attacked your poor cheek and persons with his cutesy bullying….

And you’ve been making good on your vow to get him back.

By inconveniencing him in every way you could.

Letting your intrusive thoughts win every time, It had gotten so bad that even the boys on the team knew about it.

Shorty especially got a kick out of it.

Like that time when Joe came to practice with red lips all over the ass of his shorts, kissed personally by yours truly.

“That color’s workin for you Rantz!”, he teases as some of others whistle when they catch on. Joe, however, is confused.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

The very mature answer he gets, comes in the form of various obnoxious kissing sounds.

They’re on their way to the boat when he catches one of his coaches try and fail to hide their smirk before he notices his reflection out the corner of his eye in the water. Breath catching in his throat, he’s flushing the same shade of red when sees it.

The deep red, lip-shaped stains all over the seat of his shorts. He had so many questions but none of them about who left them.

He had some clues as to why but not how. Unfortunately, that was only the beginning.

From leaving marks on his persons without him catching on, getting him riled up then leaving, pinching his butt and messing with him by insisting you didn’t know what he was talking about when he called you on it; to spraying the inside of his backpack with your perfume and watching him freeze in class the next day when he opens it and your scent, along with a few choice memories tied to it, hit him in the face. Looking away quickly when he snaps his head up at you.

And you deserved an award for how well you’d play good girl. Wiping the smirk off your face with record speed, assuming the look of utmost innocence before looking up at him through your lashes. Pouting, “why I’d never, honest.”

To prove that you definitely would, Joe decided to test you. Doing everything you like in a day and seeing if you’d tease and flit away or jump him like you usually did.

You were both out in the water after the sun had gone down and you were sitting in his lap while he tried to “teach” you how to row.

Blanks weren’t the only thing about to get filled.

Until, you push away from his wandering hands and lips to sit as far as you can.

Pinching your lips in as you smile, “well look at the time. Guess we should be heading back now..” and that’s when he gets it.

“You’re still mad huh? That’s why you’ve been actin’ up so much.” Of course you let him off the hook. It was so you could get him back.

Then since the jig is up…

“Duh I’m still mad! You laughed at me for like 10 minutes straight! You…you bullied me,” dropping your voice at that last line, so he can hear the pout.

Smiling, Joe shakes his head with a huff amusement. There’s his dramatic girl. Making sure the oars are secure, he reaches across and pulls you back into him.

“Alright sweets. I shouldn’t have laughed like that. That wasn’t very nice of me, to you, who’s never bothered me.” You definitely have bothered him and on multiple occasions but he’s being sweet and a little sarcastic which is your weakness. You’re just too fond of him. Breaking into a grin, you giggle prettily. Making his heart swell in adoration as he looks at you.

“Forgive me?” Obviously. You throw your arms around his neck, nodding happily.

The war was officially over.

“Good. Now, was the lunchbox with ‘from your big sexy girlfriend who wears the pants in the relationship’ written on top of it necessary?” Ahh yes. You may have went a drop overboard.

But if it’s one thing you are: it’s shameless and unrepentant. Blushing, you nod again.

“Absolutely necessary”.

Pecking his full lips and pulling away with a wink.

Cheeky. What was he going to do with you?

Grabbing the oars with you snuggled happily in his lap, Joe starts to row you two back. Feeling content that out of everyone you could have been “inconveniencing” with the loveliness of your presence, you chose him.

It’s that thought with the feel of you cuddled all over him that has him grinning ear to ear all the way back.

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #fluff #joe rantz #joe rantz x reader #the boys in the boat #masters of the air #mota #x reader

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catzcasz · 4 months

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Thinking about the current situation with Cellbit and Roier (cubito)

Both characters are screwed, both have their traumas, but they both love each other so much…

It is very sad to know that Cellbit is not able to understand that Roier really loves him so much. Cellbit said that he is afraid… and that he just wants Roier to be happy, that he doesn't believe that Roier will be happy where he is (Purgatory) and the way he is now. He really believes that Roier can move on, forget him, and be happy…

Why? Well, because for Cellbit it seems impossible for someone to love him as much as Roier do… although Roier has told him several times, in his head no one has ever loved him like that (he doesn't remember love in his past, only war and betrayal)… In addition, his mental state is now also affected by "Richas' death", he and Baghera really believe that the eggs died and wish they had died with them… (Funny because Roier also wanted to die when he lost Bobby).

On the other hand, I am so sad for Roier… Roier who has traumas about the people he loves betraying him or leaving him alone… When Roier returned "alone" to Quesadilla Isla (because his whole family: Cellbit, Foolish, and Jaiden did not make it on time) I can't imagine how horrible it was for him, literally those days he probably went through so many thoughts in his head.

He told Pepito that Cellbit left him, other times he said that Cellbit died and then he told Leo and Richas that he was working on something and had a plan, he literally went through many types of thoughts /stages all those sleepless nights in Quesadilla…

Let's remember that (in canon) Roier has been blamed every time someone he loves leaves, some people told him that the betrayal was his fault, and told him that Bobby's death was his fault, I can imagine that at some point too He questioned and blamed himself for Cellbit not getting on the ship on time… I also imagine that at some point he thought that Cellbit decided to leave him, they are just intrusive thoughts caused by his trauma, but surely weighed on his soul even though he later discarded them. But…from what we saw, in the end, Roier did believe that Cellbit was alive and wanted to look for him (until he was kidnapped).

In that sense Roier and Cellbit are very similar, they both love each other very much but have thoughts (caused by their traumas) that can affect what they say or do at certain times.

I'm really afraid of what happens these days in the "Roier cintas" and I'm afraid when Cellbit returns to Quesadilla Island (I imagine he will at some point)

I'm sure Cellbit will feel anger and want to tear apart those who hurt Roier, but he also probably will blame himself and want to tear himself apart for leaving him alone... I'm afraid of how Roier will react (and I don't mean that he might hit Cellbit with his flip-flop xd / scream / hug or talk deeply about this situation) I mean that until we finish Roier's lore we won't understand if the Federation really did it something to him that can affect their relationship (like erasing his memory or who knows what)…

There are still many things in this arc that can affect what will happen between them in the future, kinda scared, although I trust that at the end of the day, love wins.

#roier #qsmp #qsmp purgatory #cellbit #guapoduo #spiderbit #roier qsmp #qsmp federation

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skzdreamz · 11 months

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Hiii Could I please request smut with Hyunjin, in which he has a curvy girlfriend and this might sound weird but she’s really insecure about her bottom being big and he shows her how much he appreciates her ^^ ❤️

thank you for the request <3 I tried my best, hope you enjoy!!

