#i write this partly while on a group call

[toruro]

— ✧ cry for me

i want you to cry, cry for me (twice)

pairing: lee chan x reader

description: in which you're holding back tears in a cute little restaurant because you spilled wine all over your lap, and chan is holding back a raging boner.

a part of the crybaby series (can be read as a standalone)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), fluff, ft mingyu for a second

tags: tattooist + tattooed chan, crybaby reader, established relationship (they're so cute it's disgusting), dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), wall sex, petnames (baby, crybaby, princess), chan has a chest tattoo and i think that deserves it's own warning

w/c: 5.1k

a/n: i am a woman of my word: i finished it tonight! thank u to @rubyreduj iand @gyuswhore for looking this over for me when i thought i was going crazy. anyways, i hope u guys missed me actually writing. writer toruro is BACK!

Pretty and short satin skirts are saved for nights like these. Under the dim glow of the moonlight and stars, the soft fabric falls loosely over your soft thighs and the beautiful curves of your hip. The cool night breeze pinches at your skin as you shuffle toward your boyfriend, hugging his arm that’s already linked with yours even closer to your chest.

Chan hums when you press your cheek against the cool leather of his jacket, “What is it baby?”

“‘m cold,” you mutter, pressing your legs together in an attempt to preserve what little warmth you have left. In hindsight, wearing this skirt probably wasn’t a good idea knowing that it’d be on the chiller side tonight but still, you couldn’t help but want to doll yourself up.

“Here,” Chan says, and you nearly whine when he pulls his arm away, but the complaints die on your tongue when he takes off his jacket and slips it over your shoulders, leaving him in his short-sleeve shirt.

“But—” you protest, running your fingers over his bare arm and frowning, but Chan cuts you off before you can speak further.

“Wear it baby, it looks nice on you,” he says casually, holding his arm out so you can wrap yourself around it again and hold him close. You feel warm, partly because of the protection that Chan’s jacket provides but mostly because of the way your body flushes with heat at his affectionate words.

The two of you are standing outside of this restaurant that you’ve been aching to try for ages, waiting for your names to be called in. As you settle back into his hold, Chan pulls out his phone holding it at an angle so the both of you can read the messages on the screen when he scrolls through your friends’ group chat.

“You wanna go to Jeonghan’s place tomorrow?” you ask, noticing Jeonghan complaining about being bored since Jihoon never leaves his room. Chan nudges your head with his own affectionately before shrugging.

“I’ll go if you go.”

You frown. “Well do you want to?”

“Baby if you want to, then I want to,” Chan says with a chuckle. “And anyways—”

“Chan! Table for two!” the voice of the hostess from the entrance of the restaurant calls out, and the two of you perk up. Chan raises a hand and nods, gently tugging his arm out of your grasp and instead slotting your hand in his, pulling you to follow after him inside.

The hostess greets you kindly, and you’re thankful that indoors is much less cold and much more inviting as she takes you to your table where you and Chan sit across from each other.

“What were you saying?” you ask as you settle into the seats, slipping off Chan’s jacket and handing it to him.

He only holds his hand out, palm facing you, and shakes head with a smile. “Keep it. Anyways, I was saying that I’ve been meaning to talk to Jeonghan for a while since he said he wanted to get a tattoo done.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at that as you carefully drape his jacket over the back of your chair, scooting forward. “No way! Jeonghan always told me he’d never get a tattoo ‘cause he’s scared of needles.”

Chan laughs and his eyes light up. “Didn’t you say you were scared of needles? Look at where you are now …” he murmurs, eyes glossing over the little crescent moon on your arm, and then the small star that he had the privilege of pressing into your wrist just a few weeks earlier.

You shift in your seat and shyly nod. “Yeah but … that’s different. I think I might’ve chickened out of the last part if—” Your breath hitches in your throat and you stop yourself from finishing what you were about to say. If he hadn’t fucked you in that tattoo parlor right there and then, is what you both are thinking.

Chan grins at the way you grow flustered at his words before changing the topic. “I like this top, is it new?” he asks, eyes glossing over the blue, knit shirt that you put on for him just an hour earlier.

“Yeah! I got it to match the skirt—I’ve had this one for a while though, but it didn’t look nice with any of my tops I had until now, so I was really excited to finally get to wear it,” you tell him with a grin, hands smoothing over the satin and brushing over the plush of your thighs. Your stomach fills with a wave of giddiness when Chan smiles at you and nods.

“I’m glad. You look really pretty,” he says, reaching over and grabbing your hand. His gaze doesn’t falter, eyes on you as you continue to tell him about how you thought the shirt was sold out when you found it online you cried (Chan remembers; you called him with choked sniffles at midnight and almost hung up right away out embarrassment but he assured you that it was okay), rubbing a thumb over your skin as you speak.

You two fall into conversation naturally after that, waiting for your food to come as your fingers intertwine and sit in the middle of the table comfortably. The waiter starts off with your drinks—a wine for you each—before bringing out the appetizers.

Things go smoothly as they always do: the food is amazing and the setting is perfect, Chan’s hand grazes over yours ever so often and his eyes are on you in a loving gaze—everything’s going great, actually.

So maybe that’s why you let it get a little to your head when you hear the clanking of glass against glass.

It happens so quickly—the sound reverberates through the room and you blink once and then twice, looking down to find the growing wet spot on your cute little skirt. The feeling of wine against your skin hits you next, and when you look to your right and see the apologetic look of the waiter as he scrambles for the glass on the ground, it sinks in.

Fuck, and there it is again—that ugly feeling that clogs your throat and the furious blinking of your eyes as you try your best (you really, really do try your best). Chan knows it all too well, the way you press your lips together and try not to quiver as you reach down and try to help the waiter.

“What the hell man?” Chan exclaims, standing up from his seat in an instant to walk over to you, his eyes set as a hard glare on the waiter as he observes the growing stain on your precious little skirt.

The waiter stutters for a moment, reaching forward to dab a napkin over your lap, but your boyfriend stops him midway, swatting his hand away. “Watch it—” Chan peers closer at his name tag as he snatches the napkin from the waiter’s hand, “—Mingyu. You’ve done enough.”

“I-I’m sorry,” the waiter, Mingyu stutters out, holding the dropped wine glass behind his back as he shuffles away.

Chan glares at him hard as he presses a hand against your back, and if your vision wasn’t already so blurry you might have been intimidated by how intense the gaze was. Instinctively, you turn your face towards his figure as you feel other customers’ eyes over the little scene unfolding at your table. “C-can we go?” you ask him quietly.

It doesn’t take him more than a second for Chan to turn to Mingyu and mutter, “Just get us the check. We’re leaving.”

Mingyu nods bashfully and scurries away, but you don’t really notice because you’re chewing down on your lip as your boyfriend pats your back and leans down to watch you apologetically. Fuck, you feel so pathetic for crying over this but you can’t help it! You really can’t!

You’ve been looking forward to this night for so long and have been planning this outfit for even longer, and now that both your night and your pretty little skirt are ruined, you swear you can’t stop the tears from falling.

Chan hates it when you cry. Well, that’s a lie. It’s a fickle thing, really—the anger that bubbles up inside of him whenever he sees your eyes red and brimming with tears isn’t directed at you—fuck no—but rather whatever (in this case, whoever) caused it in the first place.

So yeah, you could say Chan hates it when you cry, but then again, he finds it cute when you call him, sniffling over your favorite croissant being sold out at that cafe down the street you always go to. He hates when you waste tears over things like this, but he also knows you can’t help it, and there’s something oddly endearing about the way you always lean in to his touch for comfort. After all, you’re his sweet girl, and he loves all of you; the parts of you that cry over seeing a kitten struggle to cross the street and the parts of you that sob when he’s shoving his cock into your warm cunt.

All of it, he loves all of it.

So maybe that’s why Chan can’t help but get a little bit lost in your puffy, glossy eyes when you look up at him and silently beg for some comfort. He knows it’s an innocent gesture, and when he runs a hand down the side of your cheek and you nuzzle into his palm, he almost feels guilty for the way his cock begins to strain against his pants.

You’re just so cute, and Chan swears he can’t control himself. He can’t ever control himself when it comes to you.

Using the napkin he snagged from Mingyu just moments earlier, Chan leans down and swipes over the wetness on your thighs, soaking up as much of the red liquid that he can. It’s kind of hard to think, honestly. He watches your tears mix with the wine on your lap, and while his fingers brush over the plush of your thighs, he starts to lose himself entirely.

Stop! Stop! Stop! Chan tries to tell himself because really, he should be focusing on taking care of his sweet, sweet girl and wiping away her tears but here he is trying to not think about the massive hard-on he’s got going on beneath his pants.

Mingyu stops by with the check, frantic with more wipes as he cleans up the ground as Chan pays the bill. You quietly slip on the same leather jacket Chan gave to you just half an hour earlier as he helps you get up from the seat, cringing at the way your wet and stained skirt feels against your legs.

With his hand closed around your wrist, your boyfriend leads you to the exit but you keep your head down bashfully. You feel the gazes of other customers on your back as you two make your way out of the restaurant, and the cold night air is a stark contrast to the way your body burns with embarrassment.

Once finally outside and standing by the parking lot, Chan takes a moment to look at you. You’re still biting down on your lip like it’s the only thing you know how to do, eyes trained to the ground as you tighten your fingers around him instinctively. He senses something is bothering you—something other than the fact that your meticulously planned outfit was ruined on such a whim.

Nightly zephyrs pulse against his skin and Chan glances down at your slightly shaking legs, realizing that they are now wet and exposed and probably feel colder than ever. “C’mon baby,” he urges, tugging you towards his car, “Let’s sit inside.” Silently, you comply and follow behind him, slipping into the passenger seat and sighing contently as you escape the chilliness of the night.

He watches you as you click your seatbelt on, sinking into the seat when that familiar clenching of your jaw and furious blinking of your eyes takes over your features. “Oh baby,” Chan coos, shuffling closer to you so he can plant a hand on the back of your neck. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks as you bury your hands in your face in a fruitless attempt to muffle your sniffles.

“I—” You stop because your voice comes out all ugly and distorted. “—I was s-so excited for tonight,” you admit honestly, calming down a little as Chan’s hand runs up and down your spine soothingly. “And then I just—I ruined it.”

“Baby, what are you talking about?” your boyfriend asks, tapping your cheek so you finally look up at him. Your cheeks are a little puffy and your bottom lip juts out in a pretty pout, and Chan brushes a thumb over the wet skin. “You didn’t ruin anything—it’s all that prick Mingyu’s fault. We can go to my place and still have fun,” he suggests, and although he means it to be a thoughtful gesture—something like takeout and ice cream—he can’t help but fantasize about some other definitions of fun.

“But—”

“No buts baby. Except, maybe yours,” Chan tells you with a playful wink, his heart swelling when you manage out a giggle between your harsh breaths. He starts to pull himself away from you when he senses a lightening of your mood, and so slowly, he starts the engine.

You settle into a comfortable silence as he starts the drive back to his place, and even though he’s mainly focused on keeping a smile on your face, Chan really can’t ignore the relentless ache in his pants.

After all, how could he when you insisted on keeping his hand on your thigh? “Wanna feel you,” is what you said when you guided his fingers to settle over the soft flesh, and Chan has half a mind to think it’s in an innocent gesture—his sweet girl just wants to keep him close—but he also knows you.

Chan knows that beneath all the soft whimpers and hot tears is a girl far more observant than you let on, and he’d be stupid to think you didn’t notice the tent in his pants earlier.

Maybe he’ll make you pay for that, he thinks as he parks in front of his apartment building, but when you shyly slip out of his car and keep your head hanging low as your eyes glaze over the big red stain on your skirt, Chan thinks otherwise.

Again, he can’t ever control himself when it comes to you.

Any thoughts Chan might have had about teasing you until the world’s demise wash away when he closes the door behind him as you both walk into his apartment. He knows you get a bit needy when you’re upset but still, he wasn’t really expecting you to turn around and sink into his arms the second the lock clicks shut.

Your cheek is pressed into his chest as your arms circle his firm torso, and from above, Chan can see that your eyes are pressed shut. The base of your stomach is pressing into his crotch and fuck, he can’t tell if you intentionally shift against him because your face looks so sad but then again, there’s no way you’re doing this without thinking.

Still, Chan shoves away the filthy thoughts that he really doesn’t think he should be having and wraps his arms around your shoulders, placing a hand on the back of your head. You’re not sure how long you guys stay like that, and despite the ache that burns between both of your legs, it’s a comforting few moments—his fingers in your hair as you pull him closer to you.

You need a distraction, you’ve realized. Something to really cry about.

Being with Chan over the past few months has taught you that, in the best way possible, your tears really mean nothing unless they’re falling because of him. Maybe it’s the thought that prompts you to finally pull away and pout up at him.

“Channie,” you whimper and fuck, Chan knows those eyes. You know he does.

“What is it baby?” he asks, gazing down at you so intensely that you know he isn’t even bothering to hide his lust anymore. He holds your cheek with a hand, thumb stroking over your soft skin for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours.

Chan kisses your breath away. Teeth nipping and sucking against yours as your tongues melt in a hot mess when he presses you into the wall. Looming into you from above, his grip on your face remains tight as he guides you deeper into his mouth, crotch pressing into your lower stomach.

It’s dizzying, almost. Kissing Chan always is.

It isn’t long before you’re pawing at his chest as you struggle to keep up with his intensity. Your palms ache for his skin, and having your fingers run up and down his firm arms just isn’t enough. When Chan pulls his lips away, your eyebrows furrow and your bottom lip juts out into a pout.

“Off,” you mumble, weakly tugging at the hem of his shirt, and usually Chan would play with you a little longer, make you beg a little harder, make you really work for it, but he feels that you’ve already suffered enough.

Swiftly, he pulls the tight shirt over his head, revealing the firmness that lay beneath the fabrics, and fuck, you think you might just pass out on the spot—you’ll never get sick of seeing him like this.

“Like what you see baby?” Chan chuckles, but he already knows the answer from the way your eyes zone in on the symmetrical pattern that adorns his upper chest.

“Always …” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your body close against his as you start to place kisses all over his skin. Shy and sweet is what your lips feel like, skitting over his chest as Chan watches you in admiration; your tongue traces over the dark curves, eyes fluttering shut as if you’ve already got it memorized by heart (you probably do).

His hands start to thread in your hair, pressing against your scalp until he’s fisting the strands and tugging your head back. Chan’s mouth meets yours in a hot mess—your own saliva’s already smeared all over your chin and cheeks, and the mix of tongue against tongue and teeth against teeth is only adding to the sloppy kiss as he backs you into the wall.

“Baby,” he whispers into your mouth before beginning to trail rough kisses down your jawline and over your collarbone. He sucks blotchy, red marks into your soft skin, fingers kneading at the flesh of your waist when you start to press your lower half into his. “Baby, you drive me fucking crazy.”

You wanna scream and say ‘ditto’ but the only sound that escapes your lips is a choked moan when he shoves a thigh between your legs and presses against your core. The ache is like a fire, burning through your veins and blooming all up inside of you, making your tummy tumble and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you clamp your bottom lip between your teeth.

Grinding against him, your skirt rides up your thighs revealing the pretty white, lace panties hidden beneath, and Chan’s breath hitches in his throat. Something buzzes in his head and it’s like a rush in his ears—his hands shoot out and are all over your tits.

Gripping the soft flesh over your pretty little shirt and matching lace bra underneath, and soon you’re scrambling to get all this fabric off of you. “So pretty baby, so pretty,” Chan breaths out when he steps away from you a little, dropping his knee as you toss your shirt and bra to the side. He grabs your chin and uses his fingers to squish your cheeks together as you look up at him dreamily. “You’ll suck Channie off, right baby?” he coos, and you feel your legs grow weak at the sickly sweet touch to his tone.

“Yeah-huh,” you pant, inching closer to him as you start to drop to your knees, hands immediately making their way to the waistband of his dark jeans. Chan doesn’t help you with the belt—he enjoys watching you fumble with the leather, pouting when it doesn’t come out as easy as you’d like.

Once you finally work your way around it, you’re unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down to reveal the bulge that strains against his boxers. Without a second thought, you lick his cock over the fabric, eyes lazily looking up at Chan who watches you expectantly.

“You know what to do baby,” he tells you, and so you comply, hooking your fingers under the elastic band and tugging his boxers down. When his cock springs out, it lightly slaps against your cheek, precum smearing all over your already wet cheeks.

Chan thinks you look so beautiful like this, shiny cheeks marked by his heavy cock that starts to make its way between your lips with the guidance of your hands. Soft fingers play with the base of his length as you swipe over the tip your shy tongue and fuck—you look so hot when you stare up at him like that, like you don’t know all the depraved things Chan wants to do with you.

You start off with kitten licks—lapping at the precum that’s dribbled all over the pretty, prominent veins that adorn his cock, and pressing your tongue flat against his bulbous tip. Chan runs a hand over your hair, resting his palm against the crown of your head at the end and gently pushing you forward.

You whimper as you start to take more of his length into your mouth, the underside dragging against your tongue, and you move one hand up to wrap around the base of where your mouth can’t reach, using the other hand to cup his balls.

“Jus’ like that,” Chan mumbles, watching you struggle to take him deeper, shoving his fat tip to the back of your throat as far as you can, tears pricking in your eyes, before pulling back to take in a heaving breath. “Good job baby,” he urges you on, when you open your mouth again, taking him down your throat again.