Cake - Hwang Hyunjin

pairing: softdom!Hyunjin x fem!reader warnings: pet names, cussing, unprotected sex, fingering word count: 0.8K

you have always been a bigger girl and that came with having a big ass. you didn’t think much of it, but the older you became, the more anxious you were. you started to wear oversized clothes to cover it and you always avoided turning your back to people. it has even gotten to the point that you feel anxious about leaving the house.

as much as you hate having a big bum, your boyfriend Hyunjin does nothing but appreciate it. whether it’s giving your ass a quick pat when you need to move or his intrusive thoughts just win when you walk past him. he can’t help slapping or touching your ass whenever you’re with him.

the dress you’re were wearing today didn’t make it any easier for Hyunjin. your ass bouncing with every step you made. and you pulling down your dress over and over again to prevent exposing your ass to your boyfriend.

you catch him staring the whole time and it made you nervous. all the negative thoughts flooding your mind. Hyunjin seemed to notice, because he made sure to compliment you every time you walk past him.

and that’s the exact reason why you’re here now, on all fours, back arching and ass up in the air waiting for Hyunjin to finally insert his cock in your cunt. all the patting and ‘innocently’ caressing of your ass made you embarrassingly horny. you’re glad he was just as horny as you were. well, what did you expect when you’re wearing the shortest dress in your closet.

“Hyun… please do something” you whine. your ass wiggling a bit as the words leave your mouth. you feel embarrassed to be in this exact position in front of him. no matter how many times he tells you he loves your bum, you can’t help but feel conscious about it. being here in front of him with your ass on full display made you nervous.

he caresses you cheeks softly squeezing them every now and then. your slick is dripping from your cunt at this point and you would do anything to just lay on your back and have him fuck your brains out.

he’s practically drooling seeing you like this. “fuck.. do you have any idea how sexy you look right now?” he groans. you try to close your legs to relieve the ache between your legs, but a loud smack on your ass makes you stop your movements.

“come on now baby, just tell me what you want” he lets his finger travel from your ass to your cunt. slowly letting one finger slide through your wet folds. “do you need me here? or…” he places a finger on your clit, putting some pressure on your sensitive bud. “.. here?” you moan as he starts circling your clit.

the pressure and the pace of his finger moving on your clit made you see stars. you’re finally getting the pleasure you’ve been waiting for and he never disappoints you in pleasuring you.

before you can reach your high, Hyunjin pulls his fingers out of you. bringing his slick coated fingers to his mouth to taste all of you. he hums, satisfied with the way you taste. “daddy will make you feel good now, okay?”

before you can respond you feel him entering you. his thick cock sliding through your velvet walls, making you clench around him. he let’s you adjust to his size before picking up his speed. his hips snapping into yours, making your ass jiggle with every thrust. the sight of it turning him on even more.

you feel his dick twitch indicating he’s close to his release. “god, you’re so hot” he groans as he watches how his cock slides in and out of you. he grabs a hold of your cheeks, giving each one a harsh slap every now and then. the slapping and the deep thrusts send you over the edge. your cunt clamping down on his dick, making him lose his sanity.

he fucks you through your orgasm, picking up his speed even more. the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, the bouncing of your cheeks with every thrust and the loud moans leaving your mouth eventually send him over the edge as well. warm liquid filling you to the brim, making you feel so full of him.

he stills for a moment catching his breath before pulling out. you’re laying face down into the pillow trying to come back to reality. he softly caresses your skin, of course stopping at your ass a little longer than the rest of your body.

“never hide from me okay?”

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist <3

taglist: @softyoogi @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @sillyrabbit76 @luvshuu @stray-kids-smut1246

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz #skz smut #skz fluff #skz fanfic #skzdreamz #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids fluff

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the-local-eldritch-microwave · 1 month

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Error and Ink headcanon

real tiny TW of triggering people on purpose so be warned(its only mentioned once)

so lets say hypothetically, if all the creators were to lose interest then the multiverse would die a slow and sad death until only the void is left. Now Error and Ink obviously are the only ones with direct contact to the creators so lets just say that any sort of truce or peace between sides tends to bore a lot of creators(enough to cause worry). They want action! drama! death! all of the above. So! every time the multiverse comes even a little bit close to a truce, lets say dream and nightmare get close to apologizing to each other and/or the council starts to learn their ways that would be the eventual end of the multiverse(In their eyes) so Ink and Error have this mutual agreement to continuously fuck shit up even if it cost the both of them their relationships and lives.

Error does this in an obvious way, by doing what he does best(destroy, and by proxy bringing creators back so they can create more to replace them and stay out of spite) but i think he would make truces with people like fresh and the council and such only to break them off on short notice or barley work with them at all and cause general mistrust. In think he would be betray Nightmare and foil his plans a lot because even if the bad side wins in the end that's still gonna turn constant and for many creators(unfortunately) that's just as boring as a world that's happy all the time. Error would definitely fool the council into thinking he's a good guy and even being content with it himself until the creators start to pester him and bring his intrusive thoughts back out.

In the other hand Ink would stay content for a while playing the good guy and encouraging creators to make more universes to keep it alive however in times of desperation he would turn to other measures such as leaning into his chaotic good to neutral side and even betraying dream for Nightmare starting as small favors and possibly even tuning into something bigger(im squeezing in some hypothetical Inkmare cause i can, but kinda one sided wont say for who tho). He'd even break his own rules of not interfering with a story just to get an "interesting" sans out of it to bring old creators back to a creation that they had once long forgotten(basically giving out more trauma like pokemon cards).

The both of them would see drama between two san's or people and both actively think of ways to make it worse or stretch it out for longer then it should have initially been as well as being everyone's #1 instigator and i think Ink especially(but also Error too) would "accidently" trigger people mid fight to escalate things and just ruin any chance of rekindling old friendships unless those friendships and relationships are "interesting"(Ink) or "worth it"(Error) in the long run.

The creators voices(Error) and creative drive of the creators(Ink) would most definitely sway them and if they're in the middle of messing something up but the creators suddenly seem to have a change of heart or find interest without any intervention they would stop what they are doing and leave them alone finding something else to do.

And when the day is done they would both meet up in outertale(an au the creators seem to love and therefore almost never gets touched besides from a visit or two) sit down side by side and both silently wonder what life would be like if the creators didn't have to be there and they could both let the Multiverse run its natural course.

(i imagine them to have some sort of QPR here but this is up to how you interpret it!)

#they are both jerks #but for the greater good!#utmv #ink sans #error sans #ink headcanon #error headcanon #ink and error #my funky stuff #headcanons #undertale #undertale au

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mimiii-3 · 11 months

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Twst boys react to a reader who is obsessed with them

Note/warning: gn reader, obsessed reader (mostly in a cute way but a little bit is yandere-ish), fluff

. . .

Jack

• had no idea what he was signing up for when he asked you out

• after the two of you were comfortable with one another, you let the intrusive thoughts win

• you’d be lying if you said his muscles weren’t the first thing you noticed about him

• whenever the two of you go on walks, you dangle from his gorgeous bicep

• he doesn’t mind and just drags you across campus

• you insist on “spotting” him at the gym

• he keeps catching you ogling his bulging muscles

• his muscles aren’t the only part of him you’re obsessed with

• that noble attitude of his, paired with his rugged good looks is the perfect concoction for the white knight of your dreams

• you swoon every time he stands up for his ideals

• you know that he’s a truly good man who would never hurt you

• it’s no wonder you’re so obsessed with him

“Baby, I love you but I can’t take notes with you wrapped around my arm. Tell you what, if you let me take my notes now, I’ll cuddle you as much as you want tonight. Does that sound good?”