Your jaw aches as you repeat the motion, tears dripping down your cheeks, over your chin, and onto your soft thighs. Every time his cock pushes to the back of your throat, a few more drops fall, and soon Chan starts to take the lead, directing the movement of your head with his grip on your head.

And it feels so fucking good, the way he’s a got a firm grip on you, the way his cock stretches your mouth open so nicely—so you can taste all of him—the way he’s muttering curses amidst the murmurs of praise; “Yeah baby, feel’s so fuckin’ good.”

It’s got even you rolling your eyes to the back of your head and all you can think is Chan, Chan, Chan, and he can think about is you, you, you—and suddenly, he’s pulling his length out of your mouth so quickly it has your vision going white.

“Gotta cum w’me, princess,” Chan instructs over the rush in your ears, grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you to your feet. You’re slightly light-headed, stumbling forward from all the movement, but Chan catches you gently with a soft chuckle. “Easy baby, easy,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand over your head and kissing your aching lips softly as he once again presses you into the wall.

You make out sloppily for a few moments, your arms wrapping around his neck, tongues melting into each other as Chan tastes himself on you. His hands are playing with the zipper of your skirt, and with a soft gasp into his mouth, he pushes them down to pool at your ankles. “Leg up baby,” he tells you, tapping your hip with one hand so you get the message.

Hastily, you lift your thigh, involuntarily groaning against Chan’s lips when his big, rough hand plants itself on the underside of your thigh, helping you wrap your leg around his torso. His cock’s prodding right against your leg now, and you swear you can feel how painfully hard he is, swear you can feel him straight up throbbing against you.

“‘m so wet Channie,” you sigh helplessly, slotting one hand between your parted legs and swiping your fingers over the slick that drenches your thin panties. With slippery hands, you mindlessly reach for Chan’s cock, gently nestling the thick length against your clothed core.

“Oh fuck,” Chan groans at the contact, jutting his hips further into yours to increase the friction. His pelvis is flush against yours, and the stimulation of his skin against your clothed clit along with his cock sliding right by your folds is dizzying. “Makin’ a mess already, huh?” he says, shoving the fabric of your panties to one side to reveal your dripping cunt.

Quickly, his fingers are all over you, sliding between your slickness and thumb rubbing circles into your clit until you’re whining and fuck—Chan hardly gets to stick one finger into your tight cunt before you’re almost on the verge of tears again—

“Channie, need your cock now,” you cry out, hands pawing at the tattoo over his chest. “Can’t wait—need it no—oh.” The last words die on your tongue when Chan shoves his fat tip inside you. “Oh Channie—feels s’full,” you moan, your head falling back and hitting against the wall as he continues to slide his full length against your walls.

“Yeah princess?” he mutters, leaning forward and kissing your shoulder blade after he fully bottoms out inside of you. Your cute little cunt is screaming from pleasure, erupting flames all over your skin as you struggle to adjust to his size. Chan can see it, the way you’re already trembling, standing leg quivering as you try your best to not crumble into him, try your best to not give in right away.

You always look so cute trying when you know you’re gonna fail anyways.

Without warning, Chan drags his cock out slowly, and when you look at him with those glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but slam right back into you with a force that throttles you against the wall.

“Fuck,” you whimper, running one hand up Chan’s arm, tracing the curves of his biceps before finally gripping onto his shoulder tightly.

“You feel it princess?” Chan asks you softly when he drags out of you again before pressing you into the wall with another harsh thrust.

“Yeah-huh,” you nod dumbly, using your free hand to run your palm over your lower stomach. “Feel you all the way here Channie,” you moan when he shifts inside of you so his cock is hitting you even deeper. “Fuck!” you cry out when his pace starts to speed up, the tears that lingered in your lash line already starting to drip down your face.

“My pretty baby’s crying already …” Chan coos with a mocking pout, grip on your waist tightening so much you feel you’ll have bruises the next morning. “That’s it princess … cry it out—I know you wanna,” he eggs you on once he leans in, fingers ghosting by your earlobe.

“Can’t help it,” you choke out, finally letting the soft sobs pleasure erupt from your throat, head falling against Chan’s shoulders. “Feel so good Channie—can’t help it—’m sorry, I—”

“Shh,” Chan hushes you with a particularly harsh trust, pressing so close to you that his pelvis is once again bumping against your clit. “Don’t apologize … you look so pretty … pretty crybaby. That’s what you are, aren’t you? My crybaby?”

“Ye-yes!” you mewl when your legs start to shake more rapidly.

“Yeah … yeah—fuck,” Chan huffs when you clench down on him, and your walls are so tight around his length that you’re starting to wonder just how much longer you can hold out for.

“Can’t have anyone seeing you like—fuck—like this,” he moans, gripping your thigh tighter and tighter as he starts ramming into you so fast it’s punching the air straight out of your lungs. You’re wailing into his skin now, teething at his neck as your whole face is covered in a hot and sticky mess, fingers running all up and down his chest.

“Only thing you should be crying over is me, okay baby? You got that?”

“Uh-huh,” you whimper, fingers sinking into his skin as you feel that familiar wave of pleasure well up in your stomach. “Only yo—oh fuck, Channie ‘m gonna cum s—fuck!” you gasp out, hiccuping over your own tears as the waves crash down.

Your legs go limp as Chan’s cock drills into your warm cunt, the combined arousal dripping down your thighs and onto the floor (you’ll have to clean the ground later). His fat cock is battering against your tight walls roughly, fluttering walls pressing down on every vein, every curve of the length.

“There you go princess, cum f’me,” he grunts as he secures one arm around your waist, digging your back deeper into the wall so you don’t fall over as he starts to ride out his own orgasm against your pulsing walls.

Watching your blown out eyes and swollen lips, tear kissed cheeks and disheveled hair, Chan feels his own eyes rolling to the back of his head when your overstimulated pussy clamps down on him, squeezing out every last drop of cum. Painting your walls white, the sensation of Chan’s cum filling you up has you whimpering and mewling into his neck as he starts to loosen his grip.

“Fuck princess … made such a mess,” he mutters, looking down at the sticky mixture that rests where his softening cock meets your cute cunt.

“Hmm,” you hum, letting your wobbly legs drop to the floor once his cock flops out of your slippery, cunt, nuzzling into his tattooed chest. Giggling softly, you wrap your arms around his torso and look up at him with a lazy grin, “I forgot why I was crying earlier.”

Chan smiles, holding your cheeks with both his hands to press a chaste kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.”

crybaby series masterlist

a/n: thank u for reading, i hope u enjoyed >_< pls feel free 2 leave comments / rbs if u did! i know i took horrendously long 2 pop pt2 of crybaby :[ I'M SORRY guys not 2 ramble but i have been in a writing slump recently and this is the only thing of decent length and decent quality that i have produced in the span of two months so c: i am happy w how this turned out! i'll try my best to get the 3rd and final part of the series a little bit quicker, but no promises :3

taglist pt1: @synthetickitsune @ixayjun @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @hipsdofangirl @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @whippedforjihoon @seokchannieworld @nishloves @woozarts @ellesmoon @blurryriki @maknae00 @hanniebanggi @peachyaeger @shoulietaro @1004luvangel @dnylwoo @dollyhaes @gyulune @wonranghaeee @tsukkisboo @cheolism (strike through could not be tagged)

#lee chan x reader #lee chan imagines #lee chan smut #dino x reader #dino smut #dino scenarios #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #📝 writing

[cas-kingdom]

Would you write for criminal minds, Spencer and his sister? Something fluffy, brother & sister, I really suck at prompts so hopefully this is enough 🥲

“Did you know there’s actually a phobia of your glass being empty?"

The bustling and noise of the Las Vegas club was no match for Spencer Reid. Sat at a bar stool while he waited for his glass of water, the genius grinned openly as he struck up in a one-sided conversation with the barman.

"It’s called cenosillicaphobia," he continued obliviously, "a mouthful, I know. Breaking it down to the origin; Ceno comes from a Greek word 'kenos', meaning empty, whereas 'sillica' refers to quartz, or glass in this context. Lastly, 'phobia', as you may know, means fear. Putting it all together, you’ll have 'the fear of an empty glass'. Neat, huh?"

As unit chief, Aaron Hotchner was privy to many aspects of his team members that the others weren't. He could usually tell before anyone else when someone would react a certain way, or when a particular case would hit someone the hardest. As he sat at his own stool, partly engaged in conversation with Derek, Rossi, and some girls he couldn't quite remember the names of, and partly with an ear and eye geared towards Spencer's direction, he found himself focusing specifically on you.

As your twenty-first birthday and graduation gift rolled into one, the team had banded together to afford a weekend trip to Vegas. You'd arrived earlier that evening, and after an expensive meal you'd dragged them all to a club. It had gone down well of course, with J.J., Penelope and Emily immediately dancing off the copious amounts of alcohol they'd already drunk, and Hotch, Spencer, Derek and Rossi entertaining their conversations with whichever women decided to walk up to them.

You had flit between both groups, at one point hauling them together in the middle of the dance floor when you insisted the BAU's song—'Ghostbusters', of course—was playing. For the past twenty minutes however, as the clock steadily approached four am and the girls resorted to sitting cross-legged in a corner somewhere, giggling about anything and everything, you had been hovering by your brother and sucking melted ice through a straw. The moment Spencer had started talking, however, you'd edged closer to him, and Hotch had seen it.

His suspicions elevated when the barman handed Spencer his drink with a less than impressed look on his face. "Thanks for that," he deadpanned.

Spencer hopped off his seat with a grin. "You're welcome!" he said before making his way back over to the guys.

Hotch took a sip from his drink as he watched. He ignored Spencer as he rejoined the conversation, instead sidling discreetly closer to you. Like he'd said, he knew his team, and he knew you. He knew how you could be. And he knew—

“Fucking freak," said the barman.

There.

Hotch paused, brows furrowed. The man hadn't said it particularly quietly, causing the people around him to laugh, but Spencer was too engaged in conversation now to have heard it. You, on the other hand...

Hotch watched, unsure whether he should be amused or concerned, as the muscles in your face tensed and you lay your forearms on the countertop. Leaning over, you grasped the man's shirt sleeve none too gently, tugging him backwards before he could turn away.

“Hey, Tim," you said, noting his name badge, "you know...I absolutely love what you’ve done with your hair. Tell me, how’d you get it to stick out your nostrils like that?”

Despite the drunkenness of your, quite frankly awful, insult, the barman bristled. Hotch stepped quickly forward and sent him a look that clearly told him to keep his mouth shut. The barman couldn't resist muttering under his breath, but he turned away all the same. Hotch put an arm around you and steered you back towards your brother before you could cause anymore trouble.

"How many drinks did you have tonight?" he asked. He'd indulged himself, of course, but, as always, had been the one to drink the least, if solely for the reason to keep an eye on everyone else.

You rolled your eyes. "Did you hear that jackass? Why do people insult him all the time, huh? Just because they're not as smart as him." With that, you pushed Hotch's arm away.

"Hehey, there's our birthday and graduation queen!" Derek cheered.

You ignored him, making a beeline for Spencer. "Hey, Spence," you said when you reached him, "what was that you were saying about cenosilliacaphobia?”

Spencer lit up. “You pronounced it right! What do you wanna know? Because personally I think it’s pretty interesting how you can go on to add the Latin word for beer—'cervisia'. In that case, you’ll have cenocervasiasillicaphobia, which is the fear of having an empty glass of beer!”

"That is so cool."

Hotch rejoined the group with a smile. One thing was for certain. A big brother would forever be protective of his little sister in the open, but behind closed doors, it was most certainly the opposite.

Criminal Minds Masterpost

#criminal minds #Spencer Reid #Aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #Spencer x reader #Spencer Reid x reader #reader #reader fic #sister!reader #sister reader #Reid #Reid x reader #mine

[acooksbooks]

First, I LOVE Crowley and Aziraphale. LOVE THEM. I mean, just take a glance at my pfp. And my sketchbook. And my fanfics.

Second, I LOVE David Tennant and Michael Sheen. LOVE THEM. Probably more than is reasonably necessary, given when I mention "my favorite actor," my family and friends know exactly who I'm talking about (It's David, btw).

I'm also sort of new to the fandom on Tumblr, and I've become baffled by some of the comments I've seen about David and Michael and their friendship. I think it's adorable and lovely that they seem to have such a special bond after filming Good Omens, a bond that continues and has included their partners (partly out of necessity while filming Staged, but I think that only helped cement their friendships even further).

But what truly baffles me is the picking apart of every image that features David and Michael, especially when Anna and Georgia are included and when they aren't. I've seen fans wondering where Anna and Georgia are if they're not in the image with their partners (and what that could mean for their relationships with Michael and David), speculations on whether or not the women have been photoshopped in when they are in the pictures, cruel comments about Anna (especially) and Georgia (sometimes) about their age or their acting choices or their relationships with their partners or with each other (especially when they're being silly on Instagram) or . . .

Anyway, as someone with a spouse who works in a very busy, very public (in our city) profession and who is well respected in that profession, I feel for Anna and Georgia. It's as though there is this obsession or even downright desperation to make everything about how Michael and David feel about each other, to push Anna and Georgia out of the picture, literally and figuratively, forgetting there are families involved. As if Michael and David really are Aziraphale and Crowley and really feel for each other like Aziraphale and Crowley feel for each other. And who knows? Maybe they do?

But we don't truly know what goes on behind closed doors, and the comments and speculations are cruel towards Anna and Georgia, who have real life relationships with Michael and David.

They're all human. Celebrities, yes, but even celebrities deserve to have some privacy outside their jobs. And that's what Aziraphale and Crowley are at the end of the day. A job for Michael and David. A very enjoyable one, based on their interviews with each other, but afterwards, they have homes and families and lives outside the work.

David and Michael's relationship is theirs. Not the fandom's. Theirs.

Anna and Georgia's relationship is theirs.

Michael and Anna's relationship is theirs.

David and Georgia's relationship is theirs.

The relationship the four of them and their families have with each other is theirs. And they all deserve to not have people speculating on public forums about what's happening between them like some tabloid magazine. If they want us to know, they can tell us. Let them make that call for themselves.

In the meantime, we can write fanfics, make fanart, fantasize about who they truly are and how they truly feel. Delight in the images they share and the work they do together. Whatever. But I think it would be great if we could just let them live their private lives, too, and have as much normalcy they can get under the circumstances.

And, finally, Anna and Georgia seem like such lovely humans and deserve as much love and kindness and respect as is bestowed on their partners every single day in this fandom. Because they're human too, and all humans deserve that.

That's all I have to say about that.

Edited to add: I guess I'm not quite done, because someone in the comments said they were like me until they read/heard some of the things David, Michael, Georgia, and Anna have said, presumably about each other.

I'm not so online that I know everything they've put out there, but I do follow those in the group who have social media, and have watched/heard all kinds of interviews and convention Q&As.

My takeaway: Whatever they say about each other, whether it's Michael or David, or Georgia or Anna, I take it with a grain of salt. They're all actors. What we're seeing or hearing from them may not actually be their real personalities and feelings behind closed doors or even in their own heads. I think they just like to be snarky or silly about each other, because it makes the fans smile and swoon. And maybe they just enjoy being playful with each other and about each other. I mean, it's fun.

What's not fun is the fans reading too much into every single thing they do or say with each other and try to turn it into something that it probably isn't, especially at Anna and Georgia's expense.

Okay, now I'm done.

#good omens #aziraphale and crowley #david tennant #michael sheen #david and michael #anna lundberg #georgia tennant #i may regret this #but it needed to be said #david tennant and michael sheen #david and michael shipping #david and michael shippers #just let them be #neil gaiman #crowley #aziraphale #my thoughts #thoughts that keep me up at night

[qqueenofhades]

While I generally agree with your writings, I find myself confused by the term "Online Leftist". As a 75-year-old who has had a Social Democratic bent (and because of that has seen more of his votes lose than he ever wished in these United States), I have voted in every county-through-federal level election in my life since age 21. I also use social media sparingly, but I feel I certainly could be considered to be a leftist who is online, but I don't share the viewpoint of those you call "Online Leftist". Please clarify the meaning of that phrase in your writings.

I have to add that I've voted third party only once. I voted for John Anderson in 1980 and instantly regretted that action when Ronald Reagan won. (At that time, Jimmy Carter wasn't perceived as the great humanitarian and climate visionary he truly was, and the economy and the hostage crisis ruled the election arguments.) It was a lesson that was hard-earned. Thus in 2016, even though I supported Bernie Sanders's ideas and philosophy, I voted for Hillary because 1) she had unimpeachable (no pun intended) qualifications, and 2) not to vote for her would ensure that a really nasty and incompetent clown would be leading our country.

Thank you for all of your Tumblr postings. I find myself reblogging them hoping to reach the idealistic voter who tends to want to vote "purist" rather than "pragmatist."

The term "Online Leftists," as myself and others use it, refers to the specific group of often-young, often-white, often-western terminally online social media users, usually on Twitter, who post frothing manifestos about how corrupt the world is (specifically, how corrupt and fascist the Democratic Party of America is) and how the only way to fix it is to have some mythical leftist Revolution that will destroy late-stage capitalism and the current world order and somehow have no bad effects whatever and then a magical "progressive" utopia will spring into existence and everything will be fixed. Even the ones who don't go that far are heavily influenced by the ideology that the establishment/country is corrupt beyond repair, voting (especially voting for Democrats) is morally evil and indefensible, that there is no difference between the political parties of America, and that America/the West is the cause of all evil in the world. It has become especially visible with the Russia/Ukraine and Israel/Hamas wars, when they enthusiastically or at least tacitly support Russia and Hamas simply because those states/groups are "anti-western."

It also has to do with the whopping western leftist levels of virulent antisemitism and eagerness to call Israel a "white western colonialist settler state," as discussed in previous posts. Even while they decry Israel's genocide of Gaza, they will twist themselves into knots to excuse Russia's genocide of Ukraine or any legitimacy to a Jewish state or need for Israel to defend its own civilians, because you see, those genocides are committed by people they like in support of something something, Advancing the Great Revolution Cause. This is partly influenced by the belief that modern far-right fascist Russia is somehow a standard-bearer for old-school USSR socialism (which itself was horrifying enough) and should be defended and cheerled as a principled enemy of the West. This is the same group of people who unironically spend all their time posting fulminations that Biden is a genocidal fascist and America is a dictatorship, because they know that literally nothing will happen to them and they will face no real-world consequences, because none of those things are actually true. But as long as they can claim it for the rhetorical martyrdom, that does not matter.

By political beliefs and presence on Tumblr, I too am definable as a leftist who is online, but the Online Leftists (used together and with capital letters) are a distinct group whose ideology is marked by righteous nihilism, rejection of voting, support for a mythical "Revolution" in place of ever trying to work within the flawed political system, support for violent genocidal states or groups as long as they are "anti-western" or "anti-Israeli" (witness how they flocked to quiveringly defend the Houthis) while simultaneously yelling at everyone else for supporting genocide, making no attempt to incorporate actual politics, history, or reality into their all-consuming ideology, and shaming everyone else who doesn't agree with them. As you say, they are focused on some "pure" level of political engagement, which is of course impossible and therefore means the only thing they do is spend their time on Twitter rampantly spreading misinformation as long as it fits their beliefs. Pragmatism, harm reduction, nuance, or making a flawed choice that puts any kind of "moral burden" on them does not exist to them and is a dirty word, because it might conflict with bringing about La Revolution. So yeah.

#stinkahny #ask #politics for ts

[tossawary]

Part of the problem with discussing how racism manifests in fandom and in fan organizations is that to present a nuanced and thorough take on a complicated problem, which actually consists of a number of different complex issues with lots of different potential solutions each, you have write really, REALLY long posts about it.

And people don't read long posts.

Or they read the first part and get stuck on one point they don't agree with or can't 100% agree with. So they get caught up in proving one point wrong instead of at least expressing sympathy or sharing the parts they do actually agree with.

(Or people make fun of you for caring about "people being mean in fanfiction communities" as an issue. Because caring is cringe, apparently. Racism in hobbies like book clubs and local knitting groups and kid sports leagues is also important, even if it's "not that big of a deal" in the grand scheme of things in your opinion.)

Which can have (unintentional or intentional) vibes of telling fans of color to shut up about racism. Which is rude and understandably upsetting to people who have experienced this kind of harassment. Saying "go make your own archive" implies that the affected fans of color have not been a part of building the OTW or in running AO3 and don't belong there as writers or readers, which is untrue and unkind.

Now, I know that people have a kneejerk defensive reaction to any form of "We Need To Ban The Bad Fic That I Don't Like". I have that too. And I won't deny that this is a conversation partly about content moderation. And I won't deny that within this broad conversation between lots of different people who want to do something about fandom racism, there are probably some people who are calling to ban everything they find even a little problematic. They're always popping up. I don't agree with those people.

I didn't reblog End OTW Racism's Call to Action post the first time that I saw it because my brain wanted to chew on the thoughts it inspired. I thought a lot about how exactly to write detailed policy that could explicitly ban the worst examples of fanfiction used as intentional hate speech provably for the purpose of targeted harassment, while still ensuring the protection of the queer content, the problematic darkfic, and the explicit kinky fiction that the archive was created to host (which EOTWR also cares about). I do want fans to be able to explore some disturbing and distasteful topics, even if they don't always write it well, without being censored. And yet I also thought a lot about the "Paradox of Tolerance" as a social contract and what it meant to be "Fair to Unfair Voices".

I also thought a lot about how AO3 volunteers can never review every single thing posted to the website (which was not being suggested). And about how this issue intersects heavily with the structural issues that leave some AO3 volunteers overworked and underappreciated. And the structural issues that leave some AO3 volunteers feeling isolated, neglected, ignored, or mistreated. And also how AO3 is shockingly enormous now for being the result of volunteer work on a budget that's small compared to other non-profit organizations.

And honestly, I was fucking exhausted from my job that day and I cynically thought to myself, "I'll read through the links later, but I don't really see how changing the names on a bunch of fics is going to inspire great change within an organization."

(And the people behind this online protest are pretty open about the fact that they didn't expect their awareness campaign - and that's what it is: it's just an awareness campaign - to do anything on the front of "Solving Institutional Racism Immediately".)

But then I thought to myself, "Okay, but I do believe in antiracist action. And even if I don't think some of these suggestions are workable with the current state of things, or that the OTW will ever agree to some things here, there has got to be something here that could be done right now to make things a little better."

I kind of like the idea of expanding the required archive warnings so that more well-meaning people will opt-in to tagging triggering material, which is a form of content moderation. Like the way that the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" tag works already. Major Archive Warnings are left up to the author's best judgement unless reported. And even if people repeatedly refuse to use any relevant warning tags when writing blatantly racist stories, when they get reported for not even using "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", then we'll be pretty sure that they're doing it to be a jerk, and AO3 volunteers can suspend or ban them for it.

I like the idea of expanding the abuse policy and clearly defining its terms so that Policy and Abuse volunteers can still retain some freedom of best judgement, but also be more consistent about recognizing when someone is being a racist jerk in the comment section or being racist by gifting violently racist fic to fans of color or otherwise behaving badly. And I like the idea of improving the reporting system while keeping potential misuse in mind. And giving PAC volunteers better admin tools and other resources.

Even if you believe that AO3 is largely run by well-meaning queer women, I personally don't 100% trust that every single volunteer will be great at recognizing the many varied forms of racism, or antisemitism, or transphobia, or prejudice against bisexual or asexual or polyamorous people, or against mentally ill or physically disabled people. And part of this discussion is about when individual members of the PAC team have failed to address malicious behavior that is already explicitly covered by AO3's existing anti-bullying policy. Or that can't be solved by just blocking and muting someone.

Like, this discussion is about racism, and it's worth caring about solely for how it affects fans of color, but optimizing the abuse policy and protocols against harassment would better protect everyone. (And also, please do not assume that fans of color are not also older fans and/or queer fans who care about censorship.)

Some of End OTW Racism's offered solutions are suggestions originally made by AO3 itself back in 2020. A huge part of this discussion is just some fans (they're only, like, 5 people) trying to make some noise so that the OTW will give all users a thorough update on their progress. They are trying to raise awareness to keep the conversation about fandom bigotry going and recruit people to show up to OTW Board meetings to ask what obstacles need to be tackled. They want volunteers trying to change things internally to feel supported and for some more transparency on this subject to externally hold people accountable to their promises.

And I also thought, "Fuck it. This post is worth reblogging if only to remind people that AO3 needs work, to educate new fans on the history and present of fandom racism in general, and to maybe make one person out there feel less alone and connect them with some new friends. Fans of color don't have to be perfect to be heard."

I believe that AO3 has gotten bigger than ever anticipated and management of the OTW has only gotten harder. And I think hiring a diversity consultant, as per AO3's own suggestion back in 2020, sounds like a good idea to curb harassment of all kinds and improve the working conditions of volunteers. Outside contractors have been hired before and these professionals have no effect on OTW's non-profit status. A temporary consultant's job would be to identify where the organization is getting stuck and give suggestions on how to fight bigotry, and the OTW Board can just pick the solutions they think will work in practice with their mission statements.

Honestly, I kind of think it might be a good idea to also hire a security consultant of some kind after some of the harassment of AO3 volunteers in recent years. And if hiring some programming contractors would help the coding volunteers build better admin tools and make tag blacklisting happen sooner, then I support that as well. But that's all up to the OTW Board. And I want the OTW volunteers to know that I support their original suggestion to hire some outside professional help, so that fandom can begin to address some of these ongoing problems beyond just acknowledging that they exist, even if it simply starts with AO3 explicitly calling for more volunteers to get the planned work done.

Saying that there's nothing to be done is defeatist. Saying that the affected fans of color and their allies sound too angry or too serious or too ungrateful, or that everyone involved just doesn't understand how hard these things are, is pretty rude. I don't expect perfect solutions on the first try. I don't expect them immediately. I expect some of these things to take the OTW... years, honestly. I don't always feel very optimistic. I find this entire discussion discomforting and depressing. I'm not ungrateful to the OTW and AO3 when the community has been an undeniably good experience for me personally over the past 10 years. I want people to be able to escape into fandom at the end of a shitty day.

End OTW Racism's awareness campaign is one small part of a much broader discussion and you don't have to agree 100% with everything that they say. Or with what other people talking about fandom racism say (and some people, including academics and journalists and media critics and video essayists, have been talking about fandom racism for a long time). And you definitely don't have to 100% agree with what I've said here.

You don't have immediately volunteer all of your time to the OTW to fix these problems to be a good person. We all have other shit going on in our lives. Just... keep some of the points being made in mind moving forward, yeah? If you have a moment, maybe listen to some of the frustrations with an open mind, and maybe show a little extra love to your fellow fans who are going through it.

And if you have the energy to tear down what you think just one of EOTWR's suggestions is as bad - and they are NOT calling for every single fic on AO3 to be reviewed for problematic tropes or racial slurs before posting, that would be ridiculous, and it's disingenuous to misinterpret them that way - are you also separately talking about and supporting any of the antiracist actions and other harm reduction policies that you think are genuinely viable?

#end otw racism #tossawary ao3 #long post

[rhine-gold-archive]

Day 56 of waiting for sub heizou studysjsbnsns no pressure seriously I just simp

Sub! Heizou x GN Dom! Reader

A\N: It was tempting to wait full 56 days to write this, but i’m not that petty, I was just busy. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: nsfw, overstim, slight degradation, spanking, leash play, anal sex, cock stands for strap\cock as usual.

Wordcount: 3k

I don’t think there needs to be a lot of analysis to justify Heizou being a sub, it’s fairly intentionally in your face in both hangout and ahem, birthday “yawning” art, because that’s the most most obvious bottom “O-face” since Gorou’s “moaning and tearing up over the bowl of onions” emoji.

Like in two endings he straight up says out loud his confidence is partly a facade and he’d really love for someone else to sometimes step up and take the charge, but no one does bc ppl think he’s too smart.

”Haha, well, as you might see, I’m a little less confident than people might think.”

“And everyone around me thinks I’m so smart that I should be able to handle every case on my own.<...> But you’re different. Unlike them, you don’t have that kind of prejudice towards me. <...> So I’d like you to decide whether we should expose the truth or not.”

He’s not a pushover and he’s not a pillow princess-y type, but he’s also not a brat. He’ll encourage you to take the lead and won’t criticize your choices, but he will *evaluate them*. 

First of all, on how well you’re keeping up with his hyperactive ADHD goblin nature, and second, he’ll leave the unspoken puzzle and see if you’ll manage to figure it out.

He’s open for experimentation and fairly shameless, but how far he’ll go pretty much depends on if he judges you competent enough for this.

Like, meeting him in the hangout starts with him openly calling Traveler “so dreamy”, and then he lets the Traveler decide what course of action to take, but only divulges hidden information after the Traveler showed that they have a deeper understanding of a situation and connected several puzzle dots themselves. 

His inner conflict is when it’s immoral or not to withhold information and does it depend on how capable a person given this information is. The law does not really factor into this, Heizou will act on his own principles instead.

Like in the hangout case he only tells the Traveler that he will follow their choice (see above) after the Traveler presents him with the evidence and proves they have sound judgment.

So he’d *LIKE* to let someone else make decisions, but he wants to make sure that someone else is qualified. So he won’t like outright lie, but he will withhold context if you don’t show him that you get it.

Then he can get quite clingy, like telling Traveler that he’d love to have them as a partner all the time, haha he’s joking, he wouldn’t want to be so greedy…UNLESS???

In a situation where he does trust the other person’s competence, he likes to feel helpless, overpowered and needy, if you indulge him in it. His ideal situation is where you understand that he’s smart and capable himself and he doesn’t strictly need you to take charge, but would enjoy it.

He wants to have fun without anyone making it too weird, and he wants to know you have a clear head on your shoulders, that’s it.

One day while you’re walking down the street near your home, a group of obvious miscreants runs by and a young man in white shirt and brown shorts follows them. The last of ruffians shoves him while they’re running past you and you catch him to stop him from hitting a corner of a house with his head. When the bandit looks back, you instinctively shield a man in your arms with your shoulder, and the bandit obviously judges it not worth the trouble, runs away.

When you look at the man you’re holding, he’s looking up at you with a wide smile, bright green eyes twinkling.

“Oh, thank you, my savior!”

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, putting him upright. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m fine!” he suddenly pauses, looks you over and says in a weaker tone, leaning into you. “I mean, I’m a little not fine, nothing major, but perhaps if someone could look after me for just a little bit?...”

You take him to get coffee just to keep an eye on him and end up talking for hours. His name is Heizou, he’s flirty, fun and cute, has ruffled mauve hair and little twin moles under his eyes, asks more questions than he’d like to answer about himself, wears a choker and a shirt that leaves his sides bare, and would very obviously love to get dommed from how he talks to you. But you cannot in good conscience take advantage of him now, because his eagerness might be an effect from the shock, so you let him go.

Day later you talk with a neighbor and he mentions how the young detective who from his words meets Heizou’s description just caught a group of pickpockets. 

“Detective, huh?” you ask out loud, and some things that didn’t make sense before fall into place. Like an exaggerated weak affect and how eagerly he pushed himself on you.

Couple of days after you walk into a confrontation in one of the secluded courtyards on the way to your home. There’s Heizou and opposite of him a group headed by the large white-haired oni. It looks incredibly awkward and staged.

“Oh, it’s my savior again!” Heizou says coquettishly, smiling at you. “Hello there! It seems you’re just in time to save me once again.”

“From what?” you say calmly, crossing your arms.

“From being mugged, of course.”

“So these guys need to be arrested, huh?”

A tall oni starts shifting nervously, looking back and forth from you to Heizou.

“Hey, hey, we didn’t agree on…”

A green-haired woman elbows him and he stumbles.

“I mean, you can’t arrest us, we’re big bad bandits, rawr!”

You ignore him, looking Heizou straight in the eyes. He pauses for a second, then pretends to be fainting in your direction. You catch him, rolling your eyes. Green-haired woman punches the oni in his side and they run away with the entire group.

“Oh, thank you,” Heizou says, looking artistically disheveled in your arms.

“No problem, Detective,” you say coldly and he tenses, straightens up.

“So you know…”

“Yeah. And I don’t appreciate being played for a fool.”

“Listen, it’s not like that… It’s just that I... I wanted you to treat me like a sub, but you didn’t do anything after we first met, and I thought maybe if you see me in an even weaker state...”

“I didn’t do anything because you seemed too irrational from shock. If you just told me the truth that you’re detective and were fine, you’d be spread on my bed few nights ago.“

He blushes, but his green eyes light up.

“I would? Oh, I mean, I am fine and we cleared the misunderstandings, so?... Um? About spreading?“

You shake your head, narrowing your eyes.

“Only come to me if you’re ready to drop your bullshit. I’m sure you can figure out how to find me, Detective.“

“Hey there!” he’s bouncing on your threshold a day after with the widest obnoxious smile, and you wouldn’t see the tinge of nervousness under it if you weren't paying attention. “So you said I can come if I dropped the bullshit and um, you can pat me over, including cavity search if you want, to make sure I haven’t got any on me”

You roll your eyes, hooking your fingers under his choker, pull him close and kiss him. He stumbles for a second, but then melts, throws his arms around your neck and presses against you. You can feel him getting hard as you pull him towards the bedroom and then throw him roughly onto the bed. He looks up, his green eyes sparkling in delight.

“Cavity search?” you say incredulously, crawling over him to slide your hands under his shirt and pulling off both of his layers. “That was terrible.”

“I know, I know, I panicked,” he moves his arms to help you get the shirt off, then pulls frantically at the ties of the armguards. “I was going to say you have a search warrant, but somehow it turned into a cavity search.”

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grin against his cheek and pull his pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. He gasps, and when you grab his ankles and forcefully spread his legs, he blushes but looks you straight in the eye, already fully hard and breathless in excitement.

“I am? I mean, of course I am, but do tell me more about it.”

You kiss him instead, roam your hands over his slender body, and he arches under you, moans against your mouth. You slide your hand down, close it over hard, twitching cock and he whines, bucks his hips against your palm.

“Oh yeah,” he whispers feverishly. “Yes... Don’t be afraid to treat me rough…”

“Oh trust me, I won’t,” you grope his leaking cock and balls in your hand, firmly like you own them, and he whines sweetly, looking up at you with excitement in half-narrowed eyes. When you slide your hand down and circle his entrance, he comes immediately, pressing himself against you.

You chuckle, kissing him.

“In my defense, I spent some long nights imagining you touching me, so I’m not taking criticisms on how quick I came,“ he mutters, squirming under you, cheeks blushing brightly. 

 You grin and stand up, moving away.

“Well, you’re not getting away that easily, kitten. I’ll be back shortly.“

When you walk back to the bed, he has finished taking off the last piece of the guard and is waiting for you, naked except for the elbow-high fishnet gloves and a choker.