Azul

• dies when you list every part of him you love

• his self-consciousness paired with your obsessive love is an interesting mix

• ever time he says something self deprecating, you tell him what you love about him

• one time he mentioned that he didn’t like the way his stomach looks

• you dropped to your knees and kissed his tummy

• his entire face is flushed as he fumbles over his words

• can’t form a proper sentence for a while

• you loooove taking pictures of him

• you may or may not have a shrine dedicated to him

• the shrine consists of way too many pictures of him and a little plush that you made yourself

• one day he stumbled upon it while you were using the restroom

• begs you to destroy it

• with a heavy heart, you disassemble the shrine at your adorable boyfriend’s request

“Thank you for getting rid of…whatever that was. There’s no need for you to have pictures of me when the real thing is standing right in front of you.”

Leona

• knows you’re infatuated with him and likes to rub it in your face

• but what he doesn’t know is just how obsessed you are with him

• wakes up every morning to you propped up on your elbows, watching him intently

• sometimes wakes up to you playing with his hair

• whenever the two of you kiss, your hands are always in his hair

• you’re always so generous, giving him a scalp massage when he’s irritated with everyone and everything

• speaking of irritated, you love when he’s chewing out the savanaclaw dorm members

• the husky growl at the back of his throat while he yells at them is something else

• the way his brows furrow in frustration at their weakness

• and don’t forget the vein that bulges deliciously on the side of his neck

• he was in the middle of yelling at a pair of savanaclaw members when you peeped his neck vein

• without a second thought, you go on your tiptoes and kiss the vein

• his barking insult dies in his throat

• he turns to look at you with this smoldering look

“I’m in the middle of something (y/n). Go to my room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

. . .

Note: Can’t stop thinking about licking Leona’s neck smh - lock me up y’all

#twisted wonderland #headcanon #twst headcanons #fanfic #fanfiction #twst jack #jack howl #twst leona #leona kingscholar #twst azul #azul ashengrotto

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nervousgardenerkid · 2 years

Text

I wish I knew you wanted me.

a/n: okay i honestly didn't think it was gonna be this long,,,,so i had to split it into two parts LMAO part two will probably(?) be up tomorrow? or on tuesday :D enjoy this steve angst mwah mwah! credit to gif owner!

read part two here!

There was one thing that was clear in Steve Harrington’s crazy upside-down life.

He doesn't get the girl. He never does. He didn't get Nancy, he didn't get the girl he went on a day with last week, and he most definitely, didn't get you. He watched with a glare as you and….you and…okay Steve doesn't even remember his name, he just doesn't know if he chooses to forget it on purpose or if he's gotten in one too many unsuccessful fights.

“Jesus dude,” Robin mumbled as she came back with a small stack of tapes in her arms. “You know, if you stare a little harder a laser may magically appear and vaporize him.”

“You think so?” he mumbled while glaring a little harder as she suggested.

“No, you dingus!”

He let out a sigh and finally looked away from your giggling figure while running his hands through his hair.

“I just don't get what she sees in him!”

“Maybe it's the fact that he, oh I don't know confessed to her, unlike someone I know.”

Steves let out a sigh and tried to fight the urge to look over at you but failed. You were wrapped in the arms of…whatever his name is, smiling while trying to choose a movie.

“For the last time Robin she didn’t feel that way about me, and she sure as hell doesn't now.”

Robin rolled her eyes and clutched a tape in her hands trying so hard not to throw it at him. She can't let the intrusive thoughts win, not today at least.

“My god it's a good thing you're good-looking cause clearly your brain refuses to work.”

Steve turned to her with a smirk and ran a hand through his hair.

“You think I'm good-looking?”

“I think you're an idiot.”

“Fuck you.”

Robin didn't have time to register the fact that you were coming up to the counter before she launched the tape at Steve only to let out a groan as he caught it with no trouble.

“You guys are kinda cute together,” a deep voice said

You let out a snort only to cover it up with a cough.

“Oh, we're not-”

“It's all platonic with a capital P over here Mason.”

Mason! That was his name…ew. Steve thought while he stepped forward ready to take Pretty In Pink out of your pretty hands.

“Hi, Steve,” you said with a smile.

It took everything in him to not fall to his knees and finally confess everything he's been feeling for nearly a year. Who knew saving the world multiple times together could cause so many emotions to bloom? His thoughts were cut short when he felt a foot step on his not so lightly. He curses whoever pissed off Robin today cause he's the one who has to deal with her temper.

“Hey Y/N, just pretty in pink for today?”

You opened your mouth but Mason cut you off.

“Yeah, just that stupid movie for today.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed Mason away from you.

“It's not a stupid movie! I saw it at the theatres with Steve and it was really good!”

Mason let out a snort and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“Well since you both love it so much then maybe you can watch it with him.” he sneered out.

you let out a sigh and turned to look at him while mumbling “Mason cmon, we were having such a good day-”

“Actually I'd love to watch it with them,” Steve said while standing a little straighter than before. Robin let out a quiet “oh boy” before making herself comfortable against the counter.

Mason scoffed and stepped around you that way he was face to face with Steve. “You know, if I didn't know any better, I’d think king steve is trying to get a date with my girl.”

Steve swallowed hard trying not to say what he wanted to say. Maybe he was asking you on a date despite you having a boyfriend. Hell, maybe he could treat you better. No, scratch that, he could definitely treat you better than Mason could. His thoughts were cut short when you let out an awkward chuckle.

“Okay Mason that's enough,-”

“No, I don't get why you hang out with this loser. He's a high school has been and he doesn't have anything going for him besides this lame-ass job! Doesn't he babysit on the weekends or something?”

Robin let out a scoff and stood by Steve.

“The hell are you talking about with this whole high school has been? What exactly are you doing with your life?”

Mason let out a scoff and said something to Robin that caused bickering between them. Steve tuned them out and looked down at his hands. He knew he didn't like Mason but now he really doesn't like him, although he did make a couple of points. In Steve’s eyes, he didn't have much going for him. Every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, take robin home, pick up Dustin, Mike, and Lucas to take them to the arcade, then he goes home to repeat everything the next day. Oh god, he is a loser. He blinks rapidly trying to push down the negative thoughts and emotions that are stirring inside him.

Don't cry, Steve. Whatever you do, don't cry in front of the girl of your dreams and her stupid, mean ugly- his thoughts are cut off when he hears a loud smack echo throughout the store.

“We're fucking done,” you said with venom replacing the usual sweet tone you have.

“Are you seriously-”

“Yes! Yes, I'm seriously dumping your ass in Family Video in front of my best friends! Get the hell away from me!”

“Have fun walking home then!” Mason shouted as he stormed out of family video.

The tension in the air was thick as Robin cleared her throat.

“Steve you should totally take Y/N home.”

Steve turned his head towards her his mouth slightly opened as he mumbled out a small “huh?”

Robin kicked his shin and tilted her head towards you. “Y/N. Home. Take. Her.”

“Oh. Oh! Y-yeah I can totally take you home!” Steve rushed out while fumbling around for his keys.

“But what about robin-”

Robin waved her hand and insisted Nancy would pick her up cause she needed to rant about Jonathan to someone. Steve nodded his head and jumped over the counter ready to walk out the door with you until Robin said something.

“Hey Y/N?”

You nodded your head at her signaling for her to continue. She put a hand over her heart and glanced at Steve before looking back at you.

“I love you.”

You tilted your head to the side and furrowed your eyebrows. “Thanks Robs…I love you too.”