“I have something that I think you would like,” you smirk, showing him a leash and he gasps, visibly lighting up.

“Have you thought about becoming a detective yourself? That’s spot on.”

“It wasn’t a very hard deduction to make,” you hook your fingers under his choker, lifting him up, and he follows, grinning under the bitten lip. He’s so lovely in how blushing and eager he is while you’re closing the leash on his neck, looking up at you from under the ruffled bangs.

You turn him around, so that he leans against the bedrest and he giggles, settling down on his knees.

“Oh, great, I wasn’t sure how to breach the subject of… consequences of being naughty.”

“You don’t try playing hard to get, do you?” you grin, slide your hand from his intentionally arched back to caress smooth skin of the perky ass, obviously and eagerly presented for you.

“No, why, would you want me to?” he shoots you a sharp glance over the shoulder, analytical even now.

“No,” you say pleasantly and slap his ass, hard. He gasps, shudders, but arches even more, presses quickly reddening, tender flesh harder against your hand. You spread him and run your fingers between his legs.“I like it when you’re being open.” 

“I don’t see the point in denying the obvious,” he says, still sounding mostly collected, if a little breathless in excitement. “And if I don’t show what I want, how will I get it?”

You strike his ass again, several times in a row, until it’s blooming red and he’s whining quiet and sweet, then you stroke it.

“Very logical of you,” you say, squeezing his sensitive ass while he’s squirming needily under your hands, and kiss the sharp curve of his shoulder, move his ruffled hair aside and get to his neck. “Unlike the stunt you tried to pull earlier.”

“Oh well, I miscalculated,” he says airly. “And it’s not as if I was trying to deceive you, it’s that I know that once people hear who I am they misjudge… the way I’d want to be treated. So I just wanted to make sure you get the right impression.”

You tug on the leash, pulling him close, his back against your chest. He gasps, arches his back and rubs his ass against you.

“Or you could’ve just said so honestly, you dumbass,” you run your hand over his chest down, close it over his cock and kiss him, still tugging on the leash. He kisses you back, eager and a little sloppy, rocks his hips, rutting against your palm. 

“Well, taking your advice on speaking openly,” he whispers breathlessly after breaking a kiss, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. “I’m close again and I want to come from you fucking me.”

“Good boy.”

You pull him into your lap, over the strap\cock, and he squirms, straddling your knees. You catch his chin, while he’s lowering himself over onto the head of your cock, make him meet your eyes, his own hazy green, cheeks bright in blush, pink lips half-open and taking short feverish breaths. You put your hands on his hips and push him all the way down until you’re fully buried in him, and he moans, shuddering and arching in your arms.

“Ah! Oh yes, yeah, like that, oh fuck…”

He rides you, his hips moving rhythmically and his hard cock bouncing against his stomach, but when you close your hand over it, he whines, digs his fingers into your shoulders.

“Please, no, I’ll come too soon if you touch me…”

You let him go and chuckle, pepper kisses over his neck, chest, lick over his pink hardened nipple, while he’s whimpering pleas and fucking himself on your cock.

“You’re really such a slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, fuck, I love it, I love how your cock feels inside of me, please…”

You tug on his leash, making him arch, suck on the tender juncture between his shoulder and neck. He comes just like that, screaming, his movements turning frantic. You push him down on his back, roll over him without taking your cock out.

“Can you take any more, kitten?”

“Yes.. yes, please keep fucking me,” he’s trembling under you, but says this firmly, looks you in the eye without hesitation, his ass clenching around you. “Use me like I’m your toy…”

You lift his legs up, pressing his knees against his chest, exposing his ass and thighs, still pink from spanking. You can see his oversensitive red cock getting hard just from being spread and exposed like that, and when you thrust deeply into him, he screams and tries to lift himself off the bed, writhing under you. You grip his hips and fuck him hard, hitting his prostate, until his mouth is going slack and his eyes roll over, his pleas turn into incoherent moans and whimpers. 

You lean down, cock buried deep inside him, kiss the corner of his mouth. He whines, his arms tightening around your shoulders and his hips rolling to take you even deeper.  

“You've been very good, kitten,” you whisper against his parted lips, his green eyes glittering with held tears. “Come for me, baby.”

He comes after a few thrusts, clutching at you, and you fuck him through it until he goes limp. Then you slide out of him, let him curl against you, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. You hold him and gently stroke his hair until he stops shivering, giving him time to come to senses before you’ll move to clean up.

“How fast will you want me to leave?” he asks, quietly, but his voice is firm, neutral. “I know I can be annoying in large doses, so if you need me to get out, I can…”

You silence him with a kiss, slow and sweet to calm him down. “It’s okay, kitten, you don’t annoy me. Don’t worry about it, just rest.”

He freezes for a second and then suddenly presses himself desperately against you, clutches at your shoulders. You stroke his hair, neck, sharp knobs of his spine soothingly, whisper sweet nothings in his ear until his body relaxes. He rubs his cheek against your chest and looks up with a cheeky grin.

“I am lucky that I’m cute, huh?”

#rhine writes filth #heizou #shikanoin heizou #dom reader #heizou x reader

[fragileruns]

hihi! happy release of speak now tv!! could i request remus lupin x reader, to sparks fly. just some good ol’ fluff, maybe they’re both pinning for eachother or something? would be terrific 😋💜

sparks fly | remus lupin.

hi, lovely! i hope this was what you wanted, if not please feel free to request any changes or let me know!! thank you so much for your request, i had so much fun writing this and i LOVE pining remus!

content warnings: gender neutral reader (i believe, pls send me any corrections), reader has hair, lovesick & pining remus/reader, kissing in the rain, not proofread)

speak now (taylor’s version) event!

Remus Lupin was a hard person to get to know. He wasn’t rude necessarily, he just wasn’t really out there. Not like the group he surrounded himself with, especially the two marauders known as James and Sirius. No, Remus was quiet and reserved. He didn’t like to let people get in too close, and it was why it had been difficult for you to even be able to consider yourself friends.

You had always liked him, always wanted to get to know him. Always gotten flustered anytime you were nearby him. At first, it was a typical hallway crush: you didn’t really talk to him, you just thought he was attractive and sweet. But, after you had started spending time together (kudos to Sirius, who had called you over to where they were sitting one morning for breakfast and forced you two to talk. Unbeknowst to you, Remus had been harboring a similar hallway crush and his friend was desperate to make him ask you out), that silly crush had developed into a much deeper pining.

You tend to forget about all of the red flags whenever you’re around him. You ignore how he disappears every month, how he has a tendency to fly off the handle on certain weeks and how anything can set him off at that time, how he never wants to talk about himself or his past. How, despite him knowing almost everything about you, you know hardly anything about him. It’s easy to forget all of that when he’s having a good day. When he apologizes if he was harsh, and when he gives you those soft eyes filled with regret. When he leans in to fix the tie of your school uniform or fix your hair. It’s so, so easy to forget.

But then, you go back to your dorm and you remember it all. Your mind tries to put the pieces in place, and you fail everytime, always chalking it up to him having a bad day and hoping tomorrow will be better.

Today had been one of those days where he was apologizing. Apologizing for snapping at you yesterday, for asking you to give him space in such a harsh way. You didn’t deserve that, he knew that. He wanted to kick himself for always putting so much on you, he wanted to make it up to you.

“Come on,” he had been tugging your hand, a soft smile on his face as he pulled you through the doors. He had yet to tell you where he was taking you, only that he had a surprise and you’d see soon enough. You had asked if it was your birthday or something, confused why he was so eager for whatever he had in store, and he simply said it was a grand gesture for his being such a jerk the other day.

“Remus, are we almost there? My feet hurt,” you complained, a whine in your voice and he only laughed, pulling you further. You both had to keep your voice low, walking around the outside schoolgrounds when you were supposed to be in your common rooms for curfew.

“Just a few more steps, promise,” he assured you, and you were slightly concerned over his giddiness. He was never this happy. You decided not to question it, though, only admiring his smile from where you were walking a bit behind him. Your chest felt warm at the idea of him being so happy over something he had done for you. It had you almost believing this pining feeling was mutual.

You shut up your complaining for a while, partly scared of ruining this nice moment. Luckily, Remus hadn’t been totally lying when he said just a few more steps, and it wasn’t long until he was pulling you to the quidditch field.

He turned around and grinned at you, and you only furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. What was so special about the quidditch field? You had opened your mouth to question him, but he quickly stepped out of your view, putting on full display the picnic he had set up. It wasn’t a ton, mainly snacks and desserts since it was so late at night.

“I wanted to do it during the day but James refused to give up his practice time. So, night time picnic it is,” he explained, grabbing your hand again to pull you towards the setup. You were scarily silent, and he was worried he overstepped: worried this was what made you finally notice his feelings for you, and that he’d run you off. “Do you like it? Is it too much? I just - I felt really bad about being so harsh, and I wanted you to know I didn’t mean it. I was just having a rough week.”

“No, no - it’s not too much. It’s great. But, Remus,” you started, his side turning to face you now, and you begged yourself not to look into his puppy-like eyes because you knew you’d get distracted, “you don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to have a bad day. You’re allowed.”

“I have a lot of bad days. More than most people.”

“Maybe, but I don’t mind.”

“You should. I put you through too much,” he frowned, and somewhere within your conversation, you had both sat down, but he kept a hold of your hand. He was rubbing shapes into your palm, and you assumed it was more for him than it was for you.

“Seriously, Remus. It’s okay. I wouldn’t go through it if I thought it was too much. Or if I didn’t think you were worth it,” you assured him, your head tilting slightly as he finally looked up at you, something different in his eyes. Something you hadn’t noticed before.

“You’re so good. You’re too good,” he mumbled, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to hear or not so you pretended not to. “Please tell me you’re just pretending and you’re not actually that oblivious.”

“What?” A confused expression came over your face again at the sudden statement, pulling your hand from his as you sat up straighter. Had you missed something?

“Us. Me - my feelings for you. You seriously haven’t noticed?” He questioned, seemingly in disbelief at whatever it was you had failed to take note of. “I’ve been in love with you since I saw you. I - why else would I take you on a picnic at night? I don’t just treat everyone like this.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth parted and for a moment, he worried he said the wrong thing. “You’re in love with me?”

“Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” you responded, giddiness lacing your tone and you couldn’t help the grin that slowly overtook your features. It seemed as if he couldn’t help it, either. He leaned in closer, and you thought he might kiss you. He looked like he wanted to.

“I have to tell you something, first. Because it wouldn’t be fair to you, if I didn’t. And I know this might change how you see me,”

“Nothing would change how I see you,” you interrupted. He ignored it.

“But you deserve to know,” he finished, and he glanced up at the sky for a moment. Then, he closed his eyes and you had a thousand different scenarios running through your mind. None good, not after seeing how much it seemed to pain him to tell you.

“I’m a werewolf,” he finally said under his breath, and this time you know he didn’t want you to hear him, but he needed you to.

“Is that all?”

“Is that - uh, yeah, that’s all. You’re not surprised?” He looked confused, his eyebrows furrowed in a perfect way, and he didn’t understand why you so willingly accepted it.

“I mean, kinda. But, why would that change anything? It’s not your fault. It would never change how I see you.”

After that, he can’t hold himself back. He finally lets himself kiss you, nothing stopping him at this point, and you’re glad he does. His hands softly cup your cheek, and yours quickly find their way to his hair. He acts like he’s trying to kiss away all of the pain he had caused, though you weren’t sure there was any anymore. The kiss is soft and sweet, with months of prolonged pining poured into it.

And then, a teardrop. At first, neither of you notice it, too captured by each other’s presence. But then, it starts pouring down rain, and that’s harder to ignore. He reluctantly pulls away, and your eyes shut at the sudden wetness.

“I guess you didn’t think to check the weather?” You questioned, voice raised a bit so that he could hear you over the downpour. He shook his head and you thought you heard a ‘sorry’ come from his mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh at his disappointed expression, and his head nearly snapped with as quick as he tried to look at you.

The both of you quickly got up, having to run inside to try and escape getting too soaked, though you assumed it was too late for that. After you managed to get inside, he turned to you with a small smile.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date.”

“Was it a date?” You asked, and he glared at you, making you grin. “Okay, kidding. But you didn’t ruin it. It was fun. Do you not like rain?”

“Not when I’m trying to kiss my longtime crush,” he joked, but he was happy you didn’t seem to mind.

“You can still kiss them,” you responded, and he didn’t have to take a moment to consider it. You were glad to give in, despite the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin, which only got worse when he pressed to you. You could feel the raindrops dripping from his hair, and his hand was wet where it held your hip, but you didn’t care. You could feel sparks fly, and you knew all the pining had made this worth it.

“Lupin. Y/L/N. Go back to your rooms. And please, dry off before you sneak back in next time,” A voice came out loud, and you both felt a towel thrown at you. You pulled away to see Mcgonagall shaking her head at both of you before walking away. You grabbed the towel from the floor and turned to Remus, who was only smiling back at you, a lovesick look in his eyes.

“Totally worth it.”

#speak now (mia’s version) #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin (mia’s version) #i meant to queue this but i forgot #so enjoy this early

[lightsoutletsgo]

Hello!! Could I please request a ship? Preferably with 2 options.

Some things about me, I’m about 5’2, ethnically south Asian. I like reading and writing a lot, I also like listening to music. One favourite thing of mine is to drive around with no destination and listen to music and eat food. I’m competitive when I need to be and I like hanging out with groups of people. You could consider me a social butterfly of sorts but I’m shy during an initial meeting. My job is nothing too exciting since I’m still in school (uni) but I work as a hostess ( initial greeter and seating people at tables) at a restaurant.

Thank you 💗

-🌸🌸

tysm for sending in your request - I hope you like it honey!

LANDO NORRIS ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹ - calls you honey or baby - loves the fact that you're shorter than him and although he teases you a lot he also agrees that you're the perfect height for forehead kisses! - his love language is quality time - loves being your dependable bf and occasionally spoiling you with gifts lando loves spending as much time with you as possible. he's always down to get in the car and drive; either to a pre-planned destination or where ever the road takes you, even if that's just a car park where you can pull up and look at nice scenery from where you're sat! despite the fact you're his passenger princess and he loves having you in the car, he won't always let you take aux, so you swap who's playlist gets put on every time you go somewhere! he loves hearing new songs and artists through you and sometimes makes little playlists for you of songs that he thinks fit your vibe and remind him of you.

he loves that you're a social butterfly, and while he is always there for you when meeting new people or in a new situation, he'll always help you push yourself out of your comfort zone just because he loves seeing you flourish!

he tries his best to help you study but really it's just like trying to study with a puppy or a kitten on your lap. he's constantly poking at you, asking you questions, trying to show you 'relevant' memes and tiktoks and the question "how much longer?" is a common phrase. despite this he takes great care of you when you have exams coming up, especially if you're also working at the same time! he helps you organise your notes and even colour codes some of them for you. he helps you make flashcards for revision and he makes your favourite snack and drink then reminds you to take a break while you eat it! (you know he reminds you about breaks regularly because it means he gets your full attention) "baby?" when he doesn't get a response, lando gently nudges your shoulder, desperately hoping to drag your eyes away from your laptop screen, "baaaaby?" you let out a breath of laughter, continuing to type, partly ignoring him to tease him just because his pouty response is so cute, "lando as soon as the timer goes off I promise I'll take a break okay?" he huffs but relents. all is silent for a moment before he's standing up and heading to the kitchen. you hear him clattering around, muttering to himself as he searches for whatever he needs. it's a comforting kind of background noise though and so you continue to study until the loud beeping of your break timer rings through the room. it's barely beeped twice before you hear lando's sock covered feet sliding along the floor as he sprints back into the room, a tray of your favourite snacks and drinks in his hand as a big cheesy smile spreads across his face, "breaktime?" you nod, he cheers, "time to cuddle!"

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

OSCAR PIASTRI ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹ - calls you love or bub - he also loves your height and the way you fit perfectly in his arms, your head in his neck - his love language is acts of service - oscar loves spoiling you with a sweet surprise now and again but he values surprising you by doing things for you much more

there's nothing oscar loves more than taking care of you when you get home from a shift. as soon as he hears you approaching the front door, he's putting down whatever he's doing and heading to greet you, opening the door for you before he kisses you. he always helps you slide your shoes off and next thing you know you're being escorted to the bathroom where a hot bath sits there steaming. he always makes sure that all your skincare is laid out on the counter ready to be used, as well as placing your towel and cosy clothes on the rail to warm up while you bathe. he loves to leave you with one last kiss before he leaves the room to grab your water bottle and lunch containers from the day, making sure they're washed out and ready for the next time you need them.

oscar loves quiet afternoons with you where you both sit on the couch together, his head in your lap as you read your latest book. he actually has plenty of candid pics of you curled up in various places with various instalments of your series held firmly in your hand. these pictures are what usually occupy his lockscreen and whenever he's away from you, even if it's just for a day or two, someone will always catch him staring at his lockscreen with a sappy lovestruck look on his face and if anyone asks him about it, he's proudly showing you off to them!

the door opens before you can even grab the handle and on the other side stands your boyfriend, his sweet smile greeting you and instantly melting your stress. "hi love," he reaches for your bag and gently grabs your waist to pull you into him as you walk through the door, pressing a kiss to your lips, "how was work?" you groan and shake your head, "long and I had some pretty shitty customers..." he kisses the side of your head softly and places your bag on the hallway table, closing the front door behind you before he's crouching down to undo your shoes and take them off. "I'm sorry to hear that bub... but now you're home and you can relax hmm?" you nod and he stands up, taking your hand to lead you down the hallway to the bathroom. he stands behind you and places his hands on your shoulders as you sigh happily at the sight in front of you. "you just take your time to relax okay? I'll be here when you get out and we can order some dinner and you can tell me all about it."

#mimi's 500 celebration ₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡ #mimi.writes #🌸 anon #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris x reader

[derangederensimp]

Jujutsu Kaisen One Shot Kinktober

#7 Cuckholding / group sex with Toji, Gojo, and Geto x Fem Reader

CW:, Domination, Ass Spanking, Hickeys, Biting, Pet Names, Oral Fem and Male receiving, Cuckholding, degradation, humiliation exhibitionism, Creampie.

-

Toji was not a husband that would share but when he accidentally found your journal and read an insert about your deepest darkest fantasy he decided he would make it happen for you. There was only two other men he would even dare do this with and it honestly turned him on when he thought about how at the end he would show them how you really like to be fucked.

“Doll! Can you come help me with dinner?” Toji called from the kitchen. You walked out of the bedroom with your bathrobe in as you had just finished up a shower, your hair still partly dripping onto it. “Of course I can help honey” you said with a smile on your face. He loved how obedient you were for him even not even pertaining to sex.

You thought it was cute that Toji was wearing an apron that was yours trying to avoid getting his clothes dirty. Standing at the counter you began to chop up the vegetables while Toji continued to prepare the marinade to go over top of them the meat. Once he was finished he stood behind you, his body towering over yours as you chopped away. He brought you into a hug but giving you enough freedom to continue what you were doing.

“Honey” you said. He hummed, “yes doll?” His body slowly swaying yours, you could feel his cock hardening against your ass which made you blush. “After dinner, your friends are coming over so once they leave we will do something about your problem” you said softly. “My problem? Don’t you mean your problem. You’ve got to fix this for me Doll” he cooed into your ear, his breath hot against your neck. His lips making contact and sucking softly. “Toji, Behave”

He backed off with your tone, clicking his tongue. “Ok Doll, after dinner”. He said letting you go, to go back to what he was doing.

And just on queue a knock on the front door, you stopped chopping the vegetables wiping your hands on a towel before heading to the door. When you opened it there stood Gojoand Geto, nicely dressed. Both men held flowers in there hand as a thank you for your hospitality and of course they were two of your favorite types of flowers. You welcomed them inside “sorry we're still getting started on dinner, should be done in 20 minutes or so” you softly spoke moving away from the door.

Toji noticed how flushed your cheeks were from a small gesture. Normally he would feel enraged by this but he knew his friends meant it only as a warming. “That’s fine, we wanted to come early to see if you two needed help” Geto spoke up.

“We’re good, make yourselves at home.” Toji said, you stood beside him putting the flowers into vases and setting them on the table before returning to his side finishing up the veggies before handing them to him. He watched you walk back over to the men and sit between them on the couch. A grin growing on his face. He couldn’t hear the conversation but he could see how much you were smiling and giggling like a college kid with a crush.

After dinner the four of you sat in the living room making small talk. Toji sat in the armchair while you sat beside him on the arm rest, Geto and Gojo taking up the loveseat. The atmosphere felt right for Toji to finally get the ball rolling. “So do you two want to hear something interesting about our sweet Doll y/n here” Toji spoke.

“I found this book on their desk the other day just sitting out for anyone's eyes to take a peek. I knew I shouldn’t have taken a look but I love the way they write so I did look” your eyes shoot wide, you swore you always locked away the book in your desk but you must’ve left it out. You tried climbing onto Toji’s lap to cover up his mouth before he spilled out anything more. He softly gripped your wrist “Doll, I’m doing you a favor. Let me tell them your darkest fantasy, maybe they’ll want to indulge you. I know I do.”

You stared back and forth at Geto’s and Gojo’s faces to catch their reactions to Toji telling them about how you had written what you would imagine things would be if Toji watched them fuck you ruthlessly or for him to join you once he had enough.

“Y/n is that what you really want?” Geto was the first to ask. Gojo just sat on the edge of the couch, his jaw hanging before he got enough brain cells back to speak “If it is then I’ll gladly participate. I was always jealous that you ended up marrying before I got a chance to try to make you mine instead” Toji clicked his tongue, he knew in the end both men couldn’t compare to him.

You sat in silence, your brain shortcrituing. Your husband just revealed something he even wasn’t supposed to know. Two very handsome men stared at you while your husband ran his hand up your thigh pinching your skin to bring you back to reality. “Aw, my poor innocent wife has nothing to say. Come on sweetheart I won’t be mad if you say you want to go ahead with your fantasy” Toji said, kissing your neck with little kisses, his hand gripping at your thigh.

He could tell from your body language and how you innocently adjusted yourself on his lap that you were turned on even just a little bit. “Yes” you finally spoke up. A deep chuckle leaving Toji’s mouth as he pulled you into a hug “that settles it, what do you think fellas do you want to pleasure my wife?” Toji asked, looking at Geto and Gojo.

“As long as y/n wants to” the men said in unison.

Maybe you were just dreaming, probably had too much to drink the night before and one of your fantasy’s decided to be a dream. There’s no way your husband would agree to this otherwise.

The feeling of Geto’s lips on your neck while Gojo kisses down your thighs brought you back to reality. Toji sat on the armchair you had in the bedroom his eyes staring into yours he watched with a soft grin on his face. “Com’on sweetheart give them a little moan” He deeply spoke. Geto’s kisses turning into bites, Gojo pinched at your hardened nipples through your shirt causing you to let out a whined moan from your lips. Your face turning pink when you looked back at your husband.

Toji watched as Geto helped lift your shirt off, Gojo getting your pants off leaving you with only a bra and panties on, or course Toji’s favorite set. “This alright baby?” Geto cooed into your ear, the heat between your legs growing hearing the petname. “Yes” you sheeply said. Gojo placed a few more kisses on your thighs before he hooked his fingers around your panties pulling them down exposing your cunt.

“Shit, I’ve dreamed of how good you’d taste” Gojo said, his blue eyes piercing into yours a soft grin across his lips before he pressed a kiss on your cunt. His tongue lolling out and licking a stripe up, circling your clit before starting back at where he started. A louder moan than before erupting from your throat. Toji was pleased to finally hear how you really sound.

Geto unhooked your bra, tossing it to the floor, one hand tweaked your nipple while he brought the other to your lips. His thumb gliding on your lips, your mouth instinctively opening, taking his thumb into your mouth you began to suck staring up at him. His cheeks were blushed pink, he stared down at you with hooded eyes. Gojo placed his thumb on your clit and began massaging it while his tongue went in and out of you, your moans vibrating on Geto’s thumb. “F-fuck. You’ll let me use your pretty wife’s mouth won’t you Toji” Geto asked.

Toji just waved his hand as a gesture for him to do whatever you wanted. Taking his thumb from your mouth, you reached for his pants. Unzipping them and pulling them down along with his boxers “so eager are we?” Geto Teased. Before you were going to speak, Gojo put more pressure on your clit making you moan and tilt your head back gripping at his white hair.

Geto pressed the tip against your lips pre moistening your lips. Sliding your tongue across your lips, taking him into your mouth you stroked the parts that didn’t fit in, your gags only made Geto want to fuck into your mouth more but he’d let you take your time because reguardless your mouth felt amazing.

Gojo lifted his mouth off your cunt wiping his mouth with his hand. “So fucking good. Can you make me feel good too y/n?” He asked, winking at you while you nodded your head. Geto removed his cock from your mouth allowing you to lay on your stomach before positioning your ass into the air, he laid in front of you moving down to have his cock back by your mouth. Taking him in once again he sucked his teeth “S-shit” he couldn’t stop staring at how you looked at him, drool coming from the corners of your lips.

Gojo slapped your ass with an open fist making a red mark appear on your ass, your moan muffled on Geto’s cock. Throwing his head back from the stimulation. Gojo aligned his cock with your entrance rubbing the tip to your lips before slamming into your cunt.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Gojo began to move inside. Your cunt squeezing him “s-so tight I could fuck you forever and never get tired of this feeling” Gojo panted, his cock pushing against your G spot repeatability making you go sloppy sucking off Geto but he didn’t mind it still made him feel like he was ganna cum any minute but he wasn’t going to let Gojo beat him.

Toji had to admit he hated how none of the men were attending to your needs, yeah you were moaning on their dicks but they weren’t making you feel even close to how he does but this is what you wanted so he just sat back waiting for his turn adjusting his pants from how painfully tight they’ve become.

Gojo reached for your nipple, pinching it between his finger as he put his thumb on your clit, adding stimulation and your walls clenched down on him. Your muffled moans filling the room, Geto stroked your cheek with his thumb watching you hollow then out as you sucked him off. Gojo thrusted into you faster; he wished he could hear you moan out his name. How sexy you would sound saying his name all whiny.

A few more thrusts and you were done for, the overstimulation getting to you as you came all over Gojo’s dick, your body shook as you continued to suck off Geto the vibration added to his own orgasm. Gojo pulled out and came all over your ass and Geto came on your breasts. You panted collapsing to the bed, turning your face to look at Toji. Geto’s and Gojo’s chest heaved up and down before moved off the bed and resting on the chairs Toji put out.

In between blinks you watched as Toji walked towards you. All you wanted to do was pounce him and fuck him but your legs wouldn’t move. Once he was beside you he spoke “I think you gave them too much credit Sweetheart they can’t even make it to a round 2.” Toji cooed into your ear, a deep laugh coming from him next as he knelt between your legs. Biting at your inner thigh he left marks claiming you as his in front of the men.

“F-fuck me p-please” you sobbed. Toji looked up from your thighs wiping away your tears “no need to cry doll, I’ll fuck you alright. As many times as I have to in order to show you who you belong to. But first I think you need to apologize for fucking those two” his soft hands gripping your cheeks tightly but not enough to cause you any pain.

“I-I’m sorry Toji-“ you began, he pinched at your nipples making you lose track of what you were going to say “go on” he said.

“I’m sorry for fucking them i-it won’t happen again. Y-you are all I need-“ his fingers slamming into you made you gasp, the sudden stimulation. “Mhmm” he hummed. Geto and Gojo couldn’t help but stroke themselves at your moans, the way your body twitched under Toji’s control and just by his fingers. “Looks like you have a little audience sweetheart” Toji said, grabbing your cheek and making you look over to them.

“Such a slut, you want them to see you cum around my fingers huh?” Toji said, hooking his fingers inside making your cunt squeeze them making you moan his name loudly. He let you ride out your high before pulling his fingers out, putting them up to your mouth “Lick them clean. Now” he demanded. Lolling out your tongue you sucked your juices off of him.

“I’m going to show you two how to proper fuck her, she should’ve at least cum two or three times on your pathetic dick Gojo” Toji chuckled. Taking off his pants before picking you off the bed he held you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. Your head close to his chest taking a breather, you could feel his cock poking at your entrance. You took a deep breath preparing for it. He slammed you down onto him making you throw your head back and scream his name. “That’s right baby just like that. Ain’t that a pretty sound?” He said, bouncing you on his cock the sound of your juices and bodies slapping together filled the room.

“Let’s see her face Toji” You had completely forgotten Geto and Gojo was till they spoke up. You stared as they jerked off to just the sight of you being fucked which only turned you on more. You listened to their request keeping your head tilted back, your mouth stayed gapped open as Toji abused your cunt. A slap landing on your ass making you pick your head up to look at Toji “you keep your eyes on me, I’m the one who tells you what to do got it? Now open your mouth” you did as he said keeping your mouth open for him.

Spitting inside of it he watched you swallow it down making him groan. You were his weakness, your fingers dug into his back making him grunt knowing you were just letting him know you had to cum. Picking up his pace he bounced you faster. Moaning out his name continuously as your rode out your high. You could hear Geto and Gojo panting as they also had met their release.

Toji kept fucking your in different positions each orgasm came sooner than the last making you more and more tired you didn’t think you could keep going. “Have you had enough?” Toji looked down at you with a smirk on his face. He could keep going all night if it were up to him but he could tell you were completely fucked out.

“O-one more want Geto and Gojo to join” you panted, Toji kissed your lips. Slipping his tongue into your mouth, your tongues pushing against each others “fine” Toji said.

Geto got on one side of your face while Gojo got on the other. You took their cocks into your hands stroking them while Toji aligned himself to your cunt again. This time he teased you inch by inch going slow till you begged him to fuck you already. “So impatient” Toji grunted, removing his cock fully before slamming it inside. Your legs were so sore and shook each time he rutted his hips against yours. You watched his cock go in and out making you bite down on your lip.

Geto’s and Gojo’s moans encouraged you to keep going at the pace you were jacking them off trying to keep up with Toji’s fast fucking. His cock jackhammering inside of you. You came on his cock with only a few more thrusts, his own release nearing as he kept filling you up. He hooked his arms under your legs, arching your back some as he pulled your legs back making his cock go even deeper. The feeling of your cunt pulsating made Toji finally cum, white hot ropes filled you up inside while Geto and Gojo came all over your face.

The three of them cleaned you up as you laid limp every time they asked if you were ok afraid that Toji may have overdid it you just nodded your head with a smile on your face. Geto and Gojo left leaving you and Toji alone. Toji kissed down your neck intertwining your fingers with his “your pussy belongs to me and me only you got that? He said not noticing you had fallen asleep. He sighed kissing your forehead, pulling you closer to him as he drifted off to sleep himself.

-

Went way over my word limit

Don’t forget to leave a note! Or a comment 🖤

Kinktober Masterlist

Taglist: @yellooaaa , @immindingmyown , @dovas-world , @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn , @ilovestevelacy2228

#jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro x y/n #gojo x reader x geto #toji x reader smut #geto x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #kinktober #derangederensimp #jjk smut #Toji x Reader x Geto x Gojo #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n smut #geto suguru x y/n smut #toji fushiguro is his own warning #toji fushiguro x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #Gojo Satoru Smut #Geto Suguru Smut

[jujumin-translates]

Event | 7th Anniversary: All Actors Aboard! | Chapter 6: VELUDO STATION MEMORY ✕ Chikage Utsuki

Announcement: “The train will stop at this station for a moment for interval adjustment.”

Chikage: (...It’s probably better to take a cab now.)

Chikage: (Well, I did just get a call that the meeting I had after this has been postponed, so I’ll just go straight home and relax.)

Tsuzuru: …Huh, Chikage-san?

Chikage: What a coincidence. Did you have a part-time job or something?

Tsuzuru: Karaoke help. The time was short, but I was lucky enough to get a good rate.

Tsuzuru: I just got here, but has the train been stopped for a while?

Chikage: No, it only just stopped.

Tsuzuru: Gotcha. Well, guess we’re gonna be here for a while then… Are you working right now, Chikage-san?

Chikage: That was the plan.

Chikage: But when I was about to head back to the office for a meeting, it was postponed because of a co-worker having a problem, so I’m already leaving for the day.

Tsuzuru: Huh… What kind of trouble…?

Chikage: A mistake was made in the number of materials ordered for production and the factory was on the verge of shutting down.

Chikage: I bet that guy is on his hands and knees begging, going to clients via manufacturers.

Tsuzuru: Begging on his hands and knees… I feel sick just thinking about it…

Chikage: It happens all the time. Want to hear more incredible stories like that?

Tsuzuru: I’m tempted to hear future stories, but… I think I’ll pass on that today.

Tsuzuru: Anyway, it’s kinda weird to see you taking the train, Chikage-san. You don’t usually use the train that much, do you?

Chikage: Not really. At least, not as much as the rest of you do. Sometimes I’ll go by car or taxi too.

Chikage: I took it today partly because it was more convenient for the place I was going to, but also because I was looking for ideas.

Chikage: I still have yet to write my article for the web edition of “VELUDO”.

Tsuzuru: Oh, I see--.

Tsuzuru: …? Did you hear a distant voice? Was it the train announcement… or?

Roasted Sweet Potato Stall: “Roasted sweet potatoes~, roasted sweet potatoes~.”

Chikage: Just now?

Tsuzuru: Ah! It’s the roasted sweet potato stall! It’s been in front of Veludo Station before. Remember, you got some for us, Chikage-san.

Chikage: Ah, now that you mention it…

*Flashback*

Chikage: (Looks like I’m going to get home earlier than I thought I would today.)

*Phone notification*

Chikage: (The Spring Troupe groupe LIME, huh?)

*LIME start*

Citron: I want boasted sweet potatoes!

Sakuya: We saw a roasted sweet potato stall earlier, but they had just run off.

Citron: I want to eat broasted meat potatoes!

Sakuya: They went in the direction of Veludo Station, so if anyone happens to stop there, could you please get some?

*LIME end*

Roasted Sweet Potato Stall: “Roasted sweet potatoes~, delicious roasted sweet potatoes~.”

Chikage: There…

*LIME start*

Chikage Utsuki: I just found it in front of the station, so I’ll get some.

*LIME end*

Chikage: (The line is longer than I would’ve expected. The truck only just got here a few minutes ago and there’s already a long line.)

*Footsteps*

Boy: Haah, haah… Good, I got in line…

Chikage: (Is it really that popular…?)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Shopkeeper: Welcome, sorry for the wait. How many would you like?

Chikage: Six, please.

Shopkeeper: Ahh…

Shopkeeper: You in the back, I’m sorry. Just sold the last ones.

Boy: Eh…

Boy: …I see. How many were you planning to get?

Chikage: Wait. How many were you planning to get?

Boy: Umm… one, two… three.

Chikage: A family of three?