Robin let out a sigh of relief and chuckled.

“Wow, that just…it feels nice to get off of my chest.” she locked eyes with Steve and cleared her throat “It’s almost freeing in a way! Like, oh I don't know like someone could say it and fix so many problems!”

Steve rolled his eyes as he got the not-so-subtle message from a robin. He flipped her the bird and sent her a sweet smile.

“Robin…did you hit your head today?”

Robin’s jaw dropped and put her hand near her heart. “I just told you I loved you and that's all you have to say?”

“I said I loved you too-”

“Well!” Steve chuckled out “we better get going bye robin I owe you one!” Steve said while he guided you out the door.

“Idiots,” she mumbled. “They're both idiots.”

The ride back to your house was silent. You and Steve we're both too caught up in your thoughts, what if you thought he was a loser and that's why you never liked him? Why the hell did robin randomly say she loved you?

“Hey, so I'm sorry-”

“Steve I'm sorry-”

You both stopped talking and let out small laughs.

“You first,” you said while turning towards him.

He nodded his head putting the car in park once he reached your driveway and let out a sigh. “Um, sorry,” he started “about you and Jason-”

“Mason.”

“Whatever the fuck his name is.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile on your face and grabbed his hand. He tried to ignore the warmth that danced along his face as he turned the other way praying that you didn't see.

“Don't worry about him. I'm sorry about all the stuff he said about you.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips, he shrugged his shoulders.

“‘S fine. He kinda had a point.”

“Steve no-”

He shook his head as he let go of your hand and anxiously chewed on his fingernails. “It's like everyone was right about me ya know? I-I don't have anything going for me, and my closest friends are a group of high school children. I love them, I do but,” he puts his hands in the air trying to find the right words. “I see everyone I use to know find something for themselves. They found their dream career, and they find the perfect college to attend,” he locks eyes with you. “They find that perfect person who always makes them smile. The person who can make everything seem fine even when the world goes to shit. The person who makes the feel, fuck my mind is blanking.” he mumbles while snapping his fingers trying to find the right words.

"Makes them feel whole,” you whisper.

“Yes! That's the word! God, you're so smart.”

“Have you found that person?” you asked. You find yourself silently praying he says no, and if he says no you pray that he opens his god damn eyes and finally sees you. He nods his head and your heart drops as you see a smile make its way on his face.

“Yeah, yeah I have.”

You nod your head and sniffle while letting out a shaky laugh. “Cool. I mean, that's good. Um, I think I'm gonna head inside now. Pretty sure my parents are wondering where I am.”

Steve feels his shoulders drop and he clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah of course. I'll um, see you around?”

You nod your head and mumble “thanks for the ride.” while slipping out of the car and walking into your home. Steve stares at the front door and blinks multiple times. Every bone in his body is aching to run after you. His arms are dying to wrap themselves around you, and his lips crave leaving small kisses on your delicate skin. He wants to run to you, he wants you to be his but for some reason, he can't bring himself to get out of the car. The fear of rejection is much too strong and overpowering every other emotion he's feeling.

He reverses out of your driveway and makes his way home with a heavy heart, mumbling how stupid he was for even thinking he had a chance. He knew robin would kill him for not confessing how he felt but he has a bad habit of biting his tongue in situations like this.

If only he knew how you wished that he wanted you.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fluff

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call-of-ishmael · 20 days

Text

The Last Ishmael OCD Post

One of my first times that i dabbled into character analysis was about Ishmael's OCD, people like that post but i really feel i could have done better

Canto V was my last major chapter i was willing to read. As i put more distance between me and the story, i want one final farewell in the form of finally fixing up my analysis

PART I: THE META-TEXTUAL

Before i delve into the writing itself, here is some pointers the story gives to her OCD in the form of flavor text and descriptions.

Firstly we have her Bio

This is easy to miss as its just a tiny blurb above her whole intro blurb.

Now, "obsessive compulsive neurosis" is a very weird way to phrase it, "obsessive compulsive" is clear enough but "neurosis" is odd, this is not TOO odd though, as "neurotic" used to be how OCD was classified as a disorder.

However if we look at her bio in Korean, the particulars do simply straight up say "OCD" very clearly, you'd need to MTL but this was also confirmed to me by a friend from SK

The sinner bios are biased though, and are written through a very corporate lens, so lets see if there's any other pointers elsewhere

Her base EGO, Snagharpoon, actually does just that

Her passives name is called "Compulsion" and in its gameplay design its a very interesting way to also point to it

Ishmael is a very all or nothing person, you do it well or you don't do it at all, and this is reflected on how this passive aids you to play

This passive is excellent for boosting the consistency of playing by only going for "Favored" or "Dominating" clashes, while punishing you for taking chances on clashes you MIGHT win

Base ID Ishmael is also a unit with all single coins, rolling tails puts her in a very unfavorable position so this also adds an extra safety net on top. Worth noting being all single coins is also a high risk high reward type of play style.

Finally we see two more pointers id like to note, both from Canto V

The Compulsive`s Knot, an ego gift themed after a naval rope, one of many in the dungeon all alluding to her struggles.

Most obviously though

Her exclusive status effect, Compulsion. This is in direct reference to her EGO passive, providing an attack boost at the same time it provides a drawback in the form of low SP.

We are gonna talk a bit more about this passive since it ties into another gameplay oriented way to point towards her OCD

During the story dungeon we have an event where a noise is heard, you are given two choices, check, gain SP, don't check, lose SP.

Compulsive checking is probably the most well known (to the conditions detriment we will talk about it later) hallmark of OCD

Notably, this doesn't aid Ishmael, while checking can avoid the combat encounter, not checking only has a chance of triggering it, and most interestingly, her SP will always start at -25 during combat encounters. Meaning the temporary boost in her sanity will just get reset next battle, should you decide to check. Checking wont satisfy her anxiety for more than a brief moment.

Lastly the most obvious ones are all the references to Obsession. These are so abundant i feel if you are familiar with the Canto its redundant to have them, i wanted to draw more attention to the allusions to compulsion, as they are less common.

PART II: BEFORE THE STORM

Even since before her own Canto, we can see Ishmael's ruminating and anxious tendencies pop up during previous chapters, which for OCD is important to explore as OCD is an anxious and ruminating disorder.

So lets talk a little bit about OCD! Its a disorder characterized by repetitive and constant intrusive urges to perform a task or a thought (lets keep this in mind for later)

These thoughts or actions are used to try to relieve stress from an anxiety inducing thought or situation. The most common example is OCD exacerbating germ phobia, and causing people who have it to wash their hands in excess.

While OCD is usually described as "irrational thoughts" i feel that's a pretty limited way to view it in my own experience with it. OCD compulsions and thoughts can be informed by very real worries, the worry of getting sick, of making the wrong moral choices, of hurting others. Being clean is a normal and a good practice to stave off getting sick, its the frequency and intensity that turns it maladaptive, OCD turns your own lived fears and traumas against you, and those might very well be real things to worry about, which makes dealing with it very hard.

Enough of that off to the writing!

Lets start with Canto II

This is the first example of her constant need for a lack of ambiguity, previous to this we see her complain about the treatment the sinners are receiving from Effie and Saude, skeptical of the whole deal.