Boy: Yeah. …Mom said she wanted them.

Boy: Even when I was little, she told me that she used to look forward to finding and getting roasted sweet potatoes and having me get them for her.

Chikage: …

Chikage: …Excuse me, but I’ll actually take three.

Shopkeeper: Are you sure?

Chikage: I was just thinking I’d buy extra.

Shopkeeper: Thanks much. Well then, three for the each of ya!

Chikage: Thank you.

Boy: Um, thank you very much!

Chikage: …I hope your mother is pleased with them.

Boy: Yeah!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —��� • ·

Chikage: Well then…

Chikage: (I only managed to get three, now what am I supposed to do? Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten at all…)

Sakuya: Chikage-saaan!

Citron: Good work today~!

Chikage: What are you all doing here?

Itaru: When I got the message on LIME from Citron and the others, it seemed like everyone was just getting back, so the timing was just right to meet up.

Sakuya: Welcome home.

Chikage: I’m home.

Chikage: …Wait, we’re not even home yet, isn’t it a little strange to say that now?

Masumi: Well, that’s true…

Citron: If the family is together, then even outside like this can be a home!

Tsuzuru: Guess that means the station is just like another entranceway.

Chikage: I see.

Itaru: By the way, it seems like you got the roasted sweet potatoes.

Chikage: About that, something came up and I was only able to get three. It’s not ideal, but I guess we’ll have to play rock-paper-scissors to see who gets them.

Chikage: I’m not that hungry, so I’ll count myself out now.

Citron: Then I am good as well.

Itaru: I’m an adult, so I’ll pass too. We’ll let our adorable kids have them.

Sakuya: Huh, but…

Masumi: …

Tsuzuru: …Well, if that’s what we’re doing, then I’ll just do this. Here, half for you, Chikage-san.

Sakuya: They taste better when we all eat them together! Here, Citron-san!

Masumi: I’m good with half. You can have the rest, Itaru.

Citron: Oh~! Thank you!

Itaru: Thanks.

Chikage: I didn’t think to do that. Thanks.

Citron: They are very nice and warm! Well then, right away--.

Spring Troupe: Let’s eat.

*Flashback end*

Chikage: …And that’s what happened.

Tsuzuru: Those roasted sweet potatoes were really good. I wanna have them again.

Chikage: The stall just left, but do you want to go after it now? I’m sure we can catch it if we do everything in our power.

Tsuzuru: E-Everything in our power… what, like some kinda action movie chase scene?

Chikage: I’m kidding.

Chikage: But thanks to that, I remembered something I could use for the article and I need to write it down before I forget it.

Tsuzuru: Glad to hear that then.

Chikage: I was almost going to write about how I couldn’t read the kanji for “Veludo”.

Tsuzuru: No way, you’ve got to be joking again…

Chikage: But I’m not.

Tsuzuru: Seriously!?

Chikage: I didn’t know how to read it at first, so I looked it up, and I still couldn’t figure it out.

Tsuzuru: Well… the kanji are used for their meanings, not their readings, so I guess you’d have to live in the area to know how to read it. …But, it’s still kinda surprising. (1)

Chikage: Thanks for saving me from looking bad.

Announcement: “Thank you for your patience. The train will depart shortly.”

Tsuzuru: I wonder if the roasted sweet potato stall will be stopped at the station when we get there.

Chikage: Well, we’ll just have to wait and see when we get to Veludo Station.

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

• • •

T/N:

(1) Veludo is both written in katakana as “ビロード” and in kanji as “天鵞絨”. With katakana, it’s simply phonetic, read as “biroodo”, with kanji, the meaning is “velvet” and is either read as “tengajuu” or “biroodo”. The reading “tengajuu” comes from readings of the individual kanji, with the reading “biroodo” having been adopted from the Portuguese and Spanish words for velvet, veludo and velludo respectively.

#a3! #a3! translation #chikage utsuki #tsuzuru minagi #sakuya sakuma #masumi usui #citron #itaru chigasaki

[clov3sr]

Uno, Out | Jude Bellingham

♡ — pairing(s): Jude Bellingham x reader

♢ — author annotations: hi my name is clov3 there's a global demand for pretty football boy fanfics and I write here look at me writings hehe

♤ — c/t w(s): none <3

♧ — synopsis: Your best friend Jude accidentally ends your hangout with a love confession.

♫ — music inspo.: JUST FRIENDS BY AUDREY MIKA

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:11 ───ㅇ───── 2:48

GIF by avenirdelight

"Grow the hell up, Bellingham."

"I'm just saying that's not a legit UNO rule, and I think you know that."

"What I know?" You pause, dramatic as always. Jude misses that flair when he's away. "Is that as newly delegated UNO champion I can't understand your peasant ramblings? What are you saying right now, Ju?"

He doesn't have to look to know the stupid grin you're wearing, but he does anyway and bites his own bottom lip so as not to smile himself. You've just finished tidying the game and snacks up, and his blanket you'd for years claimed as yours had been folded and discarded on your loveseat. He almost forgets what he's looking for, but seeing his shoes in the corner of his vision jogs his memory.

"Man," he exhales, one hand on the wall steadying himself as he lazily shoves his feet into his shoes. In the corner nearest the door is a pair of his slippers that you keep around for him, should he need or want them. "It was just one game."

"Don't care. You got dethroned."

You've approached the entryway now, hands defiantly on your hips. Your head is tilted upwards, partly because Jude is tall and partly a consequence of your ballooned ego. Jude wants to bask in your amusement for much, much longer, too much longer than appropriate for just friends, but yet another notification from the team group chat reminds him that he really can't stay.

He yearns to stay with you.

He could bring up how he'd won the three games beforehand, but the moment is gone now, and he opts to just shake his head.

"Don't die, okay?" You huff, and he gives one last glance that he pleads with every God out there that it isn't full of too much longing for you. He knows what you're asking.

"I'll text you."

You only hum in response. It's been a couple of months now, that every time he leaves you, he wants to pepper your face with kisses and assure you that he can't wait to return. He wants to come home to your signature scent, an airy contrast to the usual smell of cut grass and athletic equipment. He imagines you drowning in one of his shirts, that perfect, stupid, contagious grin to comfort him about leaving.

"Bye, Jude,"

You say something, and he hears it, but the words don't quite penetrate his brain. You're probably saying bye. Your voice is like a song he'll never be able to overplay, a saccharine syrup he will never get tired of swimming in. Jude imagines you embracing him fondly right before he walks out the door. He envisions making sure you know, always,

"Bye, y/n, I love you."

"What?"

Fuck.

His subtle smile drops. He's already got one foot out the door, he's already got his lanyard in one hand ready to fish out the car keys, the other in the middle of closing the door behind him. He can't see your face.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The door is closed. He swears he hears a confused call of his name, followed by another confused "what?" but if he did, it was too muffled by the very shut front door for him to be sure. He's already in the motion of casually strolling toward his car.

Fuck? Fuck.

He could cry right now, but he's too dumbfounded, and before the grief can reach a resulting action, he's starting the car.

No, it's sinking in now.

In his peripheral he sees your front door fly back open. You're running out to his car, no shoes on. He's complained to you about that before -- you could step on something sharp. Before he can decide what to do, you've nearly fallen face-first into the driver-side window while halting to a stop, swinging open his car door. Your eyes are wide as you balance one hand on your bare knee, the other holding the door open.

"I love you too!"

♢ — author postnote (s): gym equipment has that goddamn smell bro ik you know what im talking about shit. like its got me heated rn is there a word for that smell. also this app sucks how many times do I have to post this

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fic #football oneshot #footballer x you #pablo gavi #reader insert #x reader #fluff #jude bellingham fluff #confession #friends to lovers #jude bellingham one shot #oneshot #x you #gender neutral reader #at least i dont think i implied a gender here so please lmk if you find otherwise

[rosie-b]

Centuries Overdue

Chapter 5

In which we finally get to visit the catacombs. Also, there are magic zombies (more or less)!

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at the Agreste mansion in Paris, France, on the twenty-eighth of June, 1810.

The Darkness is strongest under the City.

I know what lies there, moved from the soil above over decades and still growing as I write. The Catacombs are hardly a Secret, but they hold more than one.

Last night, after writing my last entry, I went on a walk to Test the darkness and see if It would follow me again. It did. It was stronger than ever, and It called to me in my parents’ voices, both at once.

“Come with us,” It beckoned. “We are Lost, but not Dead yet. Come save us!”

If this is a Mage’s Joke I will need more than Providence to keep me from giving in to my Anger. But I think, no, I know that it is no joke. It is the voice of my Parents, trapped by the Mage of the Darkness. It was feeding off the souls of the Talents and Mages It gathered, then, but Its Downfall did not undo their imprisonment. And from their chained Power, still flowing to It, It rises again!

It is hunting me. I said as much to the Bourgeois family last night, when I visited them. I needed some reason to be Out, after all, some reason to fool the Darkness into thinking I am no wiser now than I was in Ravlunda, when I let the Darkness re-grow in the foolish Hope that It was dead.

It will get a surprise when I am the One to fool It.

I am going to visit the Catacombs. I will scour every tunnel for the heart of this Darkness, and when I find It, I will destroy It once and for all. I will free my Parents and the other trapped magicians. Only then will I be able to rest.

What I am doing, I must do in secret. Visits to the Catacombs are allowed, but only with permission, which is granted sparingly and with bias. It seems the common people take precedence now, not the Nobles, as it once was, or the Children of those whose families left France in l’Émigration. This makes sense, though it adds Difficulty to my own Cause.

I cannot afford to wait for the Officials to believe my Words and grant Me an Appointment. I must act now to save my Parents, else all will be lost and the Mages, once mighty, will be brought down by one man’s Folly. I pray that they do not suffer for my failures.

There is an entrance I know by the Barrière d'Enfer, the Gates of Hell. I will slip in quietly to-morrow, while the Guards’ eyes are full of sleep, taking my Journal of Spells with me. It is the Book of Spells which Mages of Tikki and Plagg may use, as well as a few handy Universal ones. With any luck, Plagg’s Blessing will grant me the strength I need to Destroy this most evil of Mages for-ever.

And at last, the Darkness will be vanquished.

At last, we will know Peace.

__*__*__*__*__

After she finished the last of Adrien’s journals, Marinette had the strangest feeling that she’d never again feel as complete as she had while she was still reading them. It was like her world had been in color while she still had more entries to look forward to, but now it had faded back to its normal sepia tones; not quite black and white, but no longer as vibrant as she remembered.

She could always reread the journals, she supposed. Alya had finally convinced Mayor Bourgeois to ‘donate’ the entire collection to her ‘charity organization,’ really the Mages’ cross-country education for new group members. The papers and legitimacy of  the organization, of course, had been completely made up through a series of intricate illusions made by several Mages, but it worked, and now the Agreste journals were finally back where they belonged.

Marinette kept visiting the café on Wednesday evenings, partly for her new and old friends and partly to try and fill the void Adrien’s journals had left behind. Sometimes she’d stay for the whole gathering, sometimes not, but she always enjoyed the company, and by now she’d begun to feel like a real member of the little group, even though she lacked her own magic. 

Still, Alya insisted that Marinette must have a Gift from one kwami or another, and she called some of her friends from the other surviving Mage groups to come test Marinette. Luka, Kagami, and Zoe had all come at one time or another, but Marinette hadn’t passed any of their tests. When Alya’s boyfriend, Nino, returned from his stay with Wayzz’s group, she convinced him to test Marinette, too, but still without any luck.

Marinette was fine with that, really, but it was becoming a little embarrassing, so she convinced Alya to drop the investigation for now.

“We have basically the rest of my life to figure out if I’m really a Mage or not,” she’d pointed out. “There’s no need to rush into this!”

Alya had sighed. “You’re right, but can you blame me for trying? I always knew you were special, and even if you’re not a Mage or a Talent, I think you should’ve been one. Any kwami would have to be crazy to pass on giving you a Gift.”

Marinette thought it was sweet that her friend thought so highly of her.

But even with all her praises, Alya still didn’t trust Marinette’s (potential) latent magic enough to let her go into the catacombs alone, though.

“No way,” Alya had insisted in a panic when Marinette first brought up her idea. She’d crossed her arms over her chest in a large ‘X,’ staring at Marinette with something like horror in her eyes. “There is no way I’m letting you walk down into those catacombs, to find Adrien or for any other reason. I agree that Adrien’s last entries sound concerning, but face the facts, girl! He had to have had severe PTSD, and the ‘darkness’ he thought was tracking him was clearly just in his head. Maybe he wasn’t crazy, but his mind was definitely playing tricks on him.”

“I’m not arguing there,” Marinette had protested. “I’m just saying, there has to be some way we can find his remains and give him the proper burial he deserves. I get why you’re nervous, but there are plenty of people who explore forbidden parts of the catacombs!”

“Yeah, but we’re not cataphiles,” Alya had pleaded. “Learning what is and isn’t safe in the catacombs has to take them a long time, and even then, there are too many miles of unexplored tunnels. Nobody knows all of them. And if someone had found a body, Adrien’s or someone else’s, they would have reported it by now. But there are no new bodies in the catacombs, just the old ones that are supposed to be there. And, consider, do we know for a fact that Adrien went to the catacombs? No. He said he was going to visit them, but he might’ve changed his mind.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Marinette had said firmly. “Adrien wouldn’t do that. He thought he knew what he had to do to save the Mages, and he had a plan for it. It wouldn’t be like him to just give up.”

“Well, I guess in a weird way, you knew him better than me,” Alya had said with a shrug, apparently trying to seem nonchalant after her outburst. “I just don’t think it’s safe for you to go down there after him, that’s all.”

Marinette had paused. Alya had been acting strangely from the moment Marinette had first mentioned her plan to go into the catacombs, if not to find Adrien’s body, then at least to pay her respects from a distance. 

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you.”

Alya had immediately shot back, with a touch of desperation, “No, I’m not! I would never want to hide anything from you.”

“But you did,” Marinette had pressed, though she felt a bit bad for saying it. “You hid magic’s existence from me for years. Not that I’m mad! But we both know you can lie to my face if you need to. That’s like your whole deal, illusions and lies. So what is it, Alya? Just tell me what you’re hiding. I won’t be mad, I promise. I’ll try to understand, no matter how weird it is!”

It had only taken a little more begging for Alya to willingly uncover her secrets. 

As it turned out, there was a dangerous power making its home in the catacombs, preventing any Mages from getting in (or, potentially, out).

“There’s a reason why none of us, not even Fluff’s Mages, go down there, Marinette,” Alya admitted after one of the café meetings. “There’s something else in the tunnels. You know I don’t believe Adrien’s Darkness exists, but some kind of twisted magic definitely does. Maybe it always has, but I think it’s still new. Not many Mages know about it, because so far, not many need to, except the local Mages. It’s not a full-blown problem yet, since whatever it is prefers to stick to the tunnels. When it does come out, though, it acts like a void, draining Mages’ powers from them if they come into contact with it.”

Alya had shuddered, rubbing her arm as if she was cold despite the warmth of the café. 

“Last semester, I had the misfortune of meeting one, a wandering branch of the magic. I was walking home in the dark from class, and I felt a cold wind at my back. It didn’t feel natural, so I cast an illusion to provide some cover for myself and hid in a group of tourists until it revealed itself. Wasn’t much to look at, just a wisp of darkness in the shape of a human. When it noticed that I’d seen it, yellow sparks collected in it like a child’s scrawled-out crayon lines, giving it some creepy mockery of a face and arms and hands and eyes. It stared right back at me.”

As she’d listened to the story, Marinette’s heart had stopped. Darkness in the shape of a human? Her mind raced as she considered the possibility that this was the same Darkness Adrien had written about before passing.

Alya had groaned on seeing her friend’s scrunched-up face. “I can tell what you’re thinking, girl. But this isn’t the Darkness Adrien was talking about! That Mage was killed long ago. This is a new threat, one whose origins we have no clue about! But I heard about it before, from Nino. He was tracked by one the second-to-last time he visited Paris and had to fight it off. He came back from experience suggesting we call the attacking magic figures ‘zombies’. He thinks the magic is inhabiting the corpses from the catacombs, or taking control of the dead’s spirits, and then it uses that to attack us, possibly to steal our powers away and get even stronger. I don’t have a better name for the magic, and it does look like a corrupted Mage post-mortem might, so. Zombies it is,” she’d said, offering Marinette a wry grin. “Luckily, no other group of Mages has had to deal with them so far, just us here in Paris. And there doesn’t seem to be a magic virus to worry about, so, yay.” She’d thrown up fake-enthusiastic jazz hands and an exhausted smile.

So, the maybe-new Darkness wasn’t a big problem yet. That was good, but how safe was it for the Mages, truly? Alya’s story was just raising more questions for Marinette.

“How did you defeat it?” she had asked, sitting on the edge of her seat and gripping her warm coffee mug tightly. What was the key to killing a living Darkness?

Alya had hummed and wrapped her hands tight around her own mug as she remembered. “I had to use a very powerful spell. All the Mages here know it; it’s the one Universal spell that still works, basically. Unlike the other, more ancient ones, it was created by all the kwamis together, as they simultaneously established the same spell for each group of Mages. They came up with it to provide us with a better defense after the final battle against the Darkness. So, because of its origin, it’s technically a kwami-specific spell, not a Universal one, but it functions the same way because every kwami gifted it to every group of Mages. It’s meant to kill an unkillable enemy, no matter the source of its power. The spell is stronger when said by many Mages all at once, but luckily, me reciting it on my own was enough to get rid of that zombie. It won’t hurt us again.”

Marinette had let out a sigh, relief pooling in her stomach as she accepted that her friends were likely all safe. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Alya had nodded, a far-off look in her eye. “For now. And I know you think you’re safe, too, but be careful, Marinette. The zombies have only shown interest in strong Mages so far, but that doesn’t mean they won’t go after you. Even if you’re right, and you’re not a Mage, going in the catacombs would mean putting yourself in danger. Promise me you won’t do it, okay?”

Marinette had hummed and smiled and promised she’d stay safe.

But here was the thing. As far as she knew (and as several failed tests proved), Marinette was not a Mage.

And the ‘zombies’ were only targeting the strongest Mages. Not even mid-level Mages, and she’d asked the newest members of both Trixx and Fluff’s groups. None of them were worried about being targeted, and they were all at a much greater risk than Marinette was, herself.

So all things considered, it was perfectly safe for her to book a ticket for one humdrum, non-magical, guided tour of the catacombs, right?

It wasn’t like she was going to go off the safe paths or actually try to bring Adrien’s remains back to the surface for burial. She just wanted to visit the place where he’d died, to find some kind of peace with his ending. She’d felt wrong ever since she’d finished his journals, and somehow she knew that if she could just pay her respects (even if in a less-than-normal way), she’d find closure.

So after a few weeks of deliberation, she booked a ticket for a tour.

On the day of her visit, Marinette deliberately did not tell Alya where she was going after her last shift of work at the library. She headed straight for home, where she dropped off the big purse she’d taken to work and checked that her phone was charged before putting on a light sweater and some boots and heading off to the catacombs.

She was the first one from her tour group to arrive, so going through security was a breeze. But before she could head down to the catacombs, her guide informed her, they had to wait for everyone else to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, they did, and the tour officially began.

At first, everything was surprisingly modern; the building’s white paint and first rooms full of security weren’t out of the ordinary for any other touristy location in Paris. The first (20 meter-long, she remembered) spiral staircase was just like any other; everything felt normal until she reached the transition between what felt more like a hospital or a very plain museum and the old, stone-hewed catacombs. Her hackles raised as she walked through the door and up a stone staircase into the long tunnel whose end marked where the catacombs truly began.

The iron gate made her feel apprehensive, like she was walking into a prison, but the security guards lounging just beyond it seemed more homey than anything. The painted pillars looked as though they belonged to a medieval castle, and the absurd mixture of so many different elements shocked Marinette back into feeling like a visitor on any other, normal tour. 

The smell, though; the smell was what assured her that this was more than just some random tourist trap. Marinette’s mom had taken her to an old, stone chapel for the funeral of a family friend once. The musty scent of the catacombs reminded her strongly of the way that haunting chapel had smelled. She decided not to think about the reason for the lingering stench—if she could help it, that was. She was about to see the evidence of its origins for herself.

Don’t focus on it, she told herself. It’s not musty, it’s just dusty. Just a nice friendly dust around here, like in the library by Adrien’s books. Yeah, that’s it! Nothing scary here.

She’d never thought she was afraid of the dead before. Then again, she’d never visited the catacombs before. But she was still confident that she’d accomplish her goals, no problem. Nobody had been trapped in the catacombs since— well.

She decided not to think about it, realizing that she’d be doing that a lot during this trip.

Once the rest of the tour group collected in the room past the gate, they were led deeper into the tunnels. There were no bones at first, just rough-hewn stone and white brick walls, low ceilings with moss creeping across them, and dim lighting from lamps and the lit-up information board on the right-hand side. But through the next open doorway, Marinette could see walls made up of bones, what looked like femurs on top of femurs with a line of skulls in between, like a skeletal tapestry woven by the dead.

The tour guide spoke about the catacombs’ history as they moved along the tunnels, but Marinette’s gaze was drawn by the bones, and she fell into the middle of the group as faster-walking tourists pushed past her. Everywhere she looked was claimed by death, even the heart formed by some well-placed skulls in the wall. This really is the empire of the dead.

A sign on the left stated that these bones had been transferred to the catacombs in 1859, well after Adrien had visited and been lost to the tunnels. They were still building when he came here; the tunnels must have been bare here when he visited.

As she kept walking, Marinette slowly grew accustomed to the otherworldly atmosphere of the tunnels. There was an elderly German couple behind her whose quiet, friendly-sounding conversations kept her grounded, and further in the back of the group, an American family argued about their plans for the next day in English. 

Marinette wasn’t feeling as nervous anymore. She was just here to pay her respects, to get some closure and leave. And that was similar to what the catacombs’ designers had wanted to do, too. They’d taken delicate care of all the skeletons they were in charge of transferring, bringing a priest with them on all their trips to inter the bones. They’d offered prayers in hopes of securing a peaceful rest for the long-dead people who had once occupied these crumbling bones.

Bodies were turned into art here, a sign of the care with which the builders had made the catacombs. Every section of the catacombs had some loving touch in it; whether it was a carved sign with French poetry or a wave-like pattern in the walls of bones. It was comforting, for a while. Marinette recalled that the tunnels’ construction had been out of necessity to free more space for the living and move the dead out of their overfilled cemeteries and marveled that such a gruesome task had been carried out so artfully. 

Still, there was a sinister air in the bone-lined tunnels, a promise of danger carried by the cold, dusty wind poking through the seams of her sweater. 

Marinette wondered if the magic zombies Alya had talked about really stayed here, in some blocked-off tunnel of the catacombs. She knew they posed no danger to her, as a non-magical human, but if they were real— they are real, Alya’s voice reminded her—then who was to say they weren’t the ones responsible for what had happened to Adrien? Who was to say that they hadn’t lured him off the path and trapped him with their dark magic?

Who was to say they hadn’t turned him into one of them?

Suddenly, Marinette didn’t feel so good about this trip. Her churning stomach threatened to eject the lunch she’d eaten before coming, and her head felt murky, like a thick wall of fog was clouding her thoughts.

The tour guide’s voice grew fainter, and Marinette took a moment to steady herself. She nearly put a hand on the wall, but remembered not to just in time. The bones here were older than in the last tunnel, though you couldn’t tell by looking at them. Underground, in an environment like this one, it took much longer for remains to decompose, Marinette remembered.

She wanted to think about something else. 

Just 112 steps until I get out of here, she told herself. Stairs, anyway. It was 131 down, and 112 back up at the end of the tunnels. That’s what the pamphlet said. The exit can’t be too far from here; the tour only covers a tiny part of the catacombs!

The tour group was about to move past her, and the man holding hands with his daughter motioned to her, as if to say, are you going to catch up, or do you need help? 

She smiled reassuringly and started walking again, and before long, she was back in the middle of the pack.

The next section of the tunnels was marked by a sign, like many of them were. This one read that the bones had been moved in 1787. A little bit past it, a pillar was tagged with graffiti. The sight of it knocked Marinette out of the last traces of her reverie, and she scoffed as she kept following the tour group. 

It was almost as if they were moving back in time; the farther they went through the tunnels, the older the bone deposits were. Her mind wandered back to Adrien, to the boy who’d lost his parents to evil magic, but dedicated his life to saving others from the same fate. He’d spent so much of his life as an unrecognized hero, working to keep the magic community in contact despite the many battles tearing apart their continent, constantly traveling though he ached for a home.

And when he finally was able to rest, peace was stolen from his once again, this time claiming his life.

A light breeze ran through the tunnel, and Marinette shivered, rubbing her arms and cursing herself for not wearing more layers. It was late summer aboveground, and so even this sweater had felt like overkill, but now she wished she’d worn a thicker one.

In the next section of the catacombs, her left shoe’s laces came undone. She’d worn hiking boots, ugly brown things without a zipper, at the recommendation of the owner of the shoe store she’d visited when she’d told her that she would be visiting the catacombs. By the time she got done fixing her shoelaces, stooped down by the left side of the wall, the group had nearly moved past her; there were only a couple visitors beside her as she resumed following the guide.

The next turn the group took was a little confusing. It looked like they were supposed to head straight, but a locked and secured gate informed the group to turn to the left, instead. Marinette lingered at the gate, looking through it to where the catacombs continued. No one was allowed back there, not even the guards. The tunnels beyond the gate were dark, and her eyes drew shapes in them like ghosts grasping the walls to stand and chase her.

She stumbled back, and her sweater caught on a jagged stone jutting out from the wall. Marinette breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she hadn’t gotten caught on one of the bones, but grew mortified to notice that she’d fallen behind the group. She tore her sleeve free and quickly headed down the left tunnel, walking quickly to make up for the time she’d spent staring at the closed-off tunnels. A few minutes later, and she’d still not caught up to the back of the group, though, so she turned around to check whether she’d missed another turn somehow.

The tunnel was closed off behind her. Her stomach lurched, and she rushed back towards the corner she’d turned into the tunnel from, only to find a dead end. There was no exit to the tunnel, just a pile of bones filling the gap between the limestone wall and the pillar supporting the ceiling. Past that, she couldn’t see anything; there was a gap at the top of the bone pile, but she was too short to see over it.

She took a rasping breath and choked on the musty air. 

A low murmur came from behind her, farther down the tunnel she’d already started walking through.

Her heart pounded. Was that the group? Had she missed the real turn she’d taken when she turned back to find it?

She put one foot directly behind the other, toes brushing the heel of her boot, and slowly spun back around in as close to a perfect 180 as she could get.

“Hello?” she called. “Hello? Wait for me, please! I fell behind!”

Marinette grimaced when there was no answer. How far behind was she? How had she managed to get this lost in such a short amount of time?

Lost. Marinette was lost, just like—!

Okay, no, she told herself strictly. Do not follow that train of thought. Just— follow the sound of the group. Yeah, that’s it!

She took a step forward, and then another, further and further from the pile of bones and down the dimly-lit hall, hoping to hear the German couple’s accent or the loud American mother warning her kid not to touch the bones.

She shuddered and looked down, as far as her gaze could safely travel from the bone-lined walls. Just keep walking. One step at a time.  

There was a cul-de-sac just off to the left, and the tunnel past it sloped steeply downward. She passed between a pair of pillars, and suddenly, the walls weren’t lined with bones anymore. Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she tried calling for the group again.

“Hello? It’s me, Marinette! I think I’m lost!” She paused. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

Marinette stumbled over the floor, which was rough and not smooth as it had been in other parts of the tunnel. She steadied herself against the wall and decided to take a break, so she pulled out her phone and checked the time. There was no service down here, but the light of the screen was still comforting. She’d charged the phone up before leaving work, so there was still seventy percent of the battery left, and that was good; maybe she’d get a bar of service somehow and find a map of the tunnels on the internet to help her.

Or maybe she should stop wasting time daydreaming about saving herself and get moving so that the group would finally be able to hear her and she’d be found. She pushed herself off the wall and started walking again.

The tunnels branched off a few meters down the hall, and Marinette staggered to a halt.

“What?” she asked aloud. “What… how is this possible?”

All of the tunnels before her were dark, and as she cautiously stepped into the large, maybe three meters-wide space where they joined together, the tunnel behind her fell dark, too, leaving her alone in the middle of the catacombs with no clue where to go, trembling in the dim, eerie lighting of the concourse.

She turned to her right, and was struck by a sight so horrifying that she nearly fainted. There was a skeleton, which was par for the day so far, but this one was just… different, in a way that sent shivers down her spine. This skeleton was collapsed by the tunnel just to the right of the one she’d emerged from, and its bones were still arranged like those of a normal corpse, unlike the other skeletons she’d seen that day.

There was an old leather journal a half a meter from its outstretched hand.

#ao3 links at top #ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #centuries overdue #this chapter has the last journal entry :'( #it feels weird to know that part's done even if the rest is still coming out

[angelshizuka]

honestly… i LOVED movie!adrien. he just feels so much more /real/ than show!adrien (which i guess is the point if you weigh in senti stuff) and like… idk. he’s just a silly 14 year old boy who’s still got some residual trauma from losing his mom! maybe i’m partly projecting show!adrien onto him, but even the way he turns marinette down seemed like he genuinely felt bad for doing so.

part of me feels like show!adrien’s entire characterization is created around the basis of being a love interest for marinette, and instead in the movie we got to see him be more… realistic than that. he fights with his dad! he opens up to marinette about his mom! he has PAIN and he’s affected by it (unlike the show where it seems his mother’s disappearance has barely affected his day-to-day life even though in that universe he lost her way more recently than in the movie) and he has a hard time letting people in because of that pain (illustrated beautifully by the headphones) but he still takes the chance on his new friend group! ladybug inspires him to give the world a chance again! and when she rejects him he shuts back down, and puts the headphones back on, which again, is a very realistic response.

i think this movie would have been a solid 10/10 for me if they had cut maybe 1-2 of the songs and instead explored their lives/relationship at school a little more, so we got to see these themes a little more clearly, but i really don’t get the movie!adrien bashing like at all lol. it kinda makes me uncomfy that people are calling movie!adrien like a fuckboy incel when he’s just… a more realistic version of himself instead of this fantasy perfect boy that can do no wrong idk…

(i still love show!adrien btw i just wanted to dump this somewhere LMFAO)

Yes, yes, yes! This is exactly what I've been talking about!

I genuinely love show!Adrien, but the writing keeps fucking him over. His mother died recently (either 100 days or weeks before the 100th episode, I can't remember which one it was, but even 100 weeks is barely 2 years), yet he acts like it barely affects him at all, not even in private (because I totally understand acting fine around other people, that's how a lot of people grief).

Meanwhile with movie!Adrien we actually SEE the affects of his grief and it's a major part of his arc and the way he behaves throughout the movie. But godforbid a teenage boy griefing his dead mother and dealing with a neglectful father isn't a "perfect sunshine boy" who isn't allowed to grief (by the narrative).

And yeah, I genuinely love the movie, but even I can acknowledge Adrien needed 1 or 2 more scenes for his arc to wrap up better (but even with that it's miles better than the show and THAT is the problem, that even a movie with problems still did it better by a landslide).

Though I love both Adriens, the core difference is how I genuinely love the actual on screen movie!Adrien, while with show!Adrien I love the potential and the few good moments that shine through the bullshit, but they become rarer with every season.

Like, the whole reason I love show!Adrien is BECAUSE he can be a little shit just as much as movie!Adrien, and one of the reasons I hate his writing in recent seasons is BECAUSE they've been forcing him into the "perfect sunshine boy" role that people have been blindly buying into.

Movie!Adrien is imperfect, makes mistakes, acts irrational, is allowed to have his own emotions,, isn't always the "oh, so perfect husband material", he's his own person first and love interest second, and THAT is why I love him.

#ladybug and cat noir the movie #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug movie #miraculous awakening #miraculous the movie #miraculous movie #ml movie #ml movie spoilers #ml salt #ml writers salt #ml fandom salt #chat noir #cat noir #adrien agreste #emilie agreste #anon #ask

[fanfic-chan]

Tokyo Revengers Boys When You're Sick

Ft: Mikey, Draken, Takemitchy, Mitsuya, Baji, Hakkai, Chifuyu, Nahoya (Smiley), and Souya (Angry)

Creators Note: These were inspired by the fact that I am very much ill rn, and decided to write about these guys to cheer myself up! Ik it's not the typical theme of my writing, but I hope you guys will enjoy them regardless!^^

Tagging: @duckymcdoorknob @ticklish-n-stuff @nataliewritez

Mikey:

Honestly? He's not exactly the best option, but he's not the worst either.

For the most part, he's pretty chill for a caretaker, so for things like minor colds and stuff, he's actually the preferred choice for most of the gang members.

He's the type to sit and watch TV with you while you recover, and gives you ice cream or popsicles to soothe your throat. He also takes full advantage of the opportunity to make a blanket fort. Says it's to cheer you up, which is partly true.... But he also just really loves blanket forts.

He'll try to bribe you into taking medicine, but won't force you too, since he's also hesitant with taking the nasty cough syrups and pills that make you drowsy, so if it's not too bad, he might consider letting you off the hook.

Also, sorry to disappoint, but he can't cook worth a flip, so all of the chicken soup you get is gonna be from a can and cooked in the microwave. Half the time it's not even warmed up enough, but he tries his best nonetheless, and he'll keep reheating it as many times as it takes to get you to eat something.

Absolutely believes gatorade is a cure all and makes you drink a ridiculous amount of it while you're recovering. He thinks the yellow kind is a sin though and if you ask for it, he'll look at you with so much disdain in that moment that you'll wonder if he's plotting to murder you.

Overall, a great option if you're only suffering from something minor, but if you're really, really sick? Best to call someone a little more strict to put you on the right track to recovery!

Draken:

100% the mother hen of the group. I'm taking no criticism on this.

He doesn't exactly hover, but he is the type to check in on you periodically, and weaseling your way out of bed is going to be near impossible without a good excuse.

He won't take any bullcrap about medicine either, so unlike Mikey, you're not going to get much leeway with him, no matter how insignificant the illness.

If you ask him nicely, he might allow you to watch TV for a while if you're not too ill, but it comes at the cost of having to take a proper nap later.

If you have a fever though? Sorry about your luck. He might give you a book to entertain yourself but you're not getting out of that bed until your temperature is back to normal.

His style of care usually results in a lot of boredom for his reluctant patients, but on the flip side, they always recover remarkably quickly, so no one can really complain.

Takemitchy:

Takemitchy is definitely the type of guy to rush straight over with multiple bags worth of pharmacy supplies the second he hears someone is ill.

He's a bit of a nervous wreck about it, but he's actually not half bad at taking care of people when they're sick.