Until shes shown the plans, they are so well crafted shes able to anchor to that and calm down.

This by itself is not really much other than being very detail oriented, lets look a bit further into the chapter

Here we see that aspect elaborated upon more, this moment is framed as a very important one between Dante and Ishmael in their dynamic later on, Ishmael is incredibly upset at the plan having fallen apart so quickly, while yes this is not unreasonable to be upset at, her anger is remarked on by Dante and Gregor as very intense and unusual. This in my opinion is a minor but clear indication her need for planning and considering every option is due to a deep anxiety, but don't take it from me, lets look at Canto III

Here we are told pretty explicitly, Ishmael moving quickly and asking lots of questions is something Dante has noted as an anxious habit.

And here we have more elaboration on what exactly that moment at the Casino meant for Ishmael, it was enough anger and disappointment she has stopped expecting Dante to perform well and instead taken it upon herself to see things go according to plan, this is VERY important to her.

And her worries, are repetitive enough to annoy others, and to be remarked upon by Dante.

This is perhaps the more notable chain of events to point out previous to her chapters aside from 4.5, as it helps contextualize all her usual ways of acting in a more complete light, showing a lot of this is driven by a deep anxiety

And this all makes S.E.A all the more interesting as it pays off on this.

Something i quite enjoy about Limbus is how it re-contextualizes things characters have previously done and said. And the events of S.E.A and Canto V bring a lot of interesting stuff to the table

Lets get cracking with this chapter

In general shes extremely confrontational, and tense, more than usual

But its her anxious outbursts i wanna focus on, what she puts

emphasis on.

This chapter is so crucial in this whole analysis. We see some behaviors way more clearly now, firstly we see her emphasize her need to be absolutely 100% prepared for this, no ambiguity no risks she wants certainty.

But we see something even more clearly and that's her ruminating behaviors, shes brought up things like this to a smaller extent before like commenting on a lot of aspects but here we see in full display her inner world become externalized, shes started voicing worries shes never voiced before can Dante turn them back always? What if Dante dies? What if the sinners get eaten can that be turned back?

And these don't all get brought up immediately, she mentions them in different conversations, pointing to the fact shes constantly going over the subject in her head with no pause, and she gets frustrated when she cannot work on these worries when she cant do anything to quell the anxiety.

And the last part, when Dante finds her so fixated in her planning its impossible to even talk to her. She has to perform some action do something to stave off the disaster she can see coming in her head

As someone with OCD inevitably i have to mention the personal component that drew me to analyze this was how real this feels to when you spiral

A lot of the times OCD is explained as the compulsions being something you do cause you feel its a sort of ritual to stave off disaster. Its in this way i see it reflected in this moment.

As we see with Heathcliff acting as her foil, he points out her worrying is really not doing much other than just her talking and talking, and by the state shes in when Dante checks in on her, aimless not even paying attention to anything else we see the main objective of the planning really isn't practical as much as a compulsive coping mechanism.

She has to do something

PART III: INTO THE DARK

Lots to cover and honestly i will make a companion post to this with all the examples, so for this section i wanna cover some highlights instead, as well as a general discussion of the tone.

The way this chapter is structured is very interesting, its really reflective of the mental state of Ishmael. The chapter feels really aimless, they wander around not really ever finding what they need, which drives Ishmael more and more tense and frustrate

Its a good continuation to how we see her by the end of S.E.A fixated on one goal one thing

As previously stated shes inflicted with a constant special and unique to her status effect called "Compulsion" as covered in Part I

Her behavior is also reflective of this

For a good part of the first third of the chapter shes in her room, the whole time whetting her harpoon, nonstop

However you might notice compulsion is not as present as obsession, and compulsion is also important to OCD its in the acronym! And i have seen others point to it too

However id like you to remember, in the post earlier i said thoughts can fit into OCD, compulsions can be mental and sometimes almost exclusively or mostly mental. Its even in the DSM noted that for diagnosis the compulsions to count you for a diagnosis can be mental in nature

Its in this aspect that i feel Ishmael shines a lot

In general OCD in media is lacking in representation and is often a trait given to assholes or villains

The normal conception of OCD in movies or TV is of neat freaks or control freaks, Compulsion is usually heavily emphasized when it isn't the whole picture

Often ignored though is the aspect of Obsession, some people can have Purely Obsessional OCD (Pure O), this isn't a formal diagnosis or term but its colloquially used by people who have it. Its a bit of a misnomer, as compulsions are present but internalized as mental rituals or rumination

Usually its harder to diagnose, its harder to treat as there's no apparent compulsions others can see, and the people having it seem pretty high functioning to the people around them.

This can be noticed though in people avoiding certain subjects, avoidant behaviors can be the clearest external behavior.

I personally read Ishmael as having more mental compulsions, the way she tends to be a more ruminating and anxious character than outwardly compulsive

During S.E.A and Canto V we see outward compulsions more but from the examples from previous Cantos we can see that's not her usual and she operates more on anxious overthinking most of the time.

However another aspect that ties into mental compulsions is in the previously mentioned avoidant behaviors, we see her isolate and try to stave of having to deal with her worries in both S.E.A and the beginning of Canto V when shes in her room, in both cases doing some excessive preparation in a compulsive way.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

As previously stated Canto V deserves its own companion post, and ill work on that later, i feel this encapsulates what i wanted to say well enough.

I wanted to discuss the previous signs of her behaviors that make me certain her OCD is an intended textual read, and in my opinion a well executed one

Canto V was hard to read as it felt very real and very familiar to the worst times i have had due to my OCD.

Shes a character that despite my distaste i have developed for the franchise, it will never stop meaning a lot to me same as her chapter will always be a piece of storytelling that affected me deeply in ways others haven't

To close i want to leave off what i feel encapsulates the feeling pretty well, in my favorite moment with the membrane consuming her as a metaphor for letting fear, anger, obsessions and compulsions cloud your mind until you forget why you were even there

To you, dear reader, Bon Voyage

#ishmael lcb #ishmael limbus company #project moon #lcb ishmael #canto V #canto v spoilers #limbus company #lcb

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youalreadyhavefullresults · 2 years

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3dolc x roe results!

Hey hey, so its finally here! Ik it’s late but here are just some of the results I received from the @cleostoohot and @starliet challenge!

Desired College Acceptance

This is... something I've struggled with for such a long time, so I'm honestly so proud that I've gotten to this point. I was rejected from my no 1 uni in March, and while sure, I got into other places, I was pretty dejected about the rejection. So now after the challenge, I.... drum roll please.... got into my no 1 uni!!! I'm not going to give too many details because I don't want to get doxxed LMAO but, AHHHHH I'M JUST SO EXCITED!!!! I also manifested that my roommate would be one of my best friends(past best friend, not a new one lol), and I heard some bad rumors about the food/dorms there, so I changed it, all to highly ranked stuff with plenty of options lol.

Desired Body

I mentioned this earlier, but manifesting away my period has always been something I aimed to do. This isn't as related to this challenge since I affirmed for it before but, it's been almost a month since the last date that I was supposed to get my period, so I'll take that as a win LMAO.

My stomach also completely slimmed down. I used to have a protruding stomach, but now it’s just so flat?? My thighs and arms are also skinnier and toned, skin is clear and hair-free(only where I want it to be), andddd yup! Literally in love with the way my body looks :pp.

Fluency in Desired Language

I was talking with my parents in our language when they noticed how much better I had gotten at it. I actually feel comfortable enough in it that I could actually argue in it and joke around, and overall, I'm very happy with the results lol.

Ending Thoughts

I'm just so pumped right now, and I can't wait to see what wonderful things pop up in my reality next! If I wanted to tell one thing to anyone trying this challenge or just manifesting in general, it would be to just keep persisting. If you read my 3dolc x roe update post, you'll know that I actually did not have a good time the first two days ;-; I was spiraling and honestly had so many intrusive thoughts pop up in my head. However, I just kept interrupting the thought and affirming against it, and then it got much much easier. I let myself take more time(shit happens, i get busy lol) to make up for this, and baam. All my results are here lol. I'm probably going to manifest more stuff with this, so stay tuned!

-cinna

#success story #law of assumption #loa #mine #self concept #manifestation #motivation #manifesting #3dolc #roe #mindset #neville goddard #sammy ingram

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eddie-sweetheart · 2 years

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Headcanons on Eddie having no physical boundaries nor any knowledge of personal space

So, I've read many theories and posts on here about Eddie being a touch-as-love-language kind of guy and I fully commit to this idea, which has been stuck in my head for a while. Sooo I wanted to write down a little something-something about all the touchy scenarios that you might experience with him, and here's what came to me. ✨

@munsons-maiden i know it's not a one shot (although the headcanons are quite long) but I said I'd tag you in it so here it is! 🤍

Warnings: lots of fluff, mentions of anxiety, a few sexual innuendos

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

Eddie’s love language is touch.

Due to his troubled past and difficult relationships with the people he grew up with, he’s never been shown love in very concrete, physical ways. Of course, his uncle takes very good care of him - but mostly through acts of service and by making sure he always has food on his table and a roof over his head. Sure, sometimes there’s the occasional awkward pat on the shoulder and a few brief, manly hugs, but these are nowhere as close to the warm embraces and reassuring touches Eddie has always craved and longed for.

You started noticing his desire to be physically close to the people he loves and trusts when you first became friends. Throughout your adventures in and out of the Upside Down, while he was on the run from the whole town, you observed how he leaned towards Steve when they talked and how he quite literally smirked and laughed in his face; how he was quick not only to grab and shield Robin with his body when the earthquake hit, but also how he held her close when they were on the ground - to stabilize her, sure, but to get some comfort himself, too. How he tackled Dustin in the field outside Hawkins and didn’t let go of him for a while, one hand firmly placed on the back of the kid’s neck while he talked to him and looked at him straight in the eyes. You’ve added all these little gestures to the collection of memories that you’ve been making about (and with) him, mixing them with all his little quirks and moves and the melodic tone that always accompanies his witty remarks and swear words.

Then, once the Vecna ordeal was over, your friendship bloomed into love and the boundaries between your bodies seemed to dissipate with every single touch of his. And he touched, and still touches you, a lot. It doesn’t really matter the time or place (or good manners towards other people, sometimes): whether it’s in public with the rest of the gang or in his trailer when it’s just Eddie and you, he always finds a physical way to keep you close.

Let’s take the mornings, for instance. You might be in the bathroom brushing your teeth or getting ready for the day and he’s right there with you, probably sitting on the closed lid of the toilet looking up at you and hugging your leg. He does the same thing when he’s sitting and you’re standing next to him - he just can’t help it, he needs to snake one of his hands around your thigh and just hold you. It’s definitely a non-sexual gesture, but you’ve had to forbid him to do that when you’re in public and you’re wearing a skirt or a dress, though - because in that case there’s a high chance he might let his intrusive thoughts win and let his fingers travel under your clothes.

Bathroom-wise again, we can’t forget how he has to wait for you to take a shower together. He loves massaging the bath soap all over your body and shoulders (and thanks to his strong hands he’s also quite good at making your muscles relax) and he always makes you try different hairstyles on him with the help of some shampoo. Of course, you both end up laughing out loud when he catches his reflection and sees the results.

“Shit, y/n, I look like Abraham Lincoln” “Do you prefer the mohawk? I can do that” “Go ahead, m'lady”

Oh and he loves your hair too. He likes to brush it every night before you go to sleep, tongue sticking out and eyes narrowed as he focuses on not hurting you and on combing all the knots away as delicately as possible. Also, he’s taught himself how to braid it so he can create what he calls “elvish hairdos” on you.

Occasionally, when you're at home, he will make you step on his feet and he’ll walk you around his trailer, holding you tight against his chest so you don’t fall while you giggle like a little kid. It often ends up with him picking you up and (gently) throwing you on his bed, but you really don't mind.

Cooking breakfast, lunch or dinner? He makes sure to be there and hug you from behind as you try to put together a meal or set the table. You’ve come close to cutting or burning him or yourself a couple of times, but he swears he would never let that happen.

“Eddie, please, I need to drain the pasta” “So drain it” “If you stand so close you might get boiling water on you, it’s not-“ “Sweetheart, I survived a swarm of supernatural bats, I can handle a few drops of hot water”

If, instead, you’re eating out with the others and you’re not sitting next to him, you’ll spend the whole meal with one or both of his feet touching yours under the table. He occasionally taps your shoes with the tip of his Reeboks to let you know that even if he’s talking to Dustin or bickering with Steve, he’s still very well aware of your presence. Of course, if you’re sitting one beside the other, he always juggles the cutlery, the glass, and everything else on the table with just one hand - because the other is glued to your leg, of course.

The same thing happens when he drives. Or, better, it used to happen: when he attempted to switch gears with the hand that was supposed to hold the steering wheel because he wanted to keep the other on your thigh, you got so mad that you traumatized him into becoming the most responsible driver in all of Indiana.

“We could have gotten into a car accident, Eddie!” “But I wanted to hold you” “And I want us to stay alive!” “I’m sorry, sweetheart… are you still mad?” “I will be, if you don’t keep both of your hands on the wheel from now on. If you don’t, I’ll drive” “God, no"

Waiting in line somewhere? Yes, you’re going to be one of those annoying couples who are always hugging and leaning on each other and that everyone secretly envies a little.

Out on grocery shopping? While you’re staring at the shelves trying to find his favorite brand of breakfast cereal (Honeycomb, of course), he’s just standing there next to you, his chin propped up on the top of your head as he gets distracted by colorful Coco-Pops and Kellog’s boxes.

"Eddie" "Mh-mh?" "We need to go get the milk" "Yeah" "Can you please let me move?" "Oh yeah, sure" *proceeds to lift his head up away from yours just to place one hand to the back of your neck while you walk into the next aisle*

When you hang out at Steve’s or at the Bylers’ and you’re all sitting in a circle on the floor sipping beer, he has to have you sit between his legs, with your back resting on his chest. You secretly love it, because you can hear his voice echoing in his ribcage and sometimes it feels like you’re inside of him.

Oh, you’re not hanging out at home but you’re at a pub, maybe at the Hideout? No worries: when he’s not holding your hand, he’ll have one glued to your lower back at all times. When he has to guide you through the crowd, he stays behind you and places both of his palms on your hips and slightly pushes you forward, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach every time without failure.