I feel like his adult side tends to present itself a lot more during times like this, especially with those that are really sick. It kind of baffles people how mature he sounds at these times.

He'll speak soothingly to them as he presses a cool cloth to their head, and always handles any of the tedious work involved with a smile.

His main goal is to make his patients as comfortable as he can, but he can also be surprisingly insistent when it comes to medicine and keeping them hydrated. Not Draken levels of strict, but he's not like Mikey either. He usually ends up resorting to some form of bribery.

He's a pretty good person to rely on during times like this... Except for the fact that he almost always ends up catching it too not long after... Oops.^^`

Hakkai:

He's admittedly a bit of a nervous wreck, probably worst than Takemitchy to be honest.

Given the type of upbringing he had, he's not very experienced with things like this, but he'll do his best nonetheless.

He's the type to go to the pharmacy and get at least 3-5 different types of the same medicine just to be sure he gets something you can take. The poor pharmacy workers usually have to help him pick out what he actually needs so he doesn't try to buy half the store.

Constantly calls and texts Mitsuya the entire time for advice. Eventually to the point he just comes over himself to help after he gets the fourth call wondering if he should bring you to the hospital because you sneezed a little too hard.

Once he gets the hang of things, he'd probably be pretty okay at it, but he definitely needs some practice.

He's very gentle and only wants the best for the person he's caring for, so even if he doesn't quite know what he's doing, he'll put his best foot forward regardless.

Not the best option when it comes to overall experience, but if you give him a chance, he'll do his best to help you all he can until you're better.

Mitsuya:

Andddd, the second mother hen of Toman enters the chat.

Absolutely knows what he's doing the entire time, and is probably the most knowledgeable out of all the Toman guys when it comes to this kind of stuff.

He's taken care of both his little sisters for years, so he has plenty of practice with all kinds of random colds and stomach bugs.

Has a whole arsenal of different natural remedies that he's acquired over the years to help speed up recovery and relieve symptoms.

He's pretty similar to Draken in a lot of ways when it comes to care, but he's also a little softer about it if that makes sense?

Has a bad habit of shifting into older brother mode with his patients, and will often slip up by saying his sisters' names when he's preoccupied and talking to them, running his fingers through their hair, putting on cartoons, tucking them in, humming, etc.

He often gets teased about this, but he doesn't really take it to heart and usually just laughs it off. No one really minds it anyway, and most see it as just one of his more endearing traits. Some even find it comforting, though they won't admit it.

He also doesn't get sick very easily, and rarely ends up catching anything himself, so telling him to stay away for fear of spreading it to him won't deter him much.

Maybe I'm being biased just a little, but he'd absolutely be my first choice. Mitsuya knows his stuff.

Chifuyu:

Has absolutely no idea what the heck he's doing.

He'll show up to your house with a ton of random supplies, though half of them don't even make any sense. Amongst all the saltines, soup cans, and cough syrup, there are a bunch of things that even he doesn't know why he brought them. He just packed/bought them out of panic and impulse.

"Chifuyu.... Why is there a 5lb bag of gummy bears in here?" "...You don't like gummy bears? 🥺"

That sort of thing.

Once he gets the hang of it, he's not that bad at it, but he's definitely very awkward and nervous about it.

He's somewhat hovery, but more in a distant sort of way, since he's afraid to make you feel worse. He'll kinda just watch you from the kitchen while you sleep on the couch, or he'll pop his head in your door 40 times per hour if you're in your room.

He reads the back of the medicine bottle at least seven times for fear of overdosing you.

Totally forgets to look at the front label because of it, and unintentionally knocks you out cold for seven hours with NyQuil.

He still hasn't stopped apologizing for that yet.

Baji:

Baji is.... Admittedly not the best person to call for this sort of thing.

Depending on who you are, he might even hang up when you call complaining about your cold, telling you to 'keep your germs to yourself' and to 'man up' lol.

On the off chance that he does decide to come help you out though, he'll do his best, but much like Chifuyu, he's very inexperienced at this kind of stuff

Baji is the type to ride out his illnesses the hard way, and he treats his patients no differently.

Soup? That's for wimps. Just eat a peanut butter sandwich or something.

Medicine? That's not how you build an immune system. You stomp that illness into the ground with nothing but blood, sweat, and tears.

In most cases, he'll end up having to call Draken to come bail him out cause he made the person he's taking care of cry.

His only good trait is that he's basically a walking space heater, so if you can trick or bribe him into sitting next to you, you get a heating pad that doesn't need any electricity or to be reheated.

Makes up for everything else tbh.

Souya and Nahoya:

Ultimate good cop, bad cop duo. Angry being the good cop in this situation, while Smiley is the bad cop. Ironic right?

Smiley is more the tough love type who makes you take your medicine, eat, stay hydrated, etc.

He won't admit it, but he honestly gets a bit of a kick out of watching their grossed out faces after taking medicine. It's half the reason he even agreed to this in the first place.

Angry, on the other hand, is the type that gets super empathetic about it. Super cuddly and sweet, and he's eager to do whatever it takes to help you get back on your feet.

His one problem is that he tends to get sick a lot easier than Smiley, so it usually ends with both of you being sick and being taken care of by the older twin for the last half.

Yeah. Mr. "Murder! Yay!" Is going to be you guys' nurse for the duration of your sickness. Good luck...

But at least you have someone to suffer and watch stupid shows with?...

#dessie writes #tokyo revengers headcanons #sick headcanons #tokyo revengers #mikey tokyo revengers #draken tokyo revengers #takemitchy tokyo revengers #baji tokyo revengers #chifuyu tokyo revengers #smiley tokyo revengers #angry tokyo revengers #hakkai tokyo revengers #mitsuya tokyo revengers

[fuckyeahizzyhands]

Con: I think the show deserves a season three whether I'm involved in it or not. It was always David's dream to make three seasons. I would be gutted for him if season three didn't happen. As far as Izzy being involved, that's entirely up to David Jenkins.

Screen Rant: I did some Googling, and I found articles. One of them was titled “Our Flag Means Death Season Two's Best Character Isn’t Who You Think”, and it was talking about Izzy. The other one was “Izzy Hands is the Real Star of Our Flag Means Death Season Two”. Those were both headlines I found. What was it like to find out what Izzy’s journey this season was going to be? It’s had such an impact on so many people.

Con O’Neill: David and I spoke about it quite a lot before we shot, about the redemptive qualities, and I was delighted that we didn't suddenly turn him into a saint overnight. I was delighted that the redemption was complicated and layered, and I don't feel that Izzy disappears in any of it. I think he's very much who he always was, but with slightly more of an open soul. I was so grateful to David and the writers for creating an arc that was playable rather than Hollywood-ized and too easy. It was challenging; it was a very, very lonely shoot for me. I found myself gravitating towards my own company most of the time, mainly because of the hours. And, because if I wasn’t shooting, I was learning to walk on that f***ing leg. If I wasn’t doing that, I was sword training, and if I wasn’t doing that, I was body training, and if I wasn’t doing that, I was recording a song in French. So, I was busy. Our group is a group of beautiful people, and we would meet every Sunday for lunch. Christine used to arrange that. I found myself initially quite hesitant to join that, because it felt like I had this weight on my shoulders, certainly for the first four episodes. I loved it as an actor. I found it really challenging as a man on his own in New Zealand, where it rains [a lot].

Screen Rant: I'm a music nerd, and kind of a musical theater nerd; my favorite episode of this is the one where you're singing in it. I love those sequences so much, your voice is insane, and it's such a good character moment. How did the decision to make that happen—singing, and specifically that song--come about? Did they write that for you because they knew you were a singer?

Con O’Neill: We’re all walking around backstage, telling jokes, playing music, and singing; that’s just what happens when you shoot a show. David called me up while I was in Wellington. I was in Wellington for a week shooting something else. He called me up and he asked me if I knew “La vie en rose”; I knew it, vaguely, but I don't speak French at all. Then, he mentioned that they wanted to do it in an episode. So, I learned the English version, Dean Martin’s version, and then they asked me if I could learn the French version. I don't speak a word of French, not a word, but my partner does, and I had a friend who just played Edith Piaf piano—Jenna (Russell)--and between the two of them, they taught me the French version of the song. If somebody had asked me prior to this, “What song would Izzy sing?” “La vie en rose” would never have entered my head. And now, there's no other song that fits. That's the genius of David. David's very clever with music. We know that--we’ve all experienced how clever he is—but to pick that song for him, at that point in his life? Yeah. F***ing hell. That was genius.

Screen Rant: Your character died this season. How far in advance did you know that, and did that affect how you approached or thought about the season?

Con O’Neill: No. I mean, to be honest, I felt it was going that way. I've been around a long time, and when a character starts this kind of arc, especially in something as interesting as our show is… When David took me out for dinner, I kind of thought this was where it was going, and, partly, I was relieved. I'm not an actor who likes to just repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat. And, I knew that Ed and Stede were going to end up together at the end of this season, so Izzy, as he stands, wouldn't make any sense to still be there. So, it was a relief that the decision was being made. I was a bit upset because I love playing him, but leave them wanting more, you know? I will be eternally grateful for what they gave me; how they played him out in the show. The beautiful speech they gave me, the opportunity to do “La vie en rose”, and the opportunity to die in Taika’s arms and to be able to honor that relationship… I couldn't have asked for a better play-off, really.

Screen Rant: This season did introduce, with the Gravy Basket, the potential for someone who has passed on to return. If there was a season three, do you think your character would have anything else to impart on Stede or Blackbeard in a similar scenario?

Con O’Neill: You’d have to ask David Jenkins. I don't know where David wants to take it, and I wouldn't preempt that with me making up stories for Izzy in a flashback or ghostie Izzy, or whatever. I have no idea where David wants season three to go. I think the show deserves a season three whether I'm involved in it or not. It was always David's dream to make three seasons. I would be gutted for him if season three didn't happen. As far as Izzy being involved, that's entirely up to David Jenkins.

Screen Rant: So much of this season and Izzy’s journey is his relationship with Edward and his love for Edward, and so much of the conflict is about how much Edward is changing. Did you have an understanding of what version of Blackbeard, or Edward, that Izzy was looking for, and wanting to be around?

Con O’Neill: That’s a great f***ing question. Between season one and season two, in the interim, Izzy experiences a broken Blackbeard, and a Blackbeard that's never going to go back to what he was, because he's heartbroken. Everyone who's been heartbroken knows that you never go back to who [you] were. He just wants to fix Blackbeard. That's why he takes his life in his hands by confronting Blackbeard; he just wants Blackbeard to be fixed, to find his soul again, [and] to find his heart again. Whether he's involved in that is not relevant. What's relevant is, he loves Blackbeard so much that he wants him to find himself again. So, it's never Izzy’s version of Blackbeard that Izzy’s looking for. He's looking for Blackbeard to find himself again, and that's only through Stede.

Screen Rant: I was looking up the real-life Izzy Hands, who testified against allies to get a pardon and supposedly died a beggar in the streets of London years later. Would you have been interested in that, dramatically, if that was how his story ended on the show?

Con O’Neill: No, that's not our show. We're not historically [accurate to] those times. If we were, they wouldn’t have cast a guy who is 50 to play a 16-year-old pirate. I don't know. I'd love to be able to tell you what area that season three, if it ever happens, would go, but I literally have no idea. I don't think we're going to go down the historical route. I’d be very surprised if we do that.

Screen Rant: I don’t know if you’ll have an answer for me, but I saw that you initially auditioned for a different role. I love Taika so much; I feel like you would have also made a great Blackbeard. Is that who you were going for, initially?

Con O’Neill: Absolutely not, but thank you for saying that. I don’t see anyone else as Blackbeard but Taika. When Taika was announced, I knew what our show was. But no, it wasn’t Blackbeard. And no, I’m not going to tell you.

Screen Rant: Okay. Perfect. Well, clearly it all worked out for the best. I mean, you're incredible, and the whole cast is so perfect in their roles. It's been a pleasure to watch you and… yeah, congrats on the show.

Con O’Neill: Thank you so much.

#our flag means death spoilers #our flag means death #ofmd #con o'neill #izzy #izzy hands #con interview #interview #season 3 #video transcript #david jenkins #screenrant #Youtube

[misc-obeyme]

THE THREADS THAT BIND

CHAPTER TEN

MASTERPOST for summary/info/chapter list

a/n: This is the last chapter in which Arsenios makes a significant appearance. I truly enjoyed writing about him. In the meantime, MC is dealing with some heavy feels. Things get angsty for a bit, so just a heads up.

GN!MC x Barbatos | word count 1,159

Warnings: demon OC

Weeks went by. You were free of the curse and there was no reason for you to stay at the castle any longer. You had packed all your things and lugged them back to the House of Lamentation with help from Barbatos. He had smiled at you as he always did before he left.

You continued to see about as much of Barbatos as you used to. Often it was at RAD, though there were various group activities where he was present and the more rare tea party that you would go to the castle for. But usually you were with other people. It wasn't the same as when you had been tethered together.

At first, you felt kind of numb. It was just a matter of readjusting to the way things used to be, how they were supposed to be.

So you went through your days as you had always done before. But as time passed, you began to find yourself thinking often about the moments you had seen in Barbatos's mind. Even more than the feeling you'd had when he left your side - that was only a product of the curse, not a reflection of anything real. But his memories had been real.

It seems my love has found us.

For some reason, that particular moment continually replayed itself in your mind. Barbatos himself had said that this was a moment from the future, that you had seen the memory he had of seeing it himself.

Will I know that person when I meet them in the present? I don't know. I can't know.

This, too, echoed in your mind. What he had said when you asked. Of course he couldn't know for certain. Not when he hadn't been able to make out what that person even looked like. They had been much too far away. If Barbatos had any deeper insight into their identity, he hadn't shared it with you.

The more time passed, the more you thought of these things, caught up in the meaning of it all. It was diverting. Because if you thought about your own feelings for too long, you started to see that emptiness returning. A hole in your chest where something had been removed.

You wanted to believe that it was only your imagination. That you were only experiencing flashbacks of the curse itself.

But sometimes, when you were alone at night, staring at the ceiling of your room in the House of Lamentation, you were honest with yourself about it. The truth was that you missed Barbatos.

You would always turn your mind back to that vision of his future to remind yourself that it didn't matter. Maybe he couldn't know when he encountered that person that he would love, but you would have known if you had been seeing yourself. You would have known if it was you calling out to him across that field of flowers. Wouldn't you?

These were the thoughts that plagued you as the weeks passed. You often liked to find a spot at RAD to be by yourself, so you could wallow in these feelings while also rejecting them.

You had gone off alone again, sitting on a bench out on the grounds, your eyes on the dark sky and your mind stewing.

You had to pull yourself out of the depths of your thoughts when someone sat beside you. You blinked and were surprised to find Arsenios on the bench with you.

"You're looking pretty down," he said without so much as a hello. "Everything all right? I heard the counter curse worked."

You gathered yourself for a moment before smiling weakly. "Yeah, thanks for your help."

Arsenios leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His RAD jacket was nowhere to be seen, his green shirt partly unbuttoned. "So what's with the sad face?"

You frowned. "I'm not sad."

"Uh huh," Arsenios said. "It's easy to tell yourself lies, but it's hard to tell yourself the truth. Sometimes it's easier to tell someone else."

You squinted at him. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes elsewhere across campus. "Are you trying to make me feel better?"

Arsenios shook his head and leaned back to look at you. "I'm giving you a chance to talk about whatever's bothering you. Get it off your chest."

You studied his face for a moment, trying to decide if he was making fun of you. But you saw no malice in his eyes. He seemed to be genuinely trying to help.

You sighed and leaned your head back on the bench. "It's complicated. I don't even know where to start."

Arsenios ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, it's about Barb, right? It has to be after what you went through."

"I know that curse was bad," you said, your eyes on the sky above you. "But now that it's gone, I feel… like I'm missing something. I'm missing him."

"So why not tell him how you feel?" Arsenios asked.

You snorted and rolled your head to look at him. "Why? So I can get rejected and feel even worse?"

"Nah," Arsenios said. "Is that what you really think will happen?"

You didn't really want to tell him all about the future you had seen in Barbatos's mind. You didn't respond.

"Listen, MC," Arsenios said. "I've known Barbatos for a long time. I maybe don't know him as well as some others can claim, but I think I know enough to know how he feels about you. In all these years, I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

Something about this statement hit you hard. You sat up, fighting the tears that suddenly stung at your eyes. "But-"

Arsenios raised a hand to stop you. "I mean it. You don't believe me? Ask Solomon. Ask Lucifer. Ask Diavolo. I bet any one of them would say the same. But even if that wasn't the case, don't you think he deserves to make the choice himself?"

You let out a heavy sigh. The truth of that question was almost too painful to think about. But this music demon was right. And you knew it.

Arsenios stood up from the bench, his hands in his pockets. "Something to consider. And I gotta say… Listen, Barbatos is my friend. But if he passes up on being with someone like you, then he doesn't deserve you to begin with."

You met his eyes in surprise, but you couldn't read what you saw there.

Arsenios waved nonchalantly at you as he walked away, leaving you sitting stunned on the bench.

The worst part of that conversation was realizing that you would have to say something to Barbatos. That you couldn't keep the truth inside you forever. Partly because it would eat away at you if you did, but also because Arsenios was right. Barbatos deserved to make the choice himself.

masterpost | chapter one

chapter nine | chapter eleven

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me barbatos #barbatos obey me #om barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #misc oc arsenios #the threads that bind #misc writes