When he meets you at the bar counter after a performance on stage with Corroded Coffin, he wants to let everyone know you’re his girl by throwing one arm over your shoulders, keeping you close. He’s usually all hyperactive and sweaty, and extremely excited to have you there for him - so you love to occasionally grab his wrist and turn your head to kiss it softly.

Oh, and of course he’s heavy on the PDA. He doesn’t care if everyone and their mother roll their eyes and complain about it, when he kisses you he has to do it “fucking properly” - even if this includes improvised make-out sessions in front of your friends.

“Jesus, Munson, let her breathe for God’s sake. Also, get a room.” “Do I have to kiss you too to make you shut up, Harrington?”

If he hasn’t seen you all day, as soon as he catches a glimpse of you coming towards him he’ll run to come and pick you up in his arms (holding you just a little too tight) and he’ll grab your face in his hands to pepper it with endless kisses and smooches and sometimes he will lick you as well

“Eddie, you’ve seen me last night” “I can’t bear to spend a fucking minute without you, princess” “Babe seriously it’s just been just a couple of hours-“ “I might have died”

Love bites? Ugh, he’s a sucker for those. With your consent, of course, he’ll nibble at your skin any chance he gets - he’s determined to “have a taste” of every inch of your body he can reach.

However, he needs your touch not only when he’s happy or relaxed - he needs you there for him the most when he’s sad or upset, too. When the flashbacks from the Upside Down or from the time when he was on the run come back to haunt him in his sleep, and he wakes up drenched in sweat, the only way for him to calm down is to curl up against you, holding on to the rim of your PJ (usually one of his old band T-shirts) with his fist and placing his head on your chest to hear your heartbeat. When that happens, you’d never dare move or pull away - you stay still, a stabilizing force available to him as long as he needs.

While you usually get distracted (and often flustered) by his touch, this intimacy helps him focus, a lot. If he’s preparing a D&D campaign or working on a new song and you’re sitting next to him, he’ll probably take a strand of your hair and fiddle with it, or rhythmically tap his munched pen on your leg - occasionally drawing little hearts or doodles on your skin.

“Property of EM? Really?” *flashes his brightest grin” “Don’t want anyone to think otherwise, sweetheart”.

Bonus:

What if you’re not physically with him?

In this case, he needs to have something of yours to carry throughout the day. It can be a scrunchie or a hair tie that he keeps on his wrist, or a small piece of jewelry (like a ring) to add to his guitar pick necklace, so he can hold close to his heart under his shirt: he just needs a little token to absentmindedly touch or graze whenever he misses you.

Yes, he once asked you for a strand of your hair to put into a locket.

Yes, he sometimes steals your panties and keeps them in the back pocket of his jeans, next to his bandana.

#i really hope you like this one #idk why but im a bit insecure about it #i just want to capture eddie as accurately as i can but it's... hard!!#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things headcanons #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson headcanon

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pikahlua · 7 months

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I'm not sure I'm entirely convinced but smashing theory as usual pika 🫡✨️ Is it okay if I ramble about a few misgivings I have? It's a long one, sorry! but there are multiple points I want to mention as assisting ideas

First, I still think that a 1v1 setting battle seems likelier than a 2v2 (bkdk duo vs shigAFO) - since we already had a bkdk duo in the movie ending, and Hori *did* say after that he had a different thing in mind for the actual ending (which I'm not sure should be a classic shounen "Battle of The End" actually, but wth we have been in this war fo so long now? More than a year! it may as well "end" in its conclusion ig). In which case I think we'd agree that 1-to-1 pvps would very likely feature Izuku & Shigaraki and Katsuki & AFO. Speaking of which: I also still think kacchan parallels and juxtaposes moreso with AFO than Shigaraki, so it might make more sense for him to "inherit" AM's struggle in this way, as a battle with the "Big Bad" AFO - not to mention it'd be another extremely cool twist to have the boy who ended AM save him by winning the fight, imo. I'm not sure how much of that metaphorical oomph would transfer to him fighting with "Stray Lamb" Shigaraki/Tenko...

In any case lots of people seem to support the 2v2 option. I understand that the most popular cases are: Katsuki "saving" Tenko by "winning" the fight. Izuku "winning" the battle with AFO to "save" the world. But then, I think the story'd be disregarding Izuku's wish to save Tenko, first spoken of in the vestige realm, which I don't believe is quite likely. We had so many breadcrumbs leading up to Izuku asking "Is Tenko still there?", so I still think a 1v1 and Izuku vs Tenko would make more sense.

I suppose people still want to see Katsuki's "save to win" in this final battle? He has always been a character that has struggled and fought internally with himself foremost - contrasting the mostly external opposition and fights that matured or broke other character's beliefs/ideals. Katsuki is destined to "Win Over His Self", yes? I'd argue he already has done that, (nailed it actually, right in the kokoro) 🎯 😅 which is why I don't really think he has to show it again, that he has learned to "win by saving/save to win". Which is another readon why I think a showdown with Tenko is kinda unnecessary

Meanwhile, I'd argue we haven't seen Izuku's "save by winning/win to save" quite yet, not with Katsuki's grandeur, in any case. I'd argue he finally has the opportunity to do this with Tenko's fight. And I'd think that since OFA is now a "power to save" rather than a power "to defeat AFO", (after class A's intervention and welcome intrusion into that), and since I think Izuku might be the one doing the "saving" for Tenko, it'd make sense for all of OFA's vestiges to bear witness to that "saving", to their "new purpose", if you will, and I think AM's vestige should be included in that if he's truly a part of OFA.

.... If, by chance he's a different component to OFA, like maybe something that serves only as a power maximizing "coefficient" rather than a full blown "variable" in OFA's power "equation"? Then yeah, him leaving OFA might make Izuku slightly less powerful but would make more sense in terms of Katsuki's arc so far. After this battle I doubt Izuku is gonna need that power excess anyway. It'd also make sure he can't become the Symbol of Peace powerhouse on his own and let him play on a more equal field with his peers, which is best fir his sacrificing mentality. And I do think that Katsuki could do with at least the "gaze" and "support" of the mentor Izuku has had 95% of to himself so far...

Welp, that's that! Sorry I even went into a math analogy there 😳 If you've read so far thanks for bearing with me!!!

((This complete thing is utter shit if AM actually won against AFO btw))

I like you. I like your thought process. I like your courtesy in explaining yourself even when we disagree. I want to emphasize all of that because I think your essay here is WORTHY of being challenged. Or rather perhaps it's that I want you to challenge my thoughts, which I hope are also worthy.

(And please bear with me here, my brain fog is rearing its ugly head today.)

1. The problem with 1v1s:

Let me step away from the predictions for a moment with this point. Will Horikoshi ultimately go with a 1v1? He could. I actually have no way of knowing. But I would like to explain why I think it would be a mistake for him to do so. This has nothing to do with Heroes Rising and everything to do with the MHA manga canon.

MHA the story has spent so. much. time. emphasizing how necessary teamwork is, how going alone is not feasible, how everyone has limits. It's not just a platitude it throws around occasionally because it has to. Entire arcs are structured around this idea. Hell, trimesters and curricula in-universe are built upon this lesson. And the story is called "My Hero Academia." How is this a story about Izuku's hero academia if the primary lesson his hero academia taught him gets eschewed at the end? What was ultimately learned if not this?

For Horikoshi to turn his back on this moral, for Horikoshi to go with the standard shounen formula ending when he has famously twisted such tropes in the past, would be to betray his entire story. This story about how society has perverted the ideas of heroes and villains to avoid personal responsibility and stifle social progress ONLY to see the light and view heroes and villains as humans DEPENDS on exalting the virtues of cooperation, of empathizing with one's fellow humans, of desiring everyone to come together, and of contributing to that goal as a piece of the whole. No one is alone. There is always hope. And people are given that hope by having it ignited in their hearts by others (by the symbol of All Might, in many cases).

Remember, "this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes."

And I do believe Horikoshi wants to maintain this moral as best he can. This final arc has showcased that. Even in the battles we've seen concluded now, while the primary focus may have been on one person's conviction (Shouji's, Mina's, Shouto's, Ochako's), that conviction was backed up and magnified by another person (Kouda, Kirishima, Iida, Tsuyu). And you'll note that some "fought" and some did not. Some played supporting roles or contributed with non-combat assistance (speed or negotiation, perhaps). So at the very, very least, if we end on a 1v1 fight between Izuku and Tomura, Katsuki must support Izuku's conviction to save Tenko in some vital way that tips the scales in Izuku's favor.

The question is, has this already happened?

One might argue it has, that Katsuki's death and the efforts by others to save him have had a clear effect on Tomura. Katsuki's death was the catalyst that allowed Tenko to swallow AFO's ego and regain control of himself.

But we could also argue that, while this potentially contributes to Tenko's salvation, it is NOT an example of Katsuki sharing in Izuku's conviction (that of saving villains). And I argue that this much is a REQUIREMENT.

That said, there MAY be another example that could be construed as Katsuki sharing in Izuku's conviction.

We REALLY don't talk about chapter 358 enough. It may turn out to be a crucial hint about how future events play out.

That said, it's debatable on whether this is truly the same conviction Izuku professes or if it's just the lesson Katsuki has learned, in which case...

Would that not beg for a moment where Izuku backs Katsuki's conviction up, too?

So, sure, you may get your 1v1, but I'm willing to bet there will be enough of Katsuki present in it to construe the "1v1" as otherwise :P

2. The idea that Katsuki parallels AFO more than he does Shigaraki:

At the risk of sounding pedantic, I want to earnestly, powerfully emphasize the idea that this is not a competition: everyone parallels everyone. I have showcased many times how many ways in which Izuku and AFO parallel each other, it's not just Katsuki and Tomura.

But note how this is really possible with ANY TWO CHARACTERS in the whole series. They all parallel each other. It's because everyone's learning the same lessons.

And parallels don't necessarily make for a good 1v1. I don't really think about the parallels that much in terms of setting up FIGHTS. Most "fights" in MHA are barely fights at all. They're conversations, arguments, debates, just sometimes with some action in the middle.

What I really expect from these parallels is a resolution. Some sort of reckoning. Anything at all really. Someone challenging someone, someone talking to someone, someone reaching out for someone. It doesn't matter who does what in most cases, because I expect all four to interact.

3. "I understand that the most popular cases are: Katsuki "saving" Tenko by "winning" the fight. Izuku "winning" the battle with AFO to "save" the world."

Yikes, are these really the most popular options? I hate them. I hate them so much. Can I offer some better ones?

What if Izuku fights Tomura long enough to subdue him and reaches Tenko's heart but can't physically reach out to save him, so Katsuki has to act as Izuku's extension to take Tomura's hand and save him?

What if Izuku fights to his last strength and saves Tomura (and maybe Baby AFO, who knows where that's going) but can't get all of them out of physical danger, so Katsuki is the one who gets them out?

Or maybe Izuku just can't save HIMSELF and Katsuki rescues him?

What if Katsuki reaches Tenko's heart through speech, through relating to him, and it disarms Tenko enough for Izuku to save him?

What if AFO and Izuku have a tug-o'-war over Tenko and Katsuki tips the scales? Or Katsuki AND All Might tip the scales?

What if Izuku fights Baby AFO (or it's something like another Dabi explosion situation) and Katsuki relates to AFO himself as a child and that disarms AFO enough for Izuku to save the day?

What if ANY of the above but add more Class 1-A and other villains to it? What if everyone holds hands to make a human chain to pull Tenko out of some AFO ego void and show him the world cares?

I can go on for days.

4. "We had so many breadcrumbs leading up to Izuku asking "Is Tenko still there?", so I still think a 1v1 and Izuku vs Tenko would make more sense."

But that's just it! Katsuki has breadcrumbs too!

It has been highlighted over and over and over again ad nauseam that Katsuki is a character who must become a hero who can see things from the villains' perspective and REACH OUT TO THEIR HEARTS. Katsuki even names Tomura as the person he intends to face down in the end!

(Of course, AFO fits the bill in many ways too. But like I said, I don't think it's gonna be clean-cut 1v1s, so there's opportunity for both Izuku and Katsuki to show what they're made of in this regard with BOTH villains.)

5. "Katsuki is destined to "Win Over His Self", yes? I'd argue he already has done that, (nailed it actually, right in the kokoro) 🎯 😅 which is why I don't really think he has to show it again, that he has learned to "win by saving/save to win"."

BUT HE DOES NEED TO SHOWCASE IT. OTHERWISE THIS IS JUST LIP SERVICE, BECAUSE NOTHING HAS HAPPENED SINCE HE SAID IT.

While you and I may believe he's already made it, Katsuki himself DOES NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THAT YET. He does not see himself as having surpassed All Might yet, and he believes that in order to do so he needs the help of others.

I mean, does it get louder than "Because saving people is how we win"????? He's set the terms for what his "win to save/save to win" looks like in the end!

6. "Meanwhile, I'd argue we haven't seen Izuku's "save by winning/win to save" quite yet, not with Katsuki's grandeur, in any case."

I mean this super genuinely because I think you need to consider it: How was Izuku's victory over Overhaul NOT this in your eyes?

I think you need to be able to answer that question if you want to make such a claim. I think you CAN make the claim, mind you, but anyone you talk to about this will point to this moment in canon as their first question for you to address.

Until you can answer it, I have to argue that both Izuku and Katsuki have displayed some version of their "win to save/save to win" pieces before, but they have to now apply those pieces to this war where the stakes are astronomically higher.

7. "…. If, by chance he's a different component to OFA, like maybe something that serves only as a power maximizing "coefficient" rather than a full blown "variable" in OFA's power "equation"?"

Kudos to you for the "if"! Yes, in my recent posts, I've been writing under the assumption that All Might's vestige is a piece of OFA. But I'm actually not fully convinced this is the case yet. Everything surrounding All Might's vestige is still very loosely defined and doesn't seem very final. I think it's totally possible there's a twist waiting for us in there.

And anon, I did receive your other messages.

8. "Speaking of which, if AM's vestige is in fact a power "coefficient" then its checks out that Kacchan would rise powered-up!! WTF It makes sense ?! 🥴"

Can I offer you an apotheosis in this trying time?

#anon ask #ask pika #my hero academia manga spoilers #final showdown spoilers #meta #katsuki bakugou #izuku midoriya #tomura shigaraki #all for one #all might

